Please Excuse Sassy Sundry

Dear Blogville,

Please excuse Sassy Sundry’s lack of posting of late. She has had a hard month.

It all started when her car’s windshield wipers failed on her during a snowstorm. Thankfully, she hadn’t gotten far, and so she was safe, but she had to fix them. She was hoping to get through the toughest part of winter with her old jalopy with the Peacemonger sticker on it before making the decision to go car-free. To do that, she needed to replace the wipers. Also, the headlight that had decided to die on her. So, she brought it to the shop. Turns out that it wasn’t just a simple repair, and it was going to cost her four hundred Benjamins to fix. Two hours after begrudgingly telling her mechanic to go ahead, her grease monkey called her. “The good news is that we made the repairs,” he said. “The bad news is that my next customer backed into your car and smashed the front end.”

For three long weeks, she endured endless commutes, becoming intimately familiar with the bus (she has not yet succeeded in securing employment that would make the car-free lifestyle manageable). She left every morning at Satan’s Witching Hour and returned home exhausted. Blogging about anything other than, “Tired. Grumpy. Wish to kill people” was untenable. When she finally got her car back, her joy was unfettered. At last, I can blog again!

Not so fast, the Technical Difficulties Banshees deemed, for that Saturday, her Internet connection (the free one) came to a bitter end. It took two weeks for the high speed (ha!) Internet people to save her from her plight. Now, at long last, she has the keys to the Information Superhighway once more. She hopes to get back up to speed with you all soon.

Please forgive her. The weather is cold, she is tired, and her heart is heavy. She misses you all dearly.

Signed,

Sassy’s Third Person

Life, Liberty, and ROUNDHOUSE for Jesus!

Confession time. After seven long years of Dumb W’s war-mongering horror show and one long year of presidential debates, this political junkie finally overdosed on the whole thing. I just wasn't able to bring myself to obsess over the primaries.

For one thing, I didn’t really like any Democratic candidate. Hillary Clinton voted for the Iraq War and took a long time to back down from her support of it. I don’t think that Barack Obama has the experience necessary to lead the country. John Edwards doesn’t stand a chance in a national race. And, in addition to being a very late convert to a pro-choice position, Kucinich is a bit of a odd one. With choices like these, it was hard for me to get excited.

For another thing, I no longer live in New Hampshire. I figured that my primary vote will come too late to make much of a difference. Without much at stake with this vote, I thought that I may as well vote for a woman for president. It’s about time. That settled in my mind, I pretty much stopped paying close attention. I already knew that I'd vote for the Democratic nominee. It's their race to lose, right?

Maybe not. I might not have been obsessed with the primaries, but I wasn't completely out of the loop. In the last couple of months, Mike Huckabee caught my politically lazy eye and made me nervous. And damnit, if he didn’t win the Republican Iowa Caucus. Huckabee has charismatic charm reminiscent of another right-wing fascist fellow. Americans are suckers for charm, no matter what kind of anti-science, anti-choice, anti-secular society, anti-immigrant, anti-gay, anti-everything-that-we’re-supposed-to-stand-for face it masks. We had eight years of Reagan, and Dumb W rode on those coat tails. Huckabee is a problem.

Like I said, he got my attention. Among other things, I knew that he had been running some ads with Chuck Norris. I thought it was something of a joke, rather like that blender guy. But after watching Huckabee’s victory speech, I’m not so sure. Yes, that was CHUCK NORRIS standing right behind Huckabee when he gave his victory speech in Iowa—and it wasn’t a gag on Conan O’Brien. There was no lever. Does America really want a president, however charming he may be, who stands tall with Chuck Norris? Life, liberty, and ROUNDHOUSE for Jesus! Really?

Oh shit.

Travels with Fluff: Where in the Hell is Carmen, San Diego?

Happy New Year! Not much new here. Went out, drank too much, and spent New Year’s Day on the couch watching movies, thinking that it was about time I did my promised Fluff post. As some of you know, Little Sassy Schmoozer dragged me off to San Diego in November for a big conference. What a taskmaster! She had me glad-handing so many people, and she hardly let Fluff and me out of her sight to do the tourist thing. So, the pictures aren’t so good—and they’re all in the Gaslamp Quarter—but here they are.

