We'll see how this works, but I've moved to another location:

FIND ME HERE!

(and remember to change your bookmark, yo)

-T

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I am a keeper of all things useless and wasteful. I need some organization in my life - everything seems to be a giant mess.

For some reason, I have just been feeling overwhelmed with details and I feel like my brain is just at it's capacity. I have so much crap to remember every day for work, for the band, for my solo gig that's coming up, for my own life. I used to be able to remember every detail of everything in my life in my head - but I can't do that anymore. I really *try* to be organized, but it always seems to fail.

Example: I am OBSESSIVE about cleaning my house. I'm always doing it - yet it always seems messy to me. There's junk under the stairs, there's clothes all over my bedroom floor. When I'm in a hurry, I just toss stuff around. Sometimes I'll be at someone else's house and I'll be so envious of their space because it's tidy. There's no junk in a corner, everything's sparkly and bright.

My desk at work is the same. I am constantly trying to organize things in a better way, yet I always end up with a pile of papers strewn across my desk. It doesn't matter how many file thingies, how many notebooks, how many organization crap things I have: it just never seems neat. Even worse, it's unorganized and I miss a lot of stuff.

This may seem ridiculous to you, but it affects my life in other ways too. My checkbook is never right (that's when I remember to write in it) and I often forget to call or email people when I'm supposed to. I lose emails, addresses, phone numbers, etc. because I just haven't kept good track of things.

BUT I SWEAR TO YOU - I *TRY*.

Recently, someone said to me that musicians can't be with other musicians - that creative people need to find someone opposite for balance. I'm not sure I agree with that, but I'm also not sure if I disagree.

I am back with Mr. X. (no lectures, and I'll explain more once I know things are solid and I'm not so apprehensive) I realized that one of the things I love about him is that he IS very opposite than me in many ways.

He's very structured in his schedule - he gets up at the same time every day and goes to bed the same time every day. He keeps a schedule book of all his appointments. He is good with money and pretty organized about it. He thinks a lot with his head rather than his heart (which is both good and bad) - which is completely opposite than me, I always think with my heart and act somewhat foolishly sometimes because of it.

While rigid structure would never work for me, I also think it compliments me because I seem out of control sometimes. I mean, my whole life looks like a tornado rolls through on a daily basis. He compliments me because he keeps me grounded rather than swept up in the mess.

Now granted he drives me batshit most of the time, but I'm also drawn to his structured ways as well. He's very creative - but in a different way than me - so that probably helps me relate to him. It's good to have a balance, I think. I just have to find a way to attain that myself.

All I know is that I need to downgrade from a category 5 storm force in my life. I'll be cleaning the house tonight, so maybe I'll try and get rid of some of the clutter.

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Last week was extraordinarily difficult for me. My grandfather passed away. While I know that this is the circle of life, and I know everyone's time must come, it just is never easy to say goodbye to someone you love so much.

I got a call on Wednesday 10/1 that he was admitted to Mass General for pneumonia. I went to visit him on Thursday night after work. He looked pretty bad, but still had his sense of humor. He said "come over here and gimme a kiss." I did, to which he replied, "now let's you and me get outta here!" Minutes later, he told me he was very tired and I should go. I knew right then that he was not going to make it.

Saturday night, we got a call from my Auntie Gram (Note: grandmother - his wife) that the doctor's had called and said he didn't have much time left. I packed a bag and stayed with my grandmother for the night. The next morning, we left first thing to go to the hospital where we met the rest of my family.

I still cry at the thought of how much he was suffering. His breathing was incredibly labored and full of gurgling mucus. He was on oxygen, and they frequently had to take a suction pipe and put it down his throat to clear the breathing passage. Nowhere was comfortable for him. Every move was incredible pain for him. He kept yelling out "Help me! Help me!"

My grandfather was smart enough in his healthier days to write a proxy stating that he wanted no invasive measures to prolong his health. This was the third time he got pneumonia. He had two strokes - the last leaving him completely paralized on his left side and bedridden.

