Friday, March 30, 2007

Happy "Cyber Bullies Suck!" Day!

So for those of you who haven't heard (and therefore apparently ONLY read my blog. Which makes you special, special, oh so special...) there was much drama this week regarding people using the pure artform of the blog for purposes only evil. You can find one person's take on the whole thing here, and someone else's take here (and by putting "cyber bully" into your favorite search engine I'm sure you'll find a skillion more...)

When I read the first post above, written by a woman who felt very seriously that she'd had death threats made towards her and was pretty freaked, I had two reactions. One was that it sucked (also called the "duh!" response) and the other was that she was overreacting a little. As many, many people who have commented on this since it first hit the news have said, bullying is nothing new, "death threat" might be a bit of a stretch (though I do think the threat is in the definition of the victim -- you feel threatened, you were threatened. Period.) and the last thing folks like these bullies should get is massive attention for being, frankly (warning: curse words coming!) big, cowardly, pathetic shit-sticks.

But this ball got rolling with much momentum and nary a bit of moss, until another blogger declared today officially "Stop Cyberbullying Day!" (OK, Hallmark, where are my greeting cards, my official baby onesie, my "I heart Stop Cyberbullying Day" coffee mug?) Now on the one hand how could you speak out against such a thing? Really, find me the guy who will write a blog post called "Cyberbullying is Rad and everybody should do it. Also later I'll be kicking a puppy." But I also try not to leap upon wagons full of bands. So I want to find the thing to say here that speaks from my special place. (the heart, damn it, the heart! shame on you...)

The folks who were accused of making death threats claim that they are getting backlash from Kathy Sierra because they were criticizing her books. I mean they say this specifically. If you read the comments after her posting there's a guy going by the name "Joey" who keeps defending himself by saying "Hey, what I said was taken out of context. I was just negatively critiquing her book!" It's true that I never saw the original postings being referenced, but I just can't for the life of me figure out how the sentence (and he's verified that this is what he wrote) "the only thing Kathy has to offer me is that noose in her neck size." could ever be classified as a book critique. Mention the book, mention her writing or even mention books in GENERAL and you might have my attention. But this, my friend, is a cruel comment at BEST and serves absolutely no purpose other then to hurt. Even Ebert would tell you that critics are not out there to hurt people.

So if you ARE out there to hurt people what does that make you? (watch carefully -- we're about to come full circle) A BULLY. So regardless of what else comes down the pipe on this I will forever remain convinced that Kathy Sierra was bullied by some bad folks.

Now, let's talk about the people. Why does someone bully? I have some theories on that. I think a bully tends to be someone who is a) weak, b) pathetic, c) powerless in any way that matters and d) angry. And the reasons that they bully? To get a) attention, b) attention, c) look at me, look at me, I do TOO matter! and/or d) did I mention attention? So I'm very sorry that the end result of all of this is that the completely worthless people who purpetrated the original offense can now consider themselves minor celebrities in the blogging world.

I have a different idea for how to combat this in the future: make damn sure they get NO attention. Delete the comments, never, ever, EVER visit any sites they populate and generally treat them like the impossibly lame wastes that they are. I think Kathy Sierra, and anyone else who is ever attacked like that, should do what they think is right, but I would hope that this is the last full-scale dedication of time that these guys ever get. Because in the end it's all they ever really wanted.

Last thing: Someone out there who may now or someday read this has got to be saying to themselves "oh sure, easy for you to say. You blog anonymously. Even if someone were to ever threaten you it's not like you should fear for your life, because they probably don't know who you are, so you're safe." And you'd be right. And I'd think it too if I were reading this. I don't blog secretly for reasons of safety, and I think my friends who DO know about this blog would back that up. If anything, I'm known for leaping into danger in truly comic book fashion and worrying about the consequences much, much later. But I will say this:

If ever I felt that my blogging in secret was giving power or comfort to low-life's such as these I'd come clean in a heartbeat. I can't think of a better reason to come out of the secret blogger closet then to say to the bullies, cyber or otherwise, of the world: You don't matter. You're worth nothing and nobody should give you a second thought.

Because if you did matter to anyone or anything you wouldn't have to prove your worth by hurting others. Grow up or go away.

Sorry that this is so drama-y. Bullies are kind of a hot button for me; flashback to me as the drama geek from highschool, dragging my drowning buddy from the school pool. I promise this will return to being lite and airy by the next post. (If you haven't voted on what you'd like me to add to my "about me" check the previous post.) But I guess I felt like moments like these may be another reason I respect the blogosphere. If the world builds you a magical tool that gives you an instant voice you have to use it when it counts. Consider me counting!!

Wait, you mean I have to KEEP working on this?

Warning: probably off-mission?

So I'm reading one of the other blogs that I read (because I read somewhere a good way to get folks to read your blogs is to read and comment on their blogs and so I read other blogs in the hope that they'll blog about something on which I can comment, thereby dazzling them with my razor wit and luring them here. And if you're someone I've lured, WELCOME! Now, where was I? Oh yeah, reading one of the other blogs that I read...) and it was asking all of these questions about what folks like in a blog. Most of them washed over me like a light rain that I don't have an opinion on.

But she asked if folks like "About Me" sections, and even more specifically if they like "100 things lists." And me, I did what only made sense to do in response. I went "whatever..." and ignored the idea, until I foolishly took a peek at the replies that she got and everyone was all "I love About Me!!" and "I even MORE Love the list thingie that we all know about and that only total goobers would be unfamiliar with!!!"

Well crap.

When I set this thing up the focus was two-fold:

1) Will this even FLY?
2) How to do this when I'm being super-secret?

