The Carpathian Lounge of Justice

This is not the life I ordered.

Thursday, August 31, 2006

My first use of an alias
Current mood: guilty

My aunt, the principal, was given a plethora of spa treatment gift certificates for her birthday. However, she hates people touching her, so I got the hook-up.

She's also very paranoid that the person who gave her the certificate will find out she didn't use it, so she made me use her name there, "just in case that lady calls and checks."

Anyhow, I'm now "Ann" for the duration of my treatment.

I am the worst liar ever. I knew I couldn't keep up the ruse of being a principal with two high-school aged children, so I tried to find the balance of me and ann in my fibby smalltalk.

The girl squeezing my blackheads and elbow massaging my shoulders seemed extra interested in why I was so tense;

"Are you a runner? Do you jog? Walk a lot?"

so I let out I was a bartender and am on my feet mostly.

Now she's all "ooh, where do you work? I'll come visit"

Then I'm all Fat Dickie from back in the day lying about losing his virginity. "Oh, my girlfriend, she's from Canada. You don't know her."

Quickly, it spiraled into that 80's Mormon commercial with the chick that steals her ballarina sister's necklace.

"I feeel so dark inside, feel like I want to cry. It's hard to live in a lie."

Sister: I took your necklace

Other Sister: Oh, it's ok (hug)

Or the other one they had, but I can't recall the visuals. I think it was a kid walking down a creepy hallway.

"When you tell one lie, it leads to another, then you tell two lies to cover each other, then you tell three lies, Oh brother, you're in trouble up to your ears.

The Church of Jesus Christ of Latterday Saints was the anti-lie brigade in the 80's.

It's a shame they can't be the anti-hot-18-year-old-boys-named-elder-coming-to-my-door-looking-to-convert-me brigade.

In conclusion,

If I ever return to said spa, I am now Ann, so don't blow my cover, assholes.


lassos and kayaks
Curent mood: complacent

Why did law enforcement abandon the lasso after its years of servitude in the wild west. It was at least as effective as a tazer for incapacitating ornery cowfolk packing six-shooters. I just feel, if you can immobilize a bucking bull whose nuts are being squeezed by knotted twine, you can catch a crackhead. If COPS in worcester had utilized this technology, maybe Menino wouldn't have run them out of town. You need to give the viewers what they want. I want to see lassos on Piedmont Street. Chop chop.

Kayaks are awesome because you never have to get out to pee, you can just go right in the kayak.

Lainey: You said that was the Gulf Stream Current!!

Monday, April 24, 2006

If you've never read this dude's manifesto on banging our smart, shiny, water mammal friends, enjoy.

Dolphin sex

I have never even seen a dolphin, let alone seen one close up in its natural environment with no one looking so I can feel its slit for approval and arousal. Who are these dolphin sex people? How are they getting all this dolphin private time? I want to bang multpile famous people. Can I use some of the tips? I feel like my odds of banging Dave Foley from the kids in the hall is on par with my odds of meeting and getting hit on by a dolphin.


Notebook Purge!!

I am the worst salesperson ever.

I couldn't sell butter to toast.


Here is an excerpt from my new book

How to know if you've been shot

"Anything hits you faster than you can throw it, you probably got shot"

Found wherever fake books are sold.


Gymnasts must make f*d up snow angels.


When fish have a long trail of poo hanging out of them, why don't the other fish ever say something?

"Why don't you give it a little shake there, Goldie? Everyone's getting a little queasy. Longest trail of poo ever! Soon to meet the longest trail of fish vomit."


Wednesday, March 29, 2006

Old people will find anything to complain about

At our weekly family breakfast on Saturday (think the end of Moonstruck but with more people and I'm making french toast), papa told me that his friends were asking him why I had played that awful, offensive song at my wedding.

This perplexed me, so I interrogated further. The incident was in august. I thought old people were supposed to be forgetful.

Upon hearing some humming, we determined the song in question, the offensive song, to be none other than "Play that funky music," one of my all time faves, and indeed requested.

They thought it was play that fucking music or something like that.

So, they can't hear, but what they can hear makes them very angry. It's like the astigmatic all mad at fantasia (the movie, not the girl) for the fawn boobies. Seriously, go complain about the new prescription drug plan and leave Wild Cherry out of it.



