DAMMIT I hate to miss a party

Me in Orleans, France. A trip I took with my family in late 2002. I will party anywhere, with anyone, and come from a long line of happy drunks.

One thing about me is that I am a social kinda gal. Back in Austin I was kind of the den mother of a largish group of folks, always planning some sort of gathering or other to make sure all the chickies are happy, chatting and drinking. Sometimes I plan things here, too, but not as frequently as I did at home due to expense and problems with transport. I frequently get Evites for parties back home, which is bittersweet, as 1) I am so glad I am still on the lists but 2) really annoyed I can't join 90% of the time.

Then Dave posts about this TequilaCon gathering and I just get all jealous cuz it for damn sure seems like I missed a good party. I HATE missing a good party. Grrr.....

I think I am going to post party pictures from past gatherings. Just to remind myself that I can get my freak on when I want.

A Halloween party Chez Karla in Austin. I hosted that annual party for years, and people really went nuts dressing up. this is my favorite picture from many years of parties.

This is me at New Year's this year. Singing karaoke at the neighbors, and might I say I sang the SHIT out of the Police's Roxanne.

A quieter party at Mama Malcontent's ranch in the hill country of Texas. Those are magical times; good friends, campfires, beer-a- plenty and stars so numerous you can almost read by them. When I think of home and friends my thoughts frequently go here.

This was in 2000 or so, at the now defunct Waterloo Brewing Company in Austin. We'd meet weekly for pint nights on Wednesdays. Damn I miss that place. That's Craig, Clark and Alan in horrible fluorescent light.

A Halloween party here in Norway. Lesley is the witch, Rich is Cher and I am Sonny.

Rich and I in Copenhagen. I like big beers.

Me as a 20's screen siren and Julia as...me! Halloween 2001.

Me and Bookhart. This is Halloween, jeez, 1998? She's a hippy and I'm in a sari.

Me and Bookhart, she's Madonna.

Me and Bookhart and Craig at Opal Divine's in Austin. I just posted this because I like this picture of me. I'm pretty sure this was someone's birthday? But I don't remember who.

Sigh. I miss my buddies. But that could be the wine talking.

Age and Loneliness

On Friday night we usually go to the local pub to meet up with some of Rich's work buddies, a good, funny group of guys who I enjoy talking and verbally sparring with. Witty jibes fly around and hijinks ensue. There is always too much beer, loud talking and general TGIF silliness.

This time at the pub a rock band played. (Frequently they will have trad jazz bands, which don't get me wrong, they are musically amazing, but it's music from the 40's and so on, so it draws a definitely older skewing crowd. This tends to put a little damper on our evenings of letting off steam, as I, for one, feel like I have to behave a bit better when Oma and Opa are in the house. I am not a huge fan of jazz, though like I have said, they are stunningly talented and so I can appreciate it for that.)
The band that played on Friday reminded me of that band in the Commitments, remember that movie, where this normal looking guy suddenly just BELTS out songs in a voice that has to be heard to be believed? Yeah, they were like that. He could sing anything, even Soundgarden and hairbands, blues, whatever, he could sing it. He sang one song (I can't remember which one right now) that was a quintessential 80's head banger song. And I, with this hair, and a few beers in me, proceeded to head bang.

Which was my first mistake. Because my neck is now fucked up and I can hardly move it. Ironically, even as I was doing it, throwing my hair around and having a high old time, I told someone that I was gonna regret this later, as I have about a three bang limit before my neck remembers the hurt for days. And so my premonition came true. Ow. Getting old sucks.

Rich left to go to the States today. And I am quietly freaking. He used to travel alot for work, to the point where I got used to him being gone (and that did NOT do good things for our marriage, let me tell you, and we are STILL working on being a couple and being together all the time. We both became way too independent over 10 years of separateness.). Anyhow, I think we might have turned that corner of coupledom, because it feels WIERD being here alone. I'm restless and a bit antsy. So I started cleaning. So far I've:

• cleaned his bathroom (and decided that our "self bathroom management" routine is gonna stop, because that boy obviously does NOT clean his bathroom), (ew),(and in Todays' Dumbass Move I accidentally turned on the shower while standing in it cleaning it, thus soaking myself with cold water and getting a short sharp reminder of what a dork I actually am),
  

• reorganised the linen closet,

• reorganized the "junk room" (a never used sauna in the flat),

• cleaned my room and reorganized my socks, (a big job, I have lots, which is strange for someone who dislikes socks),

• scrubbed the kitchen, and the trashcan and took out the garbage (!!!)(I generally don't do garbage)(ever),
  

• rekitted the bed (using linens that he has professed a dislike for but that I love, so I can use them while he's gone nyah nyah)(now the bed's all black sheets and red and black duvet and with leopard spotted pillows, grrr...),

• cleaned my bathroom,
  

• done 5 loads of laundry,

all while dancing to my favorite stuff on the iPod cranked to ear splitting levels, something I can't do while he's here because he is not that fond of my music. (He likes "calm" music, I like ass kickin' music.)

