michael...

i will ALWAYS be a fan. he was an amazing talent. first concert i ever saw. his passing truly, truly saddens me.

the flatulence factor

my boss. i love her. i do. she's great. as much as i may want to run away from my job (barefoot...over broken glass), it's not because of my boss. she's a great person. an amazing dresser. and classy as hell. but damnit if she didn't just poot next to my head. we were looking at something on my computer. i was seated, she was standing, and she just let one pop. it wasn't a deadly one, but i had to close my lips for a few minutes, just cuz it was so damn close to my mouth. she did say excuse me though (i told you she was classy).

this incident led me to thoughts of poots and how poots, toots and "silent but deadlies" factor into a relationship. when you live with someone or even when you just spend beaucoup time together what's the poot rule? i personally don't believe the whole shit about "when he farted in front of me, i knew he felt comfortable around me and that we'd be together for a long time." that's not the sign of comfort i'm looking for. show me the scar where your third nipple used to be, tell me about how you made out with your cousin when you were kids, scratch your balls, but don't toot. now don't get me wrong, i know it's natural, we all do it, and sometimes it can't be helped. but that's what i'm getting at. how do you incorporate that into a relationship? after the initial months of being on good behavior and barely even breathing around one another, what's the initiation of the poot? seeing as how i've never lived with a man and the last time i had a serious relationship, ipods did not exist...wait...holy shits!! for real? (per wikipedia, yes, very for real...damn that was a long time ago.) anyway, given that, i don't know how this works. and what happens when you're in the bed? do you just hope the person's asleep? fan the sheets? obviously, you're not going to get up every time. and the sex poot? what does one do when the pot gets to stirrin' during intercourse? these are things i'd like to know. and are there people who just don't do it around their significant other, and if so, i applaud you and your exceptionally strong rectal muscles. and i invite you to share your technique as well.

of course, this poot discussion leads to a load of other questions. like guys, if your girlfriend's vijay smells a lil' sour, do you tell her? ladies, if you're doing your man's laundry and you see skid marks in his boxer briefs, do you give him a "wiping your ass" tutorial? i don't mean to gross y'all out, so i'll stop, but i feel these are genuine concerns. these are things i need to know should i get a man before the next i______(insert technology) comes out. who's the brave soul that's willing to comment on this? and don't forget the poll at the bottom...

i just heard another boss toot, but it was at her desk this time, L.A.

monday blues

for those of you who were reading a year ago (june 3rd to be exact), you'll recall that through divine intervention, i somehow got a hold of a certain showrunner's home address. TWICE. and this was like someone on the level of jerry bruckheimer, except not jerry bruckheimer. the first time i accidentally got some of this person's mail, it was just really cool. the second time, it was a sign from God. being the good christian, godfearing girl that i am, i decided to not only send the showrunner their mail back but also to send a script along with it and a warm and fuzzy letter of introduction/pleading. i figured this would either 1) get me arrested for harassment or 2) make a great opening segment on my E! true hollywood story.

actually, it did neither.

today, i received a package in the mail. as soon as i saw the return address (a law office) and the "Personal" mark on it, i knew what it was. my first thought was "shit! they're suing me a whole fucking year later. goddamnit." (after learning this morning that my car repair would cost a cool $680, being sued for the (imaginary?) federal offense of obtaining a personal address and using it for my own professional gain was the last thing i could afford to deal with.) however, when i opened the package, it simply contained my script and a form letter, stating how said showrunner does not accept unsolicited material. and nary a thank you for the mail that was conveniently missing from the envelope. you're welcome, bastards!
fortunately, i hadn't been holding my breath waiting on a response nor had i reserved any space on my vision board for them, so no harm done.

on a separate note, per the survey, i'm glad to see that a partner who can't read is a big deal to people. it is the one i voted for. and if you think about it, illiterate people generally have a more difficult time in the world, but some of the greatest minds in history went days without bathing. and i figured that if my partner could read, then he can read about how important it is to shower, how to control his unruly children and crack open Intercourse for Dummies. it's not a guarantee, but it's a start.

