It’s been a busy couple o’ months ladies and gentlemen.

Um. Ok, 4 o’ months. Sheesh.

The long story short version:

I was *this close* to being a contestant on the pop culture edition of Who Wants to be a Millionaire. Passed the written test, aced the little one-on-one interview with a production assistant, and got a postcard in the mail that said I was in the pool. (From what I understand this is a lot further than most people who try out get.) I started cramming for the potential. I had everyone I know quiz me at every given opportunity (which I’m sure was getting on my friends’ nerves, but bless ‘em, they just played right along) and I spent hours reading Wikipedia entries and random lists of pop culture minutiae. After more than a month of this insanity, I saw a listing for the show that said the pop culture edition was airing the next week. Uh, how could they be airing it if they hadn’t even called me yet?

I was crushed.

Watching the actual airing was even more painful. (For the record - I’d have solved every financial issue I’ve got - and a few future ones - with what I’d have won.)

Here’s what I do have to show for it:

Maybe I’ll see if I can pay a bill or two with one of those pencils. Though, honestly, I’m not even sure where those pencils are right now.

Anyway.

Then the holidays snuck up and slapped me around a bit. And then just work.

When I overextend myself - which I tend to do often becuase I’m a people pleaser - sometimes I just get so overwhelmed that I kind of shut down and then I get behind, because I slack. Which just causes more work to pile up. Which starts to turn into the proverbial vicious circle.

And I know you simply don’t care.

Get back to the stories! The controversy! The fun!

Yeah. That’s just what I aim to do, if anyone’s still out there. (Plus, I finally upgraded my WordPress installation tonight… and it makes me happy to have new toys to play with.)

Just for fun, if you haven’t (and I know you haven’t) you should revisit the fag hag vs. fruit fly (or Amy, poor Amy) discussion for the random comments that have floated in over time. I especially love that someone who came upon the entry a full four months after Amy crawled back into whatever troll dwelling she came from felt the need to admonish us with “Both of you GET A LIFE.”

Thank you Hannah for such amazingly profound advice, but I need to ditch a bit of my life actually. I’ve got too much. I notice you seem to be lacking some of your own… want a bit of mine?

If you like, and want more, go listen to Nicholas Megalis. If you live in the Cleveland area, go see a show.

More about what I’ve been up to coming. No, really. In less than 3 months. I swear it.

If you use (or need to use) Microsoft Office for anything you do, try OpenOffice instead. If you’re used to Microsoft Office, there’s very little learning curve (at least in Word vs. Writer), and it’s FREE.

Sorry for the weird non-sequitur-ish plug post. I can’t help it, I’m just terribly impressed with OpenOffice and I feel the need to spread the word. To the whole 4 people who might care, but still.

Yeah, um, whatever. I’ve been busy. Shut up.

I actually have something I’m dying to write about, but I’m waiting for something before I do. Cryptic? Yes. But you’ll just have to wait and see. I know you’re on the edge of your seat…

So I’ll leave you with some randomness for the time being. This is but a snippet of things that have gone through my mind today. Don’t try to understand, just read.

______________________

Earlier today I heard a song that evoked a memory. I’m quite sure I’m not the only person who relates moments in life with songs. I have lots of musical memories, most of which would seem terribly banal to the rest of the world, I’m sure. (Though the fact that I equate Rage Against the Machine and N.W.A to sex could possibly make for an interesting story. But, another time perhaps.)

Anyway, the song that took me back today was Blurry by Puddle of Mudd. Let’s get this out there first - I loathe that song. It was overplayed, and it’s just plain annoying in my opinion. But whenever I hear it now, it makes me laugh.

One afternoon at some point in 2002, while the song was in the midst of every hour on the hour replay on KROQ, David and I were sitting outside the Glendale Galleria having a smoke. There was a man sitting about 4 tables away from us who was muttering to himself a little when we sat down. (If you’ve never lived in Los Angeles or a large city like it, that might seem strange in itself. Sadly, it’s commonplace there, and you learn to just live with it.) Everything was okay for a minute or two, but suddenly he was overcome with maniacal laughter and then this:

“Fuck the Armenian mafia! I don’t care if they kill me now! Are you listening to me? Come get me you fuckers! Can you take it all away… the pain you gave to me… can you take it all away… can you take it all away…. can you take it all away… the pain you gave to me…”

And so on, ad nauseam. Sometimes I wonder if he survived that little outburst. We didn’t stick around to find out.

______________________

OOOOH! City Dweller’s web site is now open for business! Go shop! (Please, shop. It took a LOT of my time to build this damn site, and I’ve still got gads of work to do. It needs to start bringing in some moolah.)

______________________

I was browsing through free ecard selections online, in order to better bombard a friend’s email with birthday wishes later this week. There are scores of these websites out there, but I try to avoid the ones with pop-up ads and really stupid cards, which means there’s like 5 left. So I was trying to find some new ones, and in my search I came across this title - “Free e-Cards for pornography addicts and the people who love them.”