Wednesday, January 11, 2006


Current mood: anxious

As 2015 nears closer, I am filled with chagrin at the total lack of resources being funneled into the invention of a working hoverboard prototype.

This is totally unacceptable. It's already 2006 and I haven't seen so much as a wheel-less skateboard.

After completing some exploratory research: asking my papa and husband, I have deduced this technology totally possible and available.

Lee told me that if the board was magnetized and the streets were oppositely magnetized, you would have motion and the hoverboard as seen in Back to the Future 2.

So, if anyone has a kid that needs a science project, let's get on this.

I want a damn hoverboard. A pink one.

In other news pertaining to sports in which I will be injured:

Guess who just landed a sweet gig skiing for free on your dime?

You are looking at the newest middle school ski club chaperone, sucka!

Free skiing. Free Rentals. Limited Responsibility.

How do you like me now?!

I've skied, like once in my life previously at this rich girl's 12th birthday party.

So, I guess I'm just about ready to jump on in a supervisory role.

Personally, I prefer sports where you can sit.

Hence, why I like sledding over skiing.

I like to sit.


In other shitty school news:
The school system is currently punishing me by not calling me in to substitute right now because I turned down a long-term special-ed job I'm not qualified, trained, or mentally prepared to do. That seems about right. You should definitely try to force an english teacher to deal with the behavior/mentally challenged room. I'm totally equipped for that, thanks. This is why mommy smokes.


Wednesday, November 23, 2005

After some serious soul searching, I determined I'm definitely going to be the type of teacher that rocks out with a flask of rum. Not at the moment, but pretty soon after tenure.

I was a phys. ed sub last week. They gave me a whistle and I used it to make the shitty ones do suicides.
However, I firmly believe that a teacher should not ask children to do anything he or she wouldn't do themselves, so I was forced to run crab-leg while trash-talking them;
"Is that the best you can do? I'm twice your age!"
They have no idea. They're 13, so I'm twice their age, which in this case is not a detriment, but they just think I'm old. Poor, simple things. Bless.

In an unrelated story; Substitute teacher has trouble walking for three days. Rumored, by the school's most popular 13 year-old girls, to be results of years of hooking.

My favorite words are "Free," and "Fried."

You ever like someone a lot, and then you find out they had sex with someone unsavory and it's like catching the dog rying to lick your face eating his own butt five seconds prior? It's like " NO! I SAW you!Don't touch me!"

I used to have a friend who carried around liquid acid in a Sweetbreath container.
Sure, your breath may be fresh, but your day is ruined!"

Tonight at 11, How rising gas prises are ruining everyone's drug habit.

Today in freshly baked hack jokes

I was naked, shivering in the bathroom waiting for my husband to finish peeing when I realized men take way more time to pee than women. Why then are there never lines outside the men's room? Does handwashing really take that long?

have a fansuper thanksgiving, kids! Don't forget to check your taillights!

Tuesday, November 15, 2005

In Local News,

I found out my narcolepsy medicine interferes with the birth contol pill.

However, a new study shows I'd rather be asleep than pregnant.

So drive defensively y'all!


Tuesday, November 01, 2005

Homeless Camps in Worcester Woods

As there is a new housing project in the works in the woods near my grandfather's house, I decided to take a few nature walks to check out the forest and to hopefully find some endangered species or illicit substance growing naturally.
However, what I came across was far more poignant. At first, the displays appeared to be merely trash dumps, although so deep in the woods, it would have made no sense to drag large, heavy things so far, when maybe 50 feet would have been sufficient. The tableaus began to take on personalities, and haunting stories started to take shape. Children's toys, half buried under a few years of debris. A suitcase, packed in a hurry, flung open and abandoned. Tarps, sleeping bags, makeshift property lines, grills, firepits, and chairs arranged in living room fashion. It would appear that over the years, many desperate people or perhaps men on the outs with the law, have made this forest a temporary home. We even stumbled across one active camp, but we did not want to disturb its residents by getting too close. Mostly due to the fact that I am scared of homeless people and would have emptied my wallet of ones while running and screaming.
These are the pictures.

