100 Words on Kisses

Some fellow bloggers do a weekly post based on one word. Theirs are usually insightful, romantic, deep, poetic or some other form of serious.

Here's what I have to contribute:

100 Words on Kisses

And now, a list of bad kissers I may or may not have made out with in my time on this earth.

The Flesh Drill
The Tonsillectomy
Brilloface
The Damp Kleenex
The Gum Swapper
Mr. Stubblypants
The Cud Chewer
The Fillings Inspector
The Bloodhound
Hal. (Hal Itosis)
The Chatterbox
The Dead Fish
The Face Washer
The Vacuum
Mr. No Lips
Mr. All Lips
Ssssssssam the Sssssssssnake
The Teeth Bumper
That guy I dated in Middle School
The Sneak Attacker
The Ear Cleaner
Signor Garlico
The Oral Whack-A-Mole Champion
Sweaty McDripsalot
Anyone from the Book of British Smiles

aw... cute

Ok, I lied. This is not cute. This is an ugly ass goat.

The end.

a challenge for musical masochists

A fellow blogger posted a request for masochists to list their favorite albums -- one for every year they've been alive. His instructions?

"Pick the most important to you. Pick your favorite. Pick the one you listened to the most. Shit, you can even pick a greatest hits album for all I care."

What I picked are the albums I still listen to and still love today. Did I listen to them then? No. I was busying myself with Terence Trent D'Arby, Wang Chung and Color me Badd. (It's not my fault. I was born in the late '70s.)

It was an interesting project to participate in, mostly because I had no idea that Kylie Minogue had so many albums out, and that Chris Isaak isn't dead. (I thought so, but apparently he also has sixteen million albums out.) And... did you know there's a band called "Anal Cunt" that had more than two albums?? (yikes.)

I really, really tried to keep myself to one album a year, but there were just some years (see 1996) that I just couldn't pick one.

If you have three disposable hours to scroll through Wikipedia (where you can see the albums released in any given year), I recommend doing one yourself. It's nice to get reacquainted with my favorite albums (and to imagine that desert island)...

1976. Desire – Bob Dylan
1977. Rumours - Fleetwood Mac
1978. Blue Valentine – Tom Waits
Baltimore – Nina Simone
1979. A Christmas Together (featuring The Muppets) – John Denver
1980. The River - Bruce Springsteen
1981. Ghost in the Machine - The Police
1982. Nebraska – Bruce Springsteen
1983. Violent Femmes - Violent Femmes
1984. Born in the U.S.A. - Bruce Springsteen
1985. Rain Dogs -- Tom Waits
1986. Graceland - Paul Simon
1987. In My Tribe -- 10,000 Maniacs
1988. The Trinity Session -- Cowboy Junkies
1989. Indigo Girls -- Indigo Girls
1990. Into the Journey – Martin Sexton
1991. The Early Years – Tom Waits
Blood Sugar Sex Magik -- Red Hot Chili Peppers
1992. Little Earthquakes -- Tori Amos
1993. The Juliet Letters -- Elvis Costello and The Brodsky Quartet
Fumbling Towards Ecstasy -- Sarah McLachlan
1994. Out of Range -- Ani DiFranco
1995. Ben Folds Five -- Ben Folds Five
1996. Black Sheep – Martin Sexton
Crash -- Dave Matthews Band
Tidal -- Fiona Apple
1997. Whatever and Ever Amen -- Ben Folds Five
Surfacing -- Sarah McLachlan
1998. Wide Open Spaces -- Dixie Chicks
1999. White Ladder – David Gray
When the Pawn... Fiona Apple
2000. Wonder Bar – Martin Sexton
2001. Room for Squares -- John Mayer
Little Sparrow – Dolly Parton
2002. Come Away with Me -- Norah Jones
2003. Afterglow – Sarah McLachlan
2004. Sufjan Stevens -- Seven Swans
2005. Cherryholmes – Cherryholmes
2006. Stumble Inn – Robbie Gil
Stadium Arcadium – Red Hot Chili Peppers
2007. Cherryholmes – Cherryholmes II Black & White
Robert Plant and Alison Krauss - Raising Sand

this post is predominantly about my bathtub. (don’t say you weren’t warned.)

I'm a clean person.