Who could resist? I mean really. Come on.

The selections are priceless…

“All the things that you’ve been hiding… …have really hurt me. Please get help for your pornography addiction.”

“Your pornography addiction is leaving me lonely… Why am I not enough?”

“Just do it [accompanied by a picture of a sneaker]. Winning your personal battle against pornography is a tough fight. … I’m praying for you, Honey!”

Aside from the fact that it’s clear this site is of the opinion that anyone who’s ever looked at a pornographic picture is a heathen condemned to a special level of hell and in need of an intervention - PRONTO! - these cards are just plain ridiculous. I mean, if you’re dealing with a problem that is actually to the level of an addiction, and you think sending an ecard is the best course of action to nudge the addict into healing…

Oh. So that’s why your significant other needs porn. Gotcha.

______________________

I saw a commercial for Jet Li’s new film, Fearless, during Adult Swim tonight. Rather than just stick with an edited 30 second trailer, they took a different approach.

(shots of text being carved from stone as movie-trailer-voice guy narrates)

THE MATRIX

CROUCHING TIGER HIDDEN DRAGON

KILL BILL

(cut to a short scene of the new movie)

ALL HAVE ONE THING IN COMMON

(cut back to stone background)

FIGHT CHOREOGRAPHER YUEN WO-PING

(cut to fight scenes from movie)

NOW THE MAN BEHIND THE DECADE’S BEST ACTION MOVIES HAS SAVED HIS BEST FOR JET LI’S LAST…

I dunno. That just strikes me as an odd choice for marketing. Except for the fanboy market (which, granted, is mostly what you’re aiming at if you’re advertising on Adult Swim), who’s that gonna woo?

Don’t get me wrong - the fight scene choreography in all of the mentioned films is outstanding, and I’m sure some of the success of those had at least something to do with his wizardry. But he also choreographed The Matrix Reloaded and Revolutions… and no amount of magical choreography could have saved those trainwrecks. I doubt even the fanboys would argue with me on that one.

Note to movie marketing type people: If you’re pinning all your hopes for box office turnout on the fight scene choreographer, it might be time to find a new job.
______________________

And finally… this evening I stopped to pick up some terribly bad for me, but fabulously easy and cheap, fast food for dinner on my way home. I decided to stop at a KFC for the first time in - literally - years, just because all of a sudden fried chicken sounded good to me. (Hey, I am a Southern gal you know). They were still supposed to be open for a couple more hours (this will be important in a second) and there were no other cars waiting at the drive-thru as I pulled up to order. I was told that they’d be right with me, so I waited. And waited. And waited some more. After some time had passed (Ok, it was probably only like 5 minutes, but I think there’s some sort of temporal shift that happens in a drive-thru - it felt far closer to 4 hours. I had time to read the entire menu about 10 times while I was waiting, and wow, is it boring.) a voice boomed:

“Ok people, that’s it, we are all out of chicken for the night. We ain’t got no more chicken.”

That is just WRONG.

And I am still craving fried chicken, dammit.

Three young girls, around 16 or 17 at the oldest, walked into Diverse Universe tonight. I stopped them at the door, saying “You have to be 18 to come in here because we have adult material.” Before they turned to leave, one of them asked, “How old do you have to be to work here?”

What I wanted to say was, “Regardless of your age, you’re too stupid to work here.”

But I just sighed loudly and said, “18.”

On another note, we’ve moved. I am writing this from my new domicile, the top half of a cute duplex that is quite a bit larger and more comfortable (and on top of that, cheaper!) than our previous hellhole of an apartment on the 6th floor of what felt like a hotel. We have a large balcony/porch in the front, not to mention a small back porch off the kitchen. And it’s a real kitchen! (Our previous place had a little cubbyhole that was meant to be a kitchen of sorts.) It’s closer to both of our places of employment, and we are finally making our cats learn to deal with each other. (We’ve previously kept them separated by a series of tall baby gates and a demilitarized zone, but that isn’t physically possible in the new place, so they will just have to get over it. As I write this, I’m having to pause every few seconds or so to make sure they aren’t killing each other and David and I are both armed with squirt bottles. Thankfully we haven’t had to use them yet, though the temptation to just squirt them for fun almost overcame him last night.) The list of things that are better about this place is long… and though I’m completely exhausted from the move and the aftermath - we still have some final cleaning to go at the old place, plus you know, unpacking - I couldn’t be happier at the moment.

It’s so nice to actually like where you live. Even if our downstairs neighbors have tackied up the front steps with ceramic ducks and wheelbarrows with flowers planted in them. They’re nice folk and all, but yeah… and it was a bit of a letdown to meet a married couple with kids after pulling up to the drive to find a spinning rainbow garden stake in the yard. And after meeting them, I’m 99.999999% sure it’s not a symbol of solidarity with the gay community… But it’s fitting I guess, considering I live upstairs, you know?