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Hey, you need something to sip on when you're sitting in your outdoor living room.

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This was the active camp. There were two guys there, but we didn't get too close. I've traced my fear of the homeless back to that scene in Soapdish when Elisabeth Shue, playing a hot homeles mute, attacked Sally Fields with a butcher's knife.

PS. If you've ever wondered where middle schools order their beef eyes and pig uteri for dissection, check it out! I snagged it from the science teacher when he was looking the other way. I was all "Hey, look over there!"
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*photos taken by lee duerden

Friday, October 28, 2005

I'm so getting fired.

Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But the check is in the mail.

I told a street joke today in class to gain cred as being amusing without having to tell 13 year-olds jokes from my stand-up machine that they wouldn't get.

ME: What's the only kind of bee that gives milk?
CLASS: Milk bee, bumblebees...(various other shitty responses)
ME: Boobies!

CLASS:(*Raucus laughter as if the dorky kid just fell and cracked his retainer)

KID THAT'S GONNA GET ME FIRED: That's so funny! I have to tell my mom that one!

ME: Please tell her that kid told you. Thanks.

The moral of this story: Don't tell street jokes, ever.


Tuesday, October 18, 2005

I'm pretty much the worst substitute ever

Why is it that by the end of the day, the kids smell like a mixture of Doritos and feet?

Sometimes when the little turds make you mad, it's time for a little Judge Niki Justice!

Lately that justice has come in the form of crudely handwritten graffiti in the bathrooms and on desks.

Tomorrow morning, when Juan comes in and finds "juan sucks" written on his desk, vengeance will be mine.


Thursday, September 29, 2005

Today I realized I am fully an adult,

When I picked the marshmallows out of my whole grain lucky charms due to their high carb content.


In Boob news...

My friend angela is having a baby any second now. Although I can't see myself ever wanting a baby, I am jealous that she is going to be able to squirt people with her boobs. That is amazing. When my mom had my sister, she would roll over and milk would squirt out so far it would hit the wall.

How fun would that be in a drive by?! Pull up to some weeinie kids in their pimped out honda civic, roll down the window... "here's milk in your eye!"

Totally ruin their lives forever.


Tuesday, September 20, 2005

Walking in Worcester

Worcester's not all bad, kids, I swear.

Parson's Mill (?)- the hidden hike. Also known to South High kids as "The Rez" (as in reservoir, although it was never actually a reservoir)

Right near the Worcester/Leicester border, bottom of Apricot Street, you will see a little clearing on the right which looks like a tiny overgrown parking lot.

It is. Pull in.

Once you leave your car and begin going up the hill, you will see the ruins of what I believe is the actual mill, because there is a stream running under it, but I have no idea, as my mom's recollections are fuzzy since she was always drunk when she hung out here. Also, word on the street is that my stepfather had some hand in burning the wood frame that used to be attached to this, but the jury's still out. Yay, Worcester!

Our first animal discovery...the elusive newt. Slippery little suckers.

Big Hollow Tree

Inside the tree looking up. Amazingly, this tree was still alive and leafy up top despite being burned out.

Some frogs and mushrooms we encountered. Why can't I live near a cow farm?

The birch trees in this forest all appear to have an ailment that causes infected anus-looking lesions.

But, I will sit on them anyway and not suck in my gut.

Here are some flowers I've never seen before. If anyone has any idea, let me know.


And after all, it's still worcester.

I think I'm going to sell this on

Roomy, spacious, airy, sunny car. An oldie, but well-preserved considering the conditions. Bumper in amazing condition. Needs new tires.

Yay, nature hike!
All photos taken by Lee Duerden

Saturday, September 17, 2005

Friday, September 02, 2005

Sham-erican Idol

In search of the musically degenerate American Dream, I embarked on a two-day exodus, inside the heart of American Idolatry.

Day 1: The skies opened up

5am Tuesday

My cousin Kimothy and I were all kitted out in the line outside Gillette stadium with our camping chairs and umbrellas duck-taped to them, allowing us hands-free idling, making small talk with the natives. Although the American Idol and Gillette Stadium website stated clearly that "no one will be allowed to line up prior to 6am Tuesday, " we met many people who had been waiting and sleeping there since 11am the previous day. I thought we were being badasses showing up an hour early, but following the rules doesn't make for good TV.

