The Queen is dead, boys...

Holy crap! Dumbledore is gay?! That's it! I am going to throw away all of my Harry Potter books because my pristine pretend magical world has been sullied by the knowledge that the beloved Dumbledore is a pansy. Begin the book burning!

Give me a break. Who cares if the made-up headmaster (a title that has all new meaning for me now that I know about Dumbledore's proclivities) of a fictional school for wizards is gay? Hello!!! It's a book! Besides the fact that JK Rowling can think and say anything about Dumbledore (or Harry or Hermione or Ron, etc.) that she wants--she invented them! To suggest that she said Dumbledore was a gay man to sell more books (because that really seems to be a problem for the Potter series...dismal sales) or to stick it to the religious right is retarded. In the throes of creating such a rich and faceted fantasy world it is naive to think that JK didn't imagine lives outside the pages for all of her characters. C'mon! He's here! He's queer! Get used to it! If you're pissed off that JK "outed" Dumbledore (a fictional character, I remind you) then be comforted by the fact that HE DIES! Guess she showed that queer who's boss!

And, as far as pissing off the religious right goes...why would she even care? It's not like all their bitching and pulling of Harry Potter novels off library shelves hurt the sales of her book any. Is she, perhaps, dismayed (as an artist) at being so misunderstood? I doubt it, but I could be wrong. (It reminds me of a class I took in college called "In Print, In Person" in which we-the class- read a book and then the actual author came in and told us what he really meant. Well, we spent the better part of a semester reading "Slaughterhouse 5" by Kurt Vonnegut and trying to decide what imagery he was using and what various symbols in the book stood for, only to have Kurt come in and say, "For Christ's sake! I made it up. It doesn't mean anything!") Besides, has it occurred to anyone that she has finished the Harry Potter series? I mean, it's not like this huge revelation is going to affect the next book (Dumbledore gets his freak on with the headmaster of Durmstrang, saves the memory in the Penseive and Harry stumbles across it like a boy finding his dad's Playboy mags under the marital bed...) because she finished the series, kids!! Anything that Dumbledore has done can only be conjured up in your filthy little minds! Besides, if JK were to continue writing and cover the years after the big battle at the end of Book 7 and the (lame-ass) epilogue who knows what would have happened? Harry would have been screwing groupies like a crazed Steven Tyler in the 70's driving poor Ginny to drink herself into a series of rehabs. Ron would have gotten hopped up on some super magical steroids so he could play Quidditch professionally and then he would have gone into some sort of 'roid rage and beat the shit out of Hermione one night when she was getting all pious on his ass. Luna Lovegood would become a stripper (with a name like that what else could she become?). Yikes! I would rather have some tender man-on-man action starring Dumbledore than all that crap.

Bottom line is...the fact that Dumbledore is gay was just an incidental part of his character which is why JK didn't include it in the books. Doesn't change my opinion of him at all, but it does explain his incredible flair! Plus, the fact that he was so in touch with his feminine side was what made him so tender towards Harry, if you ask me. (Now don't go turning that into some sick-o pedophile reference. His tenderness towards Harry was loving and motherly, not sexual. That's why Harry adored him.) Besides, why am I talking about a fictional character like he is a real person? Unless he "got gay" on the pages of one of the seven books then this information is superfluous and just something that JK used to create a wonderful character. For all those idiots who are going to pitch a fit and not let their kids read HP because JK said Dumbledore is gay (which is never even implied in the books) then they are only teaching their children bigotry and intolerance. I don't even have the time to address how stupid those people are. Maybe Dumbledore can help us out here....

In other news, did you know that JK Rowling is a huge Morrissey fan?

