In honor of J. Lo

.... and all my other peep-ettes who are currently baking, or have recently produced, a sweet bun in their respective ovens:



Seriously, I know so many pregnant women and already-birthed babies, that I'm knitting baby hats non-stop these days, and I'm still way behind...

And what of my own oven? Hmm... well I guess I can't put it off anymore with talk of grammar or celebs, can I?

Reader, I did it. I went and got inseminated.

In answer to the questions posed last Tuesday:

• Yes, I had time to choose a donor. To be honest, I had been dragging on this decision for weeks, and the only way I was ever going to make up my mind was under deadline pressure anyway.
  
• Yes, the bank was indeed able to deliver in time. Though that depends on what you mean by "in time."
  
• Yes, the Jolly German was happy to see me on Wednesday.
  
• Yes, I was back in the office well before the Big Important Meeting. And fortunately, the cramping and spotting didn't start until later that night.
  
• No, I did not try with B Thursday night.

Now for the details...
I spent last Tuesday running around like a crazy woman. Somehow, between meetings at both offices, I spoke to the sperm bank and confirmed that they could deliver to the Jolly German's office on Wednesday morning, as long as both I and the doctor faxed over some paperwork. I got the forms to the JG, confirmed that he had time to see me and that everything was in order.

Only one problem: even though the LH surge happens before ovulation, it's still preferable to do the insemination on the same day you see the pink line. Reason being, idle sperm can stay viable in the uterus for around 48-72 hours, whereas an unfertilized egg only stays viable for 12-18 hours. So it's much preferable to have the sperm already there, hanging out waiting for the egg to arrive. And there was no way the sperm would arrive on Tuesday -- I hadn't even chosen the donor yet! That said, the JG still thought it was worth a try, so we forged ahead with plans for Wednesday.

But how on earth was Ms. Paralyzed by Indecision going to choose a donor?
I had been combing the donor catalogs at two different banks for months, and I could not make up my mind. Some days I liked them all, other days none were good enough. To make matters worse, one of the banks lets you build a "favorites" list for further review, but that list was not working properly. So I had been saving donor profiles for weeks, and ended up with nothing saved to review.

In between meetings, I logged on quickly, and saw that Donor of the Month had been updated. Amid all those baby pics, one sweet face leapt out at me. I checked his profile, and he sounded cute, funny, and clever. He even reminded me a bit of B in the personality department, and he was a film major! A quick call to the bank confirmed that his specimens were available for rush delivery.

The JG's office said that they would call me as soon as the package arrived Wednesday morning. My schedule was clear until the Big Meeting in the late afternoon, so all that was left to do was breathe deep, get some sleep, and wait.

Gosh, I was wishing I had someone to go with me, hold my hand, just Be There....

Remember the baby hats? I'd just finished one for my three-year-old neighbor, so I stopped by after dinner to drop it off. Her mom had the day off on Wednesday. Her mom is an Ob/Gyn. Her mom offered to come with me and hold my hand.

This was EXCELLENT. Not only did I have company and support, I also had a second set of trained eyes to make sure all went well.

I also had a FedEx tracking number. Wednesday morning, I may have brought down FedEx servers with the force and frequency of my page refreshing.

At 10:30 I got the call from the doc's office that my shipment had arrived. I told my boss I had to step out for a bit and hightailed it out of there, picking up my neighbor on the way.
As we waited for the JG in the exam room, the nurse came in with a huge shipping carton. Unopened. I had asked them to save the packaging, because I was curious, but they hadn't even looked inside!

Neighbor and I looked at each other, at the nurse, at the box. Nurse handed me scissors and said, "Here, you can do the honors and open it yourself!"

Neighbor said, "Um, you know it's frozen. You mean he hasn't defrosted it yet?"

Nurse explained that no one in the office had ever dealt with shipments of donor sperm before, so this was all new to ALL OF US. I opened the box.

It was a big liquid nitrogen vapor tank, with lots of instructions on how to safely handle the contents. We defrosted the specimen in a coffee-cup water bath, prepared a slide to check out the little swimmers, and we all went over to look at them.

Cute little swimmers! Swimming all over the place! So many! So motile! Yay!

I'll leave out the details of the moment of truth, because I know that some of you are already past your squeamishness threshold. Let me just say that I was very glad to have a friend's hand to hold on to. Definitely more pleasant to do this the traditional way. (every time one of these procedures causes my uterus to seize up in pain, I wonder how on earth I'm going to ever make it through labor...)

In the days that followed, I didn't feel anything particularly special or glowing going on. And to be honest, I wasn't surprised. When my tag-team docs reviewed my pee sticks and temperature chart, they exchanged some very serious and none too encouraging looks. They both really wished that I had arranged all this at least a day earlier, and weren't too sure that we had caught the window in time. It was very likely that the whole adventure had been a $650 dress rehearsal. Even if we had gotten the timing right, there's still only a 10% success rate for women my age, and it usually takes four to eight attempts before I should expect to actually conceive.

So I was prepared for a lack of baby magic. (This is also why the "B on Thursday?" issue turned out to be a non-issue. If I was borderline too late on Wednesday morning, then I was definitely too late by Thursday night.)

But then, during the lunar eclipse, I started to feel a little ... magical. And I started to think...
How incredibly cool, if I do indeed have a baby on my birthday -- which is Election Day, which one way or the other will definitely be historic -- to also be able to tell him that I first had stirrings of his presence during a breathtaking celestial event.

I know, call me sentimental, call me crazy even, but it's good to have hope, yes?

Yesterday, eight days after the insemination, I got a sign that sounds terrible but is actually good news:
Implantation spotting.
Right on time!

I'm not running out to order birth announcements; I still remember the odds. But I'm hopeful enough that on this Lenten Friday, I am following these guidelines that my 5-months-pregnant co-worker forwarded my way.

Per doc's instructions, I'll be taking a test next Wednesday, and I promise to let you all know how it goes.

Semi-colonic

For all this talk about how no one knows how to use it, how it's falling into disuse, how no one understands it anymore, I seem to know a lot of people; in addition to myself, who have a hearty appreciation for the semicolon.

So what's the problem?

(Yes, I know you want to know how my insemination went, but I am late for dinner. For now I will tell you two things: there was a lot of cramping and spotting, and yet I bought a bib this weekend.)

Thrown for a loop

Warning --stream of consciousness ahead. I'm rushing between meetings and if I have to take time to write this nicely, it will never get posted.

Remember the J. Crew Catalog? And the lovely pics of my uterus? You may have noticed a dearth of news about this lately. Sorry about that. But here's the thing -- every time I try to choose a donor, or do anything else to move towards the goal, I start to hyperventilate. My lovely red-headed step-intern (actually now a fully fledged coworker who ROCKS) gave me a copy of Choosing Single Motherhood, and every time I try to read it I start to cry and have to put it down. Sometimes I look at the donors and no one is good enough, other times I like them all and want to take them all home. I even started a last-ditch effort of asking a new round of friends if they wanted to help out, with no takers.

And then there's the Boyfriend, who sometimes would love to help out, and sometimes is totally freaked about the whole thing. With him on the fence about babies and me on the fence about our long-term future, I keep deciding that it's not a good idea. And yet, I keep deciding that, as in, the decision is never final, we keep rethinking.

Every year on February 13, my mother calls me to remind me of the anniversary of my conception. Yes, she has no boundaries, but if I dig any deeper into that, I'll have to start a whole new blog. A few weeks ago, I was looking at my temperature chart/calendar, and I realized that it looked like I would be ovulating on the 13th myself this month!

How exciting! Share the anniversary! Share a birthday with my child! How wacky, how fated, how perfect! But then the waterworks and conflict started, and here we are one the 12th and I have not procured any sperm.