Of course they'd have to let people line up earlier, or else if they kept it all gated until 6, there would be a stampede of frenzied bodies and cars and people would be killed. I am sure Fox considered that and weighed the pros and cons, and decided to let the most desperate of American Idol hopefuls wait in the rain and be interviewed by Fox25 news.

Suddenly, one of the guys near us noticed a photograph lying face down on the wet mud and handed it to me without looking at it, kind of asking with his shoulders if it was mine.

"Ohmygosh! It's my lucky Ed McMahon picture!!"

And it was. Somehow it must have gotten stuck to my bag or my butt or through the sheer soul-stealing will that only photographs have, conjured itself to manifest at my feet. Me and Ed McMahon at the Vegas Comedy Festival. He was there and ancient, accepting an award, and afterwards I ran up to him to beg for a photo op. He laced his fingers around me so tight, I was amazed at the strength still residing in his world-weary hands.

The fellow looked at the picture, and said,
"Girl, whatchoo doin' here? You're already famous."

I thanked him and laughed and tucked the picture away in my ziploc baggie that was currently holding all my required forms of identification and my American Idol insane release form. It actually says in the release form that they can "use your likeness forever and ever and throughout the universe." Throughout the universe???? Forever and Ever?? What is this, the Mists of Avalon?

Around 8:30 it began to pour, which wouldn't have been so bad were you on your own, not enveloped by a throng of singing wannabees, pushing and undulating, poking you with their umbrellas. At first, because there were so many people with umbrellas overlapping each other, we thought we would be fine, but the water found its way and instead of getting raindrops, the streams of water running off four or five adjacent and touching umbrellas began to pour on our heads and we were unable to escape. By 9, our hair was soaked as if we had been forced down a slip n'slide multiple times by angry hairy men. I really cannot explain myself properly in this weather. I have very sensitive hair.

I had made some ambrosia (those of you in the know know what that is) as there was no alcohol or any other substance allowed anywhere with the threat of immediate disqualification lingering over our heads. I don't know what I was worried about. I soooo could have brought in a fifth of vodka or something to kick sobriety in the face and numb the screaming in my brain;
"This is not real. This is not a real talent contest. You know better!"

Shut up! Shut up! I know! I know!

The security to get into Gillette stadium was like the security at Logan Airport pre-9/11. The bored blonde fellow at the gate I went through took a cursory look inside my backpack, asked "You don't have a camcorder in here, do you?"
And sent me merrily on my way.

We were in.

Once inside Gillette Stadium, I was appalled, but not surprised at the people just bursting into not-very-good song, and how many people still think "I Will Always Love You," is a good audition song. Oh and kids, while we're on the subject, please don't sing "I'll Be," "Fallin'" "The Star-Spangled Banner," "I Will Survive," or "Crazy," by Patsy Cline, not Aerosmith. No one's getting through but the worst of the worst anyhow, so make it easy on yourself and try doing something original for a change. I don't even mean something as hard as original as in something you wrote, because that would be foolish as it states implicitly in your signed contract that anything original you sing for them, they own. But how about not singing something that people probably better than you do at karaoke every night.

Oh yeah, and what I said about the worst of the worst being the only ones to get on please. Unless you don't want your illusions of American Idol as a legitimate talent contest to be vanquished a la finding out the WWF is not real.

Myth Number One: Everyone gets to see Randy, Paula, and Simon, or at least one of them.

Nonononononononono, my sweet, precious child. Here is how it actually works.
You wait all day for a ticket and a bracelet. Pink bracelets for auditioners, green for their one allowed guest or parent. Your seat ticket is your order in line, so you can actually leave and come back the next day, which is awesome and actually a good idea on their part. When the actual auditions happen the next day, there are thirteen tables set up all along the stadium with two "producers" at each who will be taking people in groups of four to sing 30 seconds of a song for them.
From this point you can either be sent home,(off to the left and out of the stadium,)or on to the next round, (off to the right and inside the bowels of the stadium,) to be seen by these "producers" again. If you move on to the next round, then you may see Simon, Paula, and Randy, but that's a totally different day and filming, for the auditioners in Boston (and by Boston, I mean Foxboro, because that's where this actually took place, but it doesn't sound as prestigious on tv) that would not be until October. That's right, the initial date of the audition was in August and the filming of the Simon, Paula, and Randy auditions are not until October.
This is why on the show, people do not look like they have been camped out without access to running water for three days.