The doctor's gave us two choices: we could prolong the suffering in hopes that he would recover (which they said he probably would not) OR we could start him on a morphine drip which would make him comfortable, but would inevitably bring death. Knowing that he would want to go peacefully and end his suffering as quickly as possible, we chose the morphine. It was an incredibly difficult decision hazy with moral and ethical dilemmas for us, but when I think back to his days of suffering, I knew we made the right decision.

We stayed with him the entire time. We told stories of his life: his jokes, the wonderful things he did, and how very lucky we were to have him. Hopefully, though he could not speak, he heard us. We took turns running out for food and to do short errands. I even told everyone about my friend's grandmother who said that when a loved one enters heaven, a doorbell rings. I told my grandfather to ring a bell for us (and joked that I had no doorbell - so he needed to find one) to let us know he was ok.

In the end, we were all there. His color changed very quickly and we knew it was time. We stood around his bed, held hands and said goodbye to him.

My grandfather was an incredible man. He was a man of God who had incredible faith without being overbearing about it. He always said that when he died, he'd being going on his "greatest adventure." He was generous, kind, and incredibly funny. Whenever I visited him in the naval home, he would proudly boast "this is my oldest granddaughter!" The nurses would all say, "oh, the singer!" I loved that he was so proud of my music and that he told everyone about that. He always told me I was beautiful - and I knew he meant it.

The evening of his wake, I was standing alone in the hall looking out the window. I was crying because I loved him so much. While I was in the hall, three bell chimes went off. I didn't think anything of it until I turned and looked.

It was a grandfather clock.

Goodbye Grampy. I love you, and may God watch over you on your greatest adventure.

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You know, I'll tell you something. I know I bitch and moan quite a bit about my weight. So instead, I'm going to bitch about someone else and talk about how fucking cool I am today.

Here's the dilio (not to be confused with dildo - which may possibly the only male thing in my life that makes my life better by giving me a hard time):

Because I'm a glutton for punishment and seem to thrive on the harsh and bitter reality of dating, I decided to put up yet ANOTHER personal ad. I went with Boston Magazine online. I figured it's a great magazine with [hopefully] a decent quality of male readership. As usual, I was very frank about my weight (supplying photos) and hoped for the best.

I found the following conversation to be highly amusing. The conversation was initiated by him, not me:

To: ME
Subject: Great Face
Message:

You have a very pretty face.
-Blair

Ok, nice enough. Immediately, I get sort of negative because it's that same old phrase..."oh, you have such a pretty face....if ONLY...." but decided to squelch my negativity because it is quite possible that he is just paying me a genuine compliment. I write back with a simple: "Thank you." But come on now, seriously. Can you really trust a guy named Blair?

He responds to my thank you with this:

TO: ME
Subject: Re: Re: Great Face
Message:

Look I have no problem going out with someone heavier set; I have diet advice, because you'd be perfect if you lost a little weight. I just lost 25 lbs in 2 months on Atkins. 15 lbs in first 3 weeks; so the results are quick. You give up bread, rice, coke, and pasta (incl PIZZA!) and in return get your body back. I think you'd be rocking. We could do it together. Just a thought. It's easier to stick with than you think, especially with a partner.

In return, we hold hands, hang out, have fun, and do naked things with smiles. This is all less sleezy than it sounds. I thought I'd talk straight to a straight talker.

Now, you KNOW that I have about 10 gazillion nasty remarks for him, but instead, I counter with this:

TO: Bubblehead Blair
From: Almost Perfect
Message:

I've always been a firm believer of not offering advice unless it's asked for. Thanks, but I don't really have an interest in seeing someone who's labeled me as "not perfect" before even speaking one word with me or meeting me and then seconds later offering to be naked with me.

Best wishes in your search and congrats on your progress.