Honestly, I thought it didn't matter. The Jolly German has me peeing on sticks, to more precisely pinpoint ovulation than the temperature chart can, and it looked like I'd gone early this month, over the weekend.

Last night, with the long weekend approaching, I suddenly decided that I really wanted to see the boyfriend, that I couldn't wait until next month when we go on vacation. Also, I really wanted to have the sex with him.
RIGHT.
AWAY.

Don't get me wrong, I adore him. It's just that I can usually deal just fine when we're apart. But last night, if I could have jumped into a plane right then to go be with him, I would have. And that kind of transcontinental urgency? Yes, that is atypical.

I booked a flight for Thursday night (aww, Valentine's Day).

This morning, I peed on another stick. I usually do this for a day or two after ovulation, just to confirm the waning end of the pink stripes.

Holy God.

There resulted the widest, darkest, deepest pink stripe I have yet to see in three months of stick-peeing. There have been months when I couldn't tell a difference at all in a week's worth of stripes. This is definitely NOT one of those months.

I have never seen a clearer sign. I was right, I am ovulating on the 13th. (The sticks give you a day or two heads-up, here, read about it.)

So, now the questions:

• Do I have time to choose a donor?
  
• Will the bank be able to deliver in time?
  
• Will my doctor be able to see me tomorrow?
  
• Can I schedule this around the Big Important Meeting tomorrow?
  OR
  
• Is this all just a sign that I should try with B Thursday night?

Please note that if I don't try this month, then B is my only option for next month, as we will be in the Caribbean during the critical time, away from the Jolly German and any easy way to receive cryogenic deliveries. So if not this month, then it's either B, or wait until April.

AND now I have another meeting...

Dee-licious!

You are breakfasty, like a pile of pancakes on a Sunday morning that have just the right amount of syrup, so every bite is sweet perfection and not a soppy mess. You are a glass of orange juice that's cool, refreshing, and not overly pulpy. You are the time of day that's just right for turning the pages of a newspaper, flipping through channels, or clicking around online to get a sense of how the world changed during the night. You don't want to stumble sleepily through life, so you make a real effort to wake your brain up and get it thinking. You feel inspired to accomplish things (whether it's checking something off your to-do list or changing the world), but there's plenty of time for making things happen later in the day. First, pancakes.

Safe for work, but not necessarily for those who blush easily

..and way too funny to not post:
Puzzling: The Secret Filth of the Washington Post 's Puzzle Page

The State of the Union Address Drinking Game 2008

Take heart, tonight's the last time we have to be publicly embarrassed by him. That said, you'll still have to drink to get through it.

Where, kitty kitty?

Kitty travels far. Poor adventurous kitty!

We love you Henry Santoro!

This morning, driving in my car, I turn on the radio. I'm listening to WFNX, my favorite radio station, which I've listened to since 1985, which no other station in any city has ever been able to replace in my heart. Trust me, the New York years had no frequency; they were dry indeed.

As most radio stations are wont to do, 'FNX changes their format occasionally, especially during the morning drive. I've been slow to warm up to their latest effort, the Sandbox, but it has one saving grace that has kept me listening for the past few months.

Henry Santoro.

God I love Henry. Maybe it's because I'm so old, and I just don't relate to these kids today, with their lip piercings and their slacking and... okay, if you've ever read this blog you know THAT'S not true. But still, I love Henry. He is a gentleman, perceptive and erudite, an excellent speaker with a quick wit who elevates the broadcast every morning.

So imagine my shock this morning, when a few minutes after I turned on the station, I heard Hank suddenly announce that this would be his last news update for the station. The Sandbox kids sounded shocked and confused, but they sound like that every morning.

I suspected it was a prank, but called the station anyway, where an overwhelmed intern told me that the studio was empty because everyone had run after Henry to try to talk him down. After about 10 minutes of commercials and station IDs, most of the DJs returned to air, minus Henry and one person who was talking to him. They assured us that he was still in the building, and continued the broadcast as best as they could.

By the time I got to the office and had to stop listening, there had been no more news. This link is all the info I could find on the interwebs. No one at the news organization where I work knew anything about it. If you know more, please comment here!

Henry is a Boston institution and a legend of both the Boston music and broadcasting scenes. Please support Henry, send him your love, and get him back on the air!

UPDATE: I just listened to an audio link (also linked above) that I picked up from Ken Jenning's website forums. As I said earlier, I tuned on the radio just in time to hear him quit and leave the studio. Now, having listened to the whole show and also read Jennings' forums, I have a few fresh thoughts:

1. First of all, just to clarify, I have no comment on C. Marks and what he says about Jennings and his fans. I had no idea why Henry stormed out, I just want him to come back. I didn't even know who Ken Jennings was. Though this guy Isaac from the forums does seem to be a known troublemaker, and the Sandbox guys did refer to a person, in the singular, who was calling repeatedly to complain to the station.

2. I know the management at FNX has a bad rep, so I kind of figured that this was about the folks upstairs not backing him up when people called in to complain. That said, now that I've listened to the whole thing, it still sounds like a stunt to me. I notice that they keep mentioning Henry's 25 years of experience. Is it possible that today was Henry's 25th anniversary? Or the station's?

3. I think the comments below are a testament to how much folks love Henry. No one here questioned what happened, they only expressed support.

I know a guy who works at FNX, and have popped an e-mail asking for more deets. Maybe we'll hear the rest of the story tomorrow morning on the air?


YET ANOTHER UPDATE, a day later:
The following day, Henry was back on the air, but with no explanation of what happened. I still think it has something to do with a 25th anniversary -- but I also hope that Hank got a lovely free meal and lots of booze out of it!

Also, Ken Jennings was an incredible tool in his humorless response. Oh, no! Now they're going to gang up on me! Okay, Ken Jennings' response was no fun, is that better?

Since I'm shopping from a catalog...

... I might as well shop the J Crew catalog...

Oh, it's on!

I'm getting excited!

On the shoulders of giants

Wesleyan University people on Wikipedia

I should really get off my ass and do something worthy of putting me on this list...

I'm coming Uppance

Check it out! All the assholes are getting their come-uppances today! (from BANG! because you know I love it.)

Eddie Murphy and his new 'wife' Tracey Edmonds have split.
The comic actor and film producer - who exchanged vows on a French Polynesian private island off the coast of Bora Bora on New Year's Day (01.01.08) - have decided not to go ahead with a US ceremony to make their marriage legally binding.
Eddie, 46, and Tracey, 40, said in a statement: "After much consideration and discussion, we have jointly decided that we will forego having a legal ceremony as it is not necessary to define our relationship further.
“While the recent symbolic union in Bora Bora was representative of our deep love, friendship and respect that we have for one another on a spiritual level, we have decided to remain friends."
The couple’s union reportedly got off to a rocky start following their romantic beach ceremony, which was conducted at sunset in front of 25 friends and family.
A wedding guest said: "Eddie started yelling at Tracey in front of people. He did it on a few occasions and it was very embarrassing."
The pair are still officially single under the eyes of Polynesian law, which dictates newlyweds must live there for a month to make their marriage legally binding.
Eddie and Tracey began dating in late 2006 and were engaged in July 2007.
Eddie has five children from his marriage to Nicole Mitchell Murphy, who filed for divorce in 2005. He also has a daughter, Angel Iris, with Spice Girl Mel B.
Tracey has two sons from her 13-year marriage to singer Kenneth 'Babyface' Edmonds.

I particularly like the sarcastic quotes around "wife".

