I actually invented this gag in my own mind years ago… Seriously, I did – I think I first thought of it when I realized how much (and how often) Chris likes to “rest his eyes” on the couch in front of the TV…
For those of you who know Chris, you know he loves to “rest his eyes” while sitting on the couch in front of the TV. Sometimes on the weekends, he’ll start “resting his eyes” less than three hours after he’s gotten out of bed. Seriously – up at 9AM and “resting his eyes” before noon.
And frankly, I resent it – because I’m plagued with insomnia – at night, in bed… And god forbid I take a nap during the day – I’d be up for days… Meanwhile, he can just say, “I’m going to take a little nap” and three minutes later, he’s sawing the world’s largest log…
At any rate, my usual method of waking him up is shaking him gently then softly whispering, “Chris, honey… We need to get going soon… Are you ready to get up?”
But every time I wake him like that, I have the same fantasy of waking him using the method in this video. The one thing that keeps me from doing it is knowing that he would divorce me immediately…. Seriously… He probably wouldn’t even pack his bags – he’d just head for the front door and that’d be the last I’d see of him. Well, except when we showed up on “Judge Judy” arguing over custody of Calvin.
And I will admit that I didn’t invent the air freshener punchline – and it is a good little punch line. But it’s so not crucial to the crux of the gag.
Make sure you’ve got the sound turned up on your computer – then watch and enjoy!
And remember, I’m Jane Fonda and Chris is JLo (just like in real life… well, except for Jane Fonda is aging way more gracefully than I… Though Chris has a total JLo booty).
One of my favorite bloggers, Michael K from Dlisted, posted his Thanksgiving wishes today – and far more eloquently than I ever could…
Before you get too wasted to make out the words on the screen, I want to wish all of you whores a very Happy Thanksgiving(and receiving) Day. Yes, it’s an American holiday, but everyone can celebrate. It’s easy! Just get mega drunk, yell at your family members for not understanding you and then pass out in front of the TV. After you black out for a few hours, wake up at 3am, eat cold stuffing which has been sitting out on the kitchen counter and then make yourself another cocktail with Martinelli’s from the kid’s table and gin (the vodka will probably be all gone). See, anyone can do it!
So best wishes to you all. I have much to be thankful for this year and I hope you do too…
I’m not particularly fond of being out in the rain. But the weather in SF is, for the most part, lovely, so who am I to complain about a few rainy days?
People, on the other hand, are the worst, and I shall continue to complain about them ad infinitum – and rain brings particular challenges. As Cajunboy so eloquently wrote in his blog, “The rain is to assholes the way that the night is to freaks.” Were truer words every spoken? I think not.
At any rate, what the fuck is with people sashaying about the City with their six-foot-diameter golf umbrellas? Especially downtown, where the streets are both narrow and teeming with people? The only thing accomplished through the use of umbrellas of such Brobdingnagian proportions is menacing the eyes, cheeks, ears, torsos and piercings of one’s fellow citizens as the offending umbrella wielder careers willy-nilly down the sidewalk.
And they always career willy-nilly – god for-fucking-bid they should walk in the always-elegant straight line… No, they stumble along, starting and stopping at random, veering from left to right, endangering all and sundry within poking distance… I’ve seen drunks reeling through the Tenderloin conduct themselves with more decorum.
Then, as I attempt to board MUNI (which, since it is raining, I can pretty much guarantee will be jam-packed, steaming and reeking of mothballs and ass), the golf-umbrella-toting-fucktards invariably grasp the umbrella in the middle, so that it is parallel to the ground, wildly swinging the thing to-and-fro, once again putting my face and/or nads at high risk of being punctured with the razor-tipped point of their elephantine brolly.
So I say to you, aficianados of les parapluies dangereuses, “See you in hell…” But in the meantime, would you please cut it out?