But over the last (doing the math in my head, talk amongst yourselves...) Holy Crap, 6 months? Over the last 6 months things have evolved to the point that I THINK I could come up with a list of 100 or so things about me that won't cross the "secrety goodness" line. But that's where you guys come into play. Is there anything that folks specifically want to know about the force of foolish nature that is Femtastic?

I mean obviously I'm not telling who, where or what I am. (what I am? what the hell would that mean I wonder?) But things like "favorite ice cream flavor?" (Peppermint Stick is SEASONAL???) or "best place you ever danced drunk?" (don't know what the place was called anymore, but had the best Jaegermeister smoothies and the coolest bathroom floor I'd ever felt!) I'll work on this over the weekend, so send me your preferences, questions, curiosities, etc., and I'll add them to the list whenever possible. Thanks folks!

Thursday, March 29, 2007

Shows what I know!

No, I haven't forgotten about all of you out there with your very special guesses. How many guys rejected my wink? I know you've been waiting for the other shoe to drop, and I'm sorry that I've been... what, holding up the other shoe? Is that the right phrase? Anyway, I'm sorry I left that hanging for so long. But hey, how 'bout that suspense, eh? Gripping!

OK, so when last we saw our heroine (pssst -- that's me!) she'd jumped in with both fee- er eyelids... eyelids?... she'd jumped in and did a whole pile of winking. Seriously, I winked so much my eyelids cramped up. (note: both eyelids cramped, for I can wink with either eye. And yes, I added that to my profile.) So, how many rejected?

Get this: NONE! Not a single dude hit the "I don't THINK so" button. (I'm not actually sure there's such a button, but there's probably something like it. Maybe a "it's not you, it's me" button?) I will totally admit that I'm surprised. I really saw some other kind of result from all the winky-winking and here I stand all corrected. (and yes, you're correct that I'm not standing. But "I sit corrected" just sounds weird.)

Of course they haven't responded back either. And what the hell is that? I mean, what kind of a person would not reply to another person's wink? What kind of heartless, thoughtless, Lame-a-licious person would let a wink go un-counter-winked?


So I have all these winks just sitting out there, twiddling their wink-thumbs and trying not to feel akward. I wish I could send them a reassuring email. "Dear my wink," it would start, "I know it can feel very strange being a wink out there, alone in the world. Never forget that you were winked with the best of intentions and if some guy out there doesn't appreciate you as the clever, sassy wink that you are, well it's just their loss!" And then a warm, winky hug.

And, as ever, once I hear back from someone I'll be sure to let you guys all know.

Tuesday, March 27, 2007

Better to have loved and lost, supposedly...

So every once in a while I see a meme that is intriguing, but I can't really bend it to fit the mission, and we all know the mission is SO important, right? Also I figure if I can make it fit the mission I can avoid feeling goofy about doing a meme, because I still judge me for them. Even when they're tasty. They're like the blog equivalent of a Hostess Cup Cake. And I LOVE Hostess Cup Cakes!

Anyway, I find them and I send them to my friend Risky who 1) loves lists. She does, and she'll be the first to tell you so (in fact, I'll bet she could make you an awesome list of reasons why she loves lists), and 2) rocks the memes. They're really made for her and her bloggy-ness. But sometimes I get to do them too, and this is one of those times.

The original meme was "Seven Songs I’m Listening To At The Moment." That's cool enough, but doesn't match the mission. HOWEVER, I recently completed a mix to share at our Ladies Day which I called "Love Goes BOOM." It's a collection (volume 1 of many, I fear) of un-love songs. Songs about bad love, love gone bad, "you don't love me anymore and therefore you suck" songs, and things like that.

So for this blog the meme has been modified:

Seven Non-Love Songs I’m Listening To At The Moment -- the Unlikely In Love Soundtrack:
I will Survive, by Cake. (the original song is a classic, but too dated for my mix. So imagine my joy when I found this cover out there! If you've not heard it you must, must, must...)
2) Song for the Dumped, by Ben Folds Five. (there are few break-up songs that capture the true feeling of that event like this one, covering the most important parts: pay me the money you owe me and give me back my black T-shirt, bitch!)
3) You're Breaking My Heart, by Harry Nilsson. (It's an amazingly upbeat song for one with the chorus "You're breaking my heart, you're tearing it apart, so F*ck You!" A real pick-me-upper! Plus you get to see people scramble for the volume knob when they play it for the first time...)
4) The Apology, by Maia Sharp. (First a plug: if you don't know her music you must seek it out. She ROCKS. And this song was one of the first I ever loved of hers. It's from the perspective of a woman who knows her man is stepping out, so if you've ever been two-timed this is your tune, ladies.)
5) Gravel, by Ani DiFranco. (For everyone who's ever loved and hated someone simultaneously. Sure, we're crazy for doing it! But at least someone out there has put our crazy to music.)
6) Nothin' on Me, by Shawn Colvin. (I love this song for it's eternal "you can't touch me!" vibe. It's a great song for when you're coming out the other side of craptastic love.)
7) Love Stinks, by J. Geils Band. (Seriously, did any of you think I'd miss this one? My ANTHEM? I'm seriously considering ending every volume of Love Goes BOOM! with this song.)

Now that you've got the start of your anti-love soundtracks, share with me the other songs I absolutely have to use in subsequent volumes. Because I must tell you, as I was making this CD I had the constent, nagging feeling that there were a ton of songs that I was just plain missing. (also if anyone would like the entire song list (all 20 tunes) from Love Goes BOOM, Vol. 1, just email me and I'll send it along.)

Monday, March 26, 2007

I'm winking, I'm winking!