Fluff went to Lee’s Café for breakfast one day. Lee’s Café is a rather amazing place. It’s a Chinese diner, meaning that they’ll do your eggs any way you like, or you can get Chinese food. You can also get cereal.

When Young Coworker and I followed Fluff into Lee’s, there were about ten men of various ages and backgrounds hunched silently over coffee and food. We knew we were in for a treat. It was fantastic.

An “Authentic Irish Pub” in San Diego. Because California is so like Ireland.

Yeah, yeah, Wyatt Earp.

Yikes! Fluff thought that maybe Fluff was illegal. We gave them the slip.

That’s it. I hate Little Sassy Schmoozer. She doesn’t let me have any fun. My Memphis friend and I are discussing taking a little trip somewhere exciting sometime soon, however, and LSS is not invited.

If you're new to Travels with Fluff, check out the link under Favorite Posts. Fluff gets around.

Tacky Holidays

My family values the art of giving the boobie prize. Rather like participants in the Tacky Gift party (which, sadly, did not happen this year, due to my friend’s freak beauty parlor accident, requiring pins in her wrist—now that she’s recovered, I’m thinking about throwing a re-gifting extravaganza in January), members of my family relish obtaining something hideous, wraping it up beautifully, and bestowing it upon our loved ones.

This year, I went with the holiday food basket. On a run to the supermarket, I spied Spam with Bacon and just couldn’t resist. I got quite a few curious looks when I placed these fine items on the belt.

I then wrapped them up like this and placed my gift under the tree.

Since I often bring home the good food for the holidays, my parents didn’t suspect this basket. The pork rinds got an especially hearty laugh. The folks plan to re-gift the love by serving up these goodies without comment to my sister and brother-in-law when they celebrate late Christmas with them.

And, lest you think that we confine the fun to gifts, behold the Christmas Hand.

One year, my father gave my mother a hand cookie cutter in her stocking. The next year, she dutifully used it, and a hand appeared among the gingerbread people display. We now demand its presence. This year it looked especially creepy.

Aren’t you glad I don’t celebrate the holidays with you?

Merry Christmas and Happy (Early) Year of the Mouse!

Received from a Chinese publisher. I love this.

Merry Christmas, and a Happy (early) Year of the Mouse!

Holiday Dating: Nice Dates with McAlmost and McGuyIUsedtoKnow

One evening in early December I somehow managed to online chat with both of these guys at the same time—and had agreed to go out with each of them. Wistfully I thought if only I could somehow combine parts of them, say McAlmost’s hilarious sense of the absurd with a dash of McGuyIUsedtoKnow’s wonder at it all, I would hit romantic paydirt. Paydirt, alas, I did not hit, but I still had a good time on my dates with these guys, and here are the stories.

Dinner and a Walk with McAlmost
Have you ever had one of those dates where you had a great time but just didn’t feel that desire to become someone’s special friend? Well, that was me with McAlmost. I suppose anyone after the McWorstDate would have appeared to be Prince Charming, but I really did enjoy my date with McA. Witty, smart, and an actual grownup, McA was pretty darn close to the closest thing I have to a type. What’s more, I was apparently pretty darn close to being his type. I’m not sure what it is about audio/other-type-of-computer engineer musicians, but they leap out of the screen for me. As my sister says in her best commercial voice, “If you like being an audio engineer and a musician, you’ll LOVE Sassy.” I don’t know. I can’t explain it.

In any event, over a yummy Indian dinner in Davis Square, McA and I bandied about stories and anecdotes, talking so long that we shut the place down. We then went out for a wintry walk about town, chatting and laughing some more. It would have been perfect, except that we were missing that ever-elusive chemistry. We got to the T stop at the end of the night, and we proceeded to gab for another fifteen minutes or so, shared a brief hug, and then parted ways.

