The T-Shirt Tag

My good bud Suze made me…I mean…asked me if I’d be so kind as to do this t-shirt meme thingy. The idea is to pick five t-shirts you own and write something about each, or something to that effect. I don’t do well with instructions, I just see “blah blah blah” and dive right in. Anyway, my response was, "ONLY FIVE?" because really, all my t-shirts are splendid and tell a story and I could go on for probably three weeks!

OK, I’m suddenly seeing the point of choosing five now.

I believe I’m supposed to tag some people to do similar, so I tag, you and you and oh yeah…you! Have at it. Seriously, all of you go do it, I want to see what crap you all have in your wardrobes then we’ll see who gets to be all high and mighty.

So here, with no further ado – The Guv’ner’s T-shirts

1. Bobz Bunz – Best Bunz in Town
   
   
   
   I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, "Guv, I honestly am having a hard time seeing a cultured, educated, classy, upper class toff like yourself wearing something featuring such a crass slogan!" And you would be at least partially correct, my friends. I have never actually worn "Best Bunz In Town" in public. Not because I wouldn’t wear such a fine piece of high-class garb, so much as the fact the shirt is almost the exact same color as my skin, therefore wearing it in a public place might cause cars to crash into rivers or something, when drivers with short attention spans think I’m walking around topless sporting a tacky tattoo on my chest. It was an oversight on my part when I bought it.
   
   In my defense, Bobz Bunz is from the fabulous Islamorada diner in the Florida Keys and I did fall heavily and truly in love with Bobz Bunz on my visit. His buns were huge, sticky and brimming with cream cheese, so given those filthy odds I defy you not to have bought his t-shirt. Plus, it reminds me of long hours of sunshine, ocean, palm trees, liquor and getting my ass evacuated by a hurricane the very day after I arrived. Thanks Rita, you punkass bitch. And the moral of this tee? Never go on vacation with The Guv’ner. She will get you either, a) arrested, b) killed, c) evacuated, or d) chased by an alligator. Of course if you like adventure, hell, gimme a call!



2. Small Stars
   
   
   
   Austin’s Small Stars are one of my favourite bands, maybe my favourite. I know, I know, you’ve never heard of them. No one has. But what’s the point in having a favourite band that everyone knows? Hmmm? Then I couldn’t pull an "I am better than you plebs in my hipster superiority!" type of defense. I wouldn’t be a quarter as awesome as you all know I am, if I liked Bryan Adams or something, right?
   
   Naturally, you should go check The Small Stars out immediately anyway because they rock to an almost epic proportion of fantasticness. Their song "Bombarderos Y Pistoleros" especially, makes my entire world rock out with its cock out. That song just lights my fire. And believe me. You will be lying there one night, just about to drop over that line into a deep, relaxing slumber when boom, the intro to "Bombarderos" will start pounding in your brain until sleep is futile and you have to get your ass out of bed and dance around the house in your underwear, playing your imaginary washboard. Yes, I said washboard. Do you wish to say something?
   
   Sure, they’re a real band made up of fake characters but they write a mean, catchy song and so my friends, this is why I have the t-shirt. It’s a fairly small babydoll shirt so I can’t eat for about a week before I wear it or it gets a little tight and things get a touch obscene in the breastular region. Let’s just leave it at that...



3. Mello Yello
   
   
   
   Mello Yello is the coolest soda on Earth. Except Barr’s Irn Bru. But that’s in a league of its own. Mello Yello is the best American soda on Earth, how about that? Not only does it boast a cunning use of pineapple, but it’s harder to find in NYC than a straight waiter. In fact, one of the Subway Sandwiches franchises, right here in downtown, by the World Trade Center is the only place in Manhattan I know who offers its wondrous fizzy nectar for sale. Before I discovered this, I used to actually head to Chuck E. Cheese in Brooklyn to find heaven. Now tell me that’s dedication! Or desperation. Whatever, who asked you? Oh wait, I did. Anyway, yeah, it’s basically a trade off. One cup of Mello Yello cost 99 cents and about two thirds of your sanity because you have to drink it surrounded by 80 shrieking six year olds. On the way out they give you a free gallon of the stuff and a medal for perseverance. At least on the days you’re not handcuffed and on your way to the slammer…
   