i've added a new survey.

i am a tad disgruntled today, L.A.

get on the poll

i was bored (as usual) and realized that i can post polls on my blog. so please see the poll at the bottom of the page and VOTE!! be heard damnit.

i also made it so you can subscribe to manlessdogless. i don't know what that means, but i hope somebody does it and then tells me what happens.

and i'm still waiting for some daring soul to send me a bad relationship story that i can post and share with the world. or a good story so we can all secretly despise you.
just kidding. it won't be a secret.

back in the saddle (on a dead horse)

someone asked me this morning if i was glad to be back at work after 12 days away. is that a real question? much like a catholic hooker on a Sunday night, i'm pretty sure work is the last place i want to be. do you understand the life of leisuuuure i was leading while on vacation? i woke up each day around 11 a.m. (that's CDT which is actually 9 a.m. PDT and really rather early). i laid in bed and watched judge mathis, people's court, got up to eat, got back in bed in time for another round of judge mathis and then judge judy. then i showered and was fortunate enough to have people take me to dine at places like chick-fil-a (awesome!!), fuddrucker's and the cottonpatch. now you might think that a brown girl in the south would shy away from any establishment having to do with cotton. and i must admit that having gone to the cottonpatch with my very white godfather, the whole event did whisper of plantation days. but they have the best catfish and buttered rolls around, so a girl's got to do what a girl's got to do.

but i don't want you to think the whole trip was a country affair. aside from all the fried food, the gold tooth, the pistol and whatnot, it was quite classy. i ate salads and drank tea. i read "the book thief" (an amazing novel), went for a walk (just one, as it was hotter than devil snatch) and watched true blood. and anyone who criticized my diet or my sleeping habits, i had three words for them: i'm on vacation.

and now, i'm back. earlier, my engaged co-worker was talking about her wedding, which i truly am delighted to hear about and will joyfully attend in a couple of months. as she concluded her story, she said to all the married women (and me), "i just love talking about my wedding with other--" (insert a look at me and a realization that she cannot end the sentence with "married women" and divert to option B) "women who like weddings." i appreciate her consideration on this matter. and i'm glad it only took 2.5 hours for me to get back to work and be reminded that "yeah, bitch. youz alone." what else? oh, yeah. the temp...the one that wanted to dagger me for my job. well, turns out she got a full time gig (one she actually likes) and started on Monday. so, she has a new good job, and i'm still here. guess the joke's on me, eh?

and no, i haven't talked to elvis. but i have no complaints about that. he texted me while i was in texas with the typical "are you asleep" (at 1 a.m. PDT, which is actually 3 a.m. CDT and much too fuckin' late for you to be trying to do whatever it is you're trying to do). i told him i was far away, hoping he would think that meant far away with a gent who could afford to travel in a car that did not double as his residence, when really i was at home, in my adolescent bed, curled up with a teddy bear and a blanket.

i saw this page bookmarked on my mother's computer, and if she is reading this right now, i would politely ask her to click on the x on the top right corner and never return, as i cannot speak my mind if my mother is reading, LA. love you, mom.

texas wedding

tonight, i was in my cousin's wedding in dallas. i would like to share some of the highlights.

yesterday, at the rehearsal, a damn near 40 year old woman came up to me and introduced herself as my sister (by marriage). and then proceeded to nestle me in her gynormous bosom. this posed its own set of problems for me, as did her calling my dad "dad" and my brother "brother", but the biggest problem is that she's also my third cousin. that's a little too much intermingling if you ask me. but nobody did...so i guess i'll just move on.

carl was the goomsman i was paired up with. carl had the sweatiest palms i've ever felt. carl also had a gold front tooth with a "C" carved in it. we had to take a picture together as we walked down the aisle. so NOW there's a picture in this world of me walking down the aisle with an alphabet gold-toothed man. thank you, universe.

