You SO Want to be My Friend

Because I would do great things for you.

Like, if you had a serious surgery, I would make you an amazing dinner consisting of, but not limited to:

Asian Meatloaf
Wasabi Mashed Potatoes
Lightly Sauteed Purple Kale

It is what I like to call Hip Comfort Food.

See? I told you you want to be my friend.


Back in the Saddle (or, Why My Mother is The Shit)

If you know me in person, and some of you do, then you know that my dad passed away almost two years ago. (Two years?!? Time heals not. It is simply the blessing of the fading memory of pain.) He and my mom were together for 20 years. Needless to say, she was more than devastated, as we all were, when he passed away at age 48. Too, too young.

I don't know if this is a saying, but I'm convinced that it is easier to let go of someone you loved tremendously, someone that you had a wonderful relationship with, than it is to get past a complicated and tumultuous relationship when the other person has died. My mom and dad had a really lovely relationship. It was filled with the small, romantic things that everyone says they want: hidden candies behind the coffee maker, just so she knows he's thinking about her; a bouquet of fresh flowers every Friday ("Friday Flowers"); washing and waxing her car on Sundays--all the good stuff. While the sudden way in which he died was traumatic and completely heartbreaking, we still have all of these small, sweet memories to invoke his presence anytime we choose. A tearful smile, remembering those thoughtful things that showed us every day how he loved us.

After my dad passed, my husband and I moved in with my mom for two months. She was less than a shell of a person, and we constantly worried for her well-being. But my mother comes from a line of women that are both strong, crazy, and crazystrong. And I really mean that. If you ever meet me, you will know what I'm talking about.

My mother is the strongest woman I have ever known. My father passing is one of the lesser traumas in her lifetime. She is my she-ro (thanks for the slang, Verm).

So my mom, now a sexy 50 year old, is single (she refuses to don "widow." She says, "I'm not some dried up old woman that is going to whither away until I die, dammit!") for the first time in a while, and is living alone for the first time in her entire LIFE. She is retired from being an incredibly successful business woman, she is building a new home, and is finally starting to ask herself this question: What do I really want?

I don't know what other people's experiences are, but from my observation, it is hard for single, middle-aged women to find decent dates. My mom, who had been dodging dates left and right, has complained for the past year that all the guys her age are bald, fat, and generally unattractive. And for the most part, I have to agree with her. Where do all the cute older guys go? Friends have been trying to set her up on dates, but with, like, 76 year old retired doctors.

Now, for reference, my mom is a very young 50 year old. She has gray hair, but her face doesn't look a day over 30 (good news for me! woo!). She has an amazing rack, she loves to play, she is learning how to drink (lightweight doesn't begin to describe her tolerance), and she is still in her sexual prime. She doesn't want to date someone that can't control their urine stream. Shit, she doesn't want to date someone with slightly thinning hair! (My dad had a full head of REALLY thick hair. What can I say, she's spoiled! In that regard.) I told her she was just gonna have to find a younger guy. She laughed that off, as she does most of my compliments because she doesn't think she deserves it. Wait, let me rephrase that: she used to laugh that off.

Lately, my mom has blossomed. And not just come out of mourning. She used this horrible experience (losing the love of your life, when your life was really just beginning) to grow herself, to become a better her, and to take life by the horns and really experience it. I guess the long and short of it is: my mom has a boyfriend.

Yes! She does! For the first time in 20 years! And he is HOT. He is 6'3", dark hair, a political writer and commentator (for which I will forgive him, and probably draw him into a lively debate at some point down the road), a singer, and best of all, he is totally infatuated with her.

And she is the happiest I have ever seen her. GO MOM! I love you.


Extroversion in Action

So, nervous as I am, and despite having not been on stage in a number of years, I have a gig tonight.

Once, in another life, I was a jazz singer. Apparently, I still am. So tonight, I go before the chilled citizens of my fair city of Asheville, the liberal oasis in the midst of the bible belt, and belt out the tunes from the 20s and 30s—the magical era of torch songs and jazz standards—and a few from recent history, as well. (Thank you Norah Jones, for not sucking.)

So if you're in the mood for lobster, jazz, and a negative wind chill, come join me. I'll be taking shots of Patron afterwards.