So Saturday night I'm hanging w/ The Queen and Princess Stinkbutt, and Queen asks (all nonchelantly) "So whatever happened with that guy that winked at you? You know, after you winked back?"

And I, also nonchelantly, tried my best to crawl all the way into her couch rather than admit the truth, which is ever-so-sadly this: I forgot to go and wink back.

I just forgot! I'd decided to wink back, based on all the good advice I got here, and I was all go for winking, I promise. But as Queen oh-so-eloquently put it, I'm just not properly motivated. Or at least I wasn't by Quasinatra. And I honestly and for truly just forgot.

How did I remember that I'd forgotten? Well I went to last week and decided I was gonna go on a winking spree! A Pepsi-fueled, throw-sanity-to-the-wind winking fit! I winked at no less then 5 different guys, and discovered some extra limitations I'd not realized I had. For instance:
  • No picture? I probably won't wink. No picture and you describe yourself as "bald"? I definitely won't wink. It's not that I'm anti-bald, because people, there are some FOINE bald dudes out there! (Hello, John Locke? Hello Cap'n Piccard? Anyone? Anyone? I'm just sayin'!) But if I can't see how you're rockin' the bald then I'm not that brave.
  • You have children? I'm not opposed to that. You have 3 kids, and they all live at home? Hmm, well it's still possible but I admit I'm nervous. Your headline is (I kid you not) "Looking for a new mother for 3 great kids"? Have you considered the "new mom" aisle at Wal-Mart? Oh crazy, crazy, CRAZY man?
  • Know what? There is no level of handsome that will get me to drive 2 hours for a date. 20-30 minutes maybe, if I'm properly motivated, but I'm not blowing a tank of gas and a quarter my waking day just getting to some guy.
But beyond little red flags such as these (or mostly just these) I was a winky-winkin' fool, baby! I heard the voices with their words of doubt (did he really say he was an American guy looking for an American girl? Oh come on, that guy's posing in front of a fake sunset. Iguana! That clearly says "pet iguana"!) but I listened to them not a bit. I was winkin' to the left, winkin' to the right...

But here's the secret truth: I honestly looked at this as my chance to prove a deeply held belief, which was that this is all a massive waste of time and energy. This winkapalooza all started with this thought: any guy that I would ever even consider winking at will reject me. Guaranteed.

You may see this as a sad thought. For me, once I coaxed the idea out from behind that mental bush and took a good, hard look at it, it was extremely freeing! I don't have to worry about who I make contact with, because it's never gonna go anywhere. So wink away, baby! Wink until it develops into a real-life tick! Wink like you're goddang James Bond, license to wink! WINK LIKE YOU'VE NEVER WINKED IN YOUR WINKIN' LIFE!

So I did.

This was (mostly) done 5 days ago, and now you must guess how many guys have rejected the wink from this initial winksplosion. How many do you think? Put your money where..., no wait, I mean put your mouth where... no, that's gonna go naughty. Just guess.

Friday, March 23, 2007

And I thought I'd thought this all through...

I had the day off from work today because, well, I bead. (I could go into more detail, but that will have to wait until I start my second blog, all about my arts and crafts, where people get to experience my trials and tribulations of hematite vs. aventurine. But for now what you get is "I bead.")

Anyway, I'm walking down an average street and as I approach the corner I see there's someone already there. A total stranger, right? OK, so I keep walking and the stranger smiles at me. And he waves at me. And he says "hi." to me. This dude I've already placed into the "total stranger" box.

So my brain, in the background, starts doing that inventory check that a brain does when faced with unexpected input, such as "hmm, a total stranger just greeted me warmly." Brain says "well, maybe he isn't a total stranger? Let's check the database for his face. Where would we have made light contact w/ someone so as to be recognized by this stranger..."

"could he be a client from work?" No. My bosses do work for folks who could conceivably be or become millionaires. This guy was NO millionaire. Not a work connection.

"someone I would have met at the school play for my sister's kids last night?" No. This was not a suburban parental, or even grandparental, figure. This guy would be better described as "lapsed hippy with delusions of the day" complete with leather vest, jeans, dingo boots and wavy grey hair down to his (possibly tattoo'd) rear. Ooh yeah, also a goutee (sp?) just as long and grey, and the John Lennon glasses and the optional front tooth. Not from the school play.

"maybe he's seen you on"

...what? No, seriously, what!? Do you remember him from Because I don't! Don't be messing with me, brain! And it was at this point that the brain explained to me something that it apparently already realized.

See, there are a good percentage (let's call them 47%) of dudes on who don't share their picture. They're all "want to know what I look like? Email me!" which reminds me way too much of the places where they don't have price tags because they know that if you saw the price you'd just walk away, but if they have to TELL you the price they get the chance to make the argument that the number is totally reasonable as opposed to "take it up the rear-high." In these stores if I see no price I walk away. On if I see no picture I figure I, too, cannot afford this guy.

But just because I can't see these guys doesn't mean they can't see me. I have a picture up there! I've posted my price tag for all the ( world to see! And suddenly I'm standing on an average street corner next to this old hippy dude with less-then-optimal toothery and the strong odor of patchouli (trust me, it's nasty) and the sudden realization that he may know stuff about me! That I could, at ANY time, bump into a random stranger who could turn and say "hey, you're 37 years old and have never been married and enjoy dancing and paintball." And I'd have to kill them. Right there.

I'd already had a moment where I thought I might have seen a guy from standing in a grocery store line. I'd already processed the "hey, I could run into someone from Yenta out in the world" idea. But it seemed like it would be fair; like we'd both give that look and maybe do the finger-by-the-nose thing from The Sting, wordlessly saying "I know where I know you from. We say nothing, but nod knowingly." I had NOT reached that next plateau of idea where in I get ambushed by some non-picture-posting asshat with my damn bio in his back pocket!