Seriously, I'm so glad Tracey seems to have come to her senses. While all marriages have their own secrets and problems, of course, Babyface strikes me as a pretty good guy, definitely not the type to abandon his baby mama live on Dutch TV. It must have been hard for Tracey to wake up next to a self-absorbed, megalomaniac, trannie-riding asshole (who makes shit movies and worse music) after more than a decade with a sweet and cute musical genius.

And in other asshole news, Ike Turner apparently died of a cocaine overdose.

Cabo San Lupus

It's not Lupus, it's never Lupus

Also? Dr. House has a posse, apparently.

Thanks, Gawker!

Seven fatal knitting accidents?!

Really?

Excellent Brooklyn apartment, yours for the renting

Is anyone looking for an AWESOME apartment in Brooklyn? My sub-leaser is moving out Feb. 1, and I'm trying to find a replacement tenant for my landlord.

Rent-stabilized one-bedroom, about 700 square feet, second floor walk-up on President Street three doors down from Prospect Park West. Nearest subway stop is 2,3 line at Grand Army Plaza.

Eat-in kitchen (with a sturdy fire escape), bay-windowed living room, two large closets in bedroom plus a coat closet in the foyer. Bathroom was gut-renovated down to the studs in 2004, beautiful renovation. Original parquet floors throughout, slightly flooded in 2005, refinished in 2006. Nice neighbors in this family-owned building (plus Chuck Schumer and John Turturro on this block, if you're into that...).

The rent is about $1800, stabilized, plus one month security, no fee.

If you're interested or have questions, please e-mail me at maggiebex@gmail.com, or leave a comment.

Imagine, a nice apartment and a testament to my lost wild days (when this blog was perhaps more entertaining...)

Spanking is the theme of the day

This morning, I awoke with a start from a dream where the Captain was spanking me for being late on a writing deadline. (Good thing too, because not only am I late for a writing deadline, but I was also oversleeping at the time that the dream awoke me.)

This afternoon, Gawker addressed the spanking-or-child-abuse debate in their typically thoughtful manner.

I love it when Gawker plumbs my subconscious for clues to the Zeitgeist.

How to Mix a Maggie

The Recipe For Magdalena Kennedy

3 parts Seductiveness 2 parts Wit 1 part Humor Splash of Laughter Sip slowly on the beach

What's the Recipe for Your Personality?

Thanks, Nina!

Resolution #1

Get my finances all orderly.

Jennifer Jennifer

Last night I finally managed to watch all of Shortbus without falling asleep. I've had it for months from Netflix (Oh, god, I just checked my queue, and apparently I've had it since 06/05/07 -- Most Expensive Rental EVER), but at least three times I fell asleep in the first ten minutes. If you've seen the first ten minutes, you know how odd this is -- or maybe how tired I am. (Should watching it with someone young enough to be my son have been awkward? Because it wasn't. Maybe I'm just ridiculous.)

Without giving away anything important of the plot, there's this domme who says her real name is Jennifer Aniston. Continuing on a theme, today this very pleasant Aniston news came over BANG, our British gossip feed:

Jennifer Aniston is dating 'Sex and the City' star Jason Lewis, it has been claimed.
The 'Friends' star saw in the New Year in Mexico's exclusive Los Cabos resort with best pal Courteney Cox and her husband David Arquette and a goateed mystery man, revealed to be model-turned-actor Jason.
A source told America's OK! magazine: "Jason flew out with Jennifer, Courteney and David on a private jet from California last week. He and Jen have been seen hugging on the beach as they enjoyed the sun together."
The 38-year-old actress and the 36-year-old model have been rumoured to be dating for weeks, but have chosen to take their relationship to the next level by starting the year together.
Jennifer briefly dated British model Paul Sculfor last year and was also rumoured to have rekindled her romance with her 'The Break-Up' co-star Vince Vaughn for a short time.
Jason - who plays Samantha's toyboy lover Smith Jerrod in the 'Sex and the City' movie - previously dated actress Rosario Dawson for two years.

This makes me very happy, because I do adore Jen, and I think she deserves to be happy with someone who makes her smile and is as pretty as she is. From all reports, Jason Lewis is an excellent boyfriend, all happy and doting and supportive and non-competitive. So I have a good feeling that this will work out for her.

Also, the timing is perfect. Everyone is getting really sick of the tedium of the Brangelina PR machine, and casting Jen as the slighted victim is getting old too. It would be so lovely to give a new spin to the story and show her all happy and unfettered for a change!

A jingly sweep of velvet

I have this amazing beaded velvet skirt that I bought online last year, and that I wear to death during the holidays. It is perfect -- strangers stop me on the street to ask about it and pay compliments. It's somehow both work-appropriate and party-riffic.

I just noticed that it's still available online, deeply discounted, and in a full range of sizes. For anyone who ever asked about it, go get it now! So cheap, so pretty, so flattering!

By the way, if you're surprised to find out that J. Peterman is more than a running Seinfeld gag, let me assure you that his clothes are top-notch. I still have the nightgown and the khaki skirt that I bought from his catalog back when I was in college.

Midtown mitten mystery near midnight

Oh, my goodness!

So, if you figured out the location of my poetic mitten drop, as Manda and I did, it may have occurred to you, as it did to me, that Penn Station, where trains from Boston arrive at 10 pm, is a mere two blocks from my mitten drop.

So I got off the train, and went straight to said mitten drop. I was on the phone with B, as he was very intrigued by the mitten game and wanted a play-by-play. We wondered along the way what the "four treats" were. I mean, the Empire State building sure is lovely, and large, but I would only count it as one treat. And there were way more than four street-side food carts along the way.

I get to Tractor Feed's "college of grad school learning" and there is a woman at the desk. Something is up, for this is not the "mitts with man [Nina] know[s]". B reads me the script from the haiku, so I tell the woman, precisely:

"Nina made gray mittens
They are for glorious me
hand them over, please"

...
She stared blankly at me for a few seconds and then said, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

She looked around the lost-and-found, found nothing, and then we left a bright green post-it note for tomorrow's shift that said:
"Hello!
Maggie was here to pick up the mittens which Nina left for her. I will return and try again Saturday.
Thank you!"

Then I went to Manda's house, and was going to write Nina an e-mail, but first I saw this post.

Then I saw her Twitter that she's sending me an e-mail with new directions. But honestly, I have so many defunct e-mails associated with this blog, who knows where she's sending it. I just discovered a two-month-old e-mail from Bostonist, kindly resetting my commenting password as I requested, but then I'd never checked that account again for a reply.... Goodness.

I take full responsibility for this situation, as I decided my travel plans so late in the game. Or we could blame the multiple storms for spooking me to the weather.

PS, this really is the coolest game. Even better now for the added adventure!

Reader is my Friday Mitten Fairy

Oh. My. God. Goosebumps.

Nina has made mittens for me.

Mittens!

I am so incredibly behind on my own knitting (along with everything else in my life), I almost feel like I don't deserve them. But I have to say, it feels really nice to be on the receiving end of a homespun present! I still fondly wear the purple wrist warmers Shana made for me a few years ago.

I understand the general area where the mittens are, but I'm not too clear on the details, as I'm kind of rusty on Manhattan locales. Haneway, Manda, can you help? Maybe we can search together tomorrow?

Many many thanks from your "Grand Duchess of Boston Internet Excellence"!

PubNight: Absinthe No Longer

I promise we'll do another PN soon. Perhaps our next stop will be at Kingston or Lucca for a taste of the Green Fairy?

Thanks for the info, Bostonist!

Nostradamus: Ladies Home Journal Editor-At-Large

Aside from the massive produce (so oft repeated it seems like filler), Most of Ladies Home Journal's predictions for the 20th century did in fact come true. Some, such as two-day transatlantic travel or life expectancy of 50, were even conservative estimates.