Because they haven't.
They've had time to go home and quit their jobs and tell everyone to kiss their ass before they go back to audition and are forever humiliated.

Myth Number 2: "Producers" are the real producers of the show

Umm, it would be amazing if they were, but out of these 26 "producers," no one was over 30, in fact, all of them looked younger than me. Much younger. Sorority sisters younger. 26 kids fresh out of college are not producers, I'm sorry. Aren't producers the ones that financially back and/or manage the show? I'm not buying that Alpha Beta was able to jump in and catch this wave before it crested.

And not to be all "I have a music degree and studied voice for 12 years and sing professionally now so I know what I'm talking about," but I do I did I do I do, you little bastards. These kids don't know shippity-do about singing.

Nor do they have to because, here it comes......

Myth Number 3: American Idol is a real talent contest and the best singers from around the country advance until they narrow it down to the best 12.

Umm, do you sniff nail polish remover? Put jelly beans in your nose until they touch your brain? The voices on American Idol are not the best in the country. I heard a ton of girls crooning in the bathrooms and on the Concourse who were successfully replicating the sounds of Kelly Clarkson and Carrie Underwood. I'm not saying these ladies don't have great voices. They do, and especially with the vocal coaching they received on the show and at present, but there are thousands of girls in the country who can sing exactly like them. People around me in the seats were singing and I was amazed at how good some of the people were that I met there.

"What are you doing here?" I would ask. Trained voices. Lovely voices attached to beautiful faces. There was a girl behind me who looked and sounded exactly like Charlotte Church. There was a good-looking guy next to me who drove in from New York who sounded just like George Michael.

Day 2: The belly of the beast

We got there around 5 that morning and went in without event.
We were told to be in our seats at 7:30 so they could take a "Chip shot"
This was two hours of moving people around because they forgot to ticket an entire section and it "wouldn't look good for the shot."
Then they forced us all to open our umbrellas and attempt to sing "singin' in the rain," for an hour and a half while they tried to get the shot right. Following was a few other things for the opening episodes where we had to chant as a group
"Boston Rocks," "I'm the next American idol," etc, etc.

9:30, the beginning

As the stadium was set up, you could see everyone's audition.
There were sending so few people through that whenever someone would get a golden ticket, (Seriously, they gave out golden tickets. How lame.) and start walking off to the right, the crowds in the stands went bananas. A few times, they even did the wave. I am not shitting you.

You could see the people auditioning, but until you actually started to get close to the auditioning tables, you couldn't really hear them. Up until that point, I still had the faintest flutter in my belly

"Maybe it is real. Maybe you won't have to go back to substitute teaching after all."

Ideally up until that point, I had had this awesome scenario in my head wherein I would make it to the top fifty or something like that, and then these trumped up drug charges would come out,
(Oh yeah, in the release form, they basically state that both truths and stuff the press or they decide to leak/make up about your past will most likely come out and too bad so sad)...

and I would be disqualified a la Frenchie Davis, but it would propel the Steamy Bohemians into the limelight and it would be cool because although American Idol is not considered cool by the music community, getting kicked out for drugs is.

But then, after a few hours, as we drew closer to the singing, I began to watch. I saw some amazingly good performances by both the fat and thin, the hip and unhip. I walked by a girl singing just like Fantasia.
One of the "producers" was air traffic controlling people to one of the thirteen booths. The George Michael guy ended up right in front of me, I could see Charlotte Church a few tables down, and I watched in anguish as Fantasia sang from her belly so hard at judges looking somewhere else, and was promptly sent home, to the left.

I saw Charlotte Church running out and to the left, crying, stopping to hug another strange girl who was also weeping.

I heard and saw the four auditioners in front of me. They were all reasonably good. Good enough to be in what they show for the top 100 of American Idol anyhow. They were all sent away.

