i'll have the big gulp, thank you

Okay, so there's this woman at work who's relatively new and, I swear to God, I CANNOT shut up around her.

Did you ever know one of those people who, despite your best efforts, you simply cannot help but yammer incessantly whenever they are near? Well, it happens to me occasionally and it sucks. I don't know what comes over me sometimes. It's like a sickness.

Believe it or not, I'm considered quiet at work... [I'll pause for the incredulous, "Youuuuuuuuuu?!" response. To which I say: "How very clever and unexpected! Now, suck my left nut and let me get on with my story!" Mama has the PMS, you see...]

So, as I was saying before I was hypothetically interrupted, I'm considered one of the less talkative people in the office. This woman, however, would be inclined to disagree.

It's not that she even makes me nervous or flustered. I don't like her or anything like that. I mean, she's nice and stuff but I'm not stricken chatty because I have a crush on her. I swear I don't. I realize that I'm opening myself up to accusations that I doth protest too much but those of you willing to levy such a charge can taketh thine Shakespeare and shove it up thine arse(s). Me lady is not even me type.

Anyhoo, I think I may have discovered the root of the problem. The first time she and I spoke, I had just emerged from a day of not really socializing with anyone. I was really busy all day and didn't have a chance to chat with any of my coworkers. I bumped into her in the pantry late in the day and SPLAT! Verbal fucking diarrhea. A day's worth of pent-up chit-chat, small talk and mindless banter exploded from my mouth with such speed and force that I could NOT put a cork in it. I had the oral runs. The talkative trots, even. The spoken shits, if you will.

I caught myself jawing away and was actually telling myself to shut up in my head. But I couldn't reel it in. What spewed forth was an unending stream of uninteresting, useless, overly-detailed information, observations and the like. I was holding that poor woman hostage but could.not.make.it.stop. I felt like Ted Striker constantly talking about the war to his fellow passengers in Airplane! How this woman wasn't dangling from the rafters or sucking on a bullet by the time our conversation ended is nothing short of a miracle.

And now whenever I see her, I try so hard to be cool and not talk a lot that I get nervous and well, the incessant babbling begins. I feel like emailing her and saying, "Look, I'm not usually such a talkative fucktard. I swear I'm not. May we please wipe the slate clean and begin again?"

Maybe I should invest in a sedative. I can have it on me at all times like an EpiPen so that I can just jab myself in the thigh whenever I feel an attack coming on. That should do it. OR!!! I can follow her into the bathroom every time she goes in. At some point, she's bound to emit an embarrassing noise or odor and then won't she be ashamed that I witnessed it! The balance of power will finally be restored!

Ooh, there she goes! Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go "fix my hair."

random thoughts, rhetorical questions and the occasional brain fart

Once again I'm embarking on a series that I promise to continue... but probably won't. But, it's good to have goals, right? The follow-through biznatch is another story entirely...

So, without further ado (and with full apologies to George Carlin), here's a short list of some of the things I, Curly McDimple, have pondered:

1. How do you dispose of a garbage can? Won't the trash collectors just leave it on the curb with the rest of them?

2. What asinine circumstances preceded the discovery of peanut butter as an effective means of removing gum from one's hair? I mean, did someone flail about the house in a panic and then crash head-first into a tub of Skippy after getting Hubba Bubba stuck in his 'do?!

I'm assuming that during this same melee, a can of Coke was knocked into a toilet thereby leading to the discovery of its impressive porcelain-cleaning power. Coincidentally, that person who knocked over the soda managed to get a glob of toothpaste on his arm precisely where he had a mosquito bite and voila! No more itch! Meanwhile, all the commotion frightened an eye-witness so much that her violent hiccups were instantly cured.

And there you have it, I guess.

3. Why is there an anti-skip feature on portable CD players? Is there a pro-skip movement that I don't know about? Are they in the same camp as the people who don't like to remove red eye from their photos?

Got ridiculous questions/observations? Please share them!
_______________________________________

* Please don't respond to these questions with "facts and figures" or "logic." I will instantly hate you if you do.

on diplomacy

I entered the elevator in the Court Street subway station this evening to find this wee dust-up already in progress...

English Chap: "Sir, you DO realize that you just bumped into me?"

Drunken Slob: "Ugh."