-T

Blair's clearly-amused-with-himself response:

To: Almost Perfect
From: Bonehead Blair
Message:

ha! :)

i just described every relationship anyone has ever been in and i have been rejected on its basis.

b


He gets more charming with every message I tell ya! And, clearly amused with MYSELF, I sent a final response:


TO: Bemused Blair
From: Way Too Perfect for the likes of you!
Message:

Actually, you were rejected because you were rude.


You know, my friend Jeff once said to me that he approaches dating like a game. He keeps score to see just exactly how many women he can get to say no to him. I've decided that I'm going to approach it the same way. I'm going to start keeping a running track of assholes. Let's just see how many asshole guys I can meet! There's already been plenty, but I think I'll start with a new, clean slate. Blair takes the spot of honor: #1.

Blair. Wasn't that a shampoo for grandmas?

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I've always considered myself a pretty good girl. Sure, I've got a mouth like a truckdriver, and I fancy myself a good time once in a while,but I've rarely ever done anything that's considered illegal. Well, ok, I smoked a lot of weed in college, but that was a long time ago!

That has all changed now.

I'm a wanted fugitive.

Seriously.

No, I'm kidding.

Well, kind of.

Here's what happened:

The sticker on my car expired. (Keep reading before you think I'm a drama queen!) It actually expired in June. BUT, knowing that there's no way in HELL that the Supercar would pass yet another inspection, and also knowing that I'm probably going to be driving something different by the beginning of September, I decided to press my luck. Yes, I'm a dick. I realize this.

So, I'm driving on my first official solo commute from my new home (the moving story will be another entry) yesterday morning. As I was driving, I looked at the sticker and though, "I really should at least get the rejection 30 day sticker to buy some time." No sooner did I say that than a state trooper pulls up behind me. Ok. Be. Cool. Drove the speed limit, but as I slowed down because of the car in front of me, the blue lights went on. Fuckity-fuck-fuck!

The cop pulls me over on the highway and tells me that my brakelight is out. (What a fucking scam THAT is!) Then he sees my expired sticker. He asks me if I know it's expired and I told him that I knew and was going to take care of it this weekend. He was actually really nice and a little flirty! That's probably because I had a low cut blouse on and let those puppies loose in order to help save my ass!

Anyhow, I pull out the registration and nearly choked when I saw that it expired in MAY OF 2003. Leeeeerap. He looks at it and says, "um, did you renew this?" I bit my lip and said "I don't think so." I never got that damn notice in the mail! Who does that? Who goes, "hmmm...let me check to make sure my registration didn't expire!" I've got 10 gazillion other things on my mind...I can't remember everything!

So, he goes and does his police-type thing, runs the stats, and after about 10 years, comes back to my car.

HIM: "I feel really bad, but I can't let you drive this car. We have to tow it."

ME: "Are you kidding?"

HIM: "No.

Then, like hell's own personal chariot - "Ken's" tow truck pulls over and starts hauling my truck up on the lift.

And if THAT wasn't embarassing enough, I had to ask the tow guy for a ride to the T station so I could get to work.

So now, to retrieve my car, I have to pay the following:

Ticket for the day: $150.00
2 outstanding tickets: $100.00
New Inspection Sticker: $30.00
New Registration: $35.00
Tow Truck Fee: $75.00
Storage Fees: $80.00

GRAND TOTAL: $470.00

COST OF REALIZING THAT I'M THE WORLD'S BIGGEST DUMBASS: PRICELESS.

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As of today, I am officially disgusted with myself. I think it's pretty official that others are disgusted by me as well.

The ugly truth about being overweight is that everyone sugar coats their disgust with the "I'm concerned about your health" label. It's bullshit, I assure you. While there may be an inkling of real, honest concern in their statements, the look in people's eye and the tone of their voice always give them away. What they're really thinking is "you'd be so much prettier if you were thinner."