   The shirt’s awesome but virtually unwearable. I mean look at the colour. I’m crazy but I’m not howling at the Moon, crazy! I’m a reddish haired pale chick, if I wore that shirt in public I’d get arrested for crimes against fashion. All it needs to complete the felony is some royal blue pants with suspenders and some big, red clown shoes. It's actually a junior's t-shirt but I'm not proud. Because, it’s Mello Yello people. I sleep in it, because it’s awesome. The shirt I mean, not the soda. That would be pervy.



4. Homosassa Springs
   
   
   
   I got this t-shirt in Florida from the Wildlife Preservation park there of the same name. It’s a man’s t-shirt actually and way too large, so it’s pretty much sleep material. I have worn it on the odd occasion with some leggings to run a swift errand in the neighbourhood, when I’m 100% positive I won’t run into someone I know. In fact, the last time I wore it was on a warm summer’s day last year which just happened to be the same day as the Gay Pride parade which runs through my neighbourhood. I went out, ran an errand, bought a drink and sat down in the park near my apartment to enjoy the weather. The park was full of me on my own and 100 people draped in rainbow flags who’d been enjoying the parade. It wasn’t till I got up to leave and glimpsed my reflection in a store window, I realized my messenger bag strap cut across the logo, splitting it in two, so it looked like I was wearing a shirt that said "Homos" and "ass". Nice. Hey never say I’m not topical.



5. Let’s Play Global Thermonuclear War
   
   
   
   C’mon people, this shirt is the bees knees. Am I wrong? Who doesn’t fill their pants at that line in "War Games" when Matthew Broderick realizes the computer isn’t playing a game? Plus it’s a real geeky t-shirt and I’m a real geek. Nerd. Dork. I know, you’re thinking "Really Guv? You hide it so well! We’d never have realized if you’d just kept your trap shut!"
   
   Like the Small Stars shirt it is very fitted so it might as well say "HERE ARE MY BOOBS!" OK it’s not that bad. It’s short though. You have to be careful when you reach for stuff unless you want the world sticking things in your belly button. And really, who wants that? I mean I usually charge for that service.

Your turn!

Homicide Haiku

Guv'ner is pissed off

Damn loud neighbour must die now

Butcher knife in heart

The Excellent Files

OK I promise this is the last X-Files post for a while and it's brief. Mulder's been dispatched to the desert to find a downed alien spacecraft. This is the trailer.

"Hey Scully! Can you hear me? Can you hear me now?"



"What's that? No, I'm not wearing eye shadow Scully. I just haven't slept in three days. I'm in the desert. Yeah, the desert. I've had reports of a downed alien spacecraft. I brought my pointy alien killing thingy just incase! What's that again? No, it's the weirdest thing. I have 30 points of articulation and I still can't get this damn cell phone all the way to my ear. I'm not yelling!"



"Sh*t Scully, I think I found it. It's...it's amazing. No sign of life though. What should I do? I know! I'll recite a really long paragraph full of impressive jargon and intellectual phrases in a serious monotone, then I'll approach it cautiously! I got my piece out. OH...and my gun!"



"Scully! I know I hung up five minutes ago, but I need to talk to someone. Hey, there's weird alien hieroglyphics on the side. It....It says....I.K.E.A."

"HOLY SHIT!!! What the f*ck!? Where'd the sun go? The craft is glowing!"

"Goddamn it Scully. The sun's back and there's an alien in front of me. He's already dead. I never even got to use my pointy alien killing thing! I never get to have any fun."




To never be continued....

What? Do you think I have all day for this crap?