Then the foursome I was with moved up to the table.
The male "producer" was all
"I'll be right back I really need to pee."
And we laughed and waited. I made some glib remark and the young girl "producer" who would not make direct eye-contact smiled and looked down.

The guy came back within seconds as he was unable to find anyone to cover him and did the half-standy-leany "I-have-to-pee-really-bad" stance.

He asked if any of us were here together.
I told him that Kim and I were cousins.

And it began.

the girl to my right sang some Jessica Simpson song. And she was very very attractive and sounded better than Jessica Simpson (well, not that that takes more than an elementary understanding of how-not-to-use-the-human-voice), but she was really good. Nice, strong high register. No mistakes. Then it was my turn. I had bought the "American idol Advantage" book, which said to sing something very easy for you in your middle register and save the showy stuff for Simon and Paula.
I had been planning on singing "no rain" by Blind Melon, as I especially thought it would be ironic considering it had been hooning it down, but that morning Kim and I discussed and we sang for each other, and decided that "Stand By Me" would be a better song for these people as I think Lauren Hill covered it and that seems to be the kind of stuff they're into. What a waste of money that book was.
I sang well, no mistakes, no wavering in my voice, no weak notes, and no eye-contact from the judges, not that they really made eye contact with anyone, except for the.....

horrible girl at the next table. This was really the first girl I watched from start to finish and saw get a golden ticket.

It was so bad, I was pleading silently
"please stop doing that, whatever in hell's name you're doing." She sang perhaps the worst version of "Start Me Up" ever, while wearing a pretty ugly black and rainbow tie-dyed matching top and pants set.

The low part was pretty good but then she starting adding these unexpected, unwanted, screechy off-key high-notes almost as punctuation at the end of each phrase. The "producers" were watching rapt, with smiles on their faces as if they had discovered Mariah Carey. This girl was into it, and I realized she thought she was awesome. When they said that she was going to the next round, she was jumping with that "in your face" kind of 'tude, and I realized this poor girl was in for a whole world of pain.

I started looking around more, and I realized pretty much the only people I saw them put through to the next round were the ones that thought they were awesome, but that had some quality so musically appalling that you were biting your nails in cringe-worthy horror,Oh and the guy who dressed up like Gwar. I'm not kidding. Full body suit, helmet, 2 foot spikes. He made it through. I can only imagine what he sounded like through the mask.

None of the people I met and heard and thought were really good-looking and talented made it through. After the fourth girl in our row finished, and she sounded and looked just like the girl from Evanescence, the guy told us none of us were making it through, but that it didn't mean anything, just that we weren't making it through.

I realized it didn't mean anything because all four of us were good enough to be on American idolatry. Truth be told, probably about a quarter of the 8,000 or so who showed up were good enough to be on American Idol, but that wouldn't make good TV would it?

I really think that the ones picked to seriously move on are chosen well in advance of these cattle calls, and that these cattle calls are just to get the bad ones for Simon to trash.

And if I'm wrong, well Simon, Randy, and Paula, just let me know when my audition is. I'll take a shower and everything.

Now, the lucky Ed McMahon picture. I think saving me from having to participate in this sideshow was the luckiest thing that ever happened to me.


Friday, August 26, 2005

Local News!

Dinner Party Falls Short

Due to the "whipped topping" being offered under the guise of "whipped cream" debacle.

In more local news...

Newly married girl reaches new heights of laziness as she finds no ability to put pants on or write thank-you notes, instead playing online poker and screwing around on myspace.

In yet more local news

Husband compares desire to not get stoned in front of other people to wife's desire to not have people see her without makeup in the morning. Wife then compares this to the psycho girl in Girl Interrupted that wouldn't let anyone watch her eat chicken.

In even more compelling local news,
a la Pretty Woman, we say when, we say where, we say how much...pertaining to selling out.
Yup, Lainey and I, the steamy bohemians are going to camp out at Gillette stadium at the American idol auditions in the hopes of hijacking some camera time for our hilarity. Now that we've begun calling the act "the baby", we're doing it for the baby.
Not that we want to win or even place, but 30 seconds of us singing a hastily written song about how we want to be on TV so we don't have to get jobs might help us finally land that gig hosting at the All Asia Cafe.

