Bad Advice

Mark Your Calendars!

Please come! There will be merriment! And booze! And contests! And booze!

Oh Happy Day!!!!

John Waters fans, rejoice! He's not only making a new movie—but it's a Christmas movie!!! If you know John Waters, you know he loves Christmas! This is going to be great.

Called Fruitcake, it's sounds gaytastic, but it's actually for children! While I would normally look forward to a kid's movie with the same anticipation I would hemorrhoid surgery, I'm betting this is way more Pee Wee than Care Bear. Can't wait!

Tag, I'm it!

Normally I don't respond when people tag me, but I had this really cool old Polaroid of the Determined Dilettante hanging around, so when she tagged me, I figured I'd go for it—plus, this one doesn't require me to reveal any secrets, because I don't have any left.

Here are the rules:
1. Pick up the nearest book.
2. Open to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the next three sentences.
5. Tag five people, and acknowledge who tagged you.

1. Dirty Girls, Erotica for Women.
2. Oooh, it's a story by Tenille Brown
3. Um, okay, found it. 
4. "And Doll rested her head on her pillow and obliged, sending her hands and fingers where they were instructed to go, speaking to Manuel in whispers, reaching her peak in groans until she was spent and Manuel's soft voice sang her to sleep.

She felt the water when it hit her feet, soaked through her shoes, and pooled at her feet. The pitcher shook in her hand until she could no longer hold it stead, and it slipped from her fingers and hit the concrete floor.

5. RKB (for obvious reasons), Michael Gonzales (because he finally updated his damned blog), Audacia (because she's probably reading something filthy), Tracey (just because), and I Am Not Star Jones (because I also get excited when the subway goes outdoors).

Myrtle Hits the Big Time

First on the case was Gowanus Lounge. Then Curbed, then AMNY, now 1010 WINS and Channel 2 news at 6:00 is covering the infuriating tale of Myrtle the graffitied turtle. Who will be next? I'm hoping for Al Roker.

With any luck, Myrtle is going to need an agent to handle his or her new-found fame.

(Photo of Deborah Garcia holding the spray can in question, courtesy my phone.)

Kicking Ass

If you haven't been by to check it out, go look at Bob Guskind's new and improved Gowanus Lounge. There you will read the horrifying tale of Myrtle, the graffitied turtle. Myrtle has lived in my building's backyard for years now. She wanders through the adjoining yards, eating bologna and generally keeping an eye on things. But this year she wandered onto the construction site and some jerk decided to fuck with her by covering her in paint. Turtle shells are permeable, so it's not like we can douse her in turpentine. We just have to hope the stuff flakes off naturally.

Also, there's a story that made me want to take up smoking, if only to blow the smoke into the cherubic little faces of this uptight woman's brats.

I Hate Mother's Day

I think probably everyone with a dead mom hates mother's day. And yet from mid-April until May 11, not a day goes by without some idiotic e-mother's day offer clogging up my inbox.

Though Red Envelope is the most persistent (I'll bet free shipping isn't offered to my mom's location), Amazon's offer has to be the oddest. Why on earth is the "CitiKitty Cat Toilet Training Kit" part of their mother's-day sale? I don't have any babies, but if I went to the trouble of squeezing one out, I'd be pretty PO'ed if I unwrapped a cat toilet training kit on my special day.

Also, though I don't have a mommy (feel sorry for me—wah!), I did write a feature on mother's day getaways for ForbesTraveler.com. Though it has nothing to do with moms, my new Seattle Weekly column is also online.

It's Construction Safety Week!

I've chosen to celebrate this blessed week by running between doorways so when my building falls down on my head, maybe I won't be completely crushed. The excavation next door is really kicking into high gear and my building is being tossed around like a refreshing salad, only instead of croutons, we have plaster dust.

Until you've lived through it, you really can't appreciate the feeling of waking up because your bed just lurched and the walls are shaking. It's like living on a fault line.

An Option I'd Never Considered. . . .

If you've been reading my blog for a while, you know that I have some serious dental problems. In fact, just this morning I was trying to figure out how I'm going to afford my next $1800.00 bone graft. And that's not even the half of it. Hell, not even the 1/16 of it.

Anyway, my friend Travis knows my situation and sent along a very pertinent article from BB Gun magazine. Apparently Lubricated Goat's Stu Spasm is in a similar boat to mine (and has also suffered at the hands of NYU dental) but has come up with a DIY solution to his dental woes:

Yes, my friends, I make my own teeth, or more precisely I cap my own teeth. If my teeth rot and fall out completely, then I will make my own teeth! Dentists are one of the most over-priced medical services. The second to last time I went (10 years ago), they said I needed a root canal. Before dealing with that, however, they cleaned my teeth in 4 sittings, this cost $2000! I never did get the root canal.