Thank GOD I've planned the trip to London while he's gone. And I've also been invited to go to the company hytte (cabin in the woods) for a couple of nights, to do the traditional Norwegian "get out of town and into mountainous nature" thing. I've never done it, always wanted to, even though the hytte doesn't have running water and has an "incinerator toilet". I have no idea what an incinerator toilet is, but I am envisioning ass-burning flames shooting up from it as it nukes whatever you might deposit therein. Like you are crapping into the mouth of hell......
Anyhow, the plan is to cross country ski in easy stages (which is good, as guess who has also never skied??) sit in the sun and eat oranges and drink hot chocolate (oranges being an Easter thing, I'm told, and hot chocolate being, well, hot chocolate). In the evenings you light a fire, read, drink and chat. I think we have margaritas and cosmos in our future. (Remind self to get Cointreau at duty free.) Sounds lovely, doesn't it?

I don't know that I could be here in this flat for two weeks and be this restless. I'm so glad I have things planned. I seriously see myself rearranging all the furniture, bare handed, if I don't have things to occupy me. I've done it before, you know.

I used to be really good at being alone. Hmm.

Dread

You know how there is something you have to do but really don't want to do and you put it off and you put it off until it gets sort of insane and then you dream about it and it presses on you and yet you still don't do it because you just.can't.face.it? But it's always THERE, right there, looking at you and you really just want it to go away but you know you are really the only one who can make it go (even if there are extenuating circumstances that hampered things, but then those were cleared up and so now it really is just you)?

And then you finally get the cojones to do it...and it wasn't even anything problematic at all, and it took such a short time you could just kick yourself because honestly, Karla, what the hell was all that fuss about? And it might have even been just the tiniest bit...interesting?

I just did something that has been hanging over me for TWO YEARS and now I'm all, dude, what the hell, that was not bad at ALL.

I feel like I just did that term paper I was dreading or something.

Wow.

My new musical obsession, in one word.

Fluke.

Und now vee dance.......

but I've never even been to Seattle......

Got an email from a news website in Seattle that they wanted to use a flickr photo of mine in their site.

Of course, they had ALREADY used it by the time I replied, but at least it was nice of them to let me know. I guess.

women

Happy International Woman's Day!

No I had no idea it was a holiday, either. Until I got to work and the ladies who run the canteen came up to every floor and offered all us womens little chocolate covered eclaires as a gifty. ("No boys!", they giggled. And our business is very man-centric, so there were plenty of eclaires for us gals, none of which we shared with those stinky old boys.) I am not one to ever turn down a pastry, so I am now officially in favor of International Woman's Day. But, being the pastry whore I am, if tomorrow was International Smelly Boys Day, I'd eat eclaires in favor of that, too.

In another, different celebration of women, Austin this week lost one more reason why it is such a unique city. Stella Boes died. No she's not famous, but she was unique and I for one, will miss yet another thing that made Austin my Home Wierd Sweet Home.

Some friends of mine have a band and play fairly frequently at the Carousel Lounge in Austin. Stella was always there, always joyous, and you knew it was a good song if she danced. And she danced alot. She was this funny eccentric old lady who just loved the hell out of life and loved hanging out with whoever showed up at the bar. She added a certain funky joi de vive to every occasion. I for one, saw her as a vision of who I might want to be when I got old.

I didn't know her well, and only got to dance with her a few times, but Stella, where ever you are, you keep boogyin' on, you hear?

stuff that happened in Paris

I feel like bullet points on this one.

• Everywhere we went we saw the entourage of the visiting President of Mongolia. He was driven around at a fast clip in a navy blue Peugeot, followed by 5 more of the exact same car. In the lead were at least 6 motorcycle cops and following behind all the motorcycles and Peugeots were two largish vans with big windows, filled to overflowing by the faces of desperate Mongolians taking pictures of everything they could as Paris whizzed past their windows. I think all their pictures must have been a blur. We saw them fly up to Notre Dame, then race past the Eiffel Tower, and then later the next day I saw the whole crowd shooting up the left bank of the Seine, sirens whining, Peugeots Peugot-ing, lights blinking and desperate cameras flashing plaintively at whatever they passed at street level.