This is something I've dealt with my entire life. I've never been good enough, thin enough, pretty enough. I've worked extraordinarily hard to cover up that shame with other things: my singing and my humor namely. I *know* that I'm a great musician. I *know* that I'm a pretty funny gal. I *know* that I'm lucky enough to succeed and do really well at whatever I want. I have a knack for being good at a lot of things and I'm fairly intelligent. I'm lucky in that regard. What pisses me off is that even *I* can't focus on those things because of my weight. It doesn't matter how good, how funny I am or even how great a friend I am. My weight always comes first. Always.

Just recently something happened that I tried to forget, but affected me a lot more than I wanted to admit. Someone very close to me suggested that I think about getting the stomache stapling/closing/shrinking/whatever-the-fuck-it-is surgery. I thought this person knew how strongly I felt about it - and how adamantly opposed I was to it. Again, it was blanketed with the "I'm concerned about your health" statement, but I could see and hear the disgust. Just the fact that it was offered as a suggestion means that I'm viewed as enormous and out of control. So much so that I should resort to a life-altering surgery to be thin.

Let me reiterate again WHY I am opposed to the surgery:

*I've seen and heard of too many examples of very poor health post-surgery. This isn't a temporary thing. This is a permanent trade: your health for being thinner. More pills, hair loss, pus-oozing, infected scars, brittle bones and nails, general fatigue, and much more.

*Al Roker and Carnie Wilson have money. They look and feel great because they can afford too. If I had money, I could look like Demi Moore too - but I'm poor.

*Surgery is the easy way out. I want to be PROUD of any weight loss I have. I want to be able to say: I worked hard and did this.

*Any surgery puts you at risk - a life and death risk. I do agree that in some instances, it is a last resort. Although I hate what I see in the mirror, I don't feel like my health is at a last-resort stage. For the most part, I am pretty damn healthy. I don't drink, I don't smoke, I stay out of the sun. I excercize, drink a lot of water, and eat pretty healthy during the day. (The night is when I usually fuck up).

Amy is the only person who really understands how I feel. I talked with her about all of this last night, and not only did she listen intently and sympathize, but she also said "Taunia, you're one of those people who is beautiful at any weight. You're beautiful now, and you'd only be enhanced if you were thin." I knew she meant it. I know she sees beauty in me not only because of how I look, but because of who I am. There was no bullshit with that statement. I was so grateful to hear that and know that it wasn't a covered-up statement. I only wish that other people felt that way too.

What it all comes down to is that my mental well-being is now at risk. Im alone and sad. I am permanently depressed although I display my trademark humor and cheeriness to everyone else so they don't have to suffer along with me.

What's odd is that even though I have put some of the weight back on, I'm still 30 lbs lighter than I was two years ago at the start of Weight Watchers. I'm still wearing my size 20 jeans - down from my size 30's from two years ago. I'm still straddling between a 2x and 3x in tops rather than my 4X tops from before. Clothes are feeling tigher now, and that's the big reminder that I'm getting out of control - but I can still wear them. Even though I'm still down, I feel like I've let everyone down. Let me say that again: I feel like I've let everyone down. Not me. Not myself. Everyone else.


It's never been about me. Sure, I'd love to be thin and gorgeous, but really I was just tired of hearing what a pretty face I have and I was tired of not having a boyfriend because I was too fat. I've never lied about that and I've said that from the beginning - that it really was to appease everyone else's sense of beauty. I'm much more comfortable thinner, I know I look better and I know I'm healthier - so I suppose it's for me too.

I just want people to look at me without the disgust. Without the prejudice against my weight.

I want to look at myself without the disgust and prejudice.

So tomorrow marks another attempt at Weight Watchers. I'll do everything exactly the same as I did it before. I want to succeed. I'm not sure what throws me off every time I've tried in the past year, so I'm going to find a therapist to help me figure that out.

You'll hear more about it here because I need to be public and accountable for this.

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For anyone who's on or was ever on Weight Watchers, count your points and your blessings:

I WILL NEVER BITCH ABOUT POINTS AGAIN.

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Yello! What up, peeps? You know, I really should give up on this whole home-girl act. I'm clearly just far too white to be trying to smack down some jive, yo.