Very Late to My Date with McGuyIUsedtoKnow
McGuyIUsedtoKnow didn’t recognize me for my shorter hair when he sent me what had to be the sweetest initial message I’ve ever received from an online guy. That’s the thing about McGIUK—he’s really sweet. So sweet that he waited for forty-five minutes for me when the lovely MBTA bus let me down. Yes, I was horribly late for this date. On my way, I almost wish he’d told me to forget it. I wasn’t sure if I could go through with seeing him again.

Back in the day, I had aspired to be one of those lovely, airy, peace-loving women who do Yoga and run around fire circles to celebrate the full moon. I know, funny. I’ve since learned that I am not one of those women, that I have what I call “sharp elbows” in my personality, and I’m too much of a skeptic to run around a fire circle without rolling my eyes at least a little bit. My intentions can be a bit pointed. I had given the hippie woman the college try, though, and it was around the height of this experiment that I had met McGIUK.

I don’t know how else to describe McGIUK other than to say that he’s a male version of who I wanted to be. He’s (very) smart and an activist, but he’s also a sweet, airy, Reiki-practicing man who runs around fire circles to celebrate the full moon. I didn’t know him well, but he was loosely connected to a peace group I hung around with years ago, and we had talked a few times. When I saw that he’d checked out my profile, I had a feeling I knew who he was, and when he sent me a message saying that he sensed that I had an open mind and an open heart and that he’d love to know me, that confirmed it.

I replied to his message thanking him for being so sweet, and I told him that we used to know each other a few years back. He replied that he’d sensed a cosmic familiarity about me. Wasn’t it just regular familiarity? I thought somewhat meanly, and I turned it into a joke in my message back. When he initiated an online chat session, it was apparent that he did indeed remember me but hadn’t gotten the joke—but he was so sweet that he charmed me. Or, rather, there was something about my resistance to his charms that made me feel like a bad person (what’s wrong with me that I consider “sweetness” a character flaw?). I felt compelled to give it a try.

My friends know just how much I was dreading this date—some of them asked my why I was even going. “Well, we know each other, and he still knows a few of my friends. How can I be the bitch who turned him down for a date? Who wouldn’t want to date McGIUK? He’s so SWEET!”

Well, meet we did, forty minutes later than originally planned, and I’m glad that I went through with it. We had an interesting conversation about things I don’t normally talk about on dates. I don’t know too many people these days who still work in the nonprofit sector. The years and all of the crap going on in the world had altered his understanding of possible change, and he was seeking some kind of employment that would allow him to pay the rent, but his basic optimism remained undimmed. It was refreshing, and he made me think.

Unfortunately, our time together did not convince me that we would make a good couple, and I think perhaps he felt otherwise. Our goodbye was a bit awkward. I do sincerely wish him a lovely, peaceful woman who will run around fire circles with him to celebrate the full moon. He’s a wonderful guy, and he deserves to be happy.

Epilogue
I did have one more date this holiday season, but I don’t entirely know what the story is there yet, so I’m not going to jinx it. Suffice it to say that I panicked a bit, but I didn’t completely lose my mind this holiday season. Instead I took advantage of holiday dating to branch out (OK, too far in a couple of cases) and see what’s out there. This isn’t the time of year to find the perfect date—but it is a great time to experiment. And even if things don’t work out with the last date, January’s coming, and that’s often when I find a guy who’s just right.

Holiday Dating: My One Hour and Fifteen Minutes with McWorstDate

Before he became McWorstDate, there were warning signs. McWD’s profile indicated that he was into polyamory (I’m not—in nursery school I declared, “Sharing is damn yucky stuff!” I’ve learned since then, but there are still some things I don’t share), and it didn’t look as though we had all that much in common. All the same, he seemed quirky and fun, and you just never know.

Now I know. Our date lasted one hour and fifteen minutes. We had agreed to meet for hot chocolate at a chocolatier’s in Harvard Square on a Sunday afternoon. McWD had arrived before I did, but didn’t snag a table before they filled up, and so we had to get our hot chocolate to go instead. We ordered, and I pulled out my wallet to make the obligatory gesture to pay for my drink. McWD let me pay for him too. We decided to wait for a few minutes by the candy counter to see if a table would open up. He wanted to talked about what a ripoff the high-quality chocolate was.