• Our flight arrived in Paris at 9:15 am. I wanted to take a walking tour at 11am. In order to do this, I had to ask Rich to please take our luggage on ahead to the hotel while I ran to catch the tour. He very kindly did so, which enabled me to join a wonderful tour of the fashion history of Paris, taking in two century old shopping arcades, the Palais Royal and the legendary shop owned and run by Didier Ludot (on the premises that day and very tall and distinguished looking indeed)(scroll half way down the somewhat pretentious link for good photos and info). There are no prices in the window, it is very much the sort of place where if you have to ask you can't afford it. It is also by appointment only. Bummer, I would have loved to have checked it out. The owner was in and was rearranging his windows with the most marvelous dresses. We paltry tourists were ignored with nary a glance. We also went to Marc Jacobs new shop, a few doors down, and I scored a t shirt (ironically it says "London" with an image of a double decker bus on it) and a canvas bag. I figure I'll get a "Paris" t-shirt at Marc Jacobs when I go to London. The people in that shop were very nice and I got teased by the other ladies (ALL ladies) on the tour for my guerilla style of shopping. Hey, years of practice with an impatient husband has made me fast.

• Was that the longest bullet point ever or what?

• On that tour I was recruited to join a ladies expat social group by a British lady in a strange hat. I was flattered, but also mystified. It's a legit and fairly highbrow group, I have no idea what they want with a tattooed, trash talkin', beer swillin' Texan like me. anyhow, she made me SWEAR that if we ever move to Paris (the chance exists) that I look her up.

• After the tour I walked allllll the way from the Palais Royal, past the Louvre, and the Place Concorde up the Champs Elysees to the Arc de Triomphe, near which was our hotel. I realized as I finished that it was maybe a bit too much for me, having not walked that far in months, and wearing my cute, comfortable- but- not- for- 7- mile- walks, knee high black leather pirate boots. My feet were KILLING me.

• Rich and I met at a cafe near the hotel after my walk where we proceeded to start an evening of wine drinking that ended in about 6 bottles downed between the two of us. I also had a "when in Rome" moment and bought some smokes. Hell, I was drunk, we both smelled of cigarettes anyhow, and I WAS in Paris. Rich was tolerant of my smoking, something he generally would NEVER be. Must've been all that good wine.

• Every person we dealt with, whether at a restaurant, a shop or wherever, was extremely nice and we were not treated rudely once. I attribute this to the fact that we were both fairly well dressed (no jeans or sneakers for Rich, me all in black all the time and carrying my FAB purse) and we both made sure to bon jour the hell out of everyone we met wherever we went. The French always will greet you and acknowledge your entry into a place, and say "pardon" for every real or imagined infraction of space or etiquette. I found it very refreshing after living for so long in Norway where you might get a "beklager" (sorry) but only if someone knocks into you really hard.

• The first day and a half were relatively warm, the last day and a half were cold, but only because I did not dress warmly enough. Whenever I leave Norway I get this mindset that "I'm not in Norway, it won't be that cold" and then end up freezing my ass off as it IS cold, or at least cold enough to warrant more than the light jackets I bring. It also drizzled alot, but we were both armed with parapluy's.

• Our hotel room was so small that one of us had to sit in the middle of the bed if the other wanted to move around the room. The bed was not very big either. Luckily the front desk girl was extraordinarily sweet and moved us into a junior suite our last night (of three) and that made a huge difference. She would have moved us earlier but the place was fully booked.
  

perfectly good weekend shot to hell

I started sneezing Friday afternoon and haven't stopped since.

Motherfucking rhinovirus.

I have a REALLY busy week ahead at work and absolutely can't afford to be sick, so have done nothing but lay around and drink herbal teas and broth all weekend, hoping to clear up my head. Why must I always get sick after a trip? Dammit!

All that chicken stock I sent down the drain on Friday would have come in handy this weekend......

I added a bunch of pictures to my flickr account (link on left) so go there for more views of gay paree.....

Meet Karla, World's Biggest Dumb Ass

Shit, y'all, sometimes I wonder about my viability in this world.

Tonight, feeling a bit like I am coming down with a cold (and skipping the weekly pub night) I decided to make some chicken stock from the leftovers from the roast chicken I made the other night. (If you have not made the French Laundry recipe roast chicken, well, you are missing out on something good and it's so dead easy it's kind of embarrassing.) I always make stock from leftover chicken, since it's so expensive here I feel like it's wasting it to just chuck in the trash.

So I spent two hours slowly simmering the chicken and veg and herbs and I came away with about 4 quarts of lovely, rich savory stock. The final step after cooking is to sieve out the bones and veg, so that you are left with a nice clear soup, a good base for whatever soup you later want to make.

So I set up my usual double sieve system in the sink, which is guaranteed to catch everything non-liquid, grab my pot of soup and pour it through.

Anyone notice what I did wrong? Anyone?

I forgot to put a FRIGGING BOWL UNDER THE SIEVE.

Before I realized it I had poured about 3/4 of the soup down the drain.