the dinner served included brisket, baked beans, potato salad, chicken, sausage, a slab of pickle, sliced onion, jalapenos and a roll. oh, and a little tub of barbeque sauce.

one of the groomsmen standing on my side decided the song the bride was walking down the aisle to was his "jam", and he proceeded to sing it as she walked. he thought he was singing softly. he was not.

towards the end of the evening, i was on the balcony outside with my brother, male cousin and female cousin (not the bride). well, one of the groomsmen had been trying to "talk" to my girl cousin all night, despite the fact that she's married with children. my male cousin (her brother) finally told him to chill out. well, the groomsman didn't like that and neither did his boys. they had some words for my cousin. well, my brother, of course, had to step in to put these mississippi boys in their place. next thing i know, it's my bother and cousin against the groomsmen, and everybody's in each other's face. then the situation moved out into the parking lot, where one of my relatives decided to get his pistol out of his truck and slip it in his waistband...just in case. yes, everybody had been drinking more than they should have, but damn, do we really have to go to the trunk with it? and why are y'alls shirts off? is this for real???

i'm about to eat come cake and go to bed because this was too much for me.

i just wanted you to know how we do it in texas, L.A.

and on the 6th day, he bathed

so on top of all the stuff i was bitching about yesterday (and pardon my ranting, really. it's a bit much i know, especially for the guys who had to read about my whole woman thing. i guess i forgot that guys might actually read this) elvis called around ten something last night. i hadn't seen him in a couple of weeks and hadn't communicated with him since he sent me a text message at 1:30 a.m. (on a school night!) asking if i wanted some company. i POLITELY replied at a decent hour the following morning and suggested that if he wanted to hang out with me, he should make plans in advance. none of this let me call you after work and swing by so we can make out business. though he responded with a "sounds good", i figured he wouldn't actually do that. and that was fine with me. so in the six days since, i hadn't given it much thought. anyway, he called, and i decided to answer because i do like him as a person even if he isn't exceptional dating material. small talk ensued. he told me about how busy he'd been, etc. told me he'd been spending nights in his ride to which i responded by asking "so how do you brush your teeth and wash your face and all that?" he said he does it at work and then showers at a friend's in between jobs. which brought him to the point of this here phone call. "i didn't get by my friend's today, so i was wondering if i could come by and use your shower." ain't this a bitch, i thought, and laughed out loud. unbelievable! however, it never really crossed my mind to say no. i mean, i believe that all people--men, women, black, white, jew and gentile--have the right to shower. how could i deprive him of that? i do want him to be clean. i DO. and no, it's not my fault that his living situation is such that he doesn't have a shower to call his own, and no i shouldn't feel the need to offer my bathroom to every shower-needy person in LA, but...i said yes. he did mention that he had his own towel to dry off with, so i guess that was incentive for me.

five minutes later, he was there. with a face towel in hand. yes, one of the itty bitty square ones. i asked him if he truly intended on drying off with that. he did. maybe he knew all along that i would see that and hand him a "big boy" towel. maybe not. in either case, i did just that, and off he went. while he enjoyed my hot water, i laid on my couch and thought, "is this really my life? is ANYBODY upstairs running this show, ensuring that this life makes sense and that there's a happy ending or is this shit just on autopilot?" he eventually emerged and sat his ass on MY couch in MY wet towel, leaving the cushion nice and damp when he stood up. apparently, he's not into sportscenter or the news, so i turned on the colbert report, which entertained him until he decided he'd rather make out. i was not really feeling that idea...initially, but i have to say, the boy makes one of the most persuasive arguments i've witnessed in a long time. and he smelled so fresh. and his hair was so...curly! (yes, i discovered that elvis has a lovely head of curls that he hides under all that whatchamacallit that he puts in it to straighten it out. i told him he should really consider going with the natural look). so he got to shower, AND he got to kiss me repeatedly. lucky bastard. a couple of hours later, he redressed himself, packed himself into his "mobile home" and headed off to who knows where. and that was my night.

i wonder if he left that little towel at my house on purpose. like is this going to a regular thing, LA?