I guess what I'm saying here is this: I'm never leaving the house again. I'm going to start ordering my groceries online and shun the outside world. Because the alternative is that the next total stranger that waves at me I gutt like a damn fish.

Thursday, March 22, 2007

I Call Shenanigans!

I'm sorry, maybe I'm bitter or I'm projecting my personal drawbacks on the rest of the world, but I refuse to accept that this many people exercise 3-5 times each week! It's just not realistic. It's not believable!

And YET that seems to be true of practically every single guy on

Excercise? "3-5 times a week"

Diet? "Keep it healthy"

Body Type? "Slender. Athletic. Chiselled and also God-like. Want to lick me? Go ahead, lick me. I taste like strawberries!"

So then just I have to ask: are they lying? OR are they terrible, puppy-kicking, non-rewinding people? Because if they WERE all those things they claim to be -- "kind, funny, smart, generous, gives to the poor, sings with woodland critters, this close to finding a cure for cancer" -- WHY WOULD THEY HAVE TO BE DESPERATELY SEARCHING FOR LOVE? ONLINE? It just doesn't add up. (and I recently got a big old A in a college math course, so I'm uniquely confident in my math skills.)

I know this because I know some good guys. And all of the good guys that I know are involved; just about all are, in fact, officially married. We women, as a gender, don't tend to let the good ones stay available for too long. Quality men are just like simple yet comfortable black pumps on clearance -- practically impossible and therefore immediately snatched up!

So I could believe that there would be some gems out there, but according to there is a great big pile of perfect, fabulous, drop-dead gorgeous guys out there just desperately trying to get a date.

Oh, and also later there will be terrible flocks of monkeys come flying out of my butt. It's gonna be awesome.

Tuesday, March 20, 2007

a proper excuse for all this madness

I know it's been pretty list-o-rific around here lately, and I apologize for that. Here are all the ways that I'm sorry about the abundance of lists:

1) I'm just regular sorry, like when you scuff someones fancy shoes.
2) I'm more sorry because I really want you guys to like me, so imagine there's now the offer to buy you new, non-scuffed shoes? That much sorry.
3) You guys see where I'm going with this by now, right? I can stop the joke?

Anyway, the following might end up being off-mission, but I'm not sure that will be clear to me until I'm done. It's a meme that was sent out to the universe, but since I am the CENTER of the universe it automatically means that I have-to, have-to, have-to do it. Apologies to all, but I do think this one has a little depth. (at least the questions. The answers are coming from me, so we're talking bottom-of-the-bathtub-20-min.-after-your-shower deep for answers.)

The Top 5 Reasons Why I Blog:

1) Hi, my name is Femtastic and I suffer from Acute Verbosiaphya-a-a-a. This is a very little known (some would say practically imaginary) syndrome where in your mind over-produces words. Words, words, words. Oh the words! They build up as un-used phrases and sentences and paragraphs, subsequently blocking your ability to then produce sentences when needed. Imagine the heartbreak of being asked if you want fries with that, and when you open your mouth you find yourself describing your personal feelings on the resurgence of velour in our nation's department stores. FOR TWENTY MINUTES!! There is no cure right now for Acute Verbociaphya-a-a-a, but a successful treatment for me appears to be to type out these words in a public area and send them out for the universe to digest. This blog, my friends, is treatment. Therapy. An alternative to Thorazine. Pitty on the drive-thru guy.

2) Structure, thy name is blog! I have been thinking more and more that writing could be the key to my finally finding a career which does not make me hate every weekday, but before I could even think of such a thing I need to prove to myself that I can set goals and hit them. So my big goal for this blog is to try to post, on average, once every couple of days. Does this mean I actually do post every other day? Let me introduce you to my friend the weekend! (in other words, "No, but I have real good excuses!") But if by the end of March I've got 15-16 posts for the month I'll consider myself doing real good.

3) Building a community. Or something like that. (and hey, the membership roster for the Secret Bloggers Society is still wide open, people!) Honestly, an unforseen bonus to this process has been how exciting it is to me each time someone new starts coming through. (Courtney, you are so very pretty and vivacious! Never stop being you!) If I didn't start blogging for that reason it's sure one of the reasons I keep going.

4) To meet dudes! (actually if I meet dudes through this avenue it will mean two things: 1. I'm doing this totally wrong AND 2. that is the only dude that might actually be up for the challenge!) But the blog did provide me the excuse/reason/inspiration to at least try the online dating thing. Regardless of whether I make any significant connections online I can say I did it, I can say I know what all it entails and I can know if I should ever want to try it again. (or if I'd rather eat a yummy glass casserole -- or "glasserole" -- instead!)

5) Humiliation with a catharsis chaser. The cocktail of today. It helps to have somewhere to go to vent when my good friend, the Universe, feeds me a mouthful of foot (kicks me in the teeth, for anyone who is lost by my "masterful" imagery). Rejected by a guy? Write it out! Rejected by another guy? Write it out! Rejected by a whole bunch of guys? (it's coming, it's coming!) This helps me to check my response to it all and make sure I'm taking it just as seriously as I should, which would be not even a tiny bit at all, at all, at all!

So that, my loving and generous readers (and you know who you are), are the reasons why I will sit down at my computer at 12:45am on a Sunday and spend 40 minutes typilly vomitting my brain-stuff into these little forms. Because if I don't, I'll be alone, bitter and unstructured, sitting on the floor in the corner babbling. More then I already do.