Thus giving me the Dumb Ass of the Year award.

screw this

I was gonna post about Paris but "My Name Is Earl" just came on TV and it's got Amy Sedaris doing strange things with cats on it and sorry, she's way better than blogging, so you'll just have to wait for stories.

yes I have had a couple beers tonight, what of it?

pictures because words are too tiring

I'm going to write about our trip but I am swamped at work and then when I get home the last thing I wanna do is use a computer, think, write or be awake. I will write soon, but will you maybe put up with pictures instead?

No, je ne regrette rien....view from a tombstone at Pere Lachaise. Someone left a heart made of chestnut seeds on the crypt stone...it was very evocative, both sad and lovely.

Notre Dame at night. Beautiful from every angle.
Me in St Severin church. I think that was my favorite of the churches in Paris. (I saw four on Monday....yes four churches in one half day!) It has a colorfulness (amazing stained glass) mixed with age that I found very comforting. The area around was just twisty with medieval streets and passageways, great to wander and explore.

The courtyard outside St Severin. It was spooky at night. It's looking at the charnel house, a spooky word in itself. Can't you just see a ghost monk flitting through that yellow light?

Ducksembourg palace

In the gardens at Luxembourg Palace...isn't this the most arrogant looking duck?

rosey memories

Me in Paris in the gardens of the Hotel de Sully.

back

I'm back.

I'm tired.

Work pissed me off today.

So I am going to have a good night's rest. Our flight getting back was over two hours late leaving and then there was a luggage issue so did not get back til after 1am last night.

We had a great time.

heat wave!

It's gonna be minimum 30 degrees F warmer in Paris than here...at time 40 degrees!

I don't know if I should pack the swimsuit or not!

Maybe not...as it's 18F here now.....but it sure makes 48 seem like spring, don't it?


I'm getting my packing together and for this trip I am planning an all black and white pallet based on the awesome graphic damask prints that are out right now...people used to pay me to stencil those on their walls, and now they are freaking EVERYWHERE. My art was ahead of its time, what can I say?

Anyhow, as part of this fashion plan, I have re-acquainted myself with leggings. Yes, leggings. I always did love them, just not in the 80's way with just a big shirt over them. That looks lazy and like you forgot your pants. Oh no, I like them peeking out from under a dress with mary jane flats, or worn with a short skirt and boots. Or, as I have been doing lately, a sort of multi-level multi-layer thing with a lace-edged slip worn with another, shorter dress over that, all tightly belted. So that you have the legging going to the ankles, the slip to the knees and the dress three inches or so over that. I like the way it looks, for me at least. The key is to keep the colors (in my case, black, always black) simple and let the layering speak for itself.

And I am eyeing this awesome bag with a very similar print to the one in the picture, but it's in patent leather...how cool is that?

I mean, it's PARIS, and I must pay attention to my wardrobe, musn't I? One great thing about living in Scandinavia is that even though the fashions here tend to be very same-same, if you do want to experiment it's a great atmosphere for it. The chain stores do have small fashion forward collections that are at least a year ahead of the US. You just have to dig for them.....

Planning ahead

I'm doing some planning ahead for upcoming trips.

Like, when I go to London, I've booked myself a haircut at a highly recommended salon for girls with curly hair. I'm gonna go for a big change because my hair is driving me nuts. I know i need some change when I keep my hair pulled back more than I wear it down. It's just kind of lame lately.
I'm not sure what I will have done. but I think it might be one of those things where i tell the hairdresser "Hey go nuts, just don't dye it purple or make it flat". Because no matter what, Texas gals like me keep the hair BIG.

Then that night when I have (hopefully) gorgeous hair, I got a ticket to Spamalot.

Spamalot! Who! I've only wanted to see that show for, like, EVER. And I so don't mind going by myself....not for something like this that I really want to see. Rich and I tend not to go to the theatre together because he is usually too tall for the seats and ends up being very uncomfortable all night, thus making ME uncomfortable when he puts his legs in my space. I don't mind being uncomfortable if I can see a show I really want to see. Like Spamalot! Woo!

While on the topic of British stuff, have you ever seen a very short and hilarious show called Posh Nosh? It's on BBC food, it lasts about 10 minutes. It's frigging hilarious, a total send up of those hoity toity food shows that Brits seem to excel at lately. Richard E Grant is one of the actors in it, and I have always had a slight crush on him. When you first see it you think it's for real, but then you start to catch on that it's a total spoof, just excellently and very cleverly done. As Wikipedia says: . For instance, they employ words in odd ways in parody of specific culinary terminology, such as "interrogate a lemon"; and their cooked vegetables are not peeled but "embarrassed," after which they might be "annoyed" instead of boiled. They also frequently insist on ultra-specific, often prohibitively expensive, ingredients - such as Greek currants that you actually have to fly to Greece to buy.

Here's a YouTube of one of the episodes:



Your daily giggle is on me. Enjoy!

updates and changes

I'm working on updating the labels on this blog, so that you can go through and search the archives by subject. I've had a few people mention that I should do that, so am attempting it.