The Sex Files

In this episode of "the Guv'ner has too much time on her hands", I bring you - The Sex Files. I actually posted this at Live Journal before, but I thought you all might like it. Don't say I never show you nothin'.

I've managed to get hold of the secret, never seen before episode of "The X-Files" that Fox tried to ban. Would I lie to you? Tsk! I am hurt you doubt me.

If you're still on dial up, what the hell is wrong with you? Also, I'd quit now.

SCULLY is in the morgue late at night about to perform an autopsy

So now you know...

Hey You! Get Off Of My Cloud

Am I the only person out there with issues regarding “personal space”? I’ve just been noticing a lot lately that some people in lines just can’t seem to stand close enough to me. Maybe I'm exceptionally fragrant and lovely, I don't know. One guy the other day was practically inside my pants - in a non-vulgar sense. I know I’m fabulous but could you tone it down a little fella? My Thetons are overheating.

I LOVE THIS WOMAN!

Then today I am in our quarter-empty cafeteria having a late-lunchtime sandwich and soda and looking out the window, when this rotund fellow comes over with his food, ignoring the twenty or so empty tables all around me, and says, “Can I sit with you since you’re on your own?” like he’s doing some enormous favor to the poor girl with no friends who is sitting in isolation because she obviously hasn't heard of deodorant or has The Cooties.

Um…listen fella, I am here on my own because I want to be. I could sit at my desk and chat to everyone while I eat, but I really kind of like spending one hour of the day by myself with my thoughts, my sandwich and the view, which doesn’t include you. Plus I have a messy sandwich full of tomato and condiments, I don’t need to be dripping it all over the table and my chin while you’re sitting there staring at me, freak-boy. I mean I’m a friendly, tolerant (yes really!), polite person but really.

There was this other time when I was on a crowded bus home and this fifty something, portly, mustache-sporting gentleman asked if he could have the seat next to me. “Sure, it’s free.” I said, because the bus was busy and the seat was empty, I mean I’m no seat hogger and it’s public domain and all.

I’d like to ask that gentleman, which part of “Sure, it’s free” translated as, “Hey fella, why don’t you take over three quarters of our double bench with your vast spread-open leggitude while you spend 45 minutes telling me the history of every, single building on Fifth Avenue that we pass on the way downtown, being sure to point out particular locations where various ex-girlfriends have lived or died, while making amazingly cheesy and unfunny jokes and nudging me at every punchline!”?

Which part of me looking out of the window in an effort to hint that, “I’m a little tired and would like to be left alone if you don’t mind” made you think I would possibly be interested in going for “pizza and some drinks” with you and your friend Kevin who still lives with his mom at 57?

I don't know. I'm just desirable I guess.

And What You Are Is A Crack Whore With No Fashion Sense

photo by Jeremy Scott

Hi! Lindsay Lohan here! Yeah I know, like...a superstar like ME, in this piece-of-shit blog thing. When I learn to read I'm so going to write someone an angry email about suing. So like, I thought I'd share my newest cover photo for next month's "Paper" magazine. I was psyched to do this shoot because it's a very elite publication. I turned down like....100 other shoots to do this one you know. I totally made the people at "Dog Fancy" cry! Yeah! Anyway, Paper's really high class so you philostines probably never even heard of it. Anyway, they totes wanted me to do it as I'm like...the biggest skan...star...I'm the biggest STAR in the world.

Of course they wanted me to look really sexy as usual cuz sex sells suckas. Like I could be anything else. I wake up sexy. I go to bed sexy. I take a steaming dump sexy. You all just wish you were as sexy as me.

I'm wearing this chic little silk Chinese inspired number here to highlight my fabulousness and it is SUBTLE, cuz like, it doesn't even show my whole boobs! I feel like an Amish lady.

OK, well, look, maybe it's not SILK so much as polyester but it's really hot.

