stroker ace

time-7:45 am today
location- chamberlain east of 42nd st, dropped my husband's daughter off at roosevelt and leaving la mie after buying a loaf of bread for fucksakes
who- me and ace in honda and some fuck in a station wagon/suv
what- drag race
outcome- i won
why- it's wednesday and i hate assholes

turned east onto chamberlain, heading towards 35th st., dude(?) in station wagon/suv comes up on my tail then tries to pass me on the left on this residential street.  no no, without even thinking about it i accelerate and turn my steering wheel left, forcing him(?) to veer further left into oncoming traffic lane.  there is a parked car on the left 100 feet in front of us and i had the a'hole boxed in.  i was ready to hear that ugly excuse of a hybrid smash into the parked car, and me continue on home as if nothing had happened.

who am i?  all i know is i felt so frickin' alive.

then ween's song "stroker ace" went through my head. 

light up the wheels and go for broke
stomp that pedal with a sniftin stroke
smack that roadblock caught in a pickle
i'm gonna hit that line like old dick trickle

well my motor's fine and this train's on time
and when i cross that line i'm gonna make you mine

i'm stroker ace-stroker ace-stroker ace

well it's one a.m. and i'm rollin' in the car now
gonna hit last call down at the bar now
got a shammy in my pocket and it's burnin' a hole
stick it the floor and watch me roll

well my motor's fine and this train's on time
and when i cross that line i'm gonna make you mine

i'm stroker ace-stroker ace-stroker ace

well it smells like poop and it sure looks crappy
gotta get back to north pappy flappy

happy hump-day

my right to intestinal crampage

the world seems to be turning itself inside out, like it's taking off a turtleneck, and the time pendulum is swinging backwards as the neck of the turtleneck lingers and hugs the globe.  then pop the turtleneck is off and the world has reverted back to say 1618.  swung back to the eve of the thirty years war.

only this time the war is on "terror", which is an unofficial war.  war on "terror" is more a euphemism for the march of the christians globally.  then there's that little thing called "jihad" or "holy war".  both the war on "terror" and "jihad" are happening on the world stage, i found this piece interesting about boko haram and how 2000 lives have been taken in nigeria but 17 french murders dominate western media.

then there's the matter of free speech.  but that too is getting dicey because now free speech in france may depend upon what you are saying.  watch jon stewart comment on this below ('subsume your hypocrisy").

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then there's the story about a young woman age 17 who has cancer and refused chemotherapy because she wants to explore alternative methods.  but the state of connecticut took her away from her mother and placed her in foster care and are forcing her to undergo chemo, against her will.  i'm just gonna put this out there; if "cassandra" was black she'd be dead and not by her own free will.

and if these kids were black, this would be a non-story.  in the day and age of helicopter parenting, where susie and bobby only see the neighborhood through the greasy windows of their parents shitty minivan or the pernicious hybrid of the station wagon/suv (which i DESPISE) this story is refreshing yet unfuckingbeliveable .  some parents in maryland let their children walk around neighborhood!  gasp, quick i need an emoticon.

i remember when i was a kid, and i was able to be gone for hours.  all i said was "i'm going outside."  i'm fairly certain i had a parameters and boundaries, like if i was going to go inside someone's house and not just in the neighborhood playing, i had to call or ask.  i also had to be home in the summertime when the streetlights came on.  that's it.  it wasn't a sign of neglect, it was a sign of trust and respect.  or maybe it allowed time for my dad to take a bong hit.  whatever it was, it felt like freedom.

speaking of freedom and being turned inside out, i'm finally getting to why i started this particular post in the first place.

for those of you who know me, i eat pretty darn well.  my husband and i garden, sometimes together (ahem) and one time he weeded in his birthday suit, but i digress.  we have an organic vegetable garden, we can produce, we buy organic unprocessed foods for the most part, and we know where our meat and dairy comes from because we have developed relationships with farmers.  our food is our biggest expense.  but we aren't always perfect, or rather i.