Moz Possee

I don't even know where to begin. Luckily I have friends like Jim who told me that I should start with what we wore to the concert... Well, I wore my Viva Hate t-shirt (see my last post for a picture of it) with a lovely cream colored long sleeve JJill pucker tee underneath. I had on my favorite black pants and my black wing-tip Docs. I had a 30 minute inner debate about whether I should wear my contacts or glasses, because I like the androgynous vibe I give off when I wear my black garb and my rectangular Prada glasses with the rhinestones on the sides, but I finally ended up with the contacts because I didn't want to have to worry about keeping my glasses clean all night. (I'm really anal about having my glasses crystal clean all the time. Hard to imagine, I'm sure...) Tony had on my "Your Arsenal" tee shirt (which is the one I really wanted to wear because the pic of Morrissey on the front is so sexy. However, since we were going to be in the front row and Tony has always attracted the attention of gay men, I thought Morrissey might really dig him if he wore the "Your Arsenal" tee.) and a pair of jeans. I really am not one of those rabid fans who live and breathe for the object of my admiration. However, last night, standing at the feet of Morrissey while he performed was one of the absolutely most incredible experiences of my life. I didn't cry or pass out or flip out and scream...that is SOOOOO not my style. But I cried when the concert was over and we were safely back in the Durango. It was overwhelming.
Yes, I know I sound retarded and like some stupid high school girl talking about The Backstreet Boys but I just can't help myself.

Back to Moz...when Tony and I got to the theater the first thing we saw was the merch booth, so of course I had to stand there for 15 minutes to decide what t-shirt to get. (I got 2) then we went into the actual theater. This is a photo of the inside of the actual theater.(from the stage, obviously)Well, we took a look down the aisle toward the front and saw that they had set up two rows of chairs in front of the front row. Tony said, "Shit! There's going to be people in front of us," which had me VERY disappointed and I was sad as we were led to our seats. But-wait! No, no, no, no...look up sad girl!! the usher led us right to the first row of chairs and took us to the two that were in the exact middle of the front row. We were, literally a foot away from the stage. Needless to say my ass didn't hit the chair from the second Morrissey appeared. The stage was about 4 and a half feet off the floor (I'm totally guessing...I am really, really bad at measurements, but let me tell you this, it was about 3 inches above my belly button--not quite boob height) and I stood there the entire concert with my arms on the stage leaning towards Morrissey. When Moz sang I seriously could have counted his teeth. I didn't, because I think everyone has 32, if you count wisdom teeth, and I was too busy trying to think of something to say to him if he asked me a question. However, the one question he did ask everyone in the front row was the identity of the person on his backdrop...and Tony said it was Marlon Brando so I went with it because I thought he was right. However, it was a young Richard Burton so I felt like a total idiot. Damn! My one opportunity to impress Morrissey and I blew it!

Anyway...Morrissey had on brown trousers, lovely brown square toed lace up shoes, which couldn't have been leather because he is such an animal-loving vegan (listen to "Meat is Murder" if you have a question about that)but they sure were fabulous, and a brown button down dress shirt. His eyes are so blue...they are as blue as Bronte's eyes. Okay, you can't really tell how blue Bronte's eyes are in that picture, but she's so freakin' cute I had to include it.
Anyway, he opened with "Stop Me If You Think You've Heard This One Before" and it was just unbelievable from that moment on. At one point Morrissey left while the band was playing and changed his shirt. He came back wearing a gorgeous yellow shirt which he sweat through quickly. So, right in the middle of "How Soon Is Now" he (in dramatic rock-star style) ripped the shirt off---buttons flying everywhere---screaming fans in a frenzy---and wadded it up and threw it (I shit you not) right at Tony. (It was his sassy tee shirt, I tell you) Well, some asshole fuck-wad from way left came leaping out of nowhere and grabbed the shirt while it was in Tony's hands and started yelling, "I got it! Let go!" After about 15 seconds of fighting with this dick-head for the shirt, Tony looks at me and says, "How bad do you want it?" I said, "I want it," and Tony says, "Grab it and pull." So I am pulling, Tony is pulling and the asshole is pulling. The guy behind Tony says, "Hey man, I got your back," to Tony and I finally get a good look at the rabid fan who Tony is trying to get the shirt from. He was big and bald with a fuzzy orangish goatee and suddenly I realize that it's just a shirt and I am missing the show. I let go.
In the meantime, Tony realizes that this commotion is pissing me and Morrissey off and he thinks to himself, "Hey man, Morrissey is a pacifist," and he lets go too.