And it's taking a damned long time, as I need to go through each of my almost 900 posts (!!!!) to see what I wrote and what labels it needs, then add them. So if your RSS feeds are going nuts for my blog, sorry about that. I have to republish each post to get the labels on there. There might be a better way, which I will attempt to find out today.

So far my most populous label seems to be "wierdness". Figures, don't it.

A Siberian cold front is moving through the Oslo area this week. Holy crap it's cold. This only reinforces my intense desire to never live in Siberia. If this is their leftovers, I don't want to be there for the freshness!

Movie Crack

I'm sure you have them too. Movies you must watch every time they come on TV no matter how many times you've seen them? You can't help it, you just do? Yep. Thought so. Well, here are mine.

The American President
Dave
Guarding Tess (I heart that movie)(and what's up with the presidential theme?)
Moonstruck
How To Marry a Millionaire
Funny Face
Singin' in the Rain
Evolution
Return to Me
Steel Magnolias
Point Break (on tv now, I think it's Keanu Reeve's best role) (shut up.) (no really, shut up.)
Princess Diaries
Face Off
Fight Club
Star Wars 1-3 (and I do mean the original 1-3, not the crappy new 1-3. I'm too damned old for you to change the numbers on me now, Lucas!)
Blazing Saddles
History of the World Part 1
Galaxy Quest
Dangerous Liaisons
Anything with John Cusack or Doris Day

It is irrelevant that I own at least half of these movies. Nor does it matter if any of them are actually all that good or not.

Gay Paree

Ah Paris. The memories....the good times....

Though I must admit, whenever I go to Paris, at some point I end up being really, really drunk. I think it's mostly because the wine is so good, so cheap and so everywhere. Actually, forget mostly. It's just because. I just can't resist good wine.

The first time I went to Paris, I went with my friend Julia, whom I have known since I was five. We were 17 that time. We went with a busload of German tourists from Hamburg. (I spoke neither French nor German, so relied on Julia to translate German when I needed it, which taught me to never trust your German best friend when climbing mountains, but that is another story altogether. ) I discovered rose' wine and drank alot of it one night. Pink wine! Cool! I was rather fond of the new (to me) idea that wine could be bought by the liter in these cute carafes and they would just refill them whenever you wanted. And it was cheap! And I was 17! And the waiter was cute! Woo!

That night I ended up quite wasted. I vaguely remember falling out of the elevator at our hotel when it got to our floor. The elevator landed an inch or so below floor level, I tripped over the height difference and did a face plant, landing giggling on the floor of the hall. Julia gamely picked me up by my armpits and dragged a laughing me back to our room. That night a windstorm blew through Paris and I distinctly remember being woken by the sounds of windows slamming and doors rattling and an American voice ringing out "Auntie Em! Auntie Em! It's a twister!" I giggled, then groaned at the discovery that 17 is not too young to have your first hangover, and went back to sleep.

The second time I went to Paris was in February 2005. You'd think I would be smarter after 18 years, wouldn't you? Hell no.

This time I went with my friend Karen. We went for a long weekend. It was cold and wet and rather bleak, but still, Paris worked its charm on me. I was a bit apprehensive to go, I will admit. I had some wierd experiences there that first time I went that I did not want to repeat. But, the people were nice, the food excellent and, as would be expected, Karla got drunk.

This time Karen and I went to this restaurant that was all inclusive, one price, including all the wine you could drink. ALL THE WINE YOU COULD DRINK. To someone living in Norway, this is not an offer, this is a dare. This is a life goal. This is nirvana.


So I drank. And drank. And drank. I vaguely remember the meal, something meat based. And then I drank some more. Sitting next to us at the restaurant were two nice guys, a little older than us (two years maybe, ok, but I still feel 23, so any guy who looks 40 to me is an older guy, I know I KNOW I'll grow up some day). They genially watched us drink our way through carafes and carafes of red wine. We chatted with them and found out they were pilots for Fedex. Nice guys. All of us were married except Karen, so it was not a pick up sort of situation, more like some Americans just saying hi in a foreign place. I got a definite "nice guy" vibe from them.

Anyhow, they said they knew a bar around the corner that was nice and would we care to join them for a drink. Yeah, like I hadn't heard THAT line before, but being drunk, and there being two of us, so we felt a bit safe, we said "Yeah, sure". So we went to a bar to have some more wine. I had an inkling that maybe I was three sheets to the wind when, on the way, I totally racked myself on one of those iron posts that they imbed in the sidewalks to keep cars off them? I learned that a) those things are exactly crotch height when you are almost 6 feet tall and b) girls can, in fact, nut themselves severely in the jumblies. OW.