Talking of hot, oh my God, my special place itches like a shit. That's what my daddy calls it "my special place". At least when he's sober and not trying to kill my mom. Granted, it's less special nowadays and more like a YMCA for b-list actors and homeless guys with accents. I wonder if there's a pharmacy round here that sells Vagisil. Or Monostat. I wonder if this is what they mean by FIRECROTCH...

Are my legs blotchy? I think the people at Paper totes made my legs look blotchy. Oh wait, it's my freckles. Some guy just said I look like a whore but I don't pay attention to that sort of thing. Good luck finding a whore who can blow three Italian men in one night while wearing VERSACE, asshole! I've had more spicy man-sausage in my oven than a German Bratwurst factory.

Where is Germany anyway? Is it near Florida?

The Funny Part of Tragic

I'm so sorry. I had to post this because it's so goshdarn funny. Just when you thought that pictures of Amy Winehouse couldn't get any more tragically funny, today I saw THIS. I mean I know it's not funny to mock the afflicted but dude. How high do you have to be to leave the house looking like that? Because I'm thinking at least "sub-orbit" possibly higher.

Another Britney Moment

In case you're wondering, "What does the Guv do with her downtime, with those moments home, relaxed and with time on her hands?"

Well, here is your answer. While looking through some folders on my laptop I found the following from a few months ago that I made then promptly forgot about. So just for you, dear friends, the Guv'ner presents: MY BRITNEY.

It's rather NSFW so you'd think, out of the kindness of my heart, I'd put it under some sort of cut wouldn't you? HA! Suckers.


I know. I'm sorry, truly.

The Guv'ner Pretends There Are No Embarrassing '80s Photos Of The Porcupine That Lived On Her Head

This entry is for everyone, but I dedicate it especially to FALWLESS, Catholic schoolgirl and Jesus' personal home girl.

You see, unlike Falwless, as a little child, Jesus most certainly did not love me, nor did he touch me in any way (because that would be a felony) since I was a godless heathen who ate babies and puppies. Here I am right here, looking 6 years old and Scottish - both of which I was - and if you look real hard you can see Satan's reflection in my 6 year old blue eyes. Yes, I was a tomboy child. Yes, I wore that sweater of my own free will. It was part of a set of fashion statement pieces I like to call "desperate 1970s' hell". Don't worry, that non descript hair soon became a big, spikey '80s pineapple of hell. And yes, despite this picture, I DO have eye lashes.

I'll spare you the 1980s' photos mainly because I've burned them all due to the eye burning danger element and my desire not to get my ass sued for cruelty. Ok, I admit, I do have some and one day I will scan them and in a particularly low, drunken move, post them here for hilarity purposes.

For now, here's one from the mid 90s of myself and my big-faced sister.

I should point out that I have no idea, a) why her face is the size of a small planet as it really isn't in real life, b) why we look like we've never seen the sun - damn photobooths and their flash of death, c) Why I have no chin, d) Why we share two parents but look nothing alike. e) Why I look totally cheesed off.

Around this time, I was playing in a band so here's one from about the same time of me looking uber-cool, like the freaking ghost of Kurt Cobain or something. Gosh, you are pointing a camera at me, I HAD NO IDEA! Allow me to caress my Les Paul and pretend you don't exist.

Now here's one from 2005, taken at a weird "My Space" type of angle that makes me look like my face is totally squished and that I have a giant, Karl Malden nose (I do NOT). I have no excuse for that hairstyle (two pony tails, I am hip!) or the fact I'm standing in front of a shower curtain.

Don't you feel like you know me now?

How Low Can YOU Go?

You know what's funny? Duets are funny.

No, no, I'm not talking about Barbra "Mecca" Streisand and Kenny "Beard" Rogers singing "You Don't Bring Me Flowers" (Or its lesser known but still relevant trade title: "You Don't Give Me Herpes") or Elton John and Kiki Dee crooning their ginormously, annoyingly catchy 1970s' pop hit, "Don't Go Breaking My Heart" (Trade: "Don't Go Breaking A Fart").