Let me just tell you something, though...that shirt smelled beautiful. I could still smell it on my hands before I fell asleep last night. It was a combination of clean sweat and patchouli. As much as I wish I had the shirt, I wouldn't trade the experience of that concert (and the knowledge that my husband loves me so much he almost threw an elbow at the guy's nose to get the buttonless, fragrant shirt) for anything. I hope the asshole that got it is allergic to patchouli and gets an itchy, red rash on his dick after masturbating with the thing all night. (You know that's what he did. He was crazy.)
The best part of the night came during "I Like You" during the part when Morrissey sings,
"You're not right in the head and nor am I
And this is why
You're not right in the head and nor am I
And this is why
This is why I like you, I like you, I like you
This is why I like you, I like you, I like you
Because you're not right in the head, and nor am I
And this is why, You're not right in the head, and nor am I
And this is why, This is why I like you, I like you, I like you, I like you
This is why I like you, I like you, I like you, I like you"
He came right up to the edge of the stage where Tony and I were, and he looked right at Tony and sang and shook his hand and then did the same to me. A real handshake too...not some wimpy "I'll grab your hand because you've got it sticking out" bullshit. It was a real-live "nice to meet you, aren't you impressed with my really firm and possibly slightly too long" handshake. Okay, maybe it was slightly too long because I wouldn't let go, but WHATEVER!! I shook the man's hand.

Honestly, I spent the night at the feet of a legend. He's a genius and I love him.

Sickness Be Damned!!

I have been sick for the past couple of days. Nothing too tragic, just a cold gone nova. However, even if I were really sick I would still be in the front row for Morrissey tonight. Even if I had to come in with an I.V. I would be there in my pajama bottoms and my 'Viva Hate' t-shirt.
I am so excited, I can't stand it. I am going to play Morrissey all day today at my stupid-ass job (As Morrissey would say, "I was looking for a job, and then I found a job...and Heaven knows I'm miserable now,") and when people ask me who I am listening to I will spit out, "Morrissey, of course," and then look at them with derision.
I will let you know tomorrow how absolutely fabulous the concert was.

My husband rocks!

Tony got us front row seats to see Morrissey next Wednesday night. He can (officially) do no wrong. I have spent the last four or so weeks complaining about my stupid-ass job...but I will stop now because I am going to see Morrissey. In the front row. Center.

Party on Garth!

I hate pumping gas. What happened to the good old days when some high school kid came sauntering out of the gas station and pumped your damn gas for you while you sat in your car wondering if he was going to clean the windshield? When I lived in Arizona there was only one gas station in the entire Phoenix/Paradise Valley area that had attendants. It was WAAAYYY over-priced and totally inconveniently located but I went out of my way to have someone pump my gas in 110 degree heat. I even tipped.