And by that, I mean I do my dishes every day (or so), and I mop my kitchen floor just moments before it desperately needs it. I vacuum, I sweep, I even wash my windows (annually). So this also means that I clean the bathtub regularly. Or at least I thought I did.

Today, however, I dropped something in the bathroom and got down to pick it up when I discovered, to my horror, that my bathtub was not white, but a dingy grey. Armed with a sponge and some baking soda, I scrubbed a VISIBLE LAYER of ick off of my bathtub. I could have carved my name into it, like a showgirl's makeup or bad bakery frosting.

One tub wall done, I couldn't stand the contrast between it and the others, so I stayed put in my porcelain pieta, cradling the box of baking soda and working my arms so vehemently that I shook my, er, arm-wibble.

Did you know that really clean bathtubs are supposed to be slippery? This is a disturbing development.

Luckily, though, while still in the shower, I said outloud, to no one, "I just want to touch it!" Another one of those days it's a good thing I don't have a roommate.

(I have gone back, repeatedly, to touch it. I'm even considering a bath tonight, although I'm not dirty, just to hang out in a tub so spankin' clean.)

today I celebrated my independence... from my clothes!

Yes, that's right, today I declared my right to walk around in considerably less than I would normally wear. I bought a bikini!

Now, it's not my first bikini. I had a wonder woman set back in 1980. And, if I'm fully telling the truth (which I'm trying to make a habit of these days), I own another one. I wore it once, but I had a boyfriend at the time, so it doesn't really count. (If a tree falls in the forest and only someone who really loves the tree is there to hear it, does it make any noise? Depends on what the lover says, now, doesn't it?)

The trick now is to find a time I'd actually wear it. It isn't one of those you can just throw on and spend a day in -- I mean, I don't know for sure yet, but I'm pretty sure it's more of a "bathing" suit and less of a "swimming" suit. (They should provide you with a pool in the dressing room to see how you look in the suit when you're drenched, don't you think?) (On second thought, maybe not, since I'd probably just trip and fall into that pool while trying on a blouse and have to be rescued wearing only said blouse and my grannyish snoopy underwear.) (Sad.)

Problem is, I'm not a sun bunny. I come in three colors: pasty, fake tanned and lobsterish pink. So when am I actually going to wear this bikini? Valid question, friends. Valid question.

But let's just take a moment simply to celebrate the fact of its purchase. It's a really big step for a Recovering Fat Kid like myself, and I look forward to pool party invites and trips to the beach... where I can sit under an umbrella and look cute.





p.s. I was going to post a picture of a bikini with this entry, but when I went to an image search and typed in "bikini" I got pictures of naked women doing it! And they weren't even wearing bikinis! So you'll have to just imagine a bikini, or do the search yourselves!

things I don’t understand (and things I don’t stand under)

Things I don't understand:

A. How exactly does an online dating site calculate the doneness of my profile? One site I'm on claims I am merely "58% complete." Even on my days when I leave my head on the kitchen table I feel more done than that. I've answered all their questions (or enough of them to leave the menfolk feeling good and satisfied), got plenty of cute (and/or sassy) photos, and I've even got a headline. Do I have to do the hula and skywrite my handle?

B. Why is it that when a guy writes to me the first time (on that same dating site), next to his email he gets anywhere between four and five stars, but when he responds to something I've written, invariably, he gets one star? Do they think I have shitty taste in penpals? Are they reading the emails and passing judgment? (Because if they are, I'll tell you, they're missing some off-the-bat one-star-worthy notes!)

C. What makes me so tempting to bugs? Am I made out of the insect equivalent of cake?

D. Why does nobody want to take the classes that I teach at work? Don't they know that's the only part of my job I really like?

E. Why, on god's green earth, have I taken EVERYTHING personally this week? (Don't answer that. It'll probably hurt my feelings.)

Things I don't stand under:

A. Peeing horses

B. New Zealand rugby players doing their hakas

C. Ladders with whistling sailors holding black cats with 666 shaved into their fur while playing Black Sabbath backwards.

D. Tap dancing elephants

E. My desk. (I sit under it.)

excuse me, do you have the time?

Is it 10:27 (as my computer says), 10:25 (as my work phone says), 10:24 (as my cellphone says), or 8:41 (as my watch says)?

And which one do you think got dunked in the pool this weekend?