Anyhow, lots has been happening in the past few weeks that have kept me from writing. Plus, I've just been extraordinarily lazy!

As you may know, I've been working onthe Weight Watchers plan for ohhhhhhhh three years now. What the?!?! Year one: lost 50 lbs. Year two: gained back 25. Year three: struggling to not put any more back on. And I mean STRUGGLING! I joined Curves gym and I go RELIGIOUSLY every day at lunch with my friend at work. I would say 90% of the time I stick to the plan and the other 10% I goof around. Still, the ratio would suggest that SOME weight would come off. NOPE.

In addition to my battle with weight, I've also struggled with various other problems: headaches, fatigue, frequent urination (like every 40 seconds I gotta go), general malaise. (Really, I just wanted to use the word malaise. Go me!) I've also had numerous problems with the whoo. Yes, that's the polite/cutsie way of saying vagina.

"My name is Number 2. This is my Italian confidential secretary. Her name is Alotta. Alotta Fagina." "Come Again?" "Alotta Fagina" "I'm sorry I'm just not getting it. Sounded like you said..."

So, I've been back and forth to the doctor's office for like THREE YEARS now trying to figure out what's wrong with me. I was tested for cervical cancer, ovarian cancer, diabetes, and I'm sure many other things. Nothing. Nada. Every test came up negative. I was beginning to think that I was a hypochondriac and that everything's in my head (as I'm sure many of YOU were!).

So I went in last week for what I thought was a routine check-up. They were nervous about my blood pressure because the last two or three times they had me in there it was really high. Unfortunately for me, it's high again. I said to her, "I'm not stressed, I'm just high-strung." HA! Well, I *do* have a lot of energy, but I don't ever feel really stressed and pretty much watch what I eat, so this is a mystery to me. Anyhow, now I'm on blood pressure medication that I have to take daily.

At one point, after the hi-dee-whoo exam, she mentioned that my PH levels were very out of whack (which we had seen before). She then checked my estrogen and androgen(testosterone) levels and found that they were both extraordinarily high. My first thought was "She's a MAN, man!"

After throwing me into the lab for MORE tests, it was found that I have Poly Cycstic Ovary Disease. The cool and hip medical jargon is "PCO." PCO affects your reproductive system. It is in the same family as diabetes - and I am at high risk for getting diabetes because of this and because it runs in my family and I'm overweight. It pretty much means that it will be almost impossible to get pregnant. I'm ok with that as I wasn't really wanting kids anyhow, but it kind of sucks to know that I really can't change my mind.

PCO also affects insulin resistance, which means that your body is not responding properly to the insulin produced by your pancreas gland. So now, I have to take insulin daily. No - not the shot, the pill...thank GAWD.

So, per my doc's orders, I now take the following medications:

*Blood pressure - 1 pill
*Insulin - 1 gigantic monstrosity of a pill
*Glucosamine 2 pills - for joints and arthritis
*Acidophilus - 3 pills - for vaginal peppiness and health
*Mulitvitamin 1 pill- just because everyone should
*Calcium supplement 1 pill- because my bones are achin'

So count 'em up: 9 pills every morning. Welcome to old age, sistah!

One thing about that visit was that even with my legs propped up in the stirrups, feeling a little concerned, I can STILL bring on the funny! I said to her "You know, you are the ONLY woman I shave my legs for." She cracked up pretty good over that.

Other than that, things have been hunky-dorey. That's some of the craziness I've been dealing with, but it's all good. Honest!

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That's right kids - you're now reading the journal of 1/4 of the new 2003 Boston Regional Harmony Sweepstakes Champions! Who's bad?? Who's BAD???

Yeah baby. I gotta say, though, we worked our keesters off for it! For those of you who aren't familiar with "Sweeps," it's an annual event that has 8 selected acappella groups competing to go to the Nationals in San Francisco - all expenses paid. It showcases all different genres: barbershop, jazz, choral, rock and contemporary.