When it became obvious that we were going to strike out on the table front, we left. “I’m starving,” McWD said. “I really need a sandwich.” Then why didn’t you ask me to lunch? I thought. He led us into an Au bon Pain, not the big one in the square (bad enough), but a little hole in the wall next to a Bertucci’s. There I watched him eat a sandwich and drink a container of milk, as he told me about different people he’d dated from the web site. He then said, “I’m surprised my profile didn’t freak you out.”

I’m freaked out now, I thought but said something more polite. After he finished, we agreed to go to the Harvard Book store. “Where do you usually hang out in the bookstore?” he asked.

“Oh, usually the fiction section. Sometimes I check out criticism or poetry, but mostly I just stick to fiction.”

“Well, I really like the erotic section there,” my date said exactly thirty-five minutes into our first less-than-successful encounter. Not only did I find this comment to be a bit sketchy, but I also found it to be just plain odd. The erotic section in this store is one skinny little shelf, and so far as I can tell, it has mostly best-of collections. Odd pick, that one.

We wandered around the front of the store a bit before heading back to the fiction section. “Oh there’s your section,” I said to him, pointing out the little shelf right before the fiction.

“Did they move it?” he asked, surprised by its location.

“No.”

There, in the section, was a best-of gay men’s short fiction or something like that, featuring a ripped torso on the front cover with a book covering the goods. “Oh my god, that man is hot,” McWD said lustfully. “There is nothing like a really hot man’s chest.” Drool was practically dripping off his chin.

Excuse me? I know you are Mr. Polyamory Man, but you are out on a date with ME! I don’t want you talking about men. I don’t want you talking about other women. I want you to be talking about ME! Tell someone else about the bod!

“Yeah, that is one hot faceless torso,” I said and wandered into the fiction section. My date picked up a book, one I had actually enjoyed, and I said so. He found a damaged copy and decided to try to get a discount on it. “I used to work in a bookstore,” he said knowingly. Just then, his phone rang.

He answered it. Then he proceeded to talk for about fifteen minutes in the store. I nearly left, but for some reason, I didn’t. Instead, I wandered about the store pondering just how bad this date really was. He finished talking and then walked over to me and explained that a friend of his was contemplating dating her professor and she really needed advice. OK.

Next he went to the counter to try to procure a discount, only to be informed that discounts apply to the last copy only. “We have four available now,” I heard her say pointedly.

We left the store, and I informed him that I needed to go. He walked me to the T, gave me a weak hug, and then left to get his bike. I stayed down in the T station for about five minutes, walked back out and did some shopping. I got an e-mail from him saying that although the sparks didn’t fly that it was great to meet me. Yeah.

Next Post: Nice Dates with McAlmost and McGuyIUsedtoKnow

Holiday Dating—A Series of Panic-Induced Encounters

Not to make a sweeping generalization or anything, but no one wants to be alone for the fall and early winter holidays. True, true, Valentine’s Day can suck, but at least one can disdain VD with impunity. No, there’s nothing like the dark days of November and December to strike terror in the heart of the singleton. Faced with yet another season of wandering through glittering parties alone, the object of pity and scorn, not to mention all of the questions from family, many lonely souls turn to the Internet to save the holidays.

Those of you who read this bloggy thing know that I am actually a big fan of online dating. It might not be the most romantic means to meet people, but it does have its advantages. After all, that adorable guy in the bar just might wind up trying to romance you with his Elliott Smith covers that he’s uploaded onto YouTube before sloppily kissing you in front of your friend. With the Internet at least you usually have a general idea of what you’re getting into. And right around the holidays, you stand a pretty good chance of someone wanting to (ahem) get into you. Unfortunately, while you are statistically more likely to get a date this time of year, you also run a greater risk of having a bad one.

I am attributing the fact that I have had arrangements for dates with a several suitors since Halloween to the annual holiday rush. And I’ll be honest. I think I’ve succumbed to the panic as well, as a couple of my dates passed my highly scientific selection process on a sliding scale. Over the next few posts, I will be regaling you with stories of my holiday dating life. Allow me to start with the tales of McNeighborBoy and McSleepyMcDorkwad.