No, I'm talking about the sort of duet that occurs when you emit a particularly violent sneeze and as a golden bonus, an unexpected keester-kamikaze at the same time.

Not that I am suggesting I would ever do this. I am a lady therefore I don't emit gases of any sort from my posterior (only Jade plug-in scents in peaches and cream). However, let's say for a moment someone else busted a sneeze with such gusta that out popped an air grenade, unannounced? That would be very hilarious, no? Take my word for it. It would be even more hilarious if the butt-muffin and the sneeze were in the same key and produced a little light harmonizing. Like a barber's shop quartet of bodily expulsions. A Satanic Butt Orchestra.

Which may be the name for my new band.


This would probably not be cute, however, if one were to get the ratio slightly wrong and sneeze viciously only to realize they had stamped their underpants with a beige daisy. I know because this happened to my friend Timo while on a conference call and he was so surprised he had to email me about it.

Farts are funny.

This public service announcement brought to you by the Guv'ner, aged 7.

Happy You Know What

For all you lovely people. The Guv'ner loves you.

(pilfered and altered from FALWLESS' even funnier Jew Card)

The Guv'ner is Cross

There's nothing screams "I'M A BRIT!" quite like standing in the supermarket line clenching a jar of Roses' Lime Marmalade in your sweaty fists. Well, except maybe standing in a supermarket line wearing a Union Jack t-shirt while sporting a skinhead and featuring a tattoo of the Queen.

Naturally I was doing that as well. Look. Apparently I was also a zombie, but no law says you can't multi-task.

Scary isn't it? Maybe I should do it for real and freak my coworkers out? Anyway, lime marmalade is the cat's bollocks. (Not literally, that would be gross!)

This damn writer's strike will be the death of me. There's only so much Vagina Vision one can take, you know. Lifetime, LMN, O. Hallmark. Movies where fancy dressed soccer mom types solve murders. Where widowed housewives rent their guest house to some suave but overly creepy dude, with poufy hair and amazingly he turns out to be a pyscho mad stalker type who video tapes her in the shower and then tries to kill her with her own panty hose. Whoa dude, no one saw that coming!

I'd actually like to see the national, female suicide rate for the period of the strike. There must be thousands of TV addicted women throwing themselves out of windows and slicing into their wrists, while muttering, "Not fucking Valerie Bertinelli again!" and "What does Richard Grieco DO these days anyway?" and "You'll always be LAURA INGALLS, bitch!" I blame Canada for making movie making affordable. Damn you Canadia.

End the damn strike already!

Hobos and Miscreants Line Up Here

Once, while a touch intoxicated, I let my guard down and kissed a dude with a moustache. Not the “permitted” type of moustache either, for example, that which is attached to a cute goatee or a nicely trimmed beard, no, I'm talking about a little bum-fluff, downey, trainee moustache, the sort that screams, “I aspire to grow a mullet, wear plaid and belch hilariously when I grow up!”.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “Just how high were you at this point in time, Guv’ner?” and you could be forgiven for thinking it. However, I had merely partaken of a few stiff ciders and I was 18 and this volatile combination of these two combustible elements made for a very dangerous evening. Thinking back, this is probably why having a legal drinking age of 18 is probably not a wise idea.

Even while I was dancing with Mr. Suave, I knew it was wrong. I just didn’t much care. I was inebriated and happy and I was looking sassy, thanks for asking. I was at an indie show and the band had been great, the drinks were cheap and the world was my oyster. And given that analogy, when you consider I could’ve gone for the pearl, I instead decided it was wise to snog some moustachioed undesireable who looked like Joe Dirt.

This was the first of many undesirable men I would kiss over the years, for varying reasons, because I was an equal opportunities kisser and thought I was doing my part for humanity. I mean for some of those men, who would kiss them if not me? See? Call it the good deed of my lifetime. A public service if you will. (I didn’t “public service” any of them though, don’t go thinking it.)

