Weepathon

OK, the people out there who have problems with my site loading really slowly are going to hate my guts, but anyway.

Linda of Straight Up and Slightly Dirty got me turned on to a new meme from Hedgewizard's blog: songs that always make you cry. (OK, it's more nuanced and subtle and shit. What am I, an echo? Go read it for yourself.)

So anyway, I'm going to play. For me, that song is "Parallel Lines" by Todd Rundgren. Here's an amazing live performance of the song on YouTube. (Actually, it's so amazing that it doesn't make me cry at all.) (And holy shit, did you know this entire album was recorded live? Thank you, Wikipedia.)





I guess this is where I explain why this song affects me. (Note how I said "affects" and not "impacts." Because I know that "impact" is a noun. I also know the difference between "effect" and "affect," so once in a while, I have this irresistible urge to flaunt my knowledge.)

OK, the question is, Can a hard-ass pedant like me be emotionally affected by a song? And the answer is, yes, even though you might think I spend all my time nit-picking about proper usage.

Amazingly enough, I also find it fairly easy to get over those late '80s hairdos. Particularly the bass player (I think) with that very strange-looking faux-hawk/quiff. And the backup singers dressed in those stretchy minidresses that look like they're being recycled from a Robert Palmer video.

See, here's the thing. Long before this song came out, I had a massive crush on a guy. I thought he was just perfect for me. Except that he was already taken. Years later, I heard this song, and it hit me--this is exactly what was going on back then--this man and I were on different tracks. We were always going to be in different life stages. And really--isn't that always the way? Your college boyfriend isn't ready to commit, so you end up with someone else; then he decides he wants you, but it's too late.

And musically, it's a great song. There's this suspension that really gets me where I live. I mean, people, this is TODD RUNDGREN we're talking about. Who's only--you realize this, don't you?--a fucking genius.

Now, maybe you'd like to know about the impact affect effect this song has on me. Have no fears. Everything worked out great. Mr. Buxom is a peach. He and I are happier than I ever thought it was possible to be.

On top of that, the guy I had such a crush on in the early 80s? Turned out to be a douchebag.

Who has been known to read this blog.

Heh heh heh.

Here's the button if you want to play.

177

This morning I went to my Weight Watchers meeting, and that's what I weighed today.

This is up from 175, which is what I weighed on December 19th, the last time I went to a meeting. In fact, I haven't weighed this much since Halloween.

But you know what? It feels great.

Because I honestly felt as though I'd gained not three pounds back, but 15. I feel seedy, all flabby and just generally icky.

It must be because I haven't been working at AT ALL. I haven't been to the gym since we all moved back into the house on December 5th. I don't have that I'm-made-of-Silly-Putty rubbery, bouncy, firm feeling you get when you're using your muscles to do something other than drink wine and eat cheese and crackers.

Still, it felt good to face the music. Especially because things weren't as bad as I imagined they'd be.

And so to help myself get back on track, I bought a WW magazine as I left the meeting, and a Shape at the supermarket (where I stocked up on broccoli, Clementines, shrimp, and Skinny Cows, OK?) I plan to steep myself in motivational literature. And start tracking my points again. And re-lose those three pounds.

As God is my witness, I'm going to get under 174 pounds. Even if I have to bore the internet into a coma.

A day of unusual glamour

We moved back into our house on December 5th after over three months of commuting back and forth to the suburbs from Chicago. This was because some long-unused portion of my tiny, reptilian brain knew--with the calm certitude that brooks no argument--that living in our house while a new kitchen and two new bathrooms were being installed would be Hell, capital h, underlined. In fact, it would be old-skool Hieronymus Bosch Hell, complete with pitchforks, bare rumps, and the screams of the damned (or the screams of Poppy, whichever would be louder and more unpleasant.)

And so, three months passed where I spent many hours at the gym, and attended more than my share of Weight Watchers meetings. And spent no time whatsoever in my house, and therefore, didn't worry my pretty little head about it.

And then we moved back into the house, and almost immediately, Christmas struck. Christmas and parties and performances, all washed down with loads of drinking. I managed to refit the kitchen with dishes and Small Appliances, and I even managed to get the halls decked.

But now that Christmas is over, it is time to deal with this house. And I am going to town.

Today I hung out in the basement. The cleaning ladies were here to work their magic upstairs, and I like to stay out of their way. And I had laundry to do. So I retired to the basement with a book, my laptop, and a DVD to watch while I folded laundry. But oh, my God, the mess. The chaos. It's always cluttered, but there were piles of things that got stashed there to keep them out of harm's way during the construction. And not just stuff I expected. But shoes. Tons of shoes. (What the hell were they doing there? I have no idea.) And papers from my study. And all kinds of other crap. All dusty and needing to be wiped and vacuumed.