English Chap: "You literally just shoved me out of your path and manhandled me. That was very, very rude. Are you aware of that?"

Drunken Slob: "Mmm. Urgh."

English Chap: "You had better be more careful or there are bound to be repercussions. Just you think about that."

Awww snap! Dem's... uh, very articulate and polite fighting words!

Everyone on the elevator looked over at Drunken Slob expectantly. He reeked of whiskey (hello, angry drunk!) so I thought for sure he'd take a swing at the English fellow, or, at the very least, bawl him out. Instead, he blinked twice, exhaled loudly, waved his hand at the Englishman with a lazy "Eh!" and then shuffled off the elevator.

Chalk one up for good British manners! Although, I personally would have taken a different route and sent the drunk off with a nice Glasgow Kiss and/or a swift kick in the old meat and two veg, but that's just me...

inside the actors studio with curly mcdimple

I have a love/hate relationship with Inside the Actors Studio. I'll tune in and watch even though I find James Lipton to be incredibly creepy. I find his creepiness to be most evident when he's planting a big verbal wet one on some actor's ass (which is, um, all the time). He looks out towards the audience but doesn't really make eye contact and then his eyes tend to glaze over with a distant, far-away look. The whole thing is disturbing. Maybe it's those saccharine-y compliments of his causing him to slip into a diabetic coma or something. I don't know.

At the same time, some of the questions in his towering stack of blue index cards are thoughtful and probing and make for really compelling interviews. For example, the episode with Sean Penn was brilliant. Ditto for the Meryl Streep and Paul Newman installments. In fact, when the show first started, the caliber of interviews on that show week after week was truly stellar.

In recent years, the roster of guests has become decidedly less impressive. Jennifer Lopez? James, you're joking, right? Billy Joel? WTF? WTF? WTF?!?! Recently, the show tumbled to an all-time low with its booking of one Rosie O'Donnell.

I actually used to like Rosie. I enjoyed her on Star Search and VH-1's Stand-Up Spotlight. I never really thought she was hilarious but she was likeable and earnest and gave it her all. It's those very same qualities that made her talk show succeed, particularly in the early seasons. Her show really worked well in the beginning because she was a huge fan of her guests. She was excited and giddy and asked the questions that most of us wanted to ask. Every member of her audience could relate.

And then stories started to surface about her backstage shenanigans. At the time, I worked for an industry publication where I was in contact with her show's production company. The list of staff changes they sent me week-to-week and month-to-month was astounding. Rosie's ratings were slipping and she cleaned house. What she failed to realize was that her appeal was waning not because of her associate producer but because she was now a bigger star than most of her guests. The novelty wore off. Gone was her wide-eyed admiration of her favorite celebs and in its place was plain old schmoozing.

Her public persona started to change too. Rosie was quoted as saying that people over a certain age who wanted an autograph "[needed] to get a life." In most cases, I would agree with this assessment but not when the advice is coming from the same woman who so famously fawned over Tom Cruise and bawled incessantly in the presence of Barbra Streisand. And didn't she love to tell everyone how, as a youngster, she would wait at the stage door after shows to meet the actors and get autographs? Rosie was getting a bit too big for her Lane Bryant britches, it seemed. The seed of distaste was planted within me.

It bloomed into full-blown dislike after Rosie's truly insufferable post-Columbine anti-gun crusade. I understood her emotional response to the tragedy but her subsequent rants were shrill, misinformed and completely misguided.

And then there was the Rosie magazine debacle. I particularly loved how she turned the bitch switch on full blast and cut her hair into an asymmetrical mess just as she confirmed to the world that she was a big ol' dyke. Nice, Rosie. Thank you.

But back to Inside the Actors Studio... She was recently on the show and I watched it. Dude, I set my DVR and recorded that bad boy so that I wouldn't miss a second and could rewind if need be.

Now you might be asking yourself why I even subjected myself to such a painful hour of television. Well, it's the same reason I watched Rosie in Riding the Bus With My Sister. I see the entertainment value in my own outrage and discomfort. Same logic applies to my viewings of Brown Bunny, Jersey Girl (the Jami Gertz version) and the Today show (fuck you, Al Roker!)

I watched the interview expecting to be amusingly annoyed by Rosie. Instead, I felt a little bad for her. As Lipton prattled through her anemic list of acting accomplishments and accolades, Rosie looked uncomfortable. With each passing second she realized she didn't belong there. And she didn't.