Well, I was on my way home from my stupid-ass job the other day and my stupid-ass "go get some gas, dumb shit" light and dinger went off. Now, this was a banner day for me already because I wore my favorite Ann Taylor Loft black skirt and a little flirty black twin set and heels. Yes, heels on the girl who thinks Doc Martens are appropriate footwear with anything. (They pretty much are, though. I love all my Docs because the soles are totally disaster proof. According to the bottom of my shoes I could even walk through ACID and come out completely unscathed. What a comfort! Ever since I saw "Who Framed Roger Rabbit?" I have been convinced that I am secretly a "toon" and it's only a matter of time before Judge Doom finds me and throws a bucket of dip at me. I bet my Docs could walk through a puddle of dip and I would be just fine.)
Ok, anyway, I decide I better stop at the Citgo and get some gas which I know I have to pump myself and that just pisses me off. So, I do what I always do when I am pissed off...I find a way to blame Tony. So, while I am pumping one billion dollars worth of gas into my Durango I am thinking to myself that if Tony REALLY loved me he would have assumed that I was running low on petrol and gassed up the Durango the night before. After all, I cook, I clean, I do his stupid laundry...the least he could do is pump my gas! Geez!
So, in the middle of my mental tirade this 20-something year old walks out of the gas station. I give him a cursory glance because he and I are the only people there. He is headed toward his 1983 Nissan or whatever and he slows down, looks me up and down, smiles and nods his head and says, "Foxy!" (or, as my friend P spelled it for me, "Faaahxy") Then he gets in his car, looks at me again, nods his head and drives away.
Honestly, I almost died laughing. I felt like I was in the middle of a "Wayne's World" movie. Who the hell says, "Foxy" anymore? Of course, I was secretly pleased that some (probably) unemployed drunken 20 something year old driving a shitty 20 year old car thought I was foxy...but I did see the humor in the moment.
As soon as I was done pumping my gas I got in the car and called my friend L who is my old college room mate. I told her the story and she said, "Holy shit! Did you die laughing?" Hey! Wait a minute! It occurred to me that, although I did want her to think it was a funny little incident, I didn't want her to sound so incredulous! What the hell? I am foxy, right??? So I blew her off and called P who is also a college friend, but he's a guy and I thought he might back up the "foxy" thing. Well, when he stopped laughing and I point-blank asked him if I was, indeed, "foxy" he told me that I was, of course. Hey...that's all I wanted to hear.

A tisket, a tasket...

Oh my gosh! Have you missed me? I miss me too! I got a stupid-ass job and now I have no life at all. If only we could all live the good life on the barter system--I could trade funny but bitchy blog posts for food, shelter and granite counter-tops.

Anyway...I went to another one of those "come over to my house and buy shit from my imaginary store" parties. I really don't like those parties, but I'll do just about anything to get out of the house so I went. Now, I don't have anything against multi-level marketing or anything...especially if the product is good and I will actually use it...but let's be serious here. When you invite someone over to your house for a REAL party, you don't suggest that they bring a friend to get a free gift. Conversely, you don't go to one of these "parties" for the conversation, unless you like to pretend that you are participating in the world's longest infomercial. You also don't show up at a "party" expecting NOT to buy something. I can't tell you how many times I have been to one of these events and over heard women comparing notes on the cheapest thing they could possibly buy and not look like they were just trying to buy the cheapest thing so they could get the fuck out of there. Honestly, does anyone even believe that whole "don't feel like you HAVE to buy something" crap? Of course you have to buy something...that's why you were invited! I would never be so stupid to think that if I accepted an invitation to a "buy stuff party" and didn't actually buy something I wouldn't be raked over the coals by the hostess and her friends the minute I left. I remember going to one of those retarded basket parties once. I had no idea how expensive those stupid baskets were! I was struggling to find anything in the catalog that was under 50 bucks! Plus, those rabid basket lovers had no sense of humor whatsoever. We were all sitting around listening to the basket lady's spiel (well, I wasn't really listening. I was drifting off because I had already had, like 3 glasses of wine.) and she told us to look on page 10 of the catalog. We all dutifully did and she said, "See that picture? It's the Longaberger basket factory! It looks JUST LIKE this Longaberger basket!" and she held up an ordinary looking picnic basket.
I was so floored by her enthusiasm for this ridiculous fact that I snidely said, "Only bigger, right?" She looked at me with her best confused-puppy look and sweetly said, "What?" And I replied, "Well, you said it looks just like the basket you're holding and I was just hoping it was bigger," and then I started to laugh because I thought it was fucking hilarious and I had already had 3 glasses of wine. I'm not kidding you when I say that I was the only one who saw the humor in that. I looked around the room and no one was even smiling which just made me laugh even more. I was practically crying at this point. I made things worse by adding, "Imagine how small the workers would have to be! They'd all be slaving away to make these humongous baskets. It would take those tiny little elves a year to make just one basket! No wonder they're so expensive!" Okay, now I was really laughing because the whole concept of going to someones house to buy $150 baskets was so stupid...but, yet, there I was anyway! What the...?!?!? Plus, I couldn't imagine how many drugs you would have to be on to actually think you could make a living selling these over-priced baskets in people's houses in a "party" context and get all excited about a factory shaped like a frickin' picnic basket. I actually had to leave the room because I was laughing so hard and I was obviously offending everyone with my superior sense of the absurd. Needless to say I was never invited back to that woman's house again. But, honestly...who has a stupid basket party to begin with?