Unlike Stu, I've had root canals. I don't even know how many thousands I've handed over to dentists and periodontists and frankly, I don't want to count. However, I don't think I'll be making my own teeth anytime soon. I'll leave you with this:

From a block of ivory-coloured Sculpey Three (if you are from England you may wish to add a some other colours), pinch off a chunk the size of a tooth. Roll it around booger-style, until it's the shape of a drop of water; oblong and pointy at the top. Hold the clay in one hand and a hand mirror in the other. Place the clay in your mouth, over the top of the fucked up tooth. While checking in the mirror, keep manipulating the clay until the shape is right and it looks like a tooth. You can take it out and make adjustments and put it back in until it's done. Repeat the procedure with some more clay. I, generally, make quite a few at a time, maybe as many as ten or more. Unfortunately, teeth made from Sculpey are very fragile and often break. Pop your teeth in an oven at 275 degrees for about five minutes. When you pull them out carry them in the palm of your hand. If they're so hot, you can't stand it for more than a couple of seconds at a time without switching hands, they're ready. Then you varnish them and they're done.

Stuff to Read

Audacia Ray recently started editing the Village Voice's new sex blog, Naked City and it's awesome and highly addictive. This post on tattooed genitalia had me screeching and clutching my cooter (especially the starfish—oh, and if you're at work, there's nudity so wait until you get home).

I recently wrote a column about premature ejaculators and while I had some fine ideas for fixing things, the real stars of the show were the commenters. One guy was very offended:

controlling when you cum is NOT POSSIBLE. Nothing we men can do can hold it off. I have suffered from PE on many occasions, including a lot in recent months. I have tried her suggested methods, but sorry, none work. I tried wanking every day, twice a day to build up stamina..nope, a hand never compares to a woman. I've tried to it all to no avail. The last instance was 10 seconds and done.

Gawker always makes fun of him (which he should consider a compliment) and I've never listened to much of his music, but I find Ryan Adams' blog utterly adorable. There. I called something besides a kitten adorable and meant it in a good way. 

This made me laugh hysterically. (Thanks, RKB!)

Yesssss!!!! DOB Commissioner Patricia Lancaster resigned! Finally!

Do you live in Seattle and need a kitty? The Itty Bitty Kitty Committee has your answer.

I started a Flickr page and a Twitter account. Both are new and I don't really have the hang of things yet. But I'm HitOrMissJudy on both. So you can look me up and do whatever it is you do.

"Mmm. . . yeah, no, we don't have that. . ."

So said the Sound Fix indie twinkie when I asked if they had the new Shelby Lynne CD. She shot me a look of disdain and added, "and we don't plan on stocking it. Ever."

What she meant to say was "Take your adult contemporary needs elsewhere and quit polluting my cool place of employment with your old-people cooties."

I gave her a tight smile and made my exit, but the voices in my head were screaming, "Hey there, little missy! I used to be cool! Cooler than you, you anorexic, corduroy-pant-wearing little twit! I saw the Clash! and Minor Threat! and, and, and, the Beastie Boys when they were a hardcore band! I had a mohawk! Hell, I had a bitchin' double mohawk back when people didn't do things like that. I got yelled at, pushed around and called all sorts of horrible names and by doing so made the world safe for people like you to walk around wearing foolish blue hair extensions and ironic kitty cat glasses."

But even in my outrage I knew that saying any of that aloud would serve only to reinforce my granny status. The fact is, cool is for the young and I normally don't give a shit, but this got on my nerves. Besides an aberrational love for all things Madonna and Bruce Springsteen, my musical taste has always been above reproach. And now all I wanted was a enjoyable record of Dusty Springfield covers to relax with during my golden years! No crime in that!

I left quietly and vowed to buy the CD at an establishment that would appreciate my old-people dollars. Then, when I was in Seattle last weekend, KBR and I wandered into yet another record store, but one where he knew the owner. I asked him for the CD, explaining I'd heard her perform it live on Nick Harcourt's show and loved it. (While this was technically true, mentioning Morning Becomes Eclectic was a lame attempt at appearing cooler than I actually am. Note to self: still trying too hard!)

But even busting out my shaky cool cred didn't help. Kurt's friend didn't stock it. This was obviously a CD I was going to have to buy at a major chain store. How annoying. I told them how condescending the chick at Sound Fix had been and they both looked at me like I was semi-retarded for caring. Then, when we got back to his house, KBR gave me a review copy he had laying around. Mission accomplished! And with minimal humiliation.