Or maybe just some web traffic. Whatever the results, I've been on the horn all day trying to get my doctor to prescribe me some Beta-blockers to combat stage fright.
When I sang the national anthem at the Ultimate Fighting bout in Revere a few weeks ago, I was shaking so bad (mostly because I have been trying to avoid UTI infections by not wearing underwear with skirts, and stupidly decided it was a good idea to do that the night of the anthem singing without realizing I would have to climb through the ropes into the ring while clutching my bottom to avoid overexposure).

Yeah, beta blockers and a Fun Gi is what we're looking for for the camping. Anyone know a Fun Gi)? Is there a fungus amoungus?

No matter what happens, we are bound to have an awesome time screwing with the heads of many hopefuls as we camp and begin to stink together while taking teaspoons of the magic honey doob elixir I made yesterday for the event.

rock on everybody. I've got the music in me!!


Also, some shameless self-promotion
Look who is the slutty tambourine girl in Robby Roadsteamer's Video for "I put a baby in you."
Yeah, me. Check out that hot tambourine action.
Notice how there actually is no tambourine in the song

Monday, August 08, 2005

Worcester Wedding Problems
That's right, true wedding issues indigenous only to the area!

One of the dresses from David's Bridal comes in 8 sizes too big because the bridesmaid was in lock-up and was unavailable to go in and try it on.

You have to worry about "getting the smell out" of your reception hall before the wedding.

Your fiance won't let you walk down the aisle to the Godfather theme song, but for all the wrong reasons.

When told that as an English Wedding, men can wear "morning suits," people automatically assume pajamas.

more stories as they develop.....


In Science News:

Hippos are not as docile as the hungry hungry hippos game would lead you to believe.

I was watching a special last night on the National Geographic Channel and the guy is all:

"Hippos are vegetarians..."
Cut to a scene of a hippo violently chasing and attacking a zebra, then him and his buddies tearing meat off of it and swallowing.

"However, they will seldom be able to resist the allure of fresh meat"

Um... then they are not fricken vegetarians.

These are highly volatile creatures.

Stop trying to fool people into liking you, hippos. You don't have to be a trendy vegetarian to be our girl.

Just be yourselves. We know you're not so fat because all you eat is wheatgrass.
We knew there was some serious closet eating happening, but we didn't want to confront you, because you are all such a-holes.

Oh, and I know you think flinging your feces at us is a sign of affection and respect, it's just irritating.

I used to have a bunny and it would hump other male bunnies to show dominance.
Now that's a vegetarian.

4 more days til the wedding.

Monday, August 01, 2005

Bastard Child

No one believed me when I said in Worcester, the records of people born out of wedlock were sealed and kept separate from the "normal" babies. My mom went to get a copy of my birth certificate with me a long time ago, and we had to wait forever to get it because it was kept in some vault with all the other bastard babies of Wormtown. Although I can't really tell from this article what the law was, somehow it made it a pain in the ass to get your birth certificate if you were a bastard child, hence the song.

Thank you for my vindication, Worcester Magazine!

Below is a link to a so-so Mp3 of "Ballad of the Bastard."
My mic died from excitement at one point and I had to switch to a new one. If anyone has any lyrical questions, I'll be happy to mock you.

enjoy, you bastard children!


Ballad of The Bastard

Sunday, July 31, 2005

Pictures from the big show!

Jercus Circus

Wednesday, July 27, 2005

The Naked Show

I don't think Lee was at all prepared for the show I dragged him to last night.
At the ImprovBoston, last night, 10pm, all mysteries were revealed!
Naked Comedy Showcase.
That's right. Naked. Comedians. Living their worst nightmares combined.
Most people would rather die than speak publicly.
Most people would rather die than look around and realize they are standing in front of a large group of people totally nude.
If said nude speaker was also standing on a pile of snakes, he would be hailed as a messiah by people who handle poisonous snakes as their religion.
Now, if we could get some scorpions to carry out said nude person (which is hard as they have very weak backs), I think we'd have a hit series on our hands.