Brief Fling with McNeighborBoy
In true postmodern fashion, I met my cute neighbor on the Internet, and we had our first “real life” meeting on Halloween. It went very well. We had ourselves a fine time for about a week or so, when we realized that we didn’t have all that much in common other than a mutual appreciation for each other’s (pardon the pun) bones. We decided to be neighbors instead, and that has worked out just fine. We chat every now and again when we see each other, and McNB shoveled out my car after last week’s storm. Now that's neighborly.

Stood Up by McSleepyMcDorkwad
About a week after McNeighborBoy and I decided to be plain-old neighbors, I signed on to check a message from what proved to be a disappointing lad. Sighing, I prepared to log back out again when I got an instant message from a more amusing character. We chatted for twenty minutes or so, and he seemed like a fun guy. He asked me if I was up for a drink sometime, and I said yes. The only problem was that the only night I had free between then and Thanksgiving was that night.

“Well, what about tonight?” he wrote.

“Why not?” I wrote back, and we agreed to meet up around ten at a decent watering hole in Union Square.

I got dressed, put on lipstick, and headed out into a rather cold evening excited for my spontaneous date. I arrived at the establishment, and he hadn't gotten there yet, so I stood outside and waited. And waited. And waited. And waited a bit longer until I realized that I had been stood up. What the hell? It was his idea to meet up! Why would he do that?

Ooooh, I was pissed, and I was even more pissed that I didn’t have his number to call him and tell him what-for. I had to console myself by going into the bar and having a drink anyway. I talked a bit with another guy and then left. I got home to an e-mail with the subject line, “So I fucked up big time :(” (yes, he used an emoticon). Turns out, McSMcD had gone down for a nap and slept until 10:45. He was deeply apologetic and asked if he could make it up to me after Thanksgiving. I wondered why he couldn't set an alarm, but I replied to McSMcD that I’d think about getting in touch with him after I got back.

I was bored the Saturday after the big T-day, so I sent McSMcD an e-mail saying that if he was up for it, I could meet him for a drink and gave him my number. I got a text message at 11:55 PM asking me if it was too late to meet up. I didn’t answer until the next morning. I know how to have a good time, but I’m not a booty call. I didn’t hear from him again until the following Saturday night when he sent me a text at 12:17 AM asking me out for a “light lunch” (WHAT is that?) on Sunday. No thanks, McSleepyMcDorkwad. I have to wash my hair.

Next post: My One Hour and Fifteen Minutes with McWorstDate

Seeing John Malkovich

So on Sunday, I went to the Bazaar Bizarre, an annual alternative craft fair (I believe one of the mottos is “No cozies without irony!”) I’ve attended a few times over the years. At one of the booths, I moved in to look at a bizarre ware just as this guy swung around. He sort of bumped into me and muttered an apology. “Oh, no problem. Excuse me,” I said and looked up at him. The guy was John Malkovich. In our brief moment of eye contact, he saw the gears in my brain turn, and he shot me the biggest Don’t You Dare look. I shot him back a Don’t Worry look, eliciting a half-smirk from him before he went along his way.

A few minutes later, I spied him wandering about again, as did the crafters at the booth I was at. One of them observed, “Dude, that guy totally looks like John Malkovich.” His co-crafter said knowingly, “It IS John Malkovich. He lives in Boston.”

“Oh yeah. It’s him. He bumped into me,” I confirmed. For a moment, the crafters looked at me like I was the famous one. Don’t You Dare.

In other words, I got Malkoviched by Malkovich on a Sunday afternoon.

I Just Don’t Know What to Say

Let it not be said that the Universe has lost the knack. It can still render us speechless, force us to ponder the wonder it all. Yesterday, I encountered such a gift from the Universe while checking packages as part of my “warehouse duty,” my parent company’s way of making sure that we all pitch in and help during the busy season. I reached into a box and pulled out this:



Words fail me, but I think we should all hum “Also Sprach Zarathustra.”