In any case, some of these parties I actually love. I LOVE Pampered Chef parties. I get to watch someone (besides me) cook and I always really WANT to buy something. I really do use all 3 sizes of scoops I bought. (I didn't really think I would, but I wanted the complete set so I bought them all.) I also love any party that includes make-up. Because I used to be a make-up artist it's fun for me to see what's out there and to hear the funny shit the "hostess" will say to sell it even though she has NO CLUE what she's talking about. (Now, I have a friend who sells skincare and makeup and nutritional products in this "party" way and she is actually really good. She knows a butt-load about the nutritional and skin-care products, but doesn't know beans about make-up because she rarely wears any. Because she is a frickin' genius she asked me to come and do some make-overs at a "party" at her house and I did it because she enticed me with a basket of free stuff. Love free stuff! I had a lot of fun and she sold a bunch of make-up, so it was a win/win, except for the fact that she keeps trying to suck me into the "cult". I have resisted so far, but I also won't drink any beverage she offers me.) So, this party I just went to was a new product I have never heard of...Lia Sophia jewelry. I like jewelry as much as the next guy, so I thought I would go even though I knew the mark-up on the stuff was somewhere around a million percent. Whatever. I have a stupid job now so I can buy myself some over-priced costume jewelry out of a catalog while I'm half-popped on cheap wine coolers if I want to! Despite myself, I had fun looking at the stuff and actually bought something I really like. We'll see how I feel about it when I actually get it. It was fun at the moment and I cheerfully wrote the check for it, but I came home with NOTHING. That's what I hate about these parties. When I buy something, I want it right now. I don't want to wait until the hostess decides to "close the party" and then wait another week for shipping. I want to go home and have it in my hands so I can play with my new toy right away. By the time my new necklace reaches me my wine cooler buzz is a thing of the past and I really might want that 40 bucks back. I guess we'll have to wait and see.

Let Them Eat Cake!!

My oldest daughter, Brenna, just started 7th grade this year. So, you know what that means...I am just waiting for her to get her period. All of her friends already have theirs (one of them got it on the day of Brenna's 12th birthday party...at the beach. That was interesting.) Her really close friend (let's call her "C") got hers for the first time the day she was coming to stay with us for a week. Now, I have known this child since the day she was born because her mother is one of my very closest friends, so when my friend told me that C had gotten her period that day I started to cry. We were standing in my driveway crying and C came out of the house to see what was going on. I told her that her mom had just told me that she got her period and C kind of rolled her eyes and got all red. So, to make her feel more comfortable I told her about the day I got my period for the first time. This is a true story, I swear.



I got my period when I was a freshman in high school. I woke up in the morning and there it was. Yipee. I went downstairs to the kitchen and told my mother and she said, "It's OK. I have everything you need. I'll go get the belt." Now, for those of you that don't know what the belt is,
I have provided a picture. Imagine THAT in between your legs all day. I took one look at it and said, "You have got to be kidding. Mom I want the stick-on kind."

My mom said, "What are you talking about? There's no such thing."

"Yes there is, Mom."

"No, there isn't. I've never heard of them."

"Just because you haven't heard of them doesn't mean they don't exist."