This year there was a crapload of traditional music and we sort of stuck out like a sore thumb. We thought for sure that was going to work against us, but (clearly) it didn't!

We shared a dressing room with a group called Northeast Connection. They were absolutely hysterical to hang with, and their music was even better. As Wes so eliquently put it: "When people ask me if I like Barbershop, I usually say NO because I've heard so much mediocre Barbershop. When you hear it done so beautifully, you remember why people love it so much." They truly were wonderful - and they took a very well deserved second place!

What this all means now is that I have to get my fat, phobic ass on an airplane now. I am DEATHLY AFRAID to fly. I haven't been on a plane since I was 16. I know, I know. Statistics prove it's the safest way to travel...blah, blah, blah. My head knows the facts, but my heart beats a gazillion miles a minute when I even think about it.

So, we've decided to do a little mini-tour. We're starting out in Philidelphia - then heading to Las Vegas (Vegas, baby - yeah!)and then onto San Francisco for the finals. It's pretty exciting and completely scary at the same time for me.

Let me stop talking about the whole plane issue and show you some photos from the night:

The badass boys of All About Buford.

What's particularly amusing to me about that photo is that Shah looks like he could be an anime character. (Wait a second...how do I even KNOW about anime?!?) He's very cartoony and looks menacing. Yeah. Anime street cred! Wes just looks like he's part of a hockey fight.

Show the love!

A little pre-show lesbian action. No. Seriously, I'm just kidding. SERIOUSLY. Come on.

We know who the REAL ass-kickers are in this band.

Sweeps was one of four gigs we had with our new vocal percussionist, Wes Carroll. He's absolutely one of the most amazing people I've ever met. Highly intelligent, highly creative, extremely musical, and extraordinarily professional. I always had a great deal of respect for him, but after hanging with him for a week, I realize he's just an amazingly cool cat that I'm lucky to be involved with musically. He really is the missing link to this band and I have very high hopes for our future together.

Alirghty then....it's 11:00 pm, and that's way past my school nite bedtime so I gotta jet. Oh no jet. That's like a plane. Crap. Nightmares.

Someone pass the valium!

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Well kids, Soderfest is over. Another year older - another year more diva!

Well, as it happens it was also a lovely snow day on Soderfest. In case you don't ever open your door or look out a window, we had a mighty big snow storm here last week ON Soderfest. The state of Massachusetts declared it a "snow emergency" and stated that any "non-essential" employees should stay home. At that very moment, I knew just exactly how non-essential I was, because I was NOT going ANYWHERE in THAT snow on SODERFEST!

The funny part was that my boss called me at home and wished me a happy birthday and asked if I was going in. The conversation went like this:

ME: Boss, I am *SO* non-essential!
BOSS: Well Taunia, on Tuesdays you're essential to processing the payroll.
ME: It just figures the ONE day of the week I'm essential is on the snow day!
BOSS: *Laughs* So are you going in?
ME: No. I don't think so.

How much does that whole conversation crack me up? My boss really does rock the party. I like her a whole lot.

I didn't end up having to go in because Payroll King (my male counterpart) saved the day and went in for me. He rocks too!

So, even though it was a snow day - All About Buford still rocked the party. There was a great crowd at our Johnny D's show (special thanks to Chris for giving us some proper PR on her site. Thanks, yo.) Here's me with my friends Jean and Rene at a ripe, newly aged 31:

*******************************

So, I've become completely addicted to this sweet, grandma-y old lady nun on TV. Her name is Mother Angelica and she is just the most adorable thing I have ever seen. She is hard-core catholic and apparently, she is the founder of the all-Catholic-all-day TV station Eternal World Television Network. It sort of cracks me up that the Eternal World has it's own TV channel, but I'll go with it.

She has this program called Celebrations. I gotta give it up for her....she's got some serious presence. The whole show is her sitting in front of a cheesy church backdrop with a big, ratty old bookmarked bible in her lap. Full-out habit and coke-bottle glasses and a full audience. She just basically talks about the word of God.