I’m Baaaaaack (Well, for about Ten More Minutes)

Ugh. Little Sassy Schmoozer dragged me off to San Diego for a conference, and she didn’t let me go anywhere. I was able to fit in a few moments with Fluff in the Gaslamp Quarter, but that was it. What an exhausting trip. Successful, from LSS’s point of view, but exhausting for poor me.

My connector flight from Denver was delayed by over three hours, two of them spent on the plane. Originally, we were told that it was due to a mechanical problem, and we were grateful that the airline wouldn't send us hurtling through space in a broken tin can. Later, however, it came out that we were parked at the gate for hours because an unoccupied seat in first class was a bit “dirty.” Our pilot decided to pull a publicity stunt by delaying the flight until corporate headquarters cleaned it up. He handed out fliers and encouraged passengers to contact the media. If he’d handed one to me, I would have delivered this story, Don’t Fly United Airlines: They Suck. Thanks to a dirty seat, I was stuck next to a chatty real estate agent for nearly six hours. Fuck the dirty seat, I wanted to go home.

What that flight delay means for you is that you will have to wait for the few Fluff photos and the story of my brief fling with McNeighborBoy. In the meantime, I’ll leave you with a rerun, the story of my freakshow Thanksgiving.

Off to New Hampshire, for a quiet (I hope) holiday. Happy Turkey, or as I call it, Happy Vegetable Pigout Day! Back soon.

Going to California: My Heart Aches

OK, I’m awake and alive. Life went into whirlwind pattern again (shows, work, brief fling with a neighbor, etc.), and I just haven’t been able to get to this blog. And now Little Sassy Schmoozer is dragging me, kicking and screaming, to California. Truly, I have an aching in my heart. The good news is that Fluff will be joining us, and I think I can give Little Sassy Schmoozer the slip long enough to get some photos. Wish me luck. Miss you all! I'll be back just before Thanksgiving.

Woooooooooohooooooooooo!!!!!!!

And how! My heart's still pounding from that close shave in the bottom of the ninth.

Sleep. Finally. Wooooohooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!

Close One

Holy shit, my nails are a ragged mess. I can’t believe we actually won that one. Curt Schilling’s politics be damned, he settled in and did some fine pitching in what might have been his last game wearing a Red Sox uniform. I heart Hideki Okajima and Jonathan Papelbon—way to pick off Holliday, Pap.

Thanks to Jacoby Ellsbury (Eddie Munster’s way cuter cousin) for winning America free tacos by stealing a base. Can I redeem mine at Taco Loco, please?

Oh, and Manuel, my Blog Friend in Belfast, you rock. Way to cheer on the Sox!

What Will They Think of Next?

When I spy bizarre products, I often think about what it takes to get them to store shelves. Not only did someone think, Hey, garlic is a wonderful thing. It wards off colds—I bet it would help stave off hair loss. Let’s make shampoo! but they also convinced an entire group of people that it would be a good idea to produce it. The mad inventor successfully pitched the product idea to a company, who then went out and sourced “unscented garlic extract” and formulated Garlic Shampoo.

The company then turned the product loose to a marketing team, and they figured out a way to get desperate people to buy it. Judging from the spam I get in my inbox, the only thing worse than a tiny penis is a bald head, so I guess the balding population might be an easy target. (Why is a mystery to me, as bald can indeed be beautiful, provided that comb-overs aren’t involved.)

Marketing teams are comprised of professionals, but in case they need some help, I’ve envisioned a few snappy campaign ideas for them:

Toupee a little too obvious? Garlic is the answer! Don’t worry—it’s unscented! They’ll never know!
Hair Club for Men? Don’t be a joiner! Try Garlic!
Don’t have money for laser treatment? Try our Garlic Shampoo! Cheap and effective!
Garlic Shampoo: Have a Full Head of Hair AND Ward Off Pesky Vampires!

Do you have any new product ideas? I’m sure we could convince this company to go with them. They did make Garlic Shampoo.

Oh Hell Yeah!!!!!

World Series, baby!

Wow, it was looking bad last week. All I can say is that the “triumvirate” (as Fresh Hell—baseball is her life, hee hee— put it) of Boston blog women must have worked some magic for our beloved Sox. Whatever it was, man, what a triad of games.

