Dec 31, 2012
Dec 30, 2012
Ten reasons I left Les Miserables early:
1. The fact that this was *not* the poster.
2. The fact that for 2 hours or more, no sign of Hugh Jackman's penis.
None!
3. The "singing"
4. The fact that I hadn't really wanted to see it in the first place, just the costumes, and Hugh Jackman's penis...in a costume.
5. The 60 something couple behind me who kept talking: ("Oh my god...listen honey, that's that song by Susan Boyle!")
6. Betsy, the 90 year old immaculately dressed hunchback sitting next to me, (with what I hope is Tourette's), who screamed bloody murder at the top of her lungs during the trailers.
Three times: Loud.
7. The indignant "theatre" gays who lisped out an angry "Will you PLEASE be quiet!" at Betsy.
Thee times: Loud.
8. The fact that I had to pee.
9. Betsy's 70 something friends who yelled. "Shut up Betsy, you're acting like an asshole!" To which Betsy responded "I don't give a shit!" and then veeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeery sloooooooowly hobbled her way out of the theater in a huff.
10. The acrid smell of burning plastic. "You smell that? What's on fire?"
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 27, 2012
cafe society
The other night, I met up with a friend at my local coffeehouse
While there we had a reunion with the 80 something and a 70 something (his arch-rival/only friend) whom we'd metbeen cornered by back in September.
Of course, you could pretty much have a "reunion" with these two any time you want to sit on the bench where they hold court every night.
Anyway, while my friend bravely fended off the advances of the 70 year old gun enthusiast who wanted to "arm all you teachers"...and get in her pants, I got schooled in the ways of the world by a playboy:
a full 5 feet tall...from the bottom of his wingtips to the top of his shoe-polish black toupee....playboy.
(And he talked a lot about God.)
Turns out he used to be a pimp.
Yep.
A bonafide 80 year old, 5 foot tall pimp.
My lessons were punctuated periodically as he gamely hit on every female (young or old) who happened to walk down the sidewalk.
After my lessons, he asked for a ride...so I drove him back home...well, the corner nearest his home...where he squats in the still gutted post Katrina house of the mother of a former "girlfriend".
While there we had a reunion with the 80 something and a 70 something (his arch-rival/only friend) whom we'd met
Of course, you could pretty much have a "reunion" with these two any time you want to sit on the bench where they hold court every night.
Anyway, while my friend bravely fended off the advances of the 70 year old gun enthusiast who wanted to "arm all you teachers"...and get in her pants, I got schooled in the ways of the world by a playboy:
a full 5 feet tall...from the bottom of his wingtips to the top of his shoe-polish black toupee....playboy.
Let's just say he talked a whole lot more about Pussy than God.
Lesson one: The Protestant Reformation.
Lesson two: God
Lesson three: His time as a "bodybuilder" in the 60s.
Lesson four: His time in jail
Lesson five: The unfairness of the judicial system.
Lesson six: Pussy.
(And he talked a lot about God.)
Turns out he used to be a pimp.
Yep.
A bonafide 80 year old, 5 foot tall pimp.
My lessons were punctuated periodically as he gamely hit on every female (young or old) who happened to walk down the sidewalk.
After my lessons, he asked for a ride...so I drove him back home...well, the corner nearest his home...where he squats in the still gutted post Katrina house of the mother of a former "girlfriend".
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 24, 2012
Dec 23, 2012
From the Trailerparks of Middle Earth
Who needs to see "The Hobbit" in 3D when you can see this in on the truck ahead of you?
Btw, "Bye!" is totally Quenya for "Bitchin'"
Dec 22, 2012
Dec 21, 2012
Dec 20, 2012
Conversation 6 p.m.
My mother:
"I want to see that new movie. The one about slavery."
Me:
"Lincoln? I already took you to see that."
My mother:
"Noooo. The other one. The one they filmed down here. You know what I'm talking about."
Me:
"Django Unchained?"
My mother:
"Yes! I want to see that!"
Me:
"Hmmm. Really? I don't think you'd like it."
My mother:
"Why not? I love slavery!"
Me:
"..."