Now… to plan a housewarming party. Who wants an invite?

Ahh, the powers of You Tube. Now you, yes you, like Chelle, can truly appreciate the analogy that I first presented in one of my tales of youth.

Beau Nasty : Loverboy :: Cheez Whiz : Parmesan.

I mean, it was a BRILLIANT analogy, even if I do say so myself. But it was hard to fully appreciate it if you weren’t familiar with Beau Nasty. You Tube makes this a reality.

Plus you can point and laugh. I loved this band for a brief period. I still like to hear their songs from time to time.

The ooey gooey cheesiness of Cheez Whiz:

 
As compared to a finer, aged Parmesan (but of course, still pure cheese):

 
Now, worship me for the brilliant wordsmith I really am!

Or, you know, continue pointing and laughing, whatever works for you. Yes, yes, I know. I think you just blew snot on me. Stop laughing already. Dammit.

No less than three people have emailed me the story about John Cusack’s stalker this morning.

I’m starting to get the idea that my dear friends think there is some sort of correlation between me and this psycho stalker lady. Let’s just get this out there: I have neither the time nor energy to stalk Mr. Cusack.

You know, aside from all the other reasons I wouldn’t do that. Yeah.

If you’re just joining our broadcast, you’ll want to read the previous post and its comments before slagging through this long winded response.

So, let me begin by saying two things:

1. I’m writing my response to you as a post, mainly because it is easier to read large blocks of text in this space rather than in the comment area, and I do this in the hopes that this time you might actually take the time to read AND comprehend. (Well that, and this is MY site, so I can do what I want.)

2. This will be the last thing I have to say to you. You will never see my point of view - this is quite clear as you don’t even know what the point is - and since you apparently have no sense of humor, most of my comedic gems are wasted on you completely. I don’t feel the need to defend myself against your attempts at insults - it’s so painfully clear from your choice of attacks that you know NOTHING about me, there’s really no point. It’s also pretty apparent that you are the type of person who simply must have the last word on something, so I’ll let you. Feel free to comment here as many times as you feel necessary; I’ve got lots of bandwidth to spare. (And anyone else who feels like expending the energy to reply may feel free to do so. So far I’ve been amused with my friends’ grasp of wit.) I did not use your comment as a “springboard to start this discussion” - you misread (something you’re really good at). I used your comment as a spring board to post on my blog again, something I have been remiss in doing because I am a busy, busy girl. I do not have the time or the energy to continue debating you after I’m done with this post, as it has become tiresome and I have a life to live.

(more…)

In the spare few moments between the time I woke up and the time I had to be at the store this morning, I read over a comment being held in moderation left earlier in the AM on my page that defines a fruit fly. I had about 5 minutes to spare and 20 or more emails to get through. The comment was long and wordy - when I’ve just come out of a sleep state, about the only words I can comprehend fully are cigarette and caffeine - so I put it off till later and went about getting ready for work. I returned to read the comment later from the store, when the dream cobwebs were gone from my brain (and yikes have I been having some odd dreams lately, but that’s a topic for another day), and I couldn’t help but be amused. Amy is quite put off - nay, sickened - by the expression “fruit fly”, and has admonished me to be ashamed that I do not want to associate myself with “fag hags.” How dare I!

I resolved that I would eventually use this comment as a spring board to actually POSTING something on this here blog again, but the important business of renting gay porn and selling Madonna DVDs would have to come first, as we are busier than ever at Diverse Universe these days. (Which, overall is a good thing, but is just one of the myriad reasons I’ve been leaving this blog to languish.)

But my oh-so-serious detractor returned, apparently miffed to the hilt at my not having approved her lengthy comment yet, with accusations of deletion and not being able to handle her “truth.” Apparently, such an “important discussion” deserved my immediate attention. Amy, I’m so sorry that you had to wait almost a full day for me to approve your comment and respond, but there were copies of Spy Cocks and Straight College Men to be rented out, and believe me, you don’t want to delay these things. That could have the makings of a riot in the store.

If you are not Amy and you are reading this, you should start by reading my “I am a fruit fly” page if you haven’t recently, then skip down to the first comment left by my Ms. Fag Hag. Then, come back here.

Ready? Here we go.

(more…)

I freaking love Jon Stewart.

Time is short - I can’t say much more.

But Jon Stewart interviewing Bill Bennett tonight on the Daily Show was just… awe inspiring. I wish I could think on my feet the way that man does. His smackdown was nearly brutal.

If I can find a video clip, I’ll link to it. Then I’ll fade back into the blogger wasteland I’ve been inhabiting for the past month.

**Update, not that anyone cares: Video at Crooks and Liars.