Scout, I did think of you when I saw the sad faces of the tribe. I’m sorry. They played some great baseball.

OK, off to collapse into bed.

Go Sox!!!!!

Do the Whirlwind

It all started Friday night when Roommate had a date night so I went out to watch the Sox That all went fine until after the game when this guy kept buying me drinks I wound up making out with him a bit As I recall he wasn’t a good kisser I woke up the next morning with that feeling that it’s best that the details are hazy I had a killer headache Roommate laughed her ass off when I recounted the evening’s events in my little girl doesn’t feel good voice Had some water and prayed for death Rallied Made it out to the store to get a wedding gift for friend’s wedding the following day then went to the park so that I wouldn’t waste a beautiful day Bought a very cute dress for wedding as I have learned that looking good takes the sting out of spinsterhood Once shopping was completed I went home and collapsed on the couch for a time before rallying yet again to see Architecture in Helsinki Talk about a killer show Fun fun fun fun dance dance dance whirlwind blast Couldn’t stop smiling Got home Sox in bottom of the tenth Had bad feeling Collapsed into bed Woke up next morning to hear the score was thirteen to six What the fuck Got dressed and went to Friend’s wedding and had a genuinely delightful time I guess that can happen at weddings Caught up with old friends ate some food drank some wine came home Collapsed into bed Woke up and went to work Left work and drove to New Hampshire to see friend from England of original Fluff fame at her mom’s house Had wonderful time visiting with her and other friends That is until I found out the Sox lost yet again Drove home Collapsed into bed Woke up and went to work Long day Exhausted Got home and took off for hair appointment Ah the joy of having someone massage one’s head Exchanged drinking stories with hilarious and talented stylist Bought too many hair products Took train home Arrived just in time for the game to start Roommate and I swore at the television as the Sox lost yet again Collapsed into bed Got up and went to work where a monstrous index awaited my loving ministrations Long long day Got home Popped laundry in washer Fixed dinner Collapsed on couch and nearly fell asleep while watching the Grey’s spin off though I like it when Roommate came home We watched it together Put extra concert ticket up on Craigslist Sat down and typed this thing Will promptly collapse into bed Tomorrow am getting together with Fresh Hell and Andraste for beer and Sox Then off to Stars and then Vermont Sometime around Sunday I can get off this crazy thing for a bit Then it starts again Whilwind indeed

The Sassy Sundries: My Week in Review

A week went by? Seriously? Yikes. Guess I was busy.

The calendar tells me that it’s time to do the Sassy Sundries, my weekly tally of things personal, political, and nonsensical, and so behold, the Sassy Sundries:

The Red Sox swept the Angels. Watching Manny Ramirez launch the ball out of Fenway Park erased the shame of spending Friday night in front of the tube. And then the Yankees needed their hankies. It was a beautiful week for baseball. Tonight, it’s Scout vs. Sundry, as Robyn’s Indians and my beloved Sox face off for Game 1 of the ALCS. October rocks. Plus Five

W comes out against a Congressional resolution calling the Armenian genocide a genocide, saying that it will harm our relationship with Turkey, a “key ally in the War on Terror.” Would he call the Holocaust an unfortunate incident if Germany hadn’t recognized its past and supported the Iraq War? Minus Three

California became the first state in the nation to pass a law prohibiting landlords from acting as immigration officials. Let's hope the nation follows. Now before everyone goes off in my comments box, I strongly suggest two things. First, read up on US activity in the regions where most of the illegals come from. Just as the positive results of our actions endure, so do the consequences of our negative actions. Second, put your money where your mouth is and start supporting organizations that work to give people a reason to stay home. I support and can recommend several. Plus Three

British writer Doris Lessing won the Nobel Prize for Literature. Not only does she deserve the honor, The Golden Notebook being one of the great novels of the last century, but her victory also upset the British bookies betting on the prize. For some reason, that last part makes me smile. Plus Three

The National put on an amazing show Saturday night at the Roxy. Music can take you to another place, and I’m still smiling over that performance. Plus Two