The Only Thing I Liked About A Knight's Tale Was You...

Please, do yourself a favor and watch this Ben Harper music video, directed by Heath Ledger. It is a gorgeous song and a beautiful video, and strangely captures in music how I feel about Ledger's death. And then do yourself another and go to this amazing woman's blog and read her personal touch with this man.

Rest peacefully, HL.

Ben Harper's Morning Yearning


Photo Love: MLK Day

"In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends."


Photo Love: Southern Snow Day

Happy Snow Day, Asheville!

(Even though I'm totally at work...)


A Brief Word from the Bitch Files

Since the Bears really took it in the ass this year, I kind of stopped caring about football season. But the bullshit that is piling up about the Dallas Cowboys simply must be addressed.

There are several pertinent points here, as follows:

1. Jessica Simpson does not have the ability to wield the kind of power it takes to make an ENTIRE PROFESSIONAL FOOTBALL TEAM fail. Anyone who thinks the she does is clearly touched in the head, and probably already fondling her double D's. (I'm looking at YOU, Papa Joe.)

2. Tony Romo has already proven himself an idiot simply by affiliation, so to think that he could bomb a big game on his own is no fucking surprise.

3. Apologies in advance, but it's the Dallas fucking Cowboys. They haven't been good since the days when Kurt Cobain still walked the earth, Michael Jackson wasn't a child molester, and Arnold Schwarzenegger still pretended to act. So yeah.

The people who are blaming Jessica Simpson for the Cowboy's loss (ahem, national media) are, to put it mildly, retarded. (Thanks Texas! I mean, not only did you give us Bush, but remember, Jessica is one of your own.)

Oh, and also, TO, you are a pussy. This is why no one likes you. Not even Cowboys fans, and that IS scraping bottom. (Again, no offense meant, Cowboy fans. But truth is truth.)

I Guess It's Better Than Alka Seltzer...

Apparently, there is such a large pigeon problem at the Vatican that they have started feeding the pigeons birth control.


One would assume that a more logical solution (especially considering Catholic beliefs) would be to remove the vendors that sell bird feed. I mean, isn't that what the Crusades were all about?? Removing the food source and the vermin will follow?

How would you classify this class-less attempt at cleanliness? Oxymoronic, hypocritical, or conundrum?


Fox: Taking a Dump on America

Last night, as my husband and I finished off the last couple of alcoholic drinks in the fridge (his was PBR, mine was sake) we watched the dreck that has become our local 10pm news. Well, actually, it was the regional Fox news station, not our local news (which still sucks, but looks like an oasis in the desert comparatively). We could tell that the Fox news hub, by the end of the first story, was little more than a portal for horrible stories, crap video footage, and propoganda.

This little Fox news syndicate, based out of Greenville, SC (we live in the NC mountains), is something. Reeeeeeally something. The anchors look like coked up reality show rejects, yammering their way through the broadcast in the hope that maybe, if they talk fast enough and make it sound very serious, time will go by faster, thereby allowing them to rush to the bar to play in the snow and drink until the 6am broadcast.

One of the anchors (I can only assume he's the main anchor, since he had one hand commandingly on the desk, either in a show of alpha dog-type domination, or the fact that he's so ripped that he must hold the desk down to keep it from moving) was truly on warp speed, and even the heinous orange make up could do little to hide the dark purple circles beneath his haggard eyes.

So, I'm watching this train wreck (on mute only; my brain would leak from my ears if I was forced to actually listen) and thinking about how this station runs. It's obvious they aren't reporting on anything; each news story consists of little more than bad footage from all over South Carolina, with the anchor robotically reading the story straight off the news wire. The graphics are the only thing that probably originates onsite, and they are laughably bad (each "story"—already a questionable word in conjunction with the crap they deem newsworthy—is labeled a "HOT STORY!" illuminated by flickering red and orange block text that I can only imagine is trying to mimic fire). The set is so small, I can see the anchor woman's hair at the edge of the screen during the weather update. Or maybe she's just tipping back that last bit of Evan Williams in her coffee mug.
These people basically get paid to parrot whatever stupid fucking story Fox tells them to repeat, and then go obliterate themselves with drugs and booze in hopes of forgetting what complete wastes of skin they have become.