I am not a Catholic girl - I was raised Baptist. But let's be honest, I'm not Baptist either. I've always sort of decided that my faith was personal and that my relationship with God was just that: mine. I don't really care for church for a lot of different reasons, but I think if Mother Angelica was in my area, I'd be going.

She and I differ a bit in belief, but I love what she's got to say. She has a really sweet and sassy way about her - and actually has a great sense of humor. BUT, she also talks the talk and gives it to you straight. Today in particular she really hit a nerve. She was talking about getting a no-good man out of your life. She said "men sometimes like to take advantage of a weak woman - so be STRONG. Get rid of him." I started crying (we won't go into that) and then she said: "what you need to do is get your soul in order. Wow, Mother Angelica, I could NOT have said that any better myself.

I need to get my soul in order.

Then she said "I wish I could just give you a hug right now and let you know that God loves you and he'll make things right."

Then she told me I had to go to confession. LOL

Ok, so I'm going to skip the confession part, but I AM going to start to get my soul in order. At 31, it's bout time that I start doing that. Maybe once I get my soul in order, everything else will fall into place.

A hug from Mother Angelica wouldn't hurt, though....

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Word up! We had the fluffy stuff today! Actually, in Malden it was pretty fluffy, in Boston it was SLOP. I was very upset about the sloppiness of Mass Ave because I just found out that my favorite restaraunt, Addis Red Sea is now open for lunch on Fridays only, and of course the street was just nastyass as you could get.

Why the hell do people wig out so much with a little snow? It's like everyone's brain freezes and they go into this hypnotic trance "must-drive-slow-and-assy," and "must buy 10 loaves of bread!" What the hell. Anyhow, knowing that my commute home on Storrow Drive would be about 6 hours, I went to my office, grabbed my stuff and told my boss I was going home. It was 1:00. Nice!

Well, the route that normally takes me 20-30 minutes to get home took and hour and 45 minutes:

ASSYYYYYYY

<
And kids, you know the words to the song - but let me tell ya, havin no radio really SUCKS on assy/snowy days like this!

What's missing from this picture, eh??

In other office news, the Official Soderfest poster has been created. It now hangs on the wall where I post important information:

My friend George says I'll never die of modesty. Subtle, no!??!

I crack myself up on many levels here: 1. that I now own GLITTER GLUE, 2. that I made this sign on work time 3. that there's a pad with the days left on it - like a deli counter and 4. that I actually hung the damn thing up!

It's completely obnoxious and I totally love it. In case you can't read it, it says "Countdown to Soderfest!" "11 Shopping Days Left!" Man, I crack myself up.

And of course, being the publicity machine I am, I also have a plug for our gig at Johnny D's on my birthday right next to it.

I don't need presents baby, I just want recognition and affection!

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So I don't have anything particularly funny or scandalous to write about, but I feel like I should write something since it's been a few days. Basically, I'm gonna owe you some funny.

We went to NYC this weekend to perform at a space called Joyous Life. What it shouldbe called is "WE RIP OUR ARTISTS OFF." Most venues take a 20-30% cut of money coming in at the door. Joyous Strife takes 50% - AND they planning on raising that to 60%. Outrageous. Anyhow, the space is beautiful, but seeing as it's not a bar or performance venue, the artists bring all the people in and should get the bigger cut. Cripes, they don't even do any publicity. But I digress...

We split the bill with this great gal, Zoe Lewis. She is probably the happiest person I ever met - and not in a "too happy you annoy me" kind of way. She clearly is happy to be alive and lives ever moment to the fullest. She's also a kick-ass musician. She plays everything (guitar, ukelele, piano, harmonica, spoons, vocals) and does it ALL well. The thing I liked about her is that you can hear that she's been influenced strongly by jazz, funk, latin, and pop - heavily by all - but she's managed to create a completely unique sound. You can't help but smile and laugh when she's performing. She was so influential - I really hope I can rise to that artistic level.