Thanks MUG!

Ice ice baby

There was a terrible ice storm in Boston Sunday night. Yesterday, the city was a sheet of ice. Advance salting did little to help the situation.

Yesterday morning I took out the trash in my pajamas and rubber-soled loafers. I was very careful. It was very very icy, despite the salt my neighbors had already thrown. I made it out to the curb no problem, but on my return, just as I reached my front steps, I fell.

I fell like a cartoon character. My feet went straight out from under me, my body went horizontal in mid-air, and I fell parallel to the ground, hitting my entire right side all at once -- shoulder, elbow, hip and knee. My hip, being the widest part of my body, and also being exposed by the by the boxer shorts bottoms on my pjs, bore the brunt of the impact:

As bad as this looks, I was lucky. I didn't hit my head at all, nor did I put out my hand to try to stop my fall, which probably would have broken my wrist. That said, it still hurts a lot, so if you see me crying, now you know why. Be nice.

Broadway Bound

Harry Potter Has A Huge Dong

Yes.

Marrow is delish, and so is Bon Jovi

Danyelle Freeman Sucks: The Marrow Out Of Life, In General:

"And then the LORD said unto Abraham:
'Shot through the heart
And you're to blame
You give love a bad name.'"

BBC NEWS -- Curvy women may be a clever bet

Skip the diet, and bring on the brainy babies!

(oops, forgot to call the sperm bank again today. I'm a bad mom...)

Something new to expect when you're expecting

Or at least something new to hope for:
Parents, businesses experiment with child care at work.

When the time comes, I'll still try to write a book to extend my time at home. But maybe I'll be able to go back to work less painfully anyway...

What I'm doing Wednesday Night

I heart Maira Kalman, so I will go see a very funny talk at the ICA tomorrow.

OMG! Breaking monkey news!

Cloning breakthrough, icky medical-ethics-ooginess. But still, More Monkeys!

An economist solves the mysteries of dating. -- Slate Magazine

I am moderately attractive, fairly successful in my career, and absolutely no good at playing dumb. Clearly, I will never get another date.

Good thing I have a nice boyfriend, who so far seems to think I'm good enough!

Haru Hoorah!

An old fave has followed me north. Anyone want to get sushi tomorrow night?

Hell is for children, not me!

And who would have ever thought it, hmmm? Good thing my dear Reader Nina clued me in to this fun test...

The Dante's Inferno Test has sent you to the First Level of Hell - Limbo!

Your fate has been decided....
You are one of the lucky ones! Because of your virtue and beliefs, you have escaped eternal punishment. You are sent to the First Level of Hell - Limbo!

First Level of Hell - Limbo

Charon ushers you across the river Acheron, and you find yourself upon the brink of grief's abysmal valley. You are in Limbo, a place of sorrow without torment. You encounter a seven-walled castle, and within those walls you find rolling fresh meadows illuminated by the light of reason, whereabout many shades dwell. These are the virtuous pagans, the great philosophers and authors, unbaptised children, and others unfit to enter the kingdom of heaven. You share company with Caesar, Homer, Virgil, Socrates, and Aristotle. There is no punishment here, and the atmosphere is peaceful, yet sad.


Here is how you matched up against all the levels:

Level	Score
Purgatory (Repenting Believers)	High
Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)	High
Level 2 (Lustful)	High
Level 3 (Gluttonous)	Moderate
Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)	Very Low
Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)	Low
Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)	Very Low
Level 7 (Violent)	Moderate
Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)	Moderate
Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)	Low

Take the Dante Inferno Hell Test

A Womb with a View

A bad pun, but it's true. Here is a photo of my abdominal/pelvic area:



But Maggie, you may be wondering, where are your lady parts? Et voilá! On demand, they appear:



Please note that the uterus is nicely formed and shaped, with no adhesions, polyps, tears, dents, dings, scuffs or scratches. (Don't worry, the missing bottom of the triangle just has not yet filled with dye.) The tiny pencil line squiggles? Lovely sturdy fallopian tubes free of twists, tangles, bulges or weak spots, ending in nice big catching mitts to grab an egg or two. The fuzzy wispy stuff at the ends and drifting about the abdominal cavity a bit is contrast dye, which, having flown unimpeded through the tubes, illuminated the bits for our benefit, and having found no blockages -- YAY -- has successfully exited the subway system. Here's another peek with a bit more wispiness:



Beautiful and perfect, a textbook example, in prime condition (though who knew an empty womb was so small?). Seems a shame to waste it, right? I agree!

I return to the smiling German Ob/Gyn (I have yet to settle on a blog nickname for this lovely man) tomorrow to review the results of this hysterosalpingogram, but so far, it looks like a big, fecund thumbs-up.

Prank leaves police overrun by gnomes - Boston.com

"'We need to get them out of here,' Capt. Richard Harrison said. 'Every time I leave my office they're sitting in my chair, working on my computer. I can't seem to get rid of the darn things.'"

Oh, really? I never realized how true to life those Travelocity ads are.

You can't relive the past

I was so excited. My brand-new copy of the complete season/series of My So-Called Life came tonight.

Gawd I loved that show. I was an internet activist pioneer for that show, on the listserv, lobbying against cancellation -- I even have a mix-tape "soundtrack" that someone on the list made for all of us.

I just stayed up way too late watching the first three episodes. A beautiful DVD set, gorgeously packaged (looks like a textbook, and the insert looks like a composition notebook), with just the right amount of commentary from the cast, crew and celebrity fans.

But you know what? The show's just not as good as I remember it. It's good, just not AS good...

At least *someone* understood my costume!

Gawd how much do I heart Bostonist? (even if they did mention me without linking that one time...) They said my costume idea is "so cool you must read it to believe it."
!!!!!

I'm so glad they liked the costume idea! Unfortunately, very few people at Saturday's party got it. The fact that I was oft mistaken for a mouse instead of a monkey can really only be blamed on my implementation, and my use of a grey color scheme instead of brown. But when I told people "Monkey Gone to Heaven" and was met with blank stares -- in BOSTON of all places! -- well, there's just no excuse for that.

And in case you're wondering, this was now my FOURTH mention in Bostonist! Yes, I love the attention, which only motivates me to post more and better...

Thank God for Michael J. Fox

Ten years ago, on October 25, 1997, my beloved grandfather died. I can just now, occasionally, think of him without crying at the ache of missing him.

My grandfather had Parkinson's. He began to manifest symptoms in 1988, when this disease was woefully misunderstood and often misdiagnosed (muscle tremors, Alzheimer's), and effective treatments were not yet available (Benadryl).

In the past 20 years, diagnosis, understanding and treatment have improved exponentially. I have often said exactly what Fox talks about in this video -- "Thank God that Michael J. Fox and Muhammad Ali have Parkinson's," as their illness has raised awareness and funding for research. (Not that I would ever wish this illness on anyone, of course, but there is a silver lining to this tragedy.)



The best thing about Parkinson's is that we can cure it. Parkinson's is one of the strongest candidates for eradication with Stem Cell treatment. This is, of course, also the most frustrating thing, as stem cell research gets bogged down in political bullshit.

Parkinson's hijacks your body while leaving your mind intact. It's a prison. Please be alert to the symptoms, give what you can, and fight for stem cell research.

And give thanks to Michael J. Fox.

Headmaster

And he had a beard!

(oh, those British boarding schools....)

Friday Flicks / Jossip on last year's costume

Check it out, I had hipster street cred a whole YEAR before even Jossip did. I should have used this to my advantage more often when I was at NYU, apparently.

(Instead, I just confused people with my Halloween costume last year. Wonder if anyone will get this year's Pixies reference...)