And yeah, this is off-mission. Sorry about the scuffed shoes.

With Chicas like these who needs Senors?

(Do you like my south-of-the-border flair? Gracias!)
You know how sometimes you have some event or thing that you're looking forward to? And it's going to be SUPER-coolness, and you look forward to it so much that all the time between planning it and actually doing it goes by S-O-O-O-P-E-R S-L-O-O-O-W-L-Y-Y-Y-Y...? And then finally the thing comes or happens and after all of that it turns out to be only ok? Maybe not even ok?


This weekend was the first official "Ladies Day" of 2007. These happen just about quarterly, and on these days I get together with The Queen and Risky and we do something bigly fun and sometimes very girly, while their associated men-folk watch the kids and just generally prove what very good catches they are. This weekend it was the classic "movie and lunch," which we all know men hate. They hate movies, especially gripping thrillers about American spies and the hot young studs that catch them. (The Breach -- I give it 3 boobies up out of 4. It's my own rating system. Don't ask where the extra boobies come from -- you're better off not knowing.)

They also hate lunch. Check it out -- guys hate lunch. They're much more about breakfast. I sat there, enjoying my big old cheeseburger, onion rings and Pepsi, thinking how much the guys would have hated such a meal. Poor, poor boys.

OK, so the actual day wasn't an earth-shakingly creative plan. But that's not really the point from Ladies Day. The POINT (and I'm really just doing this part for any guys that someday wander past this, looking for a blog on car parts or the WWF) is to have a thing to hang hours of chatting and talking and verbalizing and laughing and "oh my god, you snorted!"-ing off of. you can sit and do such stuff for a really long time, as long as there are at least 2 onion rings still sitting on your plate.

Risky always has the best stories about what it's like to be the only alternative lifestyle sign language interpreter at an otherwise extremely conservative, straight-laced, practically bible-icious highschool. The Queen updates us on the latest in her current pregnancy -- " days since I had to throw up!" and then we all cross our fingers and do the anti-urp prayer together. But it doesn't even matter what we're talking about.

I just think about it this way: if I were on a date right now I'd be much more uncomfortable. Maybe someday I'd feel a bond with this guy (or some other guy) one tenth of that I have with these women. But if I have to pick the way to spend my time? I'd pick m
ovie and a meal with The Ladies over a date with the hottest guy every time!
(Note: this is an easy statement to make given the lack of guys, hot or otherwise. I will not be held to this pledge should such an actual conflict ever rise!)

Monday, March 19, 2007

Now with extra Awesome!

OK, so my profile is bringing the er..., scores of... it's really attracting...

...what's a cool way of saying "bupkus"? Anyway, you get the idea. So I was trying to figure out what to do, and over the weekend I discovered many excellent things I can add to my profile to totally bring in the dudes. Observe:

1) This girl, she got the moooooves! Oh yes, oh yes yes, I can move it-move it! The dancing on Friday, which was supposed to provide me with the tons of hy-larious and his-terical story fodder, ended up being Aw! Some! I still had many of my patented "Rock It, Baby!" Femtastic moves in the old hip pocket and I had people checking me out and coming up to me and everything! I'm choosing not to focus on the fact that the hip with the pocket full of moves was the same one I broke while boogying, or that the ones checking me out were of undeterminate gender (pretty sure they were O-shaped lesbians, but could also have been buxom dudes) OR that the one who came over to see me was the waiter! NOT the point. The point? It is that I gots me some moves!!

2) I'm really good at sports, from Tennis to Bowling, or also Pool, and especially Boxing! I've carried on some epic, thrilling tennis matches in the last 24 hours, as well as completely crushing a good friend of mine at pool. But my greatest triumph was the super-fast K.O. -- yes, that totally stands for KNOCK OUT, my peoples! -- in my first boxing match of the day! Now, is it important for me to mention that all of these sporting and gaming events took place in The King and Queen's living room? Or that they were all accomplished via high-tech high-techary? I think not. After all, I can't play baseball in real life, I can't play baseball on Wii, so I'm sure the other skills are also completely authentic. (my god, do you see the amazing color of the sky here in the land where I live? So plaidy!)

3) I'm totally going to be the next Annie Liebovitz or George Lange. I got me mad photeo-ographying skills, boyee, and can totally rock the picture-takery all up in yo' grills! Now all I need are cool business cards. (Also a celebrity clientele, a portfolio of amazing pictures, a never-ending supply of creativity and some of those fancy flashes with their own umbrellas. But I'm pretty sure that those come with the business cards.) If you don't believe me, check out Snapstastic all this week, because it will be featuring some of my fine handywork, not to mention the ridiculously photogenic families of both Risky and The Queen. (With people this stupidly attractive the trick is just get them centered in the shot and get out of their way. Everything after that is photo-gold!)

4) I'll make a fabulous mother. I know this because I didn't kill Mr. Man all weekend. Even with the waking me at 5am both weekend mornings and the chasing expensive beads all over the beading table and the whacking me in the EYE with his CLAWS one morning when I bent over to LOVE him. And right now when he's sitting in front of the monitor, chasing the cursor, making a craptastic window. And yet he still lives. So clearly I have the patience of Job. (although right now I think it has more to do with the fact that my right arm is all but dead after all the mad Wii-ing. Wii-ness. Wii-ery? Yeah, the people at Nintendo better figure that verb out quick...) once I add these huge bonus points to my profile I'll be beating them off. WITH A STICK! You people are disgusting! (one of the things I love about you most...)