So, Facebook, my new obsession, serves up rotating ads along the right side of the screen. It’s pretty much the same few ads over and over (rolling razor anyone?). But the other day, this one showed up on my screen:
Please tell me that this ad was served to me randomly… Or are they trying to give me a hint? I mean, I’m the first to admit that there’s something vaguely unsavory about forty-somethings such as myself using the Facebook – but what could be worse than signing up for TeeBeeDee.com? It advertises itself as being for those “who’ve lived a little” – which I take to mean “huge alimony payments”, “mortgage I can’t afford”, “ticking biological clock”, “recently repossessed BMW 3-series” and/or “I don’t want to die alone”. <shudder>
And WTF is “TeeBeeDee”? Trying to Beat Death? Too Bloody Decrepit? Tons of Bitter Divorcees? These Bastards are Dying?
And how do you think it differs from Facebook? Maybe you use an actual typewriter to post rather than a keyboard? You get message alerts via your pager? You have to fax in your pictures? The mind reels…
Excellent location for a stroller... And seriously, look at the size of that kid... Is she in junior high?
OK, you were already annoying pretty much everyone at Papalote, as you interrogated the staff about the menu and your special requests… And you took a really long time to place a really simple order… And you were using that particular tone of voice, that is both condescending and tinged with panic, as if a failure to include the prescribed amount of guacamole on your burrito will have severe and lasting repercussions on your ability to lead a happy and productive life…
But would it really have been so difficult to put your stroller on one side of you, rather than behind you, thereby blocking the entire aisle? Not to mention that the kid in the stroller appeared to be a ten-year-old…
Demanding that someone open the door for you and your stroller on the way out didn’t help much either… How come you weren’t in that much of hurry when you were placing your order?
At any rate, Chris and I both had chilaquiles – and they were good… not in the pantheon of chilaquiles, perhaps, but quite tasty and satisfying… And the salsa they serve here is pretty darn good…
It wasn’t clear to me from the picture whether this product was meant for hardcore alkies or invalids.
For sitcom marathons, your favorite soap or the big game, this cozy blanket keeps the remote handy. Plus, it even has a pocket on the back to tuck your feet into!
But boy am I glad I read the description, seeing as I was shivering my way through my latest sitcom marathon AND wishing there was some more convenient place to keep my remote! And it’s personalized!
Though I wonder if by “personalized” they mean you can choose from three embroidered monikers: “Loser”, “Shut-in” or “Freeloading In-Law”?
I’ve been having a really difficult time coming up with blog topics. With the election over, my sense of outrage has declined somewhat. Don’t get me wrong – I still find myself outraged more often than not… But the phrase “President-elect Obama” has a pronounced calming affect.
There’s still the whole Prop 8 fiasco, but how many times can I complain in a compelling way about my civil rights being abridged? BOR-ING!
I’ve been tempted to write about that woman and the fact that she’s still showing up on my TV all the time (lately being interviewed in front of live turkey being shoved head first into a meat grinder – nice photo op!) but I’m trying to practice what I preach to my TV – namely, stop running stories about that woman! And when I say “preach”, I mean it… Chris can vouch for the fact that I continue to scream at the TV news – and I’m convinced that it’s starting to make a difference in what they’re choosing to report on… I suppose I just need to scream louder and more frequently.
And of course, there’re are still the various and sundry people not waiting in line properly or blocking the aisles at Whole Foods with their strollers and carts or wearing their backpacks on MUNI or attempting to refinance their homes using the ATM when all I need is twenty friggin’ dollars so I can buy some goddamn apples at the fucking farmer’s market, where I have to fight my way through all the goddamn people who apparently don’t have to work for a fucking living who not only block my access to the apples but have to involve the apple peddler in a long and boring discussion of the relative merits of the different varieties of apples and how they compare to the ones they got last week which were not as sweet as they’d hoped and wondering how the Arkansas Black is different from the Pink Lady when all I want to do is buy my stupid goddamn apples and rush back to my office where I have to finish writing my annual performance review… But I digress…
I still tell the story from my friend Kate about the roadside diner she went to years ago… The place had signs up all over the place, extolling the goodness of their fare… Things like “homemade” meat loaf, “fresh” vegetables and “delicious” apple pie. Doesn’t that sound “great”? I want to “try” them all!