I made a new friend at the National show (not that kind of friend). Actually, I’ve been branching out a lot lately, and I’m enjoying my social life. There’s more to life than dating, and a woman needs friends. Plus Four

Hats off to Al Gore, for sharing the Nobel Peace Prize for his work to raise awareness about climate change. Plus Three

Total Plus: 17
Total Minus: 3
TOTAL FOR THE WEEK: +14

Last Week’s Total: +3

The Sassy Sundries: My Week in Review

Goddamn, it’s still lovely out. It may feel like August outside, but it’s October, baby, and the Red Sox are playing some baseball! Life is good. Well, actually life could be better for me. I’ve been a bit down this week, but hey, with wonderful things afoot, things are bound to improve.

It’s that time again. Time for me to tally up the week’s events, personal, political, and nonsensical. Without any further ado, here are the week’s Sassy Sundries:

A little celebratory cake, surrounded by Chester A. Arthur memorabilia

A very Happy Birthday today to Chester A. Arthur, the Ultimate Blank Years President. Today also marks the anniversary of my first comment from Robyn. Glad to know you, Blog Pal. Plus One

Hypocritical homophobic Senator Larry Craig fails in his attempt to reverse his guilty plea to a charge that he solicited sex in an airport men’s room. He’s still determined to stay in the Senate until the end of his term in January 2009. Yeah, good luck with that, Senator. Minus One

The Boston Red Sox, with help from the scrappy Baltimore Oriels, win their division for the first time since 1995. There’s a long row to hoe, but the hometown team’s performance in Game One was a great way to start. Oh, and Satan's Minions lost their first game. Plus Five

Congress initiates legislation to hold American contractors operating in Iraq accountable in US courts after reports emerge in Septmeber that employees of Blackwater USA opened fire and killed Iraqi civilians under questionable circumstances. With the administration strongly opposed to the proposed legislation, I doubt anything will pass, but the effort counts for something. Even

W delivers on his promise and vetoed the S-CHIP bill, stating that it would lead to socialized health care. Oh, no! Not a healthcare system where everyone’s covered, people live longer, and the infant mortality rate goes down! There’s been some talk about how this bill would be funded, but the way I see it, if we didn’t have an illegal and unnecessary war draining billions and billions of dollars a year, coming up with $35 billion to insure children wouldn’t take much doing. Minus Five

I finally got to see the Mountain Goats Sunday night at the Middle East. Fantastic show. Am looking forward to the National this weekend and Architecture in Helsinki the next (other shows to follow). October isn’t just for baseball. Plus Three

Total Plus: 9
Total Minus: 6

TOTAL FOR THE WEEK: +3

Last Week’s Total: +4

You Might See a Ghost, Dummy

Now that it’s October, our thoughts can turn to goblins and ghouls, to things that go bump in the night. And to more book proposals from people of questionable sanity. We recently received a two-thousand-page manuscript, in all caps, about spirits and ghosts. In case you didn’t know the difference, be enlightened:

DO NOT MISUNDERSTAND, SPIRITS THAT HAVE TRANSFERRED CORRECTLY MAY RETURN OF THEIR OWN ACCORD. THESE ARE NOT HAUNTINGS. DON’T CONFUSE THE TWO. A SPIRIT MAY COME AND GO TO CHECK ON LOVED ONES AND DO THEIR OWN BUSINESS HERE. A HAUNT IS THE EPHEREMAL AND PARANORMAL EQUIVALENT TO PSYCHOLOGICAL DISORDER IN HUMANS. THEY ARE STUCK WHERE THEY ARE, DON’T KNOW THEY ARE DEAD, AND ARE USUALLY TROUBLED IN SOME WAY. THEY NEED TO BE TOLD THEY ARE DEAD AND WHERE TO GO, OTHERWISE THEY WILL CAUSE INFLUENTIAL AND EMPATHICAL AFFECTS ON THOSE HUMANS WHO DWELL IN THE SAME OVERLAPPING DIMENSIONAL SPACE. HUH? I MEAN, YOU MIGHT SEE A GHOST, DUMMY. BOO.

Boo indeed. Beware of insane spirits. They turn into ghosts.