Anyhow, drunk as I was I realized fairly soon that maybe it was time to get back to the hotel. I was shutting down and losing the ability to be charming (if I ever had it). I was a bit worried, also, about how to get the guys to not follow us or whatever. I mean, they had a very polite vibe but you never know.

Turns out, my impressions of people are pretty right on. And that my belief in the inherent goodness of people is always reinforced.

The two guys from FedEx were, in fact, born again Christians and were only walking us back to the hotel to make sure we were ok! There was brief talk of soul saving, but I think even they realized that might be a discussion wasted on two women who, at that point, were high-fiving each other for managing to get one foot in front of the other and snorting in laughter when one said the word "tree" and the other thought she said "pee".

We made it home safe and sound. The hangover the next morning, however, was definitely punishment from whatever God we had refused to have save us the night before, and his vengeance was severe.

That next day was also memorable because when we were walking around Montmartre and the Sacre Couer, a freak thunderstorm occurred and I saw a huge bolt of lightning hit the church steeple. Then there was a fierce hailstorm and everyone ran for cover under awnings and whatever we could find. The hail was marble sized and larger. And it was COLD. And WINDY. I was expecting frogs at any minute.

So, twice I've been to Paris, twice I've gotten way to drunk for my own good and twice freak wind storms have hit while I was there.

I really wonder if I should warn them before I come this time? Seems prudent.

Snausage Poetry.

So today everyone at work was talking about this article in the Aftenposten. It's pretty gross and has definitely turned me off hot dogs for probably the rest of my life. Consider yourself warned.

Anyhow, me and one of my co-workers have lately discovered that we both have the same talent for impromptu poetry. After our discussion about the sausage with extra snacky goodness, she sent me the following poem:

Ode to a rat's foot

One happy day I sat and ate

My lunch of sausage meat,

When to my great surprise I felt

The crunch of little feet.

I chewed and chewed my lovely meal

But it ended in such grief;

Removing with a toothpick....

Tiny toenails between my teeth.

Poor little rat fell in among

The innards and the snouts.

No matter how hard he tried and tried,

He never made it out.

So now he's lunch and that's a fact

I'm very sad to say.

But I'm still hungry, so I think,

I'll eat him anyway.

I really like my job. The people there are just wierd enough that I fit in quite well.

A Valentine's Day Greeting to You, a la Karla

Happy Valentine's Day, Goth Style.

Today I am wearing my Special Valentine's Day Shirt.

I bought it sometime in the very early 90's, so it's practically vintage. It's red with black hearts all over it. I like it because the hearts aren't cutesy and red, but evil and black, like mine.

I only ever wear it on V-Day. I wore it with black jeans and black combat boots and a black turtleneck and blood red lipstick, because I really sort of hate Valentine's Day and I like to subvert it as much as possible.

Nobody at work noticed my holiday cheer until I mentioned it. I wonder why.

I swear this is me at work.

Thanks to my friend Dan for the link.

snow snow so and so

It's been snowing for two days straight now.

I kind of like it. I have the blah's big time, and I like the silence and quiet of the snow. It forces contemplation. Hibernation. Solitude. It slows down the world and allows rest. (Unless you are a skier, which I am not.) It allows me to crawl into my hidey-hole and not come out. No excuse needed except.... "It's snowing. Blah." Snow is a great excuse for being a lazy, mopey "so and so". (So and so being an expression from my Omi, it was the worst thing she'd say about someone, "Oh, that So and so!")

So...blah. Someone tell me a funny story or something nice. I need it.

Also tell me ...do you title your blog posts first, or do you wait until after you have written it to title it? I find my titles usually change by the time I end the post as I go off on a tangent that was patently NOT addressed in the original title. Half the time i have no idea what i am going to write about until I'm writing. This also tends to be my approach to life, wing it and see what happens.

But right now, blah.

So, you wanna know what happened, don't you?

Puppetry of the Penis. Curious?

Well, let's see.

The crowd: A mix of everyone, from 85 year old grandmas to men with their wives. Every age, every sort of person. Same crowd you'd expect at a movie, for that matter. My friend who came with me was all nervous and acting like I was dragging her to some sort of horrible nudey perv show, full of sticky seats and slimy people. (I took a bit of exception to that, I felt like I was her executioner or something!). Once she saw the crowd she mellowed out, though. The theatre was packed, it held about 300 people.

Our seats: Third row. Center.

The Stage: Two mics. A large video screen (!!!).

The Actors: Two Australian men and their tackle, which, to be honest, was larger than the average, but not scarily so.

The show: So, the two guys came out on stage wearing capes, socks and sneakers. One guy wore a hat, sort of a Gilligan hat. They talked for a while and introduced the camera man, who, it turned out, was there to video the close ups of the "installations" for those in the back row. That meant, for those of us closer up, not only did we see two dicks doing tricks, but we also had a 10 foot CLOSE UP VIEW of it all on the screens. I can honestly say, now, that I am very familiar with the private anatomy of two complete strangers. Moles, hair, one guy had a largish zit on his bum.

