Bad Advice

Quit hounding me, you shrimpy little jerk!!!!

Every day I skip down to my mailbox, hoping it contains a check, a favorite magazine, maybe a (very) late birthday present, or even the new J. Crew catalog. I'm usually SOL with the checks and prezzies, but one thing I do get—seemingly every other day—is a piece of m-f'ing mail from Mayor Michael Bloomberg.

I have not, nor will I ever, vote for this man. I am a registered Democrat. I am lower-middle class. Bloomberg's policy of rimjobs and reach-arounds to real-estate developers has turned my admittedly ugly, formerly normal(ish) neighborhood into something that alternates between a yuppie playground and burned-out slum from block to block. His only concern seems to be for the super rich, and even if I were one of them, I would be appalled at what this city has become under his watch and that of his creepy predecessor.

Normally I'm happy to just make the best of things and go about my business, but getting a red white and blue, twice-weekly reminder of how far this city has fallen just pisses me off! Think of how much good he could do if he just took the money he's wasting by sending this crap to people like me who will never ever vote for him and instead used it to build affordable housing or even make school lunches a little more delicious and nutritious?

Speaking of schools, how about giving public school teachers a raise? Or upping the starting salaries for cops? And you know, if Bloomberg would just say, "fuck it, I'm going to win anyway, so instead of wasting paper, ink and postage, mailing crap to people who aren't going to vote for me anyway, I'm going to build a shelter for battered women and improve our city's recycling plan," I might just vote for the fucker.

That's not a mid-life crisis—that's a girlfriend.

I want to love it, but more often than not the Times' Modern Love column annoys the crap out of me. Normally this is because it's off-topic (in my mind), covering topics such as a mother's love for her autistic child or lessons learned from a pet's death. Obviously I'm not the boss of the column, but I feel like Modern Love should be about a romantic love between two human beings.

So while this week's column definitely met my criteria that way, it bugged me just the same. 

In it, author Laura Munson talks about the day that her husband of over 20 years came home and announced, "I don't love you—I'm not sure I ever did."

Now if anyone ever wrote a cheater's playbook, this line would make up the entirety of page one. I heard this exact sequence of words from my ex-boyfriend and, much like the author, was too thick or mired in denial to realize it meant he'd started banging some other broad. Since then I've read tons of accounts of infidelity (hey, it's pretty much a job requirement), watched countless friends go through it (on both sides of the equation) and almost all of the cheaters say either those words nearly verbatim or they bust out the other standby, "I love you, but I'm not in love with you."

Here's our tree!

It's shorter than I would've selected, but relationships are about compromise. Ahem. You can't really tell from looking at the photo, but the larger white lights are actually skulls. It's a beautiful tree. I do love me some christmas.

What did Santa bring you?

Me, I got a pretty ring! That's it in the photo. It's white gold with rubies and little diamonds. I was hoping the special photobooth effect would conceal my chubby finger, but nah, it's still obvious. I wish I were one of those women with long, graceful looking digits, but I have to settle for being devastatingly foxy in all other areas instead. It's a curse, I tell you. A curse.

I also got a pretty silver astronaut necklace, a brass Ganesh to replace the super amazing beaded Ganesh curtain that someone insisted we get rid of because he kept getting tangled in it. My family did the right thing and donated to that school in the Ninth Ward, New Orleans, that I told you about. (Not too late to donate! Operators are standing by! Get that last-minute tax write-off!)

For Christmas dinner, I made fondue for my sister Sue, The Big Guy, Heather and her husband, John. It was amazing and if you click that link you can see the recipe I used, only I made it with half Emmenthal and half gruyere instead of all gruyere like they recommend.

Melted cheese is the best food in the world and it is a goddamned shame that it's so high in fat because otherwise I would dip everything I eat into it. Why can't bean sprouts be fatty and cheese be good for you? I've been eating a lot of that low-fat cheese and it's not on the same planet as a hearty, nutty, gruyere. We fired up the pot and dipped asparagus, little red potatoes and garlic-seared steak cubes. Oh, and stale baguette too. The memories alone have me salivating. Baby Cheeses would've definitey approved.

Here's some recent stuff I wrote: To celebrate the holidays at the Seattle Weekly, I dabbled in a little pee play. Over at Time, I talked about whether or not traveling without your beliked was a good idea (answer: sometimes). And at the Frisky, I advised the ladies on New Year's resolutions to avoid.

You have three days to do a REALLY good deed

When I was in New Orleans this past October, the highlight of my trip was a drive through the Ninth Ward. Two friends of a friend, Ana and her schoolteacher husband Dave, drove me around, showing me the devastation. I could not believe how totally fucked up everything still is. Dave teaches high school in the Ninth Ward and told me about how bad the kids have it. Some are finishing up school here without their families and most are still traumatized from living through the storm. Though at least they were lucky enough to live through it.

Most lost friends or neighbors, some lost families. These kids have it unbelievably hard and our government is pretty much hanging them out to dry. Dave's school, G.W. Carver High School is trying to get enough money together to build a new football field and track that everyone in the community can use. So far they've raised around $106,000. They're trying to get the NFL Grassroots program to match their funds, so they need to get as much money as possible by Sunday. So you have three days to donate. Please, do it now.

Get well soon, Bettie

 Pinup legend Bettie Page had a heart attack and is in the hospital in intensive care. No! Fingers crossed that Bettie makes a full recovery.

A new administration means . . .

. . . some new political crushes. Example A is Rahm Emanuel, Barack Obama's incoming chief of staff. Not only is he known for having quite the potty mouth, according to my sole politically savvy source (thanks, Jules!), he used to be a ballet dancer! Mrow. I love a man who can batterie with a mouthful of f-bombs.

Know what's weird?

That my make-believe boyfriend Ryan Adams has the same birthday as Canadian Bryan Adams, only 15 years apart. Happy birthday, gentlemen.

It's also weird that America did something that made sense and elected Barack Obama. I was positive that he'd lose and when he did it would come solely down to his race. Because really, what other reason could there be? Even though I'm not a huge fan (hi, gay people deserve the same rights as the straights), voting for anyone else made no sense at all. But we're a country that elected an utter knucklehead president twice, so I don't give our collective brainpower too much credit. And yes, I realize calling Bush a knucklehead is too kind, but I'm feeling positive this morning.

My friend Scarlett called me from London at 2AM (our time) because she was so excited! She figured I'd be up celebrating. The truth is, I'm actually still kind of in shock. A happy shock, but there you go. It'll be nice to go to Europe and not have people laugh and point when I tell them where I'm from.

Go-Bama

Though I don't agree with him all the time, Obama is, hands-down, the most iconic candidate we've had in well, forever. He's even got the Williamsburg bedbug vote.

First look at my niece (or nephew) to be

My poor sis-in-law. Baby Judy/Jude—not sure of gender yet—has been cursed with the giant Irish melon head. (My brother and sis-in-law haven't fully come around to naming the kid after me, but they will). My sister-in-law is tiny. I mean, teeny, weeny, itty, bitty. That thing is going to hurt on its way out! Damn.

And while those of you who know me know that, as a rule with a few exceptions, I'm not a big fan of the children, I am a fan of this one. I've never been an aunt before! I get to buy it cute dresses (regardless of gender) and really loud toys! Christmas is going to be extra fun next year. Yay, Mike and Carlita!