i had a craving yesterday, it usually happens on a thursday.  on thursdays i think about the taco bravo at taco johns.  rarely do i act on the bravo impulse and yesterday i didn't give into the taco bravo impulse.  no, rather i gave into the small potato ole's and a side of shitty orange cheese impulse.  oy.  bad choice.  really bad choice.

within a half-hour i was doubled over in the bathroom unsure of whether or not i was going to puke or poop.  my gut had spasms.  my ass had spasms.  after peeing out of my ass over the next two hours i then slept for 11 hours.  i couldn't tell my husband that it was ole related because i was mortified and i didn't want to hear about it.  all he knows is that i "made bad choices".  but they are my choices.

if you want to publish a cartoon that offends millions, then you better be ready for consequences, but you have a choice to do it or not.

if you refuse toxic treatment for a terrible disease,  you may suffer the consequences of it, which may or may not include death,  but that is your choice.

if you want your kids to be able to walk through their neighborhood unattended that is your choice, you may suffer the consequences of it, just ask johnny gosch's mom, or you may have given your kids a healthy sense of responsibility and freedom.

and finally if you want to eat shittay food, i mean shittAY food, don't mayor bloomberg or nanny state it,  eat it and suffer the consequences.

this is what my hair looks like today

neo-moticons

i fucking loathe emoticons (insert pinched yellow face).

i think they are akin to a 2nd grade teacher writing "good job shelby" with a red sharpie and a smiley face : ) on shelby's spelling test.  my husband uses a lot of emoticons in his emails and texts, so i asked him why?  he says it is sometimes hard to infer the tone of a text or email, and emoticons can be employed to help convey a feeling of an otherwise flat message.

so i said "ok, are you telling me that when i texted you 'i love you' sans emoticon, you didn't get the sentiment?"  what the fuck have people been doing for centuries writing long love letters across continents and oceans expressing their undying love for one another, doing it without emoticons.  my husband says he doesn't have time to express himself and that emoticons help him to express himself.

i think emoticons are dumb and lazy.  besides, the choices of emoticons are just dumb.  in gmail i think there is a crab that moves side to side?  when does one use that?  there's only two options:
1) we are having a crab boil down at the beach be there or be square (insert crab emoticon) or
2)  dear billy,
last night was fun but now my nether region is itchy as all get out you may want to check yourself before you wreck yourself (insert crab emoticon).

i received an email awhile back from my husband that read "thanks for the blowjob this morning" (insert pile of poop with a couple of flies circling emoticon).  now, i will admit that had he not included the emoticon i would have thought he was having an affair.

there needs to be new emoji, or like neo-cons, neo-moticons.  like the pity face people give me when i tell them i have cancer, a sort of serious face with lips together and sides of the mouth pulled slightly down and concern in their eyes.  or disappointment- disgust face, like the one my mom gave me when i was in college and in an act of rebellion i refused to shave my legs and wore a short dress to a family friends wedding.  she said it all with the eyes and clenched jaw.  oooh i have another neomoji idea, the walk of shame, what should that look like?  not like this:

information desk person 

after one minute of research i found the above stupid emoji she apparently is "holding out her hand as if she were a waitress carrying an invisible tray of drinks.  often used for a variety of other interpretations, such as sassiness or sarcasm."  ohhh really, cause all food servers have attitude?  information desk person is the icon of sassy? here's what the emoticon should like:

fat albert wouldn't roofie me, would he?

one time this successful smooth talkin' black dude took an interest in me, and my talent as a smooth talkin' white girl.  he said he would love to help me hone my skills and would even put me in touch with some movers and shakers type folks to kickstart my career.

i thought fuckin' a.

he said that i should come to his house to talk about some ins and outs and best practices of the business.

i say fuckin' a outloud.

when i arrived he offered me a jello pudding pop, normally i would say no but it was summertime and it was butterscotch flavored.  i ate half of it and then woke up in the backseat of a cab wearing only a man's xxl i spy t-shirt and panties and my clothes in a grocery bag at my side.

i said hey hey hey, what happened?