Friday, March 16, 2007

Double-checking just how old I am

So my co-worker, Beautiful Dreamer? Her current dude is very pro-dancing. And officially so am I, by the way. But somehow the dancing thing is traumatic for her, either because she hasn't really done it enough to be all cool, or because she can't get over the dancing = sex thing. And somehow that has resulted in me taking her out in order to experience "going dancing" tonight.

All of which just seems like proof that I gotta stop coming to work drunk. Bad things happen.

Anyway, in my youth I went dancing many times a week. There was a time, in fact, where there were more nights that I did go dancing then didn't. Because here was the deal:

-I was jobless
-I was cash-less
-I was pear-shaped. A BIG pear. Like Bartlett or d'anjou, ya know?
-I was hanging out with college students who's only requirement for the following morning was "decide how many classes to skip in preference of sleep." (answer? ALL of them, of course!)
-Our Bar? Free on weeknights
-Our Bar's water? Also free on weeknights

So Monday through Thursday we always had that option of heading to Our Bar to spend the entire night dancing and drinking free water. An option we often chose, because Hello? Free dancing, free water, we had no cable at home... how was there any OTHER option? Plus for me, as the only virgin in the group (in the bar, in the city, in the state, what-up, region?, check me out, nation! Hello, World!!) this was as close to the nasty as I got.

Also I enjoyed the nightly ritual I called "hey, do you know her/him?" It went like this (yes, another list. Suck it up):

-cute guy/girl comes up to me and smiles, and I smile back and get all excited and flattered -- "cuteness smiling at me? What the-?"
-cute guy/girl comes in close (to be heard over the music) and whispers in my ear (thereby giving me the neck shivers) "hey, do you know her/him?", gesturing to one of my hot friends. Hot friends that yes, I do, in fact, know.
-I nod yes, and cute guy/girl gives me a matchbook, napkin, scrap of paper with their phone number on it to give to my hot friend.
-I promise to pass it on, and once they're gone I set fire to it in the little table ashtray. And I do the evil laugh. And I smile and nod to my hot friend, because they don't know the rule of hotness: you can be hot as you want, baby, but I control the digits! (seriously, is there anyone who's not hearing the evil laugh now?)

So here I am ostensibly dabbling in the dating world (once I decide which of the many, many e-dudes who are wooing me that I should take pity on, because man am I one choice piece of property!) and I'll be showing a friend, who is already dating someone, all the ins and outs of "going dancing." I predict that I'll either be home and asleep by 11:30pm OR I'll come dragging my behind in at 2:30am w/ sore feet, sweaty armpits and pants full of digits. For Beautiful Dreamer.

A guess I'd better bring my lighter.

Tuesday, March 13, 2007

Trapped and cranky

OK, I must first acknowledge that this post is 100% off-mission. No mention of dudes or wove or online-hooking-up here, so I'd understand if folks skipped it. However I hope you'll take pity on me. See, I'm in a mood best described as "Pooperific" (although I think both "Grumble-tastic" and/or "potentially homicidal" might also apply) and I'm trapped here at my office desk job, or "rock the fake smile/use the phone voice/sport the uncomfy shoes-land." I can't unleash my inner tantrum here, so I'm hoping that the world out there might have some suggestions for how to "turn that frown upside down"? (and I'm really sorry that those words came out of my fingers.)

Here are the ideas that I've had so far:
  • Listening to the right music. See, I put on headphones and listen to music in one ear while I'm working, so the choice of my music is all mine. I went with Beatles, but it might be a bridge too far for them?
  • Stopping by websites with whimsy. So far I hit, and
  • Grover's Health Minute. 'nuff said. (there are many fabulous Sesame Street and Muppet Show clips on YouTube and the like, but this one was the cause of one of my worst giggle-fits ever. Ever.)
  • Indescriminately wiggling my butt when I think no one is looking
  • Descriminately wiggling my butt when I suspect folks are looking, because I'm all about sharing.
  • Kicking the chair of the receptionist when I walk through her space on the way to the cookies.
  • Eating cookies.

...but believe it or not, none of these things have worked. Not even the cookies, or the cookie-route-chair-kicking! (plus now the receptionist is ticked at me, which would be worth it if my mood had improved.) Help, help, help!

You know how I feel about going off-mission, so you know this is serious. I hope there are people out there with advise to offer. Consider it a community service!

Monday, March 12, 2007

Preparing Yourself for the Future

OK, so Indigo Luna posted today her feelings of dismay over the often-uncomfortable but always unavoidable "kids grades." (and, by the way, big bleachy from probably most of us!) Her dismay comes from the idea that grades get kids used to being judged based on the priorities, values or characteristics of others. Having to "measure up." Having other people tell you what you have to do, say or be in order to measure up. Yeah, that can suck.

But I also think of it this way: school is supposed to prepare you for the future. And in the future? People judge you. They weigh you, they measure you, they hold their own, personal yardstick up in front of you and decide if you pass muster. And there, like school, you don't get to decide what things should matter to them, what things are musterific.

For instance, say that nobody can hold a candle to you when it comes to the fine art of writing with your feet -- something that would be a prized skill in places, say, without hands -- but you're in handyville, a place overflowing with fingers and thumbs and the like. And here what they want is knitters, pearlers, those who are proficient in the cats cradle!

Or maybe you're the very bestest, bar-none, at alphabet burps. And not just the english alphabet, baby. Oh no, we're talking greek, chinese, ALL the various letters! But the job you're interviewing for? They want typing. They want phone skills. They want you to be on time. All the time! They want timeliness!!