Yes, she's an entertainer in her own right but she's not equipped to teach graduate-level students about acting technique. If the New School were to unveil courses such as "How to Run a Beloved Magazine into the Ground," "The Finer Points of Drake's Cakes" or "When In Doubt, Decoupage!" then maybe Rosie could step in and give us a few pointers. Until then, it's best to leave the heavy theatrical lifting to the big guns.

You know, I have a few student films under my belt and I performed in Christmas and spring pageants from kindergarten through eighth grade. That puts my resume at about the same level as Rosie's, no? While it won't (and shouldn't) get me booked on Inside the Actors Studio, I do think it at least entitles me to answer those questions Lipton poses at the end of every interview. All agreed? Good. Take it away, James!

James Lipton: Curly McDimple began lip-syncing and singing off-key at a young age. She was bitten by the theater bug in high school and quickly won self-appointed critical acclaim with her rousing renditions of "Bui-Doi" from Miss Saigon and Hair's "Colored Spade."

McDimple's unique take on standards and showtunes often courted controversy. For example, her flat-yet-spirited retelling of Annie was censored by the McDimple Family. But the young McDimple thumbed her nose at the nay-sayers and continued honing her own unusual, some would say poor, brand of belting. Her efforts earned her a "For the Love of God, Please Shut Up!" nomination and several other citations.

Curly McDimple can next be seen perfoming selections from Stephen Sondheim's Company in her bathroom mirror in Downtown Brooklyn. But first, Curly will take part in the questionnaire created by the esteemed Bernard Pivot for Bouillon de Culture...

Curly, what is your favorite word?
Intensity.

[Ed Note: What I really want to say: Sassy]

What is your least favorite word?
I'm not too keen on the word "chinos" lately.

What turns you on creatively, spiritually or emotionally?
Equal parts humor and intellect.

What turns you off?
Dry, wit-free, overly literal types.

What is your favorite curse word?
"Fuck" for emphasis and/or flavor. "Dickhead" for a putdown. And "ass" always comes in handy.

[Ed Note: I HATE HATE HATE when the actors pretend like they're surprised by this question. Oh, fuck off with that mock surprise! You knew it was coming and you prepared for it so drop the charade.]

What sound or noise do you love?
My own laugh. It took me a long time to find it so I never ever take it granted.

What sound or noise do you hate?
"Hocccccccccccccccccchhhhhhhhhh-too!"

[Ed Note: The sound men make when they hoch a loogie and spit.]

What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?
I would love to create props and sets for movies. I remember seeing From Star Wars to Jedi when I was younger and I really wanted to work in the studio where all the puppets and models were made. I'm still intrigued by the behind-the-scenes movie magic.

What profession would you not like to do?
Proctologist. Seriously, how does one develop a passion for this line of work? Even if you're an ass man/woman, it's not like you're not doing anything fun back there. Call me overly fussy but I don't stick my finger in just anyone's butt... unless you buy me dinner first.

If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?
"See? I told you not to believe those judgmental assholes who you said you weren't allowed in. Now let's you and Me go drop shit on their closed-minded heads."

[APPLAUSE]

Thank you.

on matrimony, new additions and accidental hand jobs

I, your favorite big ol' lesbo, have just emerged from THE straightest weekend ever.

On Saturday I attended my dear friend's wedding where I once again wowed the crowd with my 80s dance moves.

On Sunday, I attended another dear friend's baby shower. There was no wowing at this event as the dance moves were confined to the car as I drove to and fro the restaurant. My fellow motorists on Route 280 seemed to be impressed though.

The capper for this marathon hetero weekend? I felt up a dude.

Well, not on purpose. Let me 'splain...

I stayed in Jersey until this morning and had to partake in ye olde suburban commute. I got off the bus and clomped zombie-like through the long, crowded corridor connecting the Port Authority and the Times Square subway stations. As I adjusted the heavy duffel bag on my left shoulder, my right arm swung loose and made direct contact with some guy's junk. Well, it wasn't direct contact necessarily since he was wearing pants. FYI, that is not an extraneous detail to include since this is, after all, New York.