Mr. Moustache though was a strange oversight. Kissing him was like kissing a particularly hyperactive slug – one that had digested a bunch of crack causing it to wander around my mouth aimlessly banging off my teeth. And he sort of grunted while he was kissing me which creeped me out because I kept envisioning opening my eyes and noticing that I was actually kissing a pig.

After about two minutes of this I claimed I needed another drink and while he went to fetch it, I ran off and hid in the cloakroom where two of my girlfriends staged an intervention that went something like, “You are coming home with us RIGHT NOW, miss, you will NEVER drink again and you will gargle mouthwash until your lips burn off.” And next thing I know I’m in the back of the car, still drunk, singing Pogues songs and going “Did you see that guy? Did you see him? He was NASTY! Did you see that guy?”

Yes indeed they saw. And proceeded to remind me of him for the next 10 damn years.

A few days later Joe Dirt called my house. Yes, I’d actually given him my phone number. My real phone number! I guess I was drunker than I thought. Luckily, I was sober by then and managed to get out of the whole thing. This was also the first of many times that would happen over the years – in particular there seemed to be a slew of hippies and other people no one else wanted anything to do with, that I’d encounter in clubs, feel sorry for, dance with, let follow me around all night then a few days later they’d call and I’d have to instruct my sister to say I had gone on a very important mission to Timbuktu, possibly never to return. Thankfully I didn't kiss many of them. But still.

I don't know what was wrong with me. I'm quite picky nowadays about whose tongue I allow to sweep my molars.

The Guv'ner Gets Creepy

Someone called me out recently because I happened to mention that I don’t watch much in the way of TV shows. “Are you some kind of pervert?” they wanted to know? “Who doesn’t watch TV? What do you have to do in the evenings that's so important? What are you, a serial killer?”

I can’t help it. I have never seen “Heroes” or “Lost” or “Gossip Girl” or “The O.C.” or “Will and Grace” or that abominable sit-com that Charlie Sheen is in, or "American Idol" or "Survivor" or that tart Tila Tequila, or a multitude of other offerings from recent years. I just don’t watch many current shows mainly because they are either reality shows, which I hate, or they are ridiculous dramas featuring overly pretty people in designer clothes and perfect eyebrows, emoting all over the damn place without their make up even running.

If it’s not one of those it’s guaranteed to be a law enforcement show about some police types or government agency, running around being angsty with guns and still sporting the perfect hair and make up.

I don’t have much patience for all this perfection. Therefore, my TV viewing is restricted for the most part to older quality shows, because I am a TV snob. My favourite shows are quite lovely and apart from being quality, well-written dramas, they feature some quite bodacious gentlemen. Not that the Guv’ner watches TV shows for the men, of course, but she is certainly not complaining if some happen to find their way in there. And none of them are perfectly coiffed and wearing Armani thank you very much. Think of the eye candy as a bonus. Like the frosting on the cake. The cherry on the cocktail.

One of my very favourite shows ever made is the outstanding Baltimore detective show, “Homicide: Life on the Street” and I fully believe if you don’t like this show, you are missing a chromosome and should just end it all now because there is no hope for you to ever win at life. I mean the show is real, gritty, funny, disturbing, haunting, hard-hitting and if I can just throw it out there for a moment – hosting some prime eye-candy for the Guv’ner’s discerning gaze. I mean I can’t help but notice. Sue me.

Take Detective Lewis here. I would certainly like to! A mere photo doesn't do him justice, but what a prime hunk of big, black, sexy, manly man. The way he fingers his big, steel Glock with a glint in his eye. The way he bites into a doughnut. The wicked grin as he’s joshing with the scary, rubber-faced Richard Belzer. The aloof leather fedora he likes to wear to crime scenes. He just oozes sex. The raunch is just enormous! Get me to a nunnery.