The Talking Cats - Subtitled.

I too once had talking cats, sisters. They hit the Record button on our answering machine, and talked back and forth into it until the tape ran out....

OMG! Muppet Wiki!

Muppet Wiki? MUPPET WIKI!

Also, I realize it's almost Halloween, but I still think that the "GORED SOX" sign on the chalkboard of my local bakery was inappropriate.

This is not a monkey blog

Though you'd be forgiven for thinking so. Clearly.

Aaanyway ... after weeks without a costume idea, and hardly any thought put into it, inspiration struck last night....

Monkey Gone to Heaven!



Of course! Monkeys and the Pixies!
(for those who do not recall, or who saw me out and about but didn't get it, last year I was Un Chien Andalou ... you know, like in that other Pixies song, Debaser?

Now I'm on the hunt for monkey parts and a halo. An initial Google search yielded some cuteness:

• Coolest Homemade Monkey Costumes for cute cute monkey babies.
  
• More cuteness in thumbnails
  
• an unimaginative but complete suit

Eh, I'm still on the fence about the implementation. Tell me, dear readers, what's your preference?

1. Wings, halo, or both?
   
2. full monkey suit?
   
3. Gorilla mask?
   
4. ears and tail with normal clothes?
   
5. or just a monkey t-shirt?

Decisions, decisions!

In other monkey news, Slate Magazine has some good advice on How To Fight Off a Band of Monkeys.

Not me, of course, not the cute funny silly or even animated kind. Only the kind who are trying to kill you.

Oh, wait! I forgot to show you this! So you know about the killer monkeys already, of course. Please check out the BBC coverage.

Did you see it? The related stories?

SEE ALSO
Delhi metro in monkey business
02 Aug 06 | South Asia
Delhi monkeys face forest future
11 Oct 06 | South Asia
Nuisance monkeys could be exported
02 Sep 04 | South Asia
Monkey-catcher with a mission
14 Aug 03 | South Asia
Monkeys invade Delhi government
09 Jan 01 | South Asia
Monkey mystery baffles Delhi
17 May 01 | South Asia

What, does the BBC have a special "Monkey" feed? (Mind you, I'm not complaining. If they do I'm ALL FOR IT.) More specifically, do they have a dedicated "monkey Delhi" story feed?

Hee, GE3PO thought I just said "monkey deli". Imagine the possibilities ...

Boston Red Sox - These kids are up for watching their Sox

OMG! How cute are these kids? How sad that the game starts after their bedtime?

Also, how nice that some kids still have bed times? I seem to see kids out and about at all hours these days.

Where will you be watching the game? Don't fall asleep, now! (though honestly, how could you!)

International Economics

The Imaginary Socialite "thought Chanel bags would be cheaper in Paris.

[She] was wrong.

In fact, they’re more expensive because right now, the Euro is higher than Amy Winehouse."

venting in public, not nice of me

Sorry, just kind of at the end of my rope.

The music of your life

I am happy to note that on the day I turned Sweet Sixeen, the Number 1 song in the country was "Amanda", by the sweet sweet band Boston!

And on the day I was born? "I'll Be There" by the Jackson 5 -- because I was there!

News I didn't need to know about my husband and his, um, measurements

The latest on Clooney from BANG Showbiz Media, our celebrity news feed. And I post it here in full instead of linking, because we are a family paper and probably won't be running it online:

George Clooney is using a 'Liberator Sex Ramp' to aid lovemaking after being injured in a motorbike crash.
The Hollywood heartthrob and girlfriend Sarah Larson appear to need a little extra help in the bedroom after Clooney was photographed leaving his New York townhouse carrying the purple sloped sex cushion on Wednesday (03.10.07).
A source said: "George is suffering a little from his fractured rib and Sarah has her leg in plaster because of her broken toe so they've bought something to make having sex a little more comfortable."
The Sex Ramp Sex Cushion is available on the internet for $149.00 and comes in blue, purple, red, tan and leopard print. It claims it can "elevate your lovemaking 10 to 14 inches for more options off the side of the bed and superior doggie-style position. The Sex Ramp is engineered to support two bodies in motion, it's the stabiliser that elevates Sex Ramp Sex Cushion beyond vanilla pillow status."
The 46-year-old actor and the 28-year-old cocktail waitress were injured after George's bike collided with a car in Weehawken, New Jersey, on September 21.
When the couple stepped out three days after the crash to attend the New York premiere of his new movie 'Michael Clayton' the star revealed: "We are just resting for now. You don't really want to rub or massage parts that are broken or anything!"
But if the couple do want to get out the massage oil, the Sex Ramp manufacturers boast: "Underneath, a silky liner that cools and caresses. This smooth nylon layer was created to accommodate all of your lotions, potions and gourmet notions."
When George and Sarah's injuries heal, the Sex Ramp makers advise using the cushion to make upright positions comfortable. The instructions state: "Standing is a man's 'power position' sexually, allowing for stronger thrusting, more varied strokes and greater longevity."
The purple cushion is 24 inches long, 18 inches wide and 12 inches tall and fitted neatly under George's arm as he carried it down the steps of his house.

Believe it or not, that's with some copy editing. Also, the photo was taken while he was filming a scene from his new Coen Brothers movie. So no, it was not for his personal use. Who knew British journos were so sloppy?

The Onion gets Yankees, loves Red Sox

The staff of The Onion must be part of Red Sox Nation. In this article, they totally capture the supercilious entitlement that we dirt dogs hate so much.

Fiction: Frank Sinatra Has A Cold - Esquire

I may have mentioned this before, but a gentle reminder never hurts. This is one of the best magazine profiles ever written.

"Pucker Up" on puckering up

Come on, baby, you have to work on your spit-swapping skills.

Breastfeeding: The Latest Refuge of Scoundrels - from The Huffington Post

Can you imagine if an employer did not allow employees to go to the bathroom? If they said, if you want to pee, then you should stay home?

Breastfeeding is a natural and vitally important function of our bodies. It's a testament to how well we are designed. And you know what else? Childbirth is nothing short of a miracle. I'm amazed almost every day that mothers are not treated like gods walking on earth.

In short, breastfeeding breaks, decent childcare at the office, and decent maternity leave. NOW, please.

(Also, no, I'm still not pregnant, if you were wondering. And I don't really want to talk about it yet. Soon.)

Why yes, it has been a long, rough week...

...thanks for asking, Fug Girls!
Also thanks for the moment of zen (though honestly I could have used some ministrations from Intern George too...

(yes, this might be a dupe, but YouTube hasn't yet posted the one with the video embedded in it, so Blogger is my backup)

Warning: What's posted below is WAY FALSE

I am amazed by how incredibly confident ignorant people can be in their own "knowledge." We've all seen it parodied before in comedy, but seriously, in real life, I'm always amazed when someone passes off their opinion, or a rumor, as a fact.

I am not a lawyer, let me make that clear. But I did have to study Copyright Law when I was in Journalism school. It was a law class, taught by a law professor, using real law books in the law library at BU.

And the biggest thing I learned from this class is that most people have no fucking idea about copyright, though many think that they do. Remember when rap sampling got mainstream, and everyone said that you could legally use up to eight seconds of a work without infringing copyright? Not true. You also can't... you know what? It's complicated. Use the links above if you actually want to educate yourself. If those are too heavy, and you want a pretty good summary, check this out.

But whatever you do, please do not believe a word of what follows below, which was posted to a knitting list I subscribe to.

Copyright works this way:

* If the book is over 25 years old and/or out of print it can be xeroxed
* Books from the library are exempt because the Library is an educational institution. All educational uses of material are usually exempt. There are some exceptions to this.
* I only copy to use in a class...I teach. Perfectly legal.