the aforementioned is fictional, fortunately for me but for approximately dozens of women it is/was a fucked up scary reality.

i loved fat albert and mushmouth,  still do.  i watched the huxtables and listened to the patriarchal rapist spout morality tales.  bill cosby is a misogynist piece of chocolate pudding, who will get his just desserts.

breaking bad xmas style

i've been thinking a lot about what is worthy to write about.  i mean in the sense of what is this i am sharing?  is it a commentary on our culture?  is it a diary?  is it well written?  is it worth the time?  is it worth all 6, count 'em 6 followers time?  for me it is.  so all of the above describes it, except for maybe the well written.  but i'm working on that, i guess that's what this blog is, practice.  my best friend regaled me with what my overachiever odd aunt said to her in class for her masters degree- "this isn't a dress rehearsal, this is your life".  good advice.  but i guess there really isn't a whole helluvalot of practice in life.  how are you supposed to practice for marriage?  by shacking up and sharing bills and domestic duties, as well as the minutae of the daily dread, then add a mortgage, maybe kids and a lil' pinch of good old fashioned resentment now and then and NOBODY would marry after that type of practice.  how are you supposed to practice for an illness?  you don't, you go along your path and don't think about it until it happens.  practice is on life's stage, without good lighting and an orchestra.

my husband and i are revisiting the show breaking bad.  i loved it the first go around, although never having had cable i watched it intermittentantly at friends or rented it.  i missed entire seasons, but still loved it.  my husband and i watched the shows last episode at mayo clinic, we hadn't seen any of the final season but still loved it.

breaking bad was good because of many things: the story; the writing;  the non-linear telling of that story; the acting; the editing; jesse, poor jesse.

but a standout for me on this my second go around is the cancer diagnosis of walter white and his actions as a result of his stage 3b lung cancer diagnosis.  you see i get walter white.  i get walter white because we both have cancer AND we both had the same surgery on our lung.  i know this because in season 2 he is in the shower and has the same giant scar as me.  my husband and i shared a knowing glance when we saw the scar.  i've tried to find a picture of what a wedge thoracotomy scar looks like to share, but none are like mine and walter white's.  so close your eyes and picture a 7" nike swoosh on flesh.  a 7" swoosh on your body changes you.  not only physically but mentally and emotionally and psychically.  jesse asks walter white in the pilot episode how a straight guy with a giant stick up his ass suddenly breaks bad? and walter white answers that he's awake.

well my husband and i woke up the saturday after thanksgiving and found ourselves at a christmas tree farm along with a zillion other christmas consumers.  first we walked the rows of douglas firs in the mud, helping my mom and step dad try to find a tree, it was crazy.  the prices seemed outlandish, even a midget charlie brown tree was $85.

$85 motherfuckin' dollars.  they opted not to buy.  i went to the barn where garland was sold and they had one bundle left.  the guy asks me how much i wanted and i said 20-25', he said well this is 25 feet right here, and it's the last of the garland but it's $2/foot, so $50 bucks.  my husband didn't bat an eye, i think he was just trying to make me happy, so he hands me the credit card and i take the garland into santa's workshop where the transactions take place.  there were 50 kids running about and 50 adults ahead of me in line.  i waited for 5 minutes and the line never moved.  so i walked out with the garland in hand, placed the bundle in the back of the car like i had paid for it and we were off.  wtf?

it is pretty and all, the garland with lights and ornaments adorning the trim.  at first i felt guilty, and thought what type of asshole steals xmas?  the grinch, of course (full disclosure, i share my birthday with theodore geisel), and the dudes who broke into my dad's house and stole all our presents under the tree when i was 14.   but now i don't feel so bad, fuck it.  plus it's just practice, right?

follow up:  i got my LTE published based on a previous post here on 39th st.  AND a dude responded to me with his own LTE , it's the last one.

i am grateful for this song and performance

i wish to thank billy preston, on this holiday, for his simple and simply beautiful version of george harrison's my sweet lord.  thank you billy.  ladies and gents, for your listening and viewing pleasure i give you billy:

gobble gobble

n