Or maybe you're witty and dynamic and handy with a camera, not to mention un-shy and un-stoppable! But you're also thirty-(mufflednumbernoise), single, chubby, pushy and let's just call it "wordarific". And single. And single, single, single, and single. And the yardstick that the rest of the world uses to judge you doesn't have things like "dynamic" or "un-shy" on it, and things like "chubby" or "pushy" are there, but they're really low. (higher then "no hands" though -- keep it in perspective!) If I hadn't already learned how to handle the yardsticks of others this would be a big old surprise, people. But thanks to school, and to jobs, and to bars and the like? Bring it!!

Thursday, March 08, 2007

International Women's Day

So according to other a bunch of other blogs (who are far more on-top of all of the extra holidays out there) today is International Women's Day! I have no idea what the traditional methods are for celebrating this day -- take a foreign woman out to lunch, learn how to say "woman" in every language possible, use some sort of foreign tampon for the day -- but I decided to use today as an excuse to test a theory.

"What if," I thought to myself, "the mistake I'm making here is looking for the right man, when the right woman might be out there just waiting for me?"* So fresh an idea was this that I convinced myself that I'd do a search for a woman on and I'd find her sitting right there. Some fresh-faced beauty with the eyes and the face and the other things (nudge, nudge) and she'd be all single and smiley, as chicks are sometimes likely to be, and I'd be the ultimate V-8 guy -- head-thwacking with a "what the heck was I thinking?"

So I made one small adjustment to the search on I hit the button and was all a-tingle with "what ifs!"

Turns out that the types of dudes you find with my particular search parameters are very much like the types of dudettes you find. (with, of course, some significant differences that I hope-a-hope-a-hope I don't have to explain? Our Bodies, Our Selves -- pick up a copy, people!) Everyone's either younger then me (so I'm all old, eh?) or older then me (have I given up too soon?), they just about all of them have kids, they just about all of them are either in much better shape then I (so I'm all fat, eh? OK, that one I already knew...) or in much NOT better shape then I. But in all that there was nobody that spoke to me. No Mrs. Right. Here I sit, rightless again.

I admit that this was another crushing blow of reality on its own. When added to the other rejections I've received via (they came and went and I had nothing new to say about them so I didn't mention them here) I start to feel all sorts of blue. Where, I ask you, are my easy solutions? My quick fixes? My instant gratifications? The desire to give up sometimes gets pretty thick, y'all. (sorry, channeling Brittany for a sec.) Seriously (sorry for that too) I feel so much older then I am when I do this stuff, and I am so aware of what I look like and how loud and pushy and overwhelming and obnoxious I am when I have to worry about how others might perceive me. When I'm on my own I'm OK with me, but when I look at myself through the glasses of a perspective other I feel like rejecting me too! "Maybe," I think, "it's time to start looking for that terrorist bomb that's supposed to be more likely to blow me up."

And then I get this email from a chum who, though not that close to me, is very much like me:
"I don't know if Mom has passed the word onto you or not yet but I thought I would let you know that I've recently become engaged. He's a great guy. Lives and works in . Computer programmer. Funny and has a cute dog - Aussie Shepard. No details yet on when and where the wedding will be but we'll figure it out."

And the other thing she said to me, without her knowing it, was "don't give up hope quite yet."

So Happy International Women's Day, and Happy Wove, Thursday to one and all. Those who don't have it and could use the hope, and those who have it and have the hope to give.

*any heebies and/or jeebies experienced by anyone at this point is anyone's business but mine. Y'all will have to work that out for y'sef!

Tuesday, March 06, 2007


You don't know what I do for a living or for whom I do it. Part of the 'secret blogger' thing. But I can tell you that what I do puts me in contact periodically with people who:

a) live in other states, possibly very far away, and
b) have money. Much money. Oh hell, let's just say it: C-R-A-P-loads of money!

Normally this has nothing to do with me beyond remembering to dial an area code. And then today this dude, who happens to belong in both of the above clubs, started asking my co-worker about me. Seems he's smitten with my voice.

So this morning I'm "gosh, should I wink back at Frankie Modo?" and by the end of the day it's "Woohoo, a rich dude thinks I sound hot!" I guess it's true what they say- er, sing. What a difference a day makes.

And a rich dude w/ a thing for bossy phone voices.

Monday, March 05, 2007

You winkin' at me?

Hey, apparently I'm wink-worthy after all. (it's a phrase I just created and will be copywriting and selling it back to for all of their marketing needs. Admit it -- you want to be wink-worthy too. Who wouldn't?...)

This morning a fellow from winked at me, and so I did what you do. I took a counter-peek (which, remember, he can see that I did.) How can I say this... Let's just say that I sort of miss the pictureless

Actually it's not so bad. He's not Frank Sinatra (the young one with all the swooning, not the old one with the mafia homelife) but he's also not Quasi Modo -- he's pretty right-down-the-middle. (Franky Modo? (QuaSinatra?) Plus there are things that he says in his profile-deal that are interesting. Like-minded are we in some areas, like religion and movies and he claims a good sense of humor and a gregarious family. I find no red flags. He didn't check the "I enjoy smacking my woman around while listening to Opera" box (which is good, because I really don't dig Opera...)

He also doesn't do much for me. How you say - no ke-mis-tree?

So many would now say "Hey, beggars can't be choosers" and generally I'd agree that's true. But I am not a beggar here. Not to say that I could have my pick of any dude (because my rejection from Monty would certainly prove otherwise) but more to say that I'm not desperate to have a mate, ANY mate. I'm not coming from a place of "even someone I'm not that in to would be better then nobody at all."

After all, I've been with Nobody At All (or NAA) for many, many years. We've built what I think is a very solid relationship. We know eachother well, respect eachother's boundaries... I'm comfortable with Nobody. I know Nobody accepts me as me. I mean heck, I've been with Nobody At All longer then anyone else! Do I want to throw that away for someone I'm not so jazzed about? Should I or shouldn't I respond to Mr. Winky?

