A rabbit came out of WHERE???

Should have known all those years ago when Queen Boadicea of the Iceni invoked me and released a rabbit from her skirts to fire up the troops that she'd earn a place in the history books and end up on some TV show eventually, looking like a female wrestler. I was chatting with her shade last week, and she said she doesn't really mind. Seems even ancient Celto-Britannic warrior queens knew that any publicity is good publicity. "Besides," she said, " I actually kind of liked the armored look. That Lucy Lawless was hawt, huh?"

QUESTION OF THE DAY:

What's better?

A. Macaroni and cheese
B. Being right

I'll stop being nervous...

...when the papers are signed and I'm in the new house, unpacking. And not one minute before.

House purchase is going so smoothly, it's making me nervous. Very, very anxious indeed. Not necessarily that I'm a pessimist, by any stretch (shut up, you at the back, I know I come off that way, but really...my hard candy shell only masks an optimistic, soft, sweet, inner... nut) but did you ever get the feeling something was TOO easy?

So far, not a single glitch, issue, problem, or argument with the sellers, who are just so agreeable about everything. And not a single thing that our realtor and/or lender hasn't been very helpful and kind about. Everyone's just been really, really...nice.

But until I'm actually in that house, waiting for the cable guy, and unloading my books, watching the cats rub themselves against everything to establish territories, I shall be a nervous wreck.

That is all.

The White Goddess

You Are An Oak Tree

You are a person of action, and it's easy to get what you want. Sensible and practical, you always keep both feet on the ground. You are courageous and strong - little scares you. A bit stubborn, you don't like change. You're an independent type, and people often wonder if you need them.

What's Your Celtic Horoscope?

So...there it is, people. I am an oak tree. And I RULE.

...comes the rallying cry of....BULLSHIT!!!!

A few random things that irritate me or that just don't ring true:

* If I spend 45 minutes on my elliptical machine and at the end of it, the dial only shows that I've done 1.67 miles...FUCK THAT. If that thing had wheels I'd be half way to the freakin' Berkshires! 45 minutes, on foot, walking at a normal pace, and I've done AT LEAST 2.5 miles, so how can this machine only say 1.67 miles? HOw is that calibrated? I'm calling BULLSHIT.

* Who puts out this PS3 thing anyway? Is it Sony? Sorry, I'm not up on the latest thing in geeks...uh...ahem, games, I mean. You're telling me they couldn't make enough of them so that people wouldn't have to start lining up at 4 in the morning, and shoot each other to get them? They probably cost about 2 bucks to make each, in whatever sweatshop they come out of. I'm expected to believe they didn't deliberately underproduce, to create a rush on these things that has the potential for violence? Again, BULLSHIT.

* Rodeo is a sport? Fuck that. I root for the Bull. "Yeah, buck him! BUCK HIM!!! Stomp on his ignorant head!" says I. Literally: Rodeo is BULLSHIT.




* Bullfighting: See above. Foreign BULLSHIT.

* Why does Alex Trebeck feel the need to pronounce foreign words and phrases so correctly and poncily? I especially hate it when he lisps on Thpanish wordth and phrathes. Verdict: Pretentiouth BullTHIT.

* YEAH there's more. I just have to do some work BULLSHIT before I can justify more blogging.

More Mash! More Mash!!!!

Hope everyone who celebrates Thanksgiving had a grand one. Good food, good company, family, friends, booze...dessert!

Am in post-Thanksgiving food coma. Will write more later, maybe after a little detoxing. I think I'll be on the elliptical for the rest of the weekend, trying to get back into pre-pig-out shape, sweating, sucking wind, weeping quietly.

Drunk, again, alas.

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. I shall be seeing family, eating like a peeeeeeg, and drinking like a feeeeesh, and getting into all kinds of squabbles with the beloved siblings about who's fat, who's not, who's leading a healthly lifestyle and who drinks a tad...smidge...pint...fuckload...let's face it, too much.

Oh, joy! Love the family, I really, really do. There isn't a one of them I wouldn't take a bullet for, or beat someone up in a bar to defend. (Yes, even the closest-to-me-in-age-brother, though that would take a minute to decide.) And I can spew shite with the best of them, but let's be real, it's stressful. If someone burns something, they'll never hear the end of it. And there's always some imagined or real slight that will come out when the booze starts going. It's part of the human condition. READ: NORMAL. Also read: GOOD, and up for FUN.

I'm looking forward to seeing everyone, and for the first time in ...oh, forever, I think we're all on the same page about politics, so that won't be an issue that gets overheated. Abortion...that's tough, and I'm NOT BACKING DOWN. Religion...again, don't kid yourself - they are ALL CULTS - I don't care what the fuck you call it or what year it started. So that topic's off the table.

Fuck - let's just play scrabble. Teams. Please. Because I will...WILL always choose 7 vowels or 7 consonants, and tempers flare.

EEEP!