Anyhow, as for the show itself. As much as this would not seem to be the appropriate word, I have to say it was cute. Once the robes came off (the scariest bit, actually) everyone in the audience sort of settled in to it and accepted that yes, there were two naked men on stage doing very strange things with their bits and pieces. As they said, it was not a "stand up" show, and they had awesome genital flexibility. Also, they never touched each other, they both did their own, um, handling.

The "Installations": The Loch Ness Monster. A Windsurfer. An Escargot (pre cooked). Kentucky Fried Chicken (Finger Licking Good!). A Wristwatch (they did not use the slogan "Takes a Licking and Keeps on Ticking", which I thought was a massive oversight on their part.) A Fan. Ayers Rock in Australia, both from the side and the aerial view. A Baby Kangaroo in its Pouch. A Frightened Sea Urchin. A Girl. A Vagina. A Thong, from the Back View. A Hemmorhoid. The Hotdog. The Hamburger. Yoda, from Star Wars. A Beating Heart. A Crank Starter On a Car. The Eiffel Tower. A Hungry Baby bird. (These last two were only possible because one guy was not circumcized.) A Cocktail. haha. Etc.

Are you getting the idea? (And boy am I going to get some strange google hits after this post.)

My favorite "skit" was the one with the props. Specifically, one guy goes back stage and come out with a picture frame, which he places around his crotch so as to make art of it. He then says, "Here, ladies and gents, is a portrait of the World's Most Dangerous Man and the Biggest Dick: George W. Bush". He then whips the frame around to his ass and quips "And here's Tony Blair".

I DIED, I tell you, just DIED.

Then they had the Audience Volunteer portion of the evening. This poor girl, whose birthday it was, was called onstage and told to hold her hands over her head. She did, and the one guy very handily flipped into a hand stand in front of her, his ankles landing in her hands. So now he's naked, spreadeagled upside down, facing the audience. She's behind him, his ankles in her hands, and his, um, bunghole, basically directly in her face. The view from the camera was hilarious, as it looked like her head was coming out his ass and she was wearing his "family jewels" as a necklace. He quipped that he was "not a wishbone" because his legs just got farther and farther apart. The poor girl desperately tried to not look down at the black hole that confronted her. I for one, would have been more worried about him farting. I don't think there are many people in the world who can boast of having a view of a guy quite like that.....

They took a polaroid of the event to give her for a birthday souvenir. Wow. It should be her Christmas card as well. Wow.

The show lasted about an hour, it was short. Well, short on time, if you know what I mean, nudge nudge wink wink. The Dick Artists came out afterwards to meet the crowd, selling DVD's and such. They looked strange with their clothes on. Must be wierd to be THAT naked in front of people and then just stand their with clothes on, like everything is normal. Those guys have got balls, let me tell you. And I saw them from EVERY angle.

Actually, it was kind of educational. I mean, ladies, how many times in your life have you spent with naked men frolicking in front of you who never, um, stood to attention, never expected anything from you and let you see the silly side of their willy? I would think maybe never? It was amazing to see how flexible it all could be, as we are usually trained to Respect The Tackle and Do Not Hurt It. So to see these guys doing this stuff that I honestly never thought was possible, at least not without great injury and writhing pain, was vastly enlightening.

Though they did say "Do Not Try This AT Home, and Ladies, You Especially Don't Just go Doing Dick Tricks On Your Man Without Prior Authorization".

Afterwards, of course, we were hungry, and so went to the most appropriate place to go to after a show such as that: The Hard Cock, oh, sorry, Rock, Cafe.

snow, buns and travel

It's getting cold outside. Winter is now here, finally. Earlier this week I ventured out in a skirt with no tights and a t-shirt and sweater, it was quite warm. Now the cold is coming back and according to the news, it's gonna be a doozy. Rrrgg.....

Last fall I gave away my two warmest coats because I thought we were going to move to Dubai. Occasionally, as now, I sort of regret doing that. But I still have my puffy full length parka that I call The Duvet. So not sexy, but I could sleep outside in it and be fine.

In other news, color me confused. I think I have mentioned my addiction to boller. Oh yummy, yummy yeasty goodness sweet buns. They come in two forms, with and without raisins. I prefer without. The ones with raisins always make me feel like there is a bug in my bun, y'know? All brown and lurking.....

So this morning, giving in to the craving (I have gone a week now without a boller, and it's been DAMNED hard, let me tell you) I went to get me a bun, and they only had the ones with raisins. Fine, fine, but when I asked if they had any without raisins, they said they were 'out of them' until tomorrow. Out of the ones without raisins? Until tomorrow? And yet they still make the ones with?

