If you had a dream where

a) you lose three molars in the span of, like, five minutes;
b) you try to go out to dinner with your dad and a friend but y’all don’t end up eating after you tell your dad you’ll skip your final semester of college and work a ton of jobs to pay your half of the dentist bill if he’ll pay the other half;
c) you end up leaving your car to get fixed at a shop in a bad neighborhood;
d) after you somehow manage to snag a late appointment with your dentist, a verbal spar with two old ladies who cracked on your weight in the crowded dentist office results in a topless chick, and then the cops come;
e) your dentist, who’s cranky at having to work so late, says your lifestyle is the reason for your teeth loss and uses the two more molars you lost while waiting as examples (recognizing that he’s had a hard day, you end up asking him if he’d like you to schedule a second appointment to talk about solutions, to which he gratefully accepts);
f) you contemplate calling your parents for a ride home from the office because it’s dark out, but then you run into your downstairs neighbor, who’s got a date with another dentist in the practice, and you end up getting set up with semi-dorky other suitor hitting on her;
g) as the four of you are driving back to the restaurant at which you were going to eat in the first place, a number from the skeevy neighborhood where you left your car comes up on your phone;
h) when you answer it, the guy on the other end won’t identify himself, which freaks the shit out of you, but he ends up telling you your car and others in the area have been vandalized by guys seeking tranny sex; and
i) you end up mackin’ on the semi-dorky guy after he was nice to you, and when he whips out Magnums you ask him how he feels about per10d sex;

what would you suspect was going on?

Despite all the significant dream elements (losing teeth, nekkidness, not finishing school, Dad, etc.) it wasn’t a nightmare at all. But it might be proof that Poppy’s baked beans shouldn’t be eaten before sleepy time.

[EDITED TO ADD: Girlie, you were the friend in the dream.]

THAT’S Paul Stanley, y’all:



I’ll take Gene—plastic surgery or not—because that poor bastard looks like Jackie Mason in a cheap Cher wig.

From our ol’ pal and self-proclaimed BBW Kaffy:

Naturally, this resulted in great laughter between us.

I don’t usually read Feministing, but one of the jezzes pointed to this post in a discussion: Lookit.

Scared to look? Then hows about a highlight:

Emphasis mine.

Anyone want to take a crack? Because I sure don’t have the words.

I just found out my 20-something’s gone. He moved away for a job and to be closer to family, so of course I’m happy for him because that’s what he wanted, but it’s just ... wow, he’s gone. Booooooooooo.

In other news, my cholesterol’s down 30 points and my birthmark won’t ever turn malignant.

the SNL sketch with Amy Poehler, Kristen Wiig (I think), guest star Shia LeBeouf (who also happens to be my new pretend celebrity boyfriend) and the rest of male cast where Amy and Kristen are in a nice restaurant, and at every table there’s men, only the men have these dopey expressions? And then, when the women—completely enamored with all of them—wonder what they’re thinking, you hear them thinking “Doy da doy doy doy doy doy doy doy doy doy doy doooooooyyyyy!” Ohmigod, the LOOKS on their faces! I about PEED myself laughing. See, that’s the kind of thing my one oldest and dearest does to me all the time: We’ll be chillin’ and then I’ll go to the can or get us something to drink, and I when I come back he’s there with one of those exact expressions on his face, and I can’t breathe because I’m laughing so hard. Last time he was in the NWI, I was trapped in my bathroom for, like, 15, 20 minutes because he was sitting on my couch with that look. We weren’t even stoned, and I was just dying. I hope someone puts that sketch up on youtube so I can post it or send it out or something.

In other news, I hemmed my first pair of pants tonight, and not just with hem tape. Ima make me a good wife someday and shit.

[UPDATE: I FOUND IT! Lookit. I’m telling you, pure, unadulterated GENIUS!]

except for, oh, that Snelling and I took second place in deadline reporting at the state Society for Professional Journalists Awards last night for our work on the Chase Street crash.


Holla,
muthafukkas!

Yeah, I know, I didn’t say anything here when I found out a month ago that I was up for it because bragging kinda sucks (though it didn’t stop me from mass e-mailing my posse with the news, so clearly it doesn’t suck THAT much), but I figured I’d let y’all know when I found out for certain how I placed. And I’m thrilled, though not as thrilled as I would’ve been had we taken 1st. Why? Well, because as I’ve said a million times before, that story meant a lot to me, but also because the story that beat us out was by the competition, and I ALWAYS hate that, though I dig the writer who wrote it, so I’m cool that it was someone deserving and not, you know, someone who WASN’T (ahem).

Now, I just have to come up with the value of drinks y’all will be buying me for my win. Good thing it WASN’T first, because someone would be required to cough up a bottle of Veuve, and that ain’t cheap.

New discussion over on Jez: Lookit.

Nope, didn’t watch it, don’t wanna watch it, find absolutely no intrinsic value in it, etc. Do you? And if not, do you think it should be banned?

I know that boy-cut panties are the shit-diggity—they’re my preferred cut, if you must know—but if you’re going to wear a white, high-collared bad 80s sweater AS A DRESS, rockin’ the white boy-cuts underneath defeats the purpose.

And don’t even get me started with that stupid wide gold belt with the black pumps.

[EDITED TO ADD: This comment is to the snooch we saw workin’ it after the gig, not Roger Clyne himself. He wouldn’t dare be so crass about his underwear choices.]

Nutjob: Legitimate description, or term used to describe someone who either doesn’t see eye-to-eye with you or doesn’t let you have your way? Discuss.

[I do have a post swimming around in my head about this, but no time to write it this second since I now have the best of both worlds because I? will be sitting amongst my awesome peeps watching a world premiere while some other poor suckeranother correspondent will be at the meeting. And because I’m doing the background reporting, I’m sharing the byline. AND I came up with this solution all by myself. My genius knows no boundaries sometimes.]

Because I suspect this is to what ye sick m’erf’ersy’all diehard fans have to look forward:



It could happen.

Is it just me, or does Maya Keyes' coming-out speech sound disingenuous?
I mean, sure, I admit I might've heard that out of context, but it just sounded to me like the polite version of, "Ok, I'm really not sure if I like box or dick, but box sure is fun, and look how MAD it makes my dad! And I STILL get my Ivy League college for free! Look at me! Woo!" And honey, if that's your shtick, you're NOT HELPING. Again, I'm all about it if she's gay. I'm just saying if she's not, this is a shitty thing to be doing to the rest of the community.

While I'm on my social soapbox, did y'all see this? Got it over at Mac's. Someone please enlighten me, because that? Is bullshit.