OK, so I’m probably behind the news cycle on this, but holy shit! Miss Thing is breaking it down Beyoncé-style… And in only one take. Well done, sister, well done…
And, as Chris asked last night, is this Beyoncé song kinda cute? We determined yes… in fact, it’s actually super-cute.
Focus on the Family, the Colorado-based evangelical ministry that sank shitloads of money into passing Prop 8 in California, is laying off approximately 20% of its workforce. Of course, Wonkette had the best advice for the soon-to-be-jobless god-botherers:
Sure, you have no income now because James Dobson burnt all of your company’s money on a state ballot proposition. But imagine the alternative! Would you want to be employed knowing that several hundred miles away, in another state, pairs of consenting adults that already have been living together, people whom you’ve never met and will never meet, were applying for state licenses (pieces of paper, really) that offered them some new tax and medical options??
Put another way: Would you want to be employed knowing that your children would all get AIDS immediately? You probably couldn’t live with that, huh? Kind of a dick move, right? Selfish? Uh huh.
The Lord works in mysterious ways… Or maybe not so mysterious after all.
There was a young man from San Fran
Who wanted to marry his man
Californians said “Nay,
We can’t abide that you’re gay
So your civil rights we did just ban”
Went to the prop 8 protest this morning… Had some stirring moments, though difficult to hear (seriously, gays – all those discotheques and no one could scrounge up a decent set of speakers?). And some really good signs (e.g. “You have 3 wives, I just want 1 husband!”).
But as with all such protests, I leave feeling like “so now what?”. I think it’s amazing that all of these people – gay and straight – came out this morning in support of civil rights for all. But how will this translate into action and change? I suppose I’ll just have to wait and see…
After I got home, I biked over to the Mission to get my hole stretched… Oh, wait – ew, no, it’s not what you pervs are thinking… I had to run over to Body Manipulations to get my new ring for my septum piercing and it’s a slightly thicker gauge. But I digress…
At any rate, the crowds from the protest had taken to the Market Street – stopping traffic at Van Ness, marching up toward the Castro and down toward Embarcadero, filling the street… A bunch of people were sitting down blocking the Octavia freeway ramp intersection… And I have to say, my thought was “now that’s more like it”.
Three hours later, I was riding to the gym and there were still some folks out marching on Market St. Only a couple hundred, but all shouting, chanting and waving signs, this time headed from Embarcadero back to City Hall.
I’m frankly all for civil disobedience. I think people should be upset and inconvenienced and stopped from just going about their lives as if nothing had happened. Because something terrible and chilling has happened – the Constitution has been changed for one reason and one reason only… to take away the civil rights of gay men and lesbians…
So, yeah, I’m kinda diggin’ the takin it to the streets… And I hope it continues.
I love Shepard Fairey. His latest work is below – in support of marriage equality. Posters apparently being printed for this weekend’s protests.
And remember: protest at SF City Hall on Saturday, November 15 at 10:30AM. Bring signs and outrage (I’ve got mine!). Drop me a line if you want to come with me – my homosexual lover/non-husband will be at work. I put the event up on my Facebook wall, too. Yes, that’s right – I’m on Facebook…
Other protests throughout the land – find out where at Join the Impact.
My friend Bethany sent me this op-ed piece about the passage of proposition 8, from today’s NY Times.
It wasn’t that she begrudged Obama his victory. It was just that his historic triumph made the insult to her community all the more painful. An awful thought came to her that night: Now we’re the designated cultural outcasts. “It’s almost like we’re the last group you can be openly bigoted about,” she told me.