Please note the authoritative tone. As I said, I am constantly amazed at how ignorant some people can be of their own ignorance.

Perky

When I started at this job, I figured there would be perks. Merch sent to the office, free tickets to concerts and shows, stuff like that. But I didn't know how it would work, having never been the beneficiary of perks before.

A few weeks after I started, there was a sold-out show I wanted to see. I asked the Captain how I could get tix. He scoffed and said I had to earn my stripes before I got free stuff (he was always a little big for his britches). Then, once the editorial staff moved to the other office, the flow of goodies into our space dried up to nothing.

Well well well, now I coordinate the events calendar, so I keep getting invited to events. And last night, I finally went to one. What fun a press night is! I highly recommend you attend if you get a chance. (Even if you don't go for press night, you should still see The 39 Steps; it was great! It's headed to Broadway once the Boston run is over; consider yourself forewarned.)

The real goodies, however, are over at the paper. There's this shelf over in the newsroom where all the unwanted swag gets dumped, free for the picking. When the CDs show up, I never know what to take, because I can't tell a good CD from bad just by looking at it. And you know that the original recipient of the CDs is keeping all the good ones anyway. But last week, someone dumped a bookcase worth of books on the shelf. Books, I know from books. And the editor can read a good book, be done with it, and then share it for others. I walked away with armfuls of reading materials.

Then I worried -- is there a protocol to these giveaways that I'm not aware of? Should I have limited myself to one or two books, instead of one or two dozen? When I finished reading the first book, I brought it back to the shelf, and it was quickly snapped up. Hmmm...

Today I spied Demeter, six different bottles from their "fragrance library":
Orange Cream Pop
Baby Powder
Suntan Lotion
Pumpkin Pie
Play-Doh
Bonfire

I browsed, I sniffed, I sprayed. I was intrigued by Play-Doh, but thought it more likely that I would actually wear Suntan Lotion. And after the soul-searching dilemma of the books, I certainly didn't want to be greedy and take two.

As I sniffed Bonfire (phew!), I wondered if Haneway, or maybe Auntie Amanda, would like the Play-Doh. And then my superpower (A Line Forms Behind Me^tm) caused me trouble, as it always does... Someone came up, started sniffing, and took Play-Doh!

Doh!

She asked if it was okay, because I had been there first. But I was still trying to decide, and it seemed ridiculous to take what she wanted when I'd already had the chance.

Bonus, though, is that she took two, so then I felt it was okay to take two myself. Suntan Lotion and Baby Powder, baybee! Now I can smell clean even when I'm not!

Haneway and Manda, I'm really sorry if either of you did want the Play-Doh. I'll keep an eye out for other goodies for you in the future. Any interest in some books?

PS: Let me assure you that I would never wear this fragrance, nor this, though I am totally intrigued by them. Unfortunately, they weren't included in the press pack. Neither was the surrealist option.

Hot Cup O' Monkey -- Breaking news!

Remember that awesome Hot Cup O'Monkey t-shirt on Get Fuzzy? Eagle-eyed fabulous woman Eeyorecol found an >Unofficial Monkeywhere Shop on CafePress!

Get your MonkeyWhere THERE!

Not all men are evil, you know

So here I am, looking for a guy who's good with kids, and bemoaning the fact that so few men I know are parentally minded or skilled. I never even thought about this disturbing but totally believable trend. Poor guys!

Monkey love!

The abandoned monkey who has found love with a pigeon.

Poor monkey.

OMG, Verizon, WTF?!?!

If you're wondering how I scored that sweet simian phone number -- Verizon totally owed me, and they were trying to make good.

With the boyfriend almost 3,000 miles away, clocking double-digit hours on the phone each week, the cell wasn't cutting it anymore. So in early August, after five years of wireless-only, I decided to get a land line again. I went to the Verizon website, they have an order wizard, I crossed all the Ts and dotted the Is, and I was told that I would have service set up by August 13. As part of the process, they even gave me a selection of five (totally ordinary, non-primate-themed) numbers to choose from.

The 13th came and went -- no dial tone. As my phone was about a dozen years old, I figured that was the problem, and borrowed one that my folks weren't using. No dial tone. I ordered a new one from Amazon... no dial tone! So on the 17th, I call for service, and I'm told that my line was turned on, as scheduled, on the 13th, and they'd closed the order. But they can't get through to me; when the woman in the service department calls, she gets a recording that my number is not in service. So she files a repair ticket, and assures me that the line will be working by Monday the 20th.

No dial tone. And when I call again for service, I can't access my account! After about an hour on the phone and many transfers to multiple departments, I discover that they'd changed the phone number on my account, which is why I couldn't access it anymore. They wouldn't even tell me the new number until I got escalated to a manager.

It took three weeks, a service visit to the house, a bucket truck, and several more phone calls to Verizon before I actually got a working dial tone. However, they had no problem sending me a bill, a full two weeks before my phone was actually working. After all that grief, they gave me a free month of service, and the phone number of my choice, to make up for the fiasco. Good work, I say, apology accepted.

And then...

The broken dial tone reminded me that I had no idea how to access my voice mail. It had been weeks since they'd set up my account, they sent me a bill right on schedule, but I have yet to receive some sort of welcome pack with critical info such as what number to dial to pick up my messages.

So I call AGAIN, they apologize AGAIN, and give me the set-up info. This morning, I dial in, I have one message. This message:

Good afternoon, this is Verizon with good news about your recent home voice mail order. You can begin using your home voice mail as soon as you set up your voice mailbox. You'll need your access number, which is [silence, NOT redacted, they just didn't say it]. At your earliest convenience, please call Verizon for important information about how to set up your home voicemail. The toll-free number to call, anytime day or night, is XXX-XXX-XXXX, and at the main menu, press 6.

It is Verizon's goal to provide you with outstanding service. If we can improve our service to you in any way, please call Verizon toll-free during normal business hours [note they don't say when their business ours are] at XXX-XXX-XXXX, where a representative will be happy to help you.

OMG, Verizon, WTF?!?!

Okay, I get that the recording was meant for a person who actually answered the phone, which I had not.

But they're VERIZON, the phone company. You would thing that they could have set up their automated message system to not leave a message on voice mail when calling about setting up voice mail, and instead trigger a command to either:
a. call back later,
or
b. call my alternate (cell phone) number, which they have asked me for multiple times and should have on record with my account.

Regardless, they have given me the best phone number ever, so I guess I'll forgive them this one more time. Sigh.

We Love Bostonist!

This week, Bostonist launched a new feature about local bloggers. And guess who was the very second item of the very first edition of Bostonist: Series of Tubes? You betcha, my monkeys! (good thing I didn't actually post that new simian-themed phone number. . .

monkey museum - we make monkeys out of people

If you know me, or even if you've just been reading this blog fairly regularly, you know I have a thing about monkeys. Mind you, not the actual animals so much -- I don't go to the monkey house at the zoo (I don't really go to the zoo much, ever since I saw two rhinos going at it).

No, I like the idea of monkeys. Even the word is fun. Monkey, say it. Monkey. And apparently I am a comedic genius in good company: "Samberg cameos in the video dressed as a Viking. Why? Because he thinks Vikings are funny. Also monkeys. He’s a big fan of monkeys."

So let's be clear: iconic monkeys are cute, real monkeys throw poop. Actually, it's all funny.

I have become such a monkey maven that now everyone sends me their monkey mischief. It's good to have a catch-phrase, a brand, a theme. I love it -- so much better than getting cat-themed gifts, as if I'm a crazy cat-lady just because I adopted Siena. (No, clearly I am a crazy monkey-lady!)