These "reporters" (I don't dare use the "J" word anywhere near this shite), and the Fox network in general, remind me of that disgusting kid on the playground. We all know the one: he would find the nastiest shit he could, and then proceed to show it to everyone.

Not even a polished turd, you know? (I guess Fox saves that for it's weekly line-up.) I'm talking the dirtiest, smelliest, shittiest turd they can find.

So I implore the news media of this country: STOP SHOWING ME YOUR FUCKING TURDS.


When I Was Young...

When I was young, things seemed simple. Life was filled with only the moment. I could amuse myself with nothing but a patch of dirt and my little hand. I created entire worlds within my mind, and discovered that watching a single star for more than a few moments showed me the meaning of existence.
When I was young, things seemed simple.

When I became a teenager, my perceptions changed. Things no longer seemed so simple. They seemed Serious. Every little thing had some hidden meaning that I, a 16 year old know-it-all and drama addict, had to uncover and analyze. Did he look at me? If he did, was it a good look or a bad look? If I wear these shoes to school, will my life be over? I can't find a fucking bra that fits. God, what if I don't get into college?
When I was a teenager, things seemed serious.

When I went to college, things seemed complicated but carefree. I had to balance my educational life with the all-important social sphere, but in my case it was more like finding room in my social life for my education. I took difficult classes, but would have a beer at the bar right after. Academics always came easy to me, so I took advantage, made the first C grade in my entire life, sat back and enjoyed the ride.
When I went to college, things seemed complicated but carefree.

When I joined the "real world," things seemed simple but serious. Don't get a credit card; it will ruin your future. Take this job; it's being handed to you on a silver platter. Take this job seriously, dammit. Buy a house; start your net worth. Wear a suit; don't shave your head. If you do decide to shave your head, call in to work sick and show up the next day looking like a cancer patient. With your suit on. Don't you dare laugh at that un-PC joke! Bend over and kiss the white man's capitalistic ass.
When I joined the "real world," things seemed simple but serious.

When I grabbed ahold of my own life, things were simple and carefree. Yes, I want to marry a man with tattoos covering his body. No, I don't want to work for a micro-manager. Yes, I want to get drunk with my friends, and no, I won't feel bad about it. Yes, I want to watch the stars until I attain nirvana. No, I don't believe in god.
When I grabbed ahold of my own life, things were simple and carefree.

And I can still entertain myself with just a patch of dirt and my own little hand.

A Brief Word on Benazir Bhutto

When I switched on my radio a few days after Christmas and was assaulted with the blunt statement that Benazir Bhutto had been assassinated, I felt a piece of my hopeful idealist whither inside of me.

My heart aches for the millions of Muslim women forced to endure the life of a slave at the hands of those that would kill a female Muslim leader as soon as flick a cigarette butt to the ground.

I despair for the women of the world, where even in a country like the U.S., a woman doesn't have a prayer if she chooses a life in politics. Stereotypes of the ball-busting, overly-emotional female continue to perpetuate the lie, women continue to be seen as lacking the qualifications for political seats, and the hired guns will continue to slaughter those that would actually do this world some good.

All the malicious stereotypes we are bombarded with about the Muslim community are in stark contrast to the life of Bhutto and what she represented. Twice, Bhutto was elected by the people, and twice she was sentenced to exile on corruption charges that were trumped up by scared little minds; scared of her power, of her compassion, and her intelligence. I suppose it was only a matter of time. The courageous keep fighting, and the weak do the only thing that those with no power can do—resort to violence.

She withstood a lifetime of tragedy and frame-ups, imprisonment and isolation, and yet held to her convictions and continued her fight for the equal rights of Muslim women, and women around the world.

The current U.S. administration continues to lead this country down a path with only one outcome. I hope and pray (as much as a person like me can pray) that the hearts and minds of all humanity are opened this year, and we all strive for a better way of living. A better way of life. Keep this all in mind as we become bogged down in the slander, the mud-slinging, and the political game of hungry hungry hippos that is a U.S. presidential election.

Don't let Bhutto's life end in vain. Happy new year.