This argument went on for 5 minutes. My dad was sitting at the kitchen table looking at the sports page, trying really, really hard to pretend he couldn't hear us. I thought his head was going to explode at one point because his face was so red. At one point my mother started to go upstairs to the bathroom where she had my "belt" and "napkins" all ready, and I followed her telling her about the great strides Kotex had made in the sanitary product realm. Finally she agreed to send my poor father to the store to see if the "stick-on kind" were real. My dad practically ran out of the house. He probably smoked 15 cigarettes on the way to Jewel.

Twenty minutes later he came in the house with two full paper grocery bags. I swear, he bought every single variety of pads out there...and they were all "stick-on". (You would have thought, with the amount of soap operas my mother watched while ironing she would've seen a plethora of commercials for this product. I mean, come on! Kotex had to have had a million ads on during "As The World Turns". I mean, that was their target demographic!)

Anyway, I ran upstairs to stick the stupid thing on and go to school. My mom's advice to me that day was...Don't wear pants or everyone will be able to tell you are "menstruating". What the hell? I guess when you have on the "belt" it would be pretty easy to tell if you wore pants (see above picture if you have any doubt) but I felt safe enough with my stick ons under my Calvins.



So, I made it through my day at school unscathed. But all that ended when I got home. My mom and dad told me to get in the car at about 4:00 because we were going out to dinner. That, in and of itself, wasn't so weird. We went out for dinner upwards of 4 times a week. You see, my dad was a stockbroker who made great money and my mom was a shitty cook. (I remember one year for my birthday my parents asked me where I wanted to go for dinner and I said, "How about home?" because it was such a novelty. We did stay home that year but, ironically enough, we ordered in.) So, we got in the car and off we went. I asked my dad where we were going and he grumbled, "Ask your mother." This was not a good sign. "Mom....?" I asked.

"Oh! Well, we're going to Benihana's," she chirped.
Well, I didn't know why my dad was so bent out of shape about that. Benihana is like dinner and a show because it's one of those places where a bunch of people sit around a hot grill and the chef cuts up your food right in front of you and cooks it and then flips it on your plate. It's like stir-fry. I was pretty happy about this until we got in the parking lot and I saw my sister and her brand new husband waiting for us. When I asked my mom what they were doing there she said, "They're having dinner with us. I asked your brother and Jean too, but they couldn't make it. (pause) Did you tell your sister your news....? You know, about, um, well...menstruating?"

At that point I knew I was doomed. My mom had planned this whole thing as a "celebration dinner" for God's sake. The only saving grace was that my brother and his wife weren't there too, or at least I thought. You see, at these places they seat 7 or 8 people around a grill. So, there was my mom, my dad, me, my sister and her husband. That's 5. So they seated two total strangers at our table. A young couple. On a date. Normally that wouldn't be a problem, but, you see, after dinner the chef disappeared and came back with a cake. With candles on it. I looked around to see if it was some one's birthday, but no. He set the fucking cake right in front of me. It had writing on it that said, "Congratulations Carolyn". I wanted to take the big-ass knife he had prepared our dinners with and plunge it in my chest. The chef just stood there, because you don't have to sing "Happy Birthday" at this particular occasion. I didn't know what to do. The total-stranger girl-on-a-date at our table said, "Oh! Congratulations? What is the occasion?" While I had my eyes shut, praying to God that my mother would make up something or that my stupid sister would save me from further humiliation, I heard my mother say, "Carolyn became a woman today!"
I opened my eyes and watched the girls face go from confusion to a dawning understanding to utter horror. Her hapless boyfriend was still confused and started to say, "What?" when his girlfriend whispered in his ear and he turned bright red.
Needless to say, I have never been back to Benihana.

So...I told this whole story (keep in mind we are still standing in my driveway) to my friend and her daughter, C, who had just gotten her period. When I was done, my friend was practically peeing her pants she was laughing so hard. C was just standing there with her mouth open, staring at me in complete disbelief. She said to me, "What did you do?"
I looked at her and said, "I really don't remember, but right now I'm going inside and baking a cake!!" and I ran in the house with her running behind me yelling, "Noooo!!!!"

By the way, the couple who sat at out table both had big fat pieces of my "period cake".