Bitches!
Hey, what if I had permanent writer's block caused by damage in my brain from watching too many episodes of Tommy Lee Goes to College and I couldn't write a damn word? I'd lose my job, my friends...no-one would want to have anything to do with me.

I'd have to turn all Blanche Dubois, move in with my sister and her husband (who hates me), sit in the backyard by the pond all day, smoking cigarettes and flicking the butts at the ducks.

Sad. That's all I have to say.

Places new and ladies too...

Under the category of "bad TV shows I would probably still watch if they were still on" or "shows TVLand should syndicate": BJ and the Bear. Yes, I was still years away from my first training bra and I had to sneak out of bed into the den to watch it because it was on after my bedtime, but I loved me some BJ.

In case you're not familiar, BJ McKay (played by Greg Evigan) was a trucker who traveled around the country in his big rig with his lady friend pet chimp, Bear. I think it was a Dukes of Hazzard spinoff because I vaguely remember Sheriff Elroy P. Lobo being in some of the episodes. One of the Landers sisters (or maybe both of them) guest-starred often. Oh, and BJ had a way with the ladies. One in particular, sitting on orange shag carpet wearing her Rainbow Brite pajamas, watching TV in the dark and dreaming about when she would be old enough to marry BJ and move into the cab of his truck. Funny...even at that age I was already wondering how to bring up the topic of chimpanzee boarding school (because you know chimps smell bad, even if they are wearing diapers, and I wasn't going to be stepmother to some hairy little beast with a load in his pants).

So yes, my very first crush ever was on a charming trucker. Go figure.

Hablad más lentamente, por favor...
Because I don't pay attention to the order of my Netflix queue, I spent the weekend in my very own Spanish for Beginners Home Immersion program, which basically involved me watching three movies with subtitles, one after another. Since two of them were Almodovar films (Bad Education and The Flower of my Secret) and the third was The Motorcycle Diaries, I don't think it's going to help so much with travel phrases. Unless I have a burning need to express disgust, angst, or emptiness while in a foreign country. Or cursing. I learned six new curse words in Spanish just from one of the Almodovar films.

So if you ever need someone to accompany you to Barcelona who can speak fluently about child abuse, victimization of transvestites, or emotional cruelty while cursing effortlessly in Spanish, I'm your girl.

If I didn't live in mortal fear of becoming a total loser...
I would have gone to grad school, moved back in with my parents, and started putting on weight like it was a paying job. Right now, I would be sitting in a mobile home my "temporary" housing on the family acreage with my jobless friends watching The Effing Matrix for the 50-bajillionth time, stuffing my face with cupcakes my mom baked and waiting for my hair to fall out.

Oh, wait...that was HIM.

Best freaking line I've heard all week...
(in reference to some corporation mucking up the world)
"They act like they're the government in E.T. or something!"

I had to think about it for a minute, but when I finally got it I laughed so hard I spit out my Yoo Hoo. Because they do. They do act like the government in E.T.

I'm not Liza, dammit...
The new issue of Skirt! is online, and so is my latest essay. This month, it's an extended harangue about assumptions, gay marriage, straight-gay relationships, and gay stereotypes. Oh, and I finally stepped off that neurotic ledge I've been on since the beginning of the year...

And another bit of news: The Skirt! forums are live, so I've been spending a lot of time there. Come on by and say hello!

Reasons why I am more susceptible to heat in the summer and therefore should be extended privileges such as shaded VIP areas for outdoor events and cuts in line for the movies...

I bitch and moan about the hot weather more than anyone else I know. I hate to sweat (unless there's a damn good reason for it). I am this pale, and I've always been sensitive to the heat. My face sweats more than any other part of my body, which makes wearing makeup or washing my hair acts of futility. I've been thinking a lot lately about why I always seem to be the sweatiest and most insistent about keeping the A/C down around 70 degrees. Here's what I came up with:

1. I am indoors so often I have become acclimated to the air conditioning and lower temperatures (Michael's "Summer of 2004 Theory").

2. God wants to punish me for thinking bad thoughts.

3. I was shipped here from the Planet Frigid Bitch (Erin's hypothesis).

4. I am just plain special (says Mom).

5. It's in my ancestry. My people come from places of inclement weather, cool temperatures, and overcast skies.

6. I am a fragile, delicate flower.

Any other ideas?