My introduction to the man's genitals was more of a back-handed graze as opposed to full-on cuppage but regardless, I felt sheepish. I looked over at the guy I accidentally violated to offer my apologies and noticed that he seemed quite pleased by my less-than-traditional "handshake." Apparently, my technique was quite good.

I think I need to really gay it up this week to restore my lesbo luster. On the agenda: Jodie Foster movies, heated discussions using the words "patriarchy" and "oppression," animal rescue, vegan cooking and the casting of a Wiccan spell or two.

Gawd, I cannot even joke about that.

on road kill and why it's a riot

Ooooh! Sheila just reposted what I think is her funniest story EVER. I read it when she originally posted it and then several times after and it always reduces me to hysterics. Today's reading was particularly funny because my allergies are quite bad and my laughter sounds like a cross between Smedley and a harmonica. The wheeze is very amusing, if I do say so myself.

Check out Sheila's Night O' Carnage. It's hilarious.

the alan alda sensitivity project: addendum

Here is one more item to add to the running list of lessons I gleaned from watching television during my impressionable youth.

11. Programs like The Jeffersons or Diff'rent Strokes often dealt with the important topic of race relations. While the theme was always responsibly covered, both shows frequently used the same template when wrapping up these episodes. It went a little something like this:

A white person (in a guest-starring role) reveals him/herself to be racist. After his/her misdeeds are discovered, the racist will be called a "turkey" (or a "jive turkey") and then have a door slammed in his/her face by an Enlightened White Person (and show regular).

After the audience's satisfied clapping and whooping dies down, said EWP turns to the black person(s) on the show and demonstrates that he/she is down by instigating a "give me five" while exclaiming something like, "Slip me some skin!"

EWP examples: Mr. Drummond, Tom Willis and, of course, Charles Ingalls

Items 1-10 can be found here. Feeling festive? Check out the Alan Alda Sensitivity Project Holiday Edition.

______________________________
Note: This revelation was inspired by today's IM session with the impossibly kick-ass Helon the Felon.

'employee' of the month

It seems that I've become a floating customer service representative at my local Key Food. Now, as it is, I'm already one of those people forlorn tourists stop in the street and subway to ask for directions. I'm assuming it's because I've got that knowledgeable-and-self-assured-yet-approachable look about me. If you ask me where Little Italy is, you can be confident that I'll not only get you there, I also won't beat your ass for daring to make eye contact with me. I'm very good that way.

So, back to Key Food... As I've stated before on this here blog, I'm tall (5'8") so I've helped my fellow shoppers out more than once by extending my gangly arms to grab the desired can of Manwich or the bag of Solo cups from the top shelf.

I love my height and I welcome the opportunity to put it to good use. By the by, it also comes in handy when I want to make some men feel inadequate. I ain't one of them man-hating types but every now and then I do like to chalk up a quiet victory on behalf of all females who've been dicked around. HOO-RAH!

In addition to fetching out-of-reach items, I've also been approached by consumers for product advice. Like, strangers find me trustworthy and crap. So, at the request of fellow shoppers, I've given informal reviews of scrod, Stroehmann Honey Cracked Wheat bread and Francesco Rinaldi tomato sauce. I even helped a poor dude pick out tampons for his girlfriend who, no doubt, was holed up in the bathroom until he returned home with the goods.

Last night I swung by the grocery store to pick up some milk and toilet paper. As I made a beeline for the Scott Tissue, a woman sporting a head wrap and a thick accent asked for my assistance. She pointed to the bright yellow sale sign taped to the shelf and said, "Yes, which of these is two for $5?"

"Hmmm, let me see... oh, it's the Double Quilted Northern, four pack." I spotted it on the shelf and handed it to her. She took it and then proceeded to squeeze it in such a way that would have given Mr. Whipple a coronary.

"No, I don't like this," she declared bluntly.

"Yeah, it's not good for the plumbing." Realizing that it could be misconstrued as a digestive double entendre, I clarified my statement: "I mean, it's thick and can clog up the pipes and stuff."

"What about that?" she asked while pointing to the Key Food generic toilet paper.

"Hmm... that stuff is kind of scratchy. I prefer this," I advised while picking up the Scott Tissue.

"Yes, I know that Scott is the best but how much is this?" she asked, again referring to the generic sandpaper-y stuff.