Um, can't they just make up a batch of the dough, but not put raisins in and poof they have boller without raisins? Does this seem strange to anyone else? How can they be out, when it is simpler to make the damn buns without the raisins anyhow? Of course, to suggest that to the baker, you get a look that says, "But these come with raisins. I don't have any without." I felt like I was talking to that guy in Spinal Tap who insisted his amp "Goes to 11".

Plus, I always notice that the ones without raisins sell much faster, yet they always make more with. What the hell is up with that?

Dammit, this annoys me. I make space in my day to indulge (after a week) my craving and I am thwarted by a dunder headed baker who can't just leave the raisins out?

And it still snows.....

I have had some folks ask me about upcoming travel. I mean, it HAS been a month or more since I've been anywhere, last trip was to Tallin at New Year's.

Obviously, January was a travel free month, bummer.

But, coming up, I've got three trips planned. These are all places I have been before, but two of them I have never been to with Rich, so that will be new.

We'll go to Paris for a late Valentine's day trip. I've never been to Paris with someone I could actually, um, make out with, so that will hopefully make it even more interesting than my other trips. Not, of course, that I did not enjoy those, just that now I have someone to mack on.

Rich will have to go to the US for some family stuff in March, so I will take a long weekend in London while he's gone. I've been needing some things from Boots and definitely need a pub visit, or three.

Then not long after that, we will go to Istanbul. I really think Rich will like it, alot, and I feel like I have unfinished business there and that there is so much more to see.

We also looked at Barcelona for a trip, as neither of us has been to Spain, but Oh. My. God. the hotels were so expensive.....so that might have to wait a little, like, after Easter when prices drop a bit. It's expensive to travel around Easter, a big holiday in Europe. Everyone leaves.

Photo gallery

The Me/ Not Me photo gallery Badger came up with. DAMN this is alot of work! I've spent more time on this post than any other i have done....Well, they do say a picture's worth 1000 words.
___________________________________________________________________

Me.

Not me.

Me.

Not me.

Me.

Not me.

Me.

Not me.

Me. Oh yeah, me me me!

Not me. Oh so not me.

Me.

Not me.

Me.

Not me.

Me.

Not me.

Me...wheee!

Not me.

Me.

Not me.

Me.

And me.

Not me.

Me.

Not me.

Me.

Not me.

Whew!

spam bastards

The fucking blog spammers have found my comments and are attempting to spam me into oblivion. I just spent 10 minutes removing spam comments.

I have thus replaced the moderating for the near future. I also have posted an IP block, so maybe that will help as well. So far the spamming is mainly from just two IP's.

Sorry for the inconvenience, but in order to keep this a spam free zone I have to act.

At least Haloscan doesn't use that word verification thing. I hate those....

In which this week finally kicks my ass

Fuck. (I mistyped that us "Fuick" which oddly pleases me, like a Buick gone bad.)

This will not be a penis weekend.

My friend that I was going with is sick and she cancelled on me. And I really didn't have the balls (haha) to go alone. I'm not mad at her, I understand being sick, but I was bummed because i was REALLY looking forward to tonight. It's been a shit week.

Fuick.

The theatre was nice enough to let me exchange the tickets for another night next week. This could be because I called them practically in tears, all "I can't see the penises tonight and I am so DEPRESSED and it's been HORRIBLE week and PLEASE can I exchange them?" Luckily it was a woman who was the ticket agent and she understood my penis angst, so she kindly said that if I got my unhappy ass over to the theatre ASAP she would exchange them for me. As it was almost end of work day and I had pretty much cleared up my stuff at work, I hotfooted it over there and she exchanged them for me, I even got better seats! It was all women working there, and I joked around with them and told them that I had been looking forward to the penises all week, and was even wearing my penis viewing outfit. That got a good hearty laugh out of them.

If you are curious what a penis viewing outfit is, in MY case (I am sure this varies from person to person) it was a black sweater dress with a deep v-neck, under which I wore a black slip with lace at the top. This was all worn over black tights with knee high black pirate boots. Over all this went my embroidered black Cavalli coat with the Persian lamb edging all over collar, cuffs and hem, tightly belted, Russian style. I looked, on hindsight, a bit like a really high class, yet modest Russian hooker. Appropriate for the viewing of penis puppets, no? Well, no, as I don't get to see them tonight.

Crappy crappy week. I need beer.

Penis weekend!!!!

This is Penis weekend!
Woo!

Puppetry of the Penis is this weekend! Woo!

Honestly, though, those are probably (and hopefully, as I tend not to enjoy Random Penis Encounters)(ew) the only penises I will actually encounter, but still, how many times do you get to say that you are gonna have a penis weekend?

Well..unless you are a guy, and you HAVE a penis. Then I guess you have penis weekends every weekend, don't you.

Hmm.

I need to rethink.

Pretend like I didn't post this, ok?