Improv Boston is BYOB, so Lee and I nabbed one of the few remaining seats and hunkered down with a paper bag of bud lites and preceded to guzzle in anticipation of the reckoning to come. Everyone was chattering expectantly, although I think most of the people were Andy O' Fiesh's (the man who puts this together every year) nudist friends.
This show has been occurring for the past few years, but at someone's house in Newton, and there everyone has to be naked. Even the audience. Everyone. Imagine the smells.

So yeah, Andy came out naked except for his Tevas and proceeded to have one of the best sets I've ever seen him do. People were absolutely howling. That broke the ice. He explained the rules about being naked in Cambridge. Basically as long as you don't disrobe while on stage or collect tips, it's cool.
A few acts I had never seen before performed, and were good. A woman who goes by Happy the Sad clown did some goofy yoga poses and drew on herself, slightly reminiscent of Sparky Schneider. Another woman who has only ever performed naked comedy was an amazing feat all in itself. "Yeah, I do standup, but only in the nude" totally would sound like a drunken lie if you heard it at a party, but oh no, all too true.
A 20 year old named Josh Gondelman did a great self-deprecating set.
"Could you pity me a little less. I'm naked up here"

Some other old friends of mine performed. Randy Winn, who has been working out, Chris Walsh, who did all the funny things with his junk that guys do at home and their girlfriends don't think is funny; The helicopter, hide the salami, etc.
"I'm sitting on all the chairs after you leave."
Headliner Rev.Tim McIntire (who is officiating my pending nuptials) was hilarious as usual, although not super happy that I had shown up.
And Lee made clear he is definitely not interested in seeing a naked comedy show again, but his problem is more that he knew everyone. He said he would have loved it if it was all strangers, but I guess it's like peeing at a urinal, you're just not supposed to look. But I can look. And pee at a urinal. Well, no, but in Paris, I did have to pee in a hole in the ground in a fancy cafe. To be fair, it was a porcelain hole in the floor, with a flusher and two foot pads for hovering on either side. Fricken french.

For most of the show I found myself maneuvering myself so that the man's head seated in front of me blocked my view of the hanging bits, so it was more like a Benny Hill sketch.

I see so much commercial potential for this show, and if this turns into a running series, I think we're talking Blue Man Group success. Bus trips of little old ladies driving up to pay $35 to see naked comics at the Charles playhouse, blushing and giggling, drinking nips of bourbon hidden in their brazzieres...

Go see it next time. Bring a flask.

I'm getting myself all heated up now. It's time for a smoke....


Monday, July 25, 2005

Come to the show, Suckas!!!!
Holy Crap, I can't believe I'm getting hitched in three weeks.

You know how when you die, your whole life flashes before your eyes, well, it's just like that when you get married,except instead it's everyone who has ever seen you naked. And it turns out that list is longer than I expected. A good friend of mine who always had a sweetbreath bottle full of minty liquid-acid once told me "Always know where your bad things are."
It's good advice if you are the type of person that puts things in logical places. As a constant loser-of-keys-in-the-dishwasher type of girl, I always lose my bad things, which is a source of constant anxiety that can only be managed with copious amounts of weed.
Today the mystery of the disposable camera prints from the time I was supposed to do some stand-up at a lesbian bar in San Francisco, but got my set bumped for amateur strip-for-charity competition, and so decided to strip for charity instead. Stripping once was always on my life to-do list, but those aren't the pictures you want papa to stumble across when he's looking for lightbulbs in the storage room.
Crisis averted.

However, in another part of the house, Nanny is all about finding excuses to go upstairs to my floor to poke around in our stuff. Now Lee and I just leave our stuff on the bed so she doesn't have to look in my nightstand to find porn and lube.


So last night I had a dream that there were zombies everywhere, and Lee was being all Gallant and said "I'll go fight them."
And I'm like "That's retarded. Please don't do that. Let's just move."
But so he goes and like within moments is back going, "You were right [zombie gurgling noises]"

And then, as the fiance, I am now facing this moral dilemma
"Shit, do I have to become a zombie now?"

Which is the wrong question to ask in a dream. I should be like "Zombies huh? I bet I can turn into a bird! Whoopeeee I'm flying!"