Zoe and Yours Truly

I got a couple of nice shots on the way into NYC:

Sometimes nature just catches you offguard - you forget how beautiful it is.

A little peice of Las Vegas of our own.

This next photo is completely perplexing. I give you Freddie Starr:

Ok, now, let me explain. We were staying with Amy's friend's Maureen and Adam (who graciously put us up for the night), and this photo was in the London magazine Time Out on their coffeetable. It was an advertisement for a talent contest/show and Freddie is one of the featured performers. It didn't really give any more info about him, but hello? Are you looking at this dude? Freddie Mercury is more like it! He looks like he stepped right out of 1976.

The picture isn't all that clear, but let's disect. First, we have the trophy mullet. I don't care what kind of excuse you have, a mullet is just plain WRONG. A mullet on TV - even MORE WRONG.

The next issue I have is with the chest hair. It looks like a small furry creature curled up and died on his chest. Now, I know some chicks dig the fur, but I'm not one of them. Get yourself a Mach III and get busy, Freddie.

Let's move on now to the blouse. I call it a blouse because there's some really delicate embroidered flower pattern on it. I'm telling ya, it's something my grandmother would wear. What's really intriguing is that he's wearing this sissy blouse wide open so the fur can peek through AND he's got it TUCKED IN.

Now the pants are fine, I suppose, but let's take a look at that cigarette Freddie. Is this some feable attempt to look manly and macho? Pretty tough to do when you've got your fine linens and matching eyeliner on, Nancy.

Anyhow, we got a kick of this photo. We still have no idea what Freddie does (besides doll himself up and stay away from razors).

Adam and Maureen were just the BEST hosts ever. We stayed at their groovy apartment in Brooklyn and they bought us bagels and orange juice in the morning. HOT bagels. And I had a Krispy Kreme. Shit.

So like I said - nothing real exciting today. Did my best, honest. Maybe Freddie helped make up for my lack of wittiness. Ok, ok. I owe you some funny. Next time. Promise.

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Ah, revenge is such a beautiful, rewarding thing!

Last night, I got home to find an email from LiveJournal in my mailbox. It stated that they had been notified that I had violated their terms of service (which you know I read in-depth and all). While it was acceptable for me to refer to someone on a first name basis, linking to their website and speaking negatively about them in considered slander.

I had just yesterday written an entry about an Ebay seller that amused me and linked to the auction listing, so I assumed it was that. I just deleted the entry.

Then, around 11 pm, my phone rang. I checked my caller ID and realized it wasn't the Ebay entry at all. It was my blind-date who blew me off from a few months back. Apparently, he's none too impressed with me for dissing him publicly! He didn't leave a message, though...although Amy and I both commented that we would have LOVED to hear what he had to say. Can you imagine? I'd say it takes some nerve and balls of steel to call up the woman you so flagrantly humiliated and reprimand her about HER behavior.

My first reaction was to erase the entry entirely, but after stopping to think for a moment, I realized that I live in the greatest country in the world, and I would most certainly excercize my right to the First Amendment. The address would be taken off, but the entry remains for me and the countless other thousands of readers(!) to enjoy over and over again.

What makes me so happy is that I feel like he got his just reward. Perhaps when he found out I had written that, he felt as awful as I did when I found out he blew me off. There are a couple important lessons to be learned here: 1) what you put out there comes back to you in threefold. Do unto others and all that. 2) Never, ever piss off a Diva.

Of all the crazy-ass bitchy things I could have done, this was the probably the kindest in response to his extraordinarily awful behavior. After feeling a few moments of guilt, rest assured that I feel better knowing that perhaps he will be a bit more thoughtful in the future with another woman.

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If you haven't done so already, wish Miss Amy a very happy birthday!

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I decided that it was in my best interest to delete this post. PMS, depression, and emotional overload is not a good mix. If you've read this already, no sweat - but I forget sometimes that people who are looking for my music can also find this. : )

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