Lately there's been a monkey zeitgeist, possibly kicked into high gear when I acquired a simian-themed phone number this week. Muffy let me know that Get Fuzzy has been exploring monkey branding for two weeks now.

Obviously, Monkeys Make People Smile^TM. And the folks at the Monkey Museum know it!
monkey museum - we make monkeys out of people

Thanks, Auntie Amanda, for making my day a little more monkey-licious. If I didn't still have all those Boston-themed cards that I never sent out last Christmas, I might have a set printed up for this year. Instead, I might just have to commission some art!

Apparently I'm a New Pornographer

In the Village Voice today, they compated Pornographers albums:
"Challengers is an infinitely quieter, meeker, more nuanced and resigned piece of work, cut from the same sing-along cloth, but fashioned into a quilt as opposed to a neon hoodie—a peacefully descending Park Slope offering escape from Mass Romantic's raucous Lower East Side."

That's what I did! I went from the Lower East Side to the Slope as I aged and matured. Apparently not like wine, but rather like a pornographer. Or a hoodie.

My last days of disco

Y recently asked me if I'd ever gone to Twilo during my crazy New York club days, before I became an old boring suburban lady. It got me thinking back on those days a bit, which perhaps I never talked about much here.

There was one night that the Cokehead Alcoholic took me to either Twilo or Tunnel, which were near each other on West 27th Street in Chelsea, so I honestly can't remember which one it was. It was fun, but it was also kind of strange for me, because I was more used to the fetish/goth scene of the meatpacking district, which was a much different kind of club scene. The clubs I most often went to, Mother and True were smaller, with a tight community of regular attendees. They definitely did not have a metal detector or pat-down at the door, like Twilo/Tunnel did.

Anyway, the night we went to the T club in Chelsea (whichever one it was) we were dressed in Edwardian fetish/goth attire, having stopped at Hellfire first (an underground sex club in the meatpacking district that was closed down when they built the hotels and gentrified the place). All our velvet and corsetry didn't exactly fit in with the ecstasy-fueled club-kid vibe of the place, so we did get searched upon entry, which was strange. Lots of raver kids, lots of drugs, we didn't stay very long. But I did think that, had I gone with someone else, and were I dressed appropriately and in a different mindset, it would have probably been fun. Sadly, I never made it back to check it out again before it closed.

I'd clubbed in Boston, LA, DC, Spain and Italy before I moved to New York, so I had a pretty good sample for comparison, and I think I caught the New York scene at a perfect moment. Before I got there things were nuts, with Michael Alig killing his drug dealer and club kids appearing on Oprah. By the time I got there, things had mellowed a bit so that it was a nice creative community without too much evil craziness.

To be fair, I didn't just sit on a balcony and watch, I threw myself into it pretty deep, so maybe I had a better experience because of that. I was friends with organizers, I danced in a cage (god I wish I'd saved that picture; they used it for promotion), I worked the door and decided who could and could not come in. I was going out four nights a week, doormen recognized me and I rarely paid to get in. I was fully invested, until I retired from the scene. (And it took a few tries, like Michael Jordan, before I really did retire.)

A few years later, clubs started to fall prey to the triple-whammy of Giuliani's quality-of-life/cabaret law crackdown; the inflated rents of the real estate boom; and the sobering climate of post-9/11 New York. Most of the clubs and parties I went to closed down around 2000-2001, and were replaced by gentrification and high-priced bottle service.

Which is now itself dying, so maybe we're on the edge of another golden age of clubbing. These things do tend to come in cycles. Of course, I'm also pretty old now, so maybe my opinion is for shit.

The Oracle of Starbucks

Dammit, I don't even drink Starbucks! So instead, I plugged my regular Dunkin' order into the The Oracle of Starbucks, and yet it had me pegged:

Drink: medium cinnamon iced latter, skim, no sugar
Personality type: High Maintenance

You pride yourself on being assertive and direct; everyone else thinks you're bossy and arrogant. You're constantly running your mouth about topics that only you would find interesting. Your capacity for wasting other people's time is limitless. Your friends find you intolerable, that's why they're plotting to kill you.

Also drinks: Water. Bottled, chilled, with four ice cubes, a twist of lemon, in a crystal glass.

Can also be found at: Trendy martini bars

Like I said, it was spot-on (except for the part about ice cubes and crystal for my water, but whatever...)

So then, I figured "no sugar" was maybe a bit too fussy, since that could be assumed, so I took that out and bowed once again to the oracle:

Drink: Medium cinnamon iced latte, skim
Personality type: Fat

You're always worrying about your weight. That's because you're fat. You're constantly whining about problems that are your own fault. You are a total pain in the ass.

Also drinks: Diet RC Cola
Can also be found: On Jerry Springer

See, again, I have to admit that's kinda true (aside from the Jerry Springer appearances).

Roving Puppet Comedy in Cambridge!!!!!!

Ordinarily, if you don't have plans to come to PubNight, then I would tell you that you are an idiot of the first order, because PubNight is excellent.

HOWEVER....

Tonight, I'm really wishing PubNight had not chosen this week to boldly cross the river into Brookline, and instead we'd stuck to our cozy Cambridge home base. Because tonight, Inman Square is Where the Wild Things Are, and by wild things I mean Muppets, Bowie, free Popcorn, a very young Jennifer Connelly, and ROVING PUPPET COMEDY.

Sorry, I need to stop yelling and calm down.

Ahem.

Wait, wait, hold the phone (oh, yeah, if you've been trying to reach me, the cell is dead, the cell charger is in Vancouver, and the new land line isn't playing nice quite yet. Try not to miss me too much, or call my roommate or my office if it's dire).

ANYway, that Roving Puppet Comedy? They will be performing...
(deep calming breath)
Law and PUPPET!

Kalimera, I know you don't want to miss that one, get yourself over there! (you weren't going to cross the raging scary river for PN anyway, right?)

Ah, bellissime

Me and Sofia, we Italian women are so hot.

Fine fine, you were right

I'm not pregnant.

Shut up.

In other news -- Lollapalooza this weekend! Party on! Unfettered! Free! Crazy!

Rubbing Bacon Salt Into a Wound

Okay, not bad, actually, but the best tile I could come up with. So my boyfriend has a write-up in Seattlist: Seattlest: Bacon Salt: Food of the Gods, or Actually a God?

I'm not so thrilled with the offer of a public blowjob, or the sacreligious title (that he didn't write anyway), but aside from that, I'm pretty proud of him!

Whiskey Dick

Auntie Amanda saw this and thought of me. Isn't she the sweetest?

(yes, yes she is, in case you were stumped...)

The semicolon

Grammar is sexy.

I'll stick with Siena, thanks

She might try to steal my ham or bite my feet, but at least her nuzzles and purrs are sincere.

And A has been totally smitten with her since he moved in. I think I'm going to have to give him visitation rights, and I don't think an animatronic is going to cut it.

Update: I wonder if Siena will be my fluffy kitty reaper like Oscar. So purry, so compassionate. But who will sit with Oscar in *his* final hour?

Hipsterotica

Oh, my god, I have to go home and beat off now.

Or is "rub one out" a more hipster-appropriate term? Suggestions welcome.

Yet another Somerville - Wesleyan connection

For years Wesleyan University, and specifically Alpha Delt, has been taking over Somerville. Well, now Somerville is fighting back, doing some colonizing of our own. Josh Michtom of Somerville Madonna fame is heading to CT, where his wife has a new job at Wes.

Soundtrack to Jordan

And with one perfectly evoked "My So-Called Life" reference, Meredith Goldstein redeems herself in my eyes.