Clearly, this woman mistook my denim jacket for a Key Food smock and I was now in it for the long haul. I bent down and moved a few rolls out of the way to find the sticker on the shelf. "59 cents," I informed her.

"How do you know that?" she asked in a somewhat incredulous tone.

"Well, the price is right there. See? 59 cents," I explained while pointing to the sticker.

"Now how much is this? Is this one on sale?" she asked in reference to an enormous 24-pack of Marcal paper towel shrink-wrapped (shrunk-wrapped?) together.

"Uh, I'm not really sure. Why don't you get a circular and see if it's advertised?"

That is when I became useless to the woman. "Eh, you don't work here. I ask for real help."

She muttered a half-assed thank you, turned on her heel and walked away. Whatever. I just shrugged, grabbed my T.P. and headed towards the milk aisle where I encountered the same woman's son (he was her total Mini Me) horsing around on a shopping cart.

I excused myself and tried squeezing through the limited opening he left and then wham! The cart whirled around, rammed me right in the thigh and pinned me against the meat case.

Accidents happen but that fucker didn't even say he was sorry. So, I shoved the cart -- with the fucker still on it -- into the Herr's display. Um, apologies in advance to my neighbors if your potato chips are crushed.

I hate that kid. He was hogging up the whole aisle acting like a real asshole. I could just tell he was a real shit punk* who gets away with murder. He won't for long though because if he keeps that crap up, he's going to get clobbered. His mother best pick up some of that quilted toilet paper because his ass is going to need something a bit more forgiving after it gets kicked repeatedly.

Oh and, Key Food? I hereby demand a consulting fee... and workmen's comp. Now pay up before I start picketing.

______________________________
* Shit punk is a term coined by my friend Beth's 6-year-old son. He was being picked on in school by some douche bag and got so frustrated that he grabbed two words from his vocabulary, mashed them together into an insult and unleashed it. Of course, the teacher overheard and told Beth. Naturally, she advised her son not to speak like that but she gave her own friends permission to go forth and spread her son's brand-new put-down to the masses. Shit punk -- use it often and well.

she don't eat meat but she sure like the bone... well, not really

The topic of my veggie-ism came up more than once this week. Fortunately, in all instances it was a very matter-of-fact discussion where I didn't have to defend or qualify my choice of diet. This was a pleasant change of pace from the usual, tired rigmarole where I'm subjected to the following reaction(s) when people find out I don't eat the meat:

1) Horror. Apparently, admitting to a preference for soy products is on the same level as saying you like to charbroil babies or something.

2) Incredulity. This is when I'm met with a litany of questions along the lines of, "Oh my God! Don't you ever want a big, rare, juicy steak?" or "But what about bacon?!"

As I respond with a firm "Nope" to each cut, brand and style of meat thrown at me, their persistence, bewilderment and agitation grows. I don't know why they care so much that I don't like it. My not eating it means more bloody filet mignon for them!

You know, meat-eaters are SO quick to bitch about the tree-hugging, crunchy types who bandy about terms like "murder" and "tortured soul" while lecturing them and thrusting literature with images of depressed-looking cows and chickens in their faces. What they put me through is just as invasive and obnoxious, if you ask moi. I don't proselytize so I'd thank everyone to kindly fuck off and leave me be with my Boca Burgers.

So help me God, the next carnivore who subjects me to this form of interrogation will be dislodging large amounts of extra-firm tofu from his/her ass. Seriously, whoever it is will be pooping undigested Tofu Pups for the foreseeable future.

Now, in case you haven't already jumped to the rather obvious conclusion, I ain't all that fond of the fur neither. I don't talk about it all that much because my preferred form of protest is to just not wear it... and um, passive-aggressively give dirty looks to people who do.

I've since learned to not get into the fur debate with people. It's a waste of time, in my experience. Like, some of the people who take me to task don't even dig fur themselves but they just like to take the piss out of animal-lovers or people with causes in general. Forgive me but I have better things to do with my time than engage in non-arguments with these annoying people. For example, I have a shower that needs grouting and some spices that need alphabetizing right after I clean the lint out of my belly button.

Some people I know in the pro-fur camp are really persistent and always try to goad me into an argument. My aunt was one of these people. However, after our last altercation, she gave up. Was it my superior debate skills that won the argument? No. A commanding knowledge of statistics and facts and figures that furthered my cause? Oh, fuck no.