On our fridge door is one of those dry erase boards on which we scribble grocery items we're out of, and things we need to be sure to pick up next time we're oooot and aboooot. You know, it usually says things like milk, cat litter, butter, etc.

For the past week, somewhat facetiously, there's only been one word on the board.

HOUSE.

As of Saturday, there's been a check mark next to it. I don't want to get ahead of myself, and say the deal is done, but the offer was made, and accepted, as we drank ourselves into a puddle on Saturday at Legal's in Harvard Square.

Papers are starting to fly around for signatures, the inspection appointment has been made, and two lives are being signed away on a mortgage tomorrow afternoon.

More later.

GULP.

Dogs

Reading lately about this poor, docile Greyhound up in Salem, nearly being eviscerated by a pair of Pit Bulls, with no provocation or warning. The owner of the Pit Bulls evidently gave the owner of the Greyhound his name and number, which turned out - well, of course - to be false.

I am sick to the back teeth of people saying shite like "oh, it's not the dog that's vicious, it's the owner who is responsible" after some fucking vicious Pit Bull or Rottweiler has devoured a child or attacked someone else's animal. Of COURSE the owner is the one responsible - and we have to look at the motives a person would have for even OWNING a dog like that, don't we?

Seems there's a vicious dog breed for every decade, a dog that is basically only appealing to an ASSHOLE who wants a specific breed because of its reputation for viciousness and volatility.

In the 60's, it was German Sheperds, but I tend to like this breed, and haven't met too many truly vicious ones. Probably its repuation was a hangover from World War II movies. But of course I wouldn't be surprised to hear tales of an abused animal going ballistic and attacking someone.

In the 70's it was Dobermans - again, I haven't met too many that have been vicious, maybe they're just a smidgeon pissed because somebody cut their tails and half their fucking ears off, to make them look more vicious. I'd be well pissy about that too.

In the 80's it was Pit Bulls. Only a vicious, mean, awful, stupid DICKHEAD would want one of these for its specific design purpose, i.e., dogfights. ANYONE involved in this 'sport' should be eviscerated and eaten by rats.

In the 90's it was Rottweilers. I've met one or two of this breed that were pretty much okay, but the owners were told on purchase that the proper way to raise and train a Rottweiler was to keep it relatively unsocialized, so that it only develops loyalty to ONE person, and does not trust strangers....or anyone else, be they friends of the owner, relative of the owner, or...helpless toddler of the owner. Thank GOD my friend who has one didn't listen to this advice, and raised a good-natured, fairly gentle - though intimidating, let's be honest - happy, well-socialized dog. But it would also cause me some sleepless nights wondering if and when it was going to snap.

Let me be clear: If you want to own a dog that has a reputation for viciousness SPECIFICALLY because you LIKE the idea of owning a vicious dog, and you think it makes you look COOL to have one at your command and you think your miserable shit is worthy of having a guard dog that WILL, at ANY MOMENT eat a fucking baby? You are first and foremost an ABUSER of that very animal. Further, you are a miserable, worthless cunt, who should NOT be allowed to own a pet - ANY PET - in the first place.

SO THERE.

Blogger - once again being a fucker. I can't upload any pictures for some reason, and I had a good one of an attack dog in full, fang-bearing fury.

Oh well, I will not let this ruin my day.

It's Friday - several houses on the 'I want it' list, more to see tomorrow, offers to be made. Good drinking buddy in town, will be met for lots of drinks and food and good times tomorrow...a full weekend ahead for the rabbit girl.

Life is good. Life is really, really, very good.

The girl can't help it, can't help it. The girl can't help it.

I believe that the first joke EVER in the history of mankind was probably a fart joke. Or it had something to do with uncomfortable digestive issues. Who am I to argue with the very HISTORY of COMEDY?!

Dont' let the taste fascists stop you!!! Stand up, and stand tall for potty humor, everyone!




JOBBIES!!!!

How you like THEM apples?

Illustrated Shakespeare. Yeah, I'll go there.

......................Ford Madox Brown. Cordelia's Portion, 1866.


I've never been that huge a fan of Shakespeare's King Lear, but recently I have begun to see it in a different light, and am beginning to understand it a little bit better. It is a very intricate and complicated play, which I've never had much patience for. Until now.

Anyway, I won't go into too much detail. Most of you guys are familiar with at least the overall theme of the play, if not its complicated and intricate storyline. To tell the truth, I'm still grappling with some of the intricacies of it myself. I won't venture to lecture anyone on it. Go to Sparknotes for a breakdown, I've found it helpful.

The illustration above is from Act I, scene i., where the action of the play begins, and the overall theme is introduced. In it, flattery and lies are mistaken for love and loyalty, and honesty and truth is mistaken for disloyalty and enmity. Tragic, but without it, there wouldn't be a play.

It's like in a horror movie when the heroine goes down to the basement (or into the cemetery) at night, with nothing but a candle or flashlight, to investigate that odd noise. You're going "NO, don't do that, you IDIOT," but does she listen? Answer: No. And it's a good thing she doesn't, otherwise there isn't the rest of the movie, and you don't get to see her get her head chopped off, or realize TOO BLOODY LATE that she can't take that decision back.

