Sometimes it's my keys, other times my sweater . . . usually it's my sunglasses. But I don't think I've ever left without my fetus. Nah, zygotes and such I like to keep locked and loaded. Unfortunately for the cleaning crew at the Bush International Airport, some unlucky passenger aboard the NYC/Houston flight left their fetus behind in the plane's bathroom. Yikes.
Texas authorities are running tests to determine whether or not the fetus was viable at the time of its disposal, so they can determine whether or not to press charges once they track down its carrier. Because it's not horrifying enough to miscarry in the bathroom of a plane. I've never even had the stomach to even take a dump in an airplane can, so I can't imagine what was going on in this poor woman's head. Let's just say, I doubt it was something she did by choice.
The most irritating thing about any trip to Trader Joe's is the way the checkout clerks banter with you about your purchases. I like to buy and go, not waste 15 minutes discussing the merits of the Trader Joe Fair Trade Ginger Snap.
So I was relieved today when I got a checkout guy who was too busy chatting with his fellow workers to bother with banter. Him and the guy next to him were talking about meeting Tyra in person and how giant her head looks when it's not on TV.
The woman next to them was skeptical. "So she's not fine?"
My guy: "Nah, she's fine, but she's got a big ole head. You don't want to get into a headbutting contest with Tyra."
I'm so sorry to everyone who got spammed during my gmail's (hopefully) temporary bout of insanity. Fingers crossed that I solved the problem and to those of you who wrote back, yelling at me for emailing you 50 times about Chinese products I wanted to sell you, uh, it wasn't ME! I don't have anything to sell. I'm a giver, baby. I give you my love.
Won't I just be the belle of the Bingo Ball in this sharp little number!?! Who knew there would be a bounty of bingo-themed outfits floating around cyberspace. My man—who always likes to have his lady dressed up all snazzy like—found this for me.
I had hoped that when Tracey saw cute little Baby Jesus, she would be so incensed by his cuteness that she would immediately send me ten more photos of the Chugsicle.
Instead, she just remarked about how cute Baby Jesus was. I finally had to break down and tell her I was manipulating her into sending me more photos! I imagine she rolled her eyes at that one, but has been kind enough to send some along anyway. Here's Frankenstein getting ready to konk out. And, after the jump. . .
I think I found my dress for gay bingo. No, not this one. This one. But in my search for sequins, I stumbled across this flashy little new wave number on Amazon. In fact, there's an entire collection of like-minded outfits.
What really caught my eye (besides the giant hypodermic needle and nonsensical lyrics), was that this shirt/dress is exactly the kind of thing my relatives always used to buy me in the late 70s/early 80s.
"Oh, Judy's punk—she'll love this beige t-shirt with a glitter safety-pin embossed across the boobies and the words 'new wave', screaming out from underneath," they'd think to themselves. Looking back, I'm grateful that they tried, but at the time I just found it totally embarrassing.
Gothamist just posted an interview with my old NY Press colleague, JimKnipfel. The two discuss our new philandering blind Guv and Jim's insight's (ha!) are both hilarious and illuminating. Take this line:
I can tell you from my own experiences just walking around the streets,
when I have the cane out, oh my god I just want to smack people. The
pity just drips off them. Just this self righteousness that they're
helping out the blind guy and that's their good deed for the day.