It was dog spunk that came to my aid. Yes, I said dog spunk.

You see, my aunt loved to tease me by flaunting her long, brown fur coat in my face. One day she made like a matador and waved it at me menacingly. I didn't take the bait but, um, apparently all that moving and swaying of the brown fur got her rather randy mutt, Bruiser, a bit excited.

So, as the mink was dangling from my aunt's arm, the dog took a running leap and mounted the coat with the greatest of ease. My aunt tried shaking Bruiser loose and wrestling her fancy coat back from his vice-like leg grip but that wee fella held tight and humped his way clear through to a happy ending.

Yup, he left a sizable souvenir on the fur that required treatment by a professional dry cleaner. Needless to say, the aunt never resumed the debate.

The first moral of this story: Anyone guilty of harassing this here vegetarian is subject to a violent anal application of soy.

Moral numero dos: Don't tease anti-fur activists in the presence of pooch who isn't fixed. For if you do, you run the risk of turning your pricey prized possession into a doggie sex swing.

The End.

ew

This afternoon's IM conversation with Mejack, the fucking rock star behind Me Jack and You're Not...

Mejack: I am with you on the pilaf.

Yours Truly: Awesome

Mejack: "Au jus" freaks me out.

YT: Ew, that's nasty.

Mejack: I know. When I worked in a restaurant I used to say AW CHEW… Chefs don't like that.

YT: I bet it goes well with, ew, brisket.

Mejack: I am also equally appalled by flank steak

YT: Ew, yes!

Mejack: Skirt steak

YT: Ew, yes!

Mejack: Sweetbreads

YT: Sweetbreads! Ew ew ew ew!

Mejack: Sweetbread is a nice way of saying COW PANCREAS.

YT: Ew.

YT: I don't care for the word morsels.

Mejack: EW. That one is just BAD.

Mejack: You know what I hate, and this is stupid, but any kind of cut of meat that is a "chop." I know that is strange but I hate it.

Mejack: Chops. EW

YT: Oh I know! I don't like when I pass a diner and see the sign: "Steaks and Chops."

Mejack: EXACTLY

Mejack: Like pork chop, fine. Veal chop, even. But just chop? NO.

YT: Oh man. I just threw up in my mouth a little.

Mejack: My friend who lives in Colorado emailed me this morning and told me how cold it is out there and how she and her boyfriend and his dog get into their bed and have SNUGGLE BUGGLE TIME.

YT: Ew

Mejack: I know. I wrote back and told her if she ever did that again I will FedEx her a box of vomit.

YT: Like, when I'm in a relationship, schmoopie things are said from time to time... but when we're alone. I would NEVER EVER EVER tell anyone what I've said to people or what they've said in return.

YT: Oh, except that one time I told Jess some chick called me her "lover." That was troublesome to me and I had to share.

Mejack: I hate lover. Hate hate hate

YT: Ew and in the same sentence she also said "making love."

Mejack: Ew!

YT: Dude, I had sex with her on the 2nd date. We weren't making shit.

Mejack: If she worked in "caress," I would have kicked her teeth out.

YT: After I got that email I thought to myself, "Oh dear god, what have I gotten myself into?!?!"

Mejack: Ew, she said it in AN EMAIL?????

YT: Yes

Mejack: That's even worse.

YT: Well, she, um, wrote to thank me for, uh, you know, doing her and stuff.

Mejack: DEAR LOVER: I LOVED MAKING LOVE WITH YOU, LOVER. LET'S HAVE LOVEMAKING LATER, LOVER.

YT: I'm blushing.

YT: I told Jess what she wrote only because it bugged me and I didn't know if I was just being shallow and ridiculous. Jess said in reply, "Um, if things work out with this chick and I ever meet her, I'm going to have to pretend you never told me this."

Mejack: Understandable. Did I tell you about the New Light Syndrome?

Mejack: Anything can make it happen. In fact, it originated with a Velcro wallet.

YT: That is brilliant.

Mejack: I went out with one guy who during the regular get-to-know-you chit-chat thought it might be a good time to go ahead and inform me that he was into fisting.

YT: Lovely

Mejack: That is a new light but it's an obvious one. But it can be anything and you shouldn't question it if someone bums you out that quickly.

YT: That's profound. Thank you.