And it’s true. I’ve been lucky enough to grow up in San Francisco and live in Los Angeles and New York, places where it’s pretty easy to be a gay man. Sure, I’ve had to deal with name-calling (hard to believe I’ve been hearing people call me “faggot” for well over 30 years)… And holding hands in public, while for the most part fine, still requires a certain amount of wariness of one’s surroundings.
But I’ve felt different since November 5th. The California State Supreme court affirmed that marriage is a civil right, available to all under our Constitution – and now that right – a civil right – has been taken away by a slim majority of voters. Though the term “second-class citizen” gets bandied about often, it is sadly appropriate here. I have all the same rights and responsibilities under the state Constitution as every other citizen – except the right to marry. And the single reason I don’t have that right is because I am gay. So I’d say my citizenship is pretty goddamn second-class…
So, I ran out to grab a sandwich for lunch. While placing my order, the idiot gentleman next in line behind me did something very alarming – he stood directly to my right, causing me great consternation and anxiety. Was he trying to jump the line? Was he confused? Was he a Grade A douchebag? Was he some type of crazed psychopath who would soon pull out a machete and hack my face off? There was no way to know…
Yes, I’ve brought it up before – but I honestly don’t understand why people think it is either normal or acceptable when waiting in line to stand on either my right or my left rather than behind me. It completely flies in the face of the whole concept of a line – namely, that it is a line… Not a rhombus, not a trapezoid, not a parallelogram.
And what exactly is a line? According to Webster’s, it is “a straight or curved geometric element that is generated by a moving point and that has extension only along the path of the point” (emphasis added). Thus, if someone is standing behind me, while someone else is standing to my right, as occurred this afternoon, there is no longer a line… There is only anarchy…
Let’s review…
Example A: Yes! This is a line.
Example B: No! This is not a line – it is a triangle, a shape made up of three separate and distinct lines.
Example C: NO! Absolutely not! Just stop it, OK?
Example D: Yeah, this is pretty much how most people wait in line:
So, next time you’re waiting in line, just stand behind the person who is preceding you… If you don’t, then the terrorists have already won…
Whole Foods was pretty quiet Monday night – but of course when I chose my checkout line, I got behind a fool. First off, despite appearing to be able-bodied and with fully-functioning motor coordination, the guy in front of me is using a full-sized grocery cart. His selections? A loaf of bread, a pint of pasta salad and a mango…
He’s also completely engrossed in whatever magazine he picked up at the checkout stand (“Vegetarian Times”? “Modern Yoga”? “Fitness for Douchebags”?) – so much so, that the conveyor belt in front of him is empty and his three items just sit forlornly in his cart, eager to be scanned and purchased. The cashier prods him from his reading (it took a couple of tries) and he finally gets with the program and unloads his sad assortment.
While he’s being rung up, he sets down a book on the checkout counter – “The Power of Full Engagement”, some claptrap about managing one’s “energy” rather than one’s time. I think it’s the one that tells you to only read emails once a day. I managed my energy directly into cursing under my breath and rolling my eyes as he chit-chatted with the bagger about the book and how useful it’s been for him.
As he toddled off, the bagger yelled after him, “Excuse me! You forgot your book!” – which was indeed still sitting on the checkout counter. Diplomat that I am, I immediately blurted out “How ironic!”.
However, I did graciously refrained from adding, “I guess the book you really needs is ‘The Power of Full Engagement While Waiting in Line at Whole Foods – Especially If You’re in Front of Someone Who Is Not Slow-witted.’”
Or maybe he should just read the “The Power of Any Amount of Engagement Whatsoever”?
Or, my personal favorite, “The Power of Engagement in the Fact That Once You Get to the Front of This Line, You Will Have to Pay for Your Groceries, So Perhaps You Should Contemplate How You Will Accomplish That Rather Than Reading a Magazine About Tricking Your Children Into Eating Tofu”.