The big thing for me here is that ever-present question: What the heck did I sign up for this to do? (other then provide for the occasional post topic -- mission accomplished.) If I'm trying to "get out there" then it follows I should return the wink. (Or something) But is it also crappy to (for lack of a better phrase, and I can't tell you how much I wish there were a better phrase here because this one makes me sound all kinds of full of myself and I swear I'm not! I'm practically empty of myself, I really am!) "lead someone on" if I don't really think I'll be going for this?

Wow, who knew there would be so much soul searching in online dating?

I'm gonna think on this for another day. I'd love feedback. ('course I'd also love chocolate covered wishes carrying give-away money in their wishly fanny packs, so I'm cool w/ disappointment.)

Sunday, March 04, 2007

Femtastic vs. the Crazies, act 1

So I'm at the store. Actually I'm leaving the store -- I've got a full cart and an empty pocket, so mission all accomplishy. I've moved the cart contents into the car, and now I'm being a good shopping citizen and taking my cart back to the little cart corral. Yes, I am the one who does that. It's me. The truth is out.

To get to the cart corral I gotta walk around this big old SUV parked in the end slot. Now you guys know the end slot, right? It's recognizable by a few things. The location at the end of the row, the close proximity to the store, the big, yellow-lined area between the row and the store that says (in parking lot language) "don't park in this area because if you do then folks who turn around the row in their big, old cars will shave off your ass. Your car ass. So don't."

But on this day someone has parked in the end space, and this someone apparently doesn't understand parking lot language. This SUV is parked almost 2 feet into this "don't park here" area and, therefore, almost 2 feet away from the other side of the space. And I'm sorry, but I am fairly gobsmacked by the craptitude of the parking job. Enough so that I stare. As I walk around the car I stare at the parking job, the wheels, the encroachment into the "don't park here" space... I stare. I don't really think about it, but I stare. I get around to the corral at the nose of the SUV and push the cart in with the rest of it's herd, and I look up.

Right into the eyes of the driver of the SUV.

Apparently she's noticed my gobsmackery. She smiles at me, and I smile back. Sort of. I give her that crooked smile that says "so, that parking job: blind or drunk?" Because come on, it was a TERRIBLE parking job, and she was still in the car so she could take a minute and fix it right then. And I head back to my car.

That's when she starts screeching out her window.

"Oh my god, is it so very terrible?!?" she screams out her driver-side window, the other side from where I was parked. (this forces her to yell VERY loud so that I can hear her on the other side of her gynormous vehicle, not to mention over her eco-guilt.) "Did I kill someone? Is it that big of a problem, are you that bothered by it? Good god, I must be a terrible, terrible person I guess, huh?!?" and on and on and on.

At first I'm gonna ignore it, but I'm so amazed that she is still going by the time I get to my car, not to mention how righteous her indignation, that I just have to come face to face with this wailing wackadoo. I wander back around the ass of her (poorly parked) gas-guzzler and as I round the corner she (get this):

1) rolls up her window AND
2) locks her door.

LOCKS HER DOOR!!! Like I'm some 11-foot tall, musclebound hunchback covered in tattoos and fresh scars! It's so funny to me that by the time I reach her door I'm already laughing. I'm laughing and she's calling out "No, no, no, no, no..." and I'm laughing even more. In hindsight I should probably feel kind of bad because if she was scared enough to lock her door and start chanting I guess I shouldn't have laughed. Anyway, the next thing I make out from her is something about "I just can't believe that you would make a comment like that!" (oh, and she apparently showed fear by YELLING because her volume was unstoppable.)

"I didn't make any comment." I corrected her (still a little bit laughing -- she locked her door!) "The only one talking is you."

"I'm just amazed at your behavior!" she adds, and I'm FLOORED.

"I'm sorry," I stammer out, "you're amazed at my behavior?" She stops short when I say "I'm sorry" -- probably thinks I'm actually gonna apologize for something -- but when I get the question out she just nodds and verifies that I'm not confused. And so I honestly reply to her "Well that's the most hilarious thing I've ever heard of in my life. Seriously, just hilarious. Truly hysterical!" and that was the sentiment I kept repeating as I headed back to my little car. (And the laughing was pretty bad at this point.)

As I back out of my space what is crazy lady doing?

She's re-parking her car.

Now seriously, what dude could wrangle this force of absurd nature? What dude?

Thursday, March 01, 2007

I'm multi-faceted -- I can COPY people too!

Can you believe we (and when I say we I mean mostly me, but in that royal way) have been indulging in this silliness for over 5 months? Really! And so I decided to add something new to the process, by way of stealing from one of the great trail-blazers in blogging, You see, I check out her blog regularly and one of my favorite parts is the daily photograph. (I'm especially excited whenever the picture is of that most fabulous of puppies, Mr. Chuck!) And it occurred to me, what is the internet if not a fabulous source of ideas you can steal and use for your own?

So as of today, 3/1/07, I'm going to attempt to post a photograph every day. This is also a form of homage to a project started over at Indigo Luna called "Daily Devotions" (except that I'm not so artsy, but more snappy, shoot-from-the-hippy) and if I can keep it going I might even try to get creative with it eventually.

Plus today I will attempt to get back to that Wove, Thursday thing (I fell off the wagon, hurting my emotion-bone at the same time and haven't been able to return to it quite since) and I'll try to do both with one stone.

So folks, I bring you Snapstastic! And also, Happy Wove, Thursday everyone.