The difference is that Cordelia is right. And the woman in the horror flick is an eedjit. But the end result is pretty much the same.

OH, NOOOOOOOOOOO.

Do some good in the world, dammit!

It will surprise no one that I'm a member of a certain Yahoo Group. I won't say which one, or what we talk about, but GET YOUR MIND OUT OF THE GUTTER, it's nothing pervy. Normally I just lurk, and occasionally check links that members provide to writings, articles, etc., having to do with the VERY CLEAN AND WHOLESOME subject matter of the group.

Anyway, long story short, one member of the group has recently undergone some personal financial and medical crises. In order to help out, she has asked that this link be forwarded around. It's a company that she's involved in, making wholesome, all-natural soaps and creams, bath salts, and other nice gifty things. They could use the business, and I'm sure she could use some help with her bills. I figure it's coming up to holiday time, and it looks to be a sweet little company, making some all-natural product, which is a nice alternative to the big, fatcat, non-environmentally conscious, mainstream corporate soap floggers.

Personally, I intend to do some holiday shopping here, both for myself and others. I have a few people on my list (besides m'self - I know, my girliness knows no bounds) who like all-natural, lovely smelling soaps, creams, etc.

So, help a kid out. Buy some soap, dammit.

Come onna my house, my house, I'm gonna give-a you ca-andy!

HUZZAHHHHH!!!!!!

Spouse and I saw a house over the weekend that we really like, and will likely put in an offer this week. It's terrifying and yet...exhilarating. Yes, going into SHIT-loads of debt, taking on a mortgage, moving, being the ones responsible for the care and maintenance of a BUILDING...it's almost like we're going to be grown ups or something, and it has cost me a little bit of sleep, thinking and worrying about it. Guess I won't be giving up the transcription work anytime soon, and both his car and my truck better not need any repair work forEVER. But listen, man, having our own space, enough rooms for a guest room and study/office, plus a finished basement, garden, new kitchen, two bathrooms and a garage workspace for my tools, and drum kit.... sweeeeeet.

Many thanks to all friends and family who wrote e-mails expressing concern about my mental well-being after last week's existential crisis. I'm fine now. REALLY! Lessons learned, awareness raised, bad mojo jettisoned, all that shite.

3-day weekend!

There is an opossum living in the tree outside my office! It's nice to know that even though man has encroached on so much wildlife habitat, that some wee fellas have held on to little pieces of it, and don't mind sharing, provided we don't twat at them with sticks and things...

I've named him Watson, for some reason probably best left unexplored, though of course I can't be sure it's a him. I hope he sticks around. I like wildlife. Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy, and I've not been feeling very warm and fuzzy lately.

I've had a few kicks to the emotional junk lately, nothing I can do about it but carry on and hope the truth eventually sets things to rights. 'Tis all illusion, until you get a blast of the spiritually ugly, right in the kisser, and it becomes clear that reevaluation and soul-searching must be done. I just hope I'm not the only one doing it.

Have a drink on me while I think this one through.

Heading into a 3-day weekend, looking forward to seeing some houses, getting some drinks, catching up on some sleep.

If one chooses to ignore the stench of burning martyr wafting in, it's a good day.

Stand back, she's gonna BLOW!!!!!!!

Having one of those weeks. Not enough sleep, too much work, existential angst, disillusionment and shoes that don't break in. My Gawd, how much can one woman take?

Answer: A heap. Evidently.

Could be worse, though. I could be the woman holding the elephant's bag, or ...

(MEAN-SPIRITEDNESS EXPURGATED FROM THIS POST. I've learned through the experience of myself and others that karma DOES, indeed, bite you in the ass. Hard.)

See? Things are looking up!

Remember FUN, everybody?

Thought so.

To all my frieeeeennndddssss......

I can't really post about what I want to today. So here's a picture of an elephant taking a dump into a bag. EN-JOY!

More disturbing clothing

I swear by all that I hold tasteful and good that I will NEVER, EVER be seen wearing any form of clothing with writing across the ass.

Here's the thing: If you need to draw attention to your ass by proclaiming it "Juicy"...weeeeellllll, you should be prepared to face the possibility that it may not be true.

Marsden Hartley - Storm Clouds, Maine - 1906

This one kind of speaks for itself, non?

Notice how that big cloud to the left has eyes, suggesting perhaps that the storm has a personal axe to grind. Me likey!

Marsden Hartley is one of the more famous folks to come out of my home town, Lewiston, Maine. I've heard it said that not only was he born there, but also grew up on the same street as I did.

Perhaps another illustration of why local movie theaters suck, a movie that was recently made about his life, "Cleophas and His Own," will only be shown ONCE in the Boston area. Not just once a day for a run of a couple of weeks, but ONE showing, ONE night. Which will, again, make it impossible for a lot of people who want to see this movie to actually see it.

Fuckers.