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 15, 2012
Dear Santa...
here are a few things I need. love, jason
 |
| money |
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| a little sugar...in my bowl |
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| a vacation |
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| some stamps |
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| a new cellphone |
 |
| three cars, a yacht and a butler |
Dec 14, 2012
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 12, 2012
answers
Exhibit B: This clown, whose book I just can't make myself read.
(I'm ashamed to admit I find myself attracted to him....cross eyes and all. dammit)
Exhibit A:
Of course it's dear old Grace Coddington, whose memoir, on the other hand, I'm very much enjoying. She's a delight.
And as Mistress Maddie says, a perfect role model for us all.
Dec 11, 2012
can you guess our mystery guest?
Mystery dates from two of the books I'm looking at the pictures of reading right now.
Ex. A.
Sample quote:
"I gazed lovingly into my husband's eyes while he, being somewhat shorter than I, stood on a box."
Ex. B.
Sample quote: "'It's like---squishy and mushy a little, and all over my clothes! Gross!'"
Sample thoughts:
Ex. A.
"I gazed lovingly into my husband's eyes while he, being somewhat shorter than I, stood on a box."
Sample quote: "'It's like---squishy and mushy a little, and all over my clothes! Gross!'"
Sample thoughts:
1. I find myself attracted to both of them.
2. I am profoundly disturbed by this (moreso by Exhibit B than to Exhibit A, however.)
2. Who has the better hair?
Dec 9, 2012
Meet my new pet...
"Whiskers"
(Of course, I find myself saying that name like Little Edie at the beginning of "Grey Gardens". It's just how it must be pronounced.)
She's a 50 dollar Roomba knockoff from Biglots.
I had the dream of being able to just leave the house with her doing her thing, only to return to a spotlessly clean apartment.
No such luck.
She has to be supervised at all times, which kind of negates the whole point...well, to me at least.
I turned my head for a few minutes and she was sucking down the drapes
Also, much like a real cat, she gets trapped under the sofa and must be physically removed.
It's more work than vacuuming myself I think.
I thought about returning her.
(My mother is eager to do the dirty work of returning it for me. She loves returning things, anything...even a used vacuum. It's her hobby.
She has no shame. No fear.)
But I decided today to keep her.
What the hell. She keeps me company. I've become attached. You know what they say about strays, once you name it, it's yours.
She's a 50 dollar Roomba knockoff from Biglots.
I had the dream of being able to just leave the house with her doing her thing, only to return to a spotlessly clean apartment.
No such luck.
She has to be supervised at all times, which kind of negates the whole point...well, to me at least.
I turned my head for a few minutes and she was sucking down the drapes
Also, much like a real cat, she gets trapped under the sofa and must be physically removed.
It's more work than vacuuming myself I think.
I thought about returning her.
(My mother is eager to do the dirty work of returning it for me. She loves returning things, anything...even a used vacuum. It's her hobby.
She has no shame. No fear.)
But I decided today to keep her.
What the hell. She keeps me company. I've become attached. You know what they say about strays, once you name it, it's yours.
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 5, 2012
Recently seen (no, really)...
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| Bust of Ronald Reagan (@consignment shop) |
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| a diet coke "3D" puzzle (@ Michael's) |
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| The Ronald Reagan "Graphic Novel" (at DollarTree) |
 | |||
| The Diet Coke Xmas ornament (@TJMaxx) |
Anyway, I still think Diet Coke would have been a better president.
Diet Coke/Hillary 2016!
You know, one of those Tuesday nights...
when you find yourself alone, on a late night in Target...
wheeling around a box of plastic Christmas ornaments, a kitchen timer, a big ass cup of diet coke and....a bottle of vodka.
Again.
wheeling around a box of plastic Christmas ornaments, a kitchen timer, a big ass cup of diet coke and....a bottle of vodka.
Again.
Dec 1, 2012
Stick it
I've just returned yet another crowded suburban parking lot where every other SUV has one of these on it.
I groan each time I see one.
Next step, might be a razor blade....(to the window or my wrists, not sure.)
I groan each time I see one.
Next step, might be a razor blade....(to the window or my wrists, not sure.)
 | ||
| OMG. I may need to kill someone |
 | ||||||||
| Just stop it already, people! |
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| Ok, not quite as bad |
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| Finally something I hope to see one day. |
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