So I moved furniture around, dusted, made with the shop-vac, threw out some stuff, bagged up a ton of stuff to take to the thrift shop. A few hours later, I emerged from the basement looking like a potato farmer. And of course, my house was spotless.

It was kind of like the scene in The Wizard of Oz when Dorothy opens the door of the farmhouse and discovers that she's in Oz. My house was in technicolor. I, on the other hand, was sepia with dust.

And that is why I'm having such a good time reading all the nice complimentary comments on my last post. You know, about how I'm so glamorous. Where's blackbird's Leica when I'm cleaning the basement?

In Tuvalu. And you, internet, should be feeling very grateful right about now.

Holy crap, I almost forgot to post today.

I think I was too awestruck by what a simple link from blackbird can do. Awestruck, and struck dumb.



So I will leave you with a picture.

This is person-or-persons-unknown Susie Sunshine making mad, passionate love to my bag while I laugh my ass off, forgetting that laughing my ass off makes me look like I'm still demonstrating American Sign Language gestures that mean "I am performing oral sex."

In other words, holy shit, do I have a big mouth. I mean, even when I'm not talking.

A Quiz

Because I didn't get to bed until 3:00 this morning, I am stupid, incoherent, and incapable of blogging. Therefore, I'm making you write today's entry. Just answer the following questions:

1. Spending a weekend in the company of blackbird, Jen Lancaster, Jennifer, Wendy, Carol-in-Texas, and Susie Sunshine is

a. deafening
b. so funny your cheeks hurt from laughing
c. exhausting, exactly the way a marathon sex session should be
d. likely to get you evicted
e. all of the above

2. The majority of the time, blackbird, Poppy, Susie Sunshine, and Wendy were

a. Shopping, eating, talking, and drinking
b. Squabbling over who was sleeping where, and with whom
c. Swearing like fish wives
d. Taking incriminating pictures to upload to their blogs
e. Sitting around in their bikini panties, doing each others' hair and nails, and playing Barbie's Dream Date


3. Jennifer's Saturday night cocktail party really started to get good when

a. Poppy started drinking her fifth glass of wine
b. To make a very important point, Poppy started simulating giving oral sex
c. Poppy volunteered her services as a singer in her hostess's a capella group, and after she was politely turned down, insisted on singing "Happy Birthday" to her hostess. At the top of her lungs.
d. Jennifer started serving Jell-O shots
e. All of the above


3. One of the following did NOT happen:

a. blackbird and Poppy posed for Lesbian pictures


b. blackbird, Poppy, and Wendy discovered that they speak fluent Australian
c. Jen, Fletch, Susie Sunshine, blackbird, Poppy, Wendy, Carol-in-Texas, and Mr. Buxom rampaged through an empty model apartment commenting loudly on how grossly overpriced and underwhelming it was
d. Poppy spent all of Saturday afternoon cleaning and tidying her apartment and making it lovely and welcoming for her internet friends


4. Every single woman in Poppy's apartment owns a pair of Nick and Nora Sock Monkey Slippers except:

a. blackbird
b. Poppy
c. Susie Sunshine
d. Wendy


5. The single sexiest article of clothing worn to Jennifer's cocktail party on Saturday night was definitely


a. blackbird's black elbow-length Gypsy Rose Lee kid gloves
b. Susie Sunshine's amazing exploding white blouse
c. Wendy's low-cut chocolate brown velvet cocktail dress
d. Poppy's granny pants

Could it be menopause?

I just realized something. My idea of a fun day is cleaning house.

It's not that I enjoy cleaning, per se. It's that when I haven't been able to clean, because I've been so busy doing other things, cleaning develops a sort of Zen-like calming effect.

So I just cleaned out the coat closet. And straightened up the living room. And cleaned the kitchen. Where I left little tiny hand-printed signs (I used the back of my husband's business cards) around saying "ONCE PAINTED, NEVER TAINTED" and "Please no dirty dishes or tea bags in the sink--The Management"

Anal, yes. But it feels good.

And now I'm about to head downtown, where I'm going to clean up the condo. Blackbird and Susie Sunshine and Wendy will probably all try to horn in on my cleaning spree, but I saw the condo first, and it's mine, all mine.

I can't make the funny.

One of my best and oldest Internet friends is in the hospital. I just discovered something. This is where internet friendship gets frustrating ... I am scared witless--even more witless than usual--because my friend is so far away, and my computer, which made our friendship possible, can't help me get in touch with her.