Cosmo Sutra: sad sex tips for Cosmo Girls!

Steel yourself for non-stop laughter, read Tools Of The Trade: Gawker's Expert Assesses Cosmo's 10 Hottest Sex Tips, then thank Auntie Amanda for sending this our way.

You MUST read the comments on that entry, all 100+ of them. Here's one gem:
"Soak a necklace of doughnuts in carbonated water, then freeze them. When your partner is about to climax, rub carbonated frozen doughnuts all over his body. Then slide the necklace of frozen doughnuts up and around his privates, securing them with a hair scrunchy. The combination of sparkly carbonation, freezing cold, ice-hard dough and lacerating glaze shards will send him over the edge!"

Amazon.com guarantees your Harry Potter fix

Guaranteed Release-Date Delivery (Saturday, July 21) of "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows"!

"We will deliver Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows on its Saturday, July 21 release date to eligible customers who pre-ordered from Amazon.com and chose standard, Two-Day, or One-Day shipping when placing their order. (Amazon Prime customers will receive it on the day of release at no additional charge. Learn more about joining Amazon Prime.) If you qualified for guaranteed Release-Date Delivery, in the unlikely event that you don't receive it on Saturday, July 21, we'll refund the cost of the book." [Emphasis mine]

Okay, this is wild! I've never pre-ordered a book before; do they go this crazy for all books? Doubtful, but what about all the Harry Potter books? Has anyone done this before?

There's a little bit of fine-print on that delivery guarantee, though:

"Most deliveries will be made by UPS or the U.S. Postal Service, either with your regular mail delivery or in a special, later delivery. All copies that qualified for Release-Date Delivery should be delivered by 7:00 p.m. in your time zone. If you have not yet received your copy, please wait until 7:00 p.m. on July 21 before contacting Customer Service."

First off, leave us alone until the mailman has completed his or her appointed rounds.
2. If you're one of those freaks who has to start reading as soon as legally permitted, go to one of those Midnight Potter Parties and don't order from us. We're not delivering you books on Friday with some kind of charm that makes them unopenable until the stroke of midnight on the 21st, or anything.

Amazon might be cool, but they are still Muggles in that regard.

Bostonist: Free Squishee Today. Yes. Squishee

I love me a really good, effective, funny promotional tie-in

Mantra for a recovering bitchy girlfriend

The Sweet Escape lyrics
(feat. Akon)

[Gwen]
If I could escape I would but,
First of all, let me say
I must apologize for acting stank & treating you this way
Cause I've been acting like sour milk all on the floor
It's your fault you didn't shut the refrigerator
Maybe that's the reason I've been acting so cold?

[CHORUS]
If I could escape & recreate a place that's my own world
& I could be your favourite girl (forever), Perfectly together
Tell me boy now wouldn't that be sweet? (sweet escape)
If I could be sweet, I know I've been a real bad girl (I'll try to change)
I didn't mean for you to get hurt (whatsoever)
We can make it better, Tell me boy wouldn't that be sweet? (sweet escape)

[Akon]
I want to get away, to our sweet escape
I want to get away, yeah

[Gwen]
You held me down, I'm at my lowest boiling point
Come help me out, I need to get me out of this joint
Come on let's bounce, counting on you to turn me around
Instead of clowning around, let's look for some common ground
So baby, times get a little crazy
I've been gettin' a little lazy, waitin' on you to come save me
I can see that you're angry by the way that you treat me
Hopefully you don't leave me, wanna take you with me

[CHORUS]
If I could escape & recreate a place that's my own world
& I could be your favourite girl (forever), Perfectly together
& tell me boy now wouldn't that be sweet? (sweet escape)
If I could be sweet (sorry boy)
I know I've been a real bad girl (I'll try to change)
I didn't mean for you to get hurt (whatsoever)
We can make it better
& tell me boy now wouldn't that be sweet? (sweet escape)

Woohoo, Yeehoo
Woohoo, Yeehoo (If I could escape)
Woohoo, yeehoo (If I could escape)
Woohoo, Yeehoo

Cause I've been acting like sour milk all on the floor
It's your fault you didn't shut the refrigerator
Maybe that's the reason I've been acting so cold?

[CHORUS]
If I could escape & recreate a place that's my own world
& I could be your favourite girl (forever), Perfectly together
& tell me boy now wouldn't that be sweet? (sweet escape)
If I could be sweet (sorry boy)
I know I've been a real bad girl (I'll try to change)
I didn't mean for you to get hurt (whatsoever)
We can make it better
& tell me boy now wouldn't that be sweet? (sweet escape)

McSweeney's Internet Tendency: A Letter to Optimus Prime From His GEICO Auto Insurance Agent.

"I suggest that next time you either settle things peaceably or leave your Autobot Matrix of Leadership at home so it doesn't break. GEICO does not cover Autobot Matrix of Leaderships."

Vintage morning wood

This here is a classic old story, which I recently discovered was never posted up here, even though it won me a "Best Celebrity Chef Encounter" contest. Since as many people as possible should be informed of this incident, I post it here as a warning, a public service, and of course, for your amusement.

Breakfast

While at the bar in the front room of the Tribeca Tavern, I saw Mario Batali standing talking with a small group. As I rejoined my friends in the back room, I mentioned this spotting to my foodie compatriot.

"Did you talk to him?" he asked.
"No, I've heard he's kind of a jerk. Also, rumor has it that he doesn't bathe often enough, and he smells," I replied.
My friend pulled out his wallet. "I'll give you a dollar if you go sniff him."
Since Batali was standing near the top of the stairs to the bathrooms, and in direct sight of my friend's table, this would be an easy task to pull off and have witnessed, so I took the dare.

As I tried to squeeze past Mario, I put my hands on his shoulders, leaned in for a sniff, and said "excuse me." Mission accomplished. But...

He took my hand and called me beautiful, and asked my name.

"Hi, I'm Ma.. actually, since you can probably pronounce it right, I'll tell you my real name: Maddalena."
"Mario," he said, still holding my hand. "So, you speak Italian?" he said, in Italian.
In better Italian than his, I explained that my parents were born there and we go back almost every year. He cut me off, in English.
"You were headed to the bathroom. Go do what you have to do and then come back and talk to me." He finally let go of my hand.

When I came back upstairs, he was talking to another young brunette. She slipped off (relieved?) as he turned his attention back to me.
Now, Batali the man may be a smelly philanderer, but Batali the chef has some fine restaurants that I love. At the time, Otto was still serving breakfast, and I used to go every Friday. A really great guy named Dennis worked that shift, so I decided to take the opportunity to praise Dennis to his boss.

"Oh, yes, Dennis is a very important member of my team. But let's talk about us." He leaned in a bit more.

"Excuse me?"

"Well, now that I know you like my breakfast, we just have to decide when you and I are going to . . . make love."

I suppressed a laugh at this incredibly cheesy and out of the blue pick up line, and considered reminding him that he was wearing a wedding band, and had named pizzas after his kids. Instead, I decided to laugh it off.

"After breakfast sometime, apparently." I shrugged.

"That's good, since morning wood is the hardest, after all. Especially mine, as you'll see."

!!!
I couldn't take any more. "I'm sorry, I really should be getting back to my friends," I said, tears of laughter forming. I pulled away and rushed to the back room.

"So, did he smell?" my friend asked, a dollar in his hand.

"How much will you pay me for getting him to offer to show me his 'morning wood'?" I asked.

Speechless, he just pulled out his wallet and started counting off bills.

John Legend is not exactly safe for work

Dude, if you're on stage, and not at a sex show, can't you control that action?

Mmm, bacon

And I quote G3po: "Bacon can't hurt people; it's what angels eat."