Then there’s Detective Bayliss. There’s a lot a lady can do with a tall, lanky, white guy with brown eyes and floppy hair and a penchant for complaining and trying to be deep. Because honestly, the more neurotic he gets the more the Guv’ner would like to teach him a few hard lessons on the floor of her living room. Yes ma’am! Look at him. He’s just asking for some Guv Luv. You know it’s true.

Moving on in a timely fashion, my other all time favourite show is the X-Files. Contrary to what you might believe, I did not have the hots for David Duchovny at all even if he did look cute in a suit. That was more my sister’s domain. She made it clear that if I stole her love for Agent Mulder she would cut me. No, I loved Mulder in purely an innocent, sisterly way. If I was alone with him I’d make him play Scrabble and watch a chick flick and we’d braid each other’s hair and eat nachos.

The X-Files was an amazingly atmospheric show with some inventive storylines. It was a great accomplishment of film making for the small screen.

Naturally, I must also add that Alex Krycek was totally smokin' hot for an evil, double-crossing agent dude. Look? Did someone turn the heat up in here? If I got him alone in a room I’d chain his wicked ass to the radiator and do things to him with a feather, chocolate pudding and evil intent until he was my slave forever. I mean the Guv is only human after all. If he didn't want such treatment, he shouldn't be looking all leather clad and brooding should he? No!

“But do you like any current shows at all Guv?” you may ask. Well heavens child! Of course I do. I love South Park and the fact it pushes the envelope to the limit every year then proceeds to outdo itself in the next season. Of course it doesn’t host any eye candy unless you count 9 year old boys made out of construction paper. That would just be wrong even for the Guv.

I also love “Medium” but Patricia Arquette isn’t my type, mainly because she has a vagina. Therefore, that’s all I’m going to say about that.

Wasn’t that enlightening? It's like you can see into my soul.

Can You Feel My Love Buzz?

Hey there! Yes, you! You're looking FANTASTIC. Yes, really! No, don't listen to that guy, you're beautiful. I might kiss you.

The Guv'ner is a little TANKED right now having succumbed to the evils of tequila finally. Icy, frozen, made with fresh strawberries tequila. It just took me five attempts to type "strawberries" because I HAVE RUBBER FINGERS! And a serious buzz. Typing with rubber fingers and a buzz on is laborious and dangerous all at once. But you people...you are worth it. The Guv'ner loves you all.

Myself, and my lovely boy-toy El Codo, put on our party pants and went to my fave Mexican bar which coincidentally and quite conveniently, is just across the street from my apartment. Within handy staggering distance, one may say. Their margaritas are frozen, gigantic (they come in a freaking sundae glass) made with fresh fruit and potent as holy shit. Is holy shit potent? Can shit even BE holy? And does it matter?

Anyway, I am out of practice with the old alcohol consumption due to recent financial hardships, therefore, it doesn't take many of these colossal beasts to push me over the edge into the drunken void. There must be eight shots in those suckers. I'm not even kidding. My tongue just quadrupled in size and gave me a lisp! And I think it's possible I have no toes. Or someone replaced them with french fries! And I love everybody!

But I am in control, people. The past will not be repeated. I will not wake up tomorrow still wearing one shoe because I got exhausted half way through undressing and gave up. Ahem, not that that's happened before, you understand. Well, not more than twice anyway.

Hey, it's the weekend goddammit.

Long Meme Makes the Guv'ner Flippant

I stole this excessive meme from Miss Wendy B. so you can blame her for the tedium. Thank you.

Do your closest friends have any nicknames for you?

None that they’d dare tell me about to my face. I have a feeling the words “psychopath” and “delusional” would feature quite heavily.

What would your ex-(boyfriend/girlfriend/spouse) say about you in one sentence?

He’d say “Man, I really let the most wonderful woman in the whole world go, I am a peckerhead of the highest magnitude and a first class moron!”

What is the greatest achievement of your life so far?

I’m still here. Maintaining an astounding level of immaturity that will probably continue until I’m 92.

How should people think of sex in this, the 21st century?

A little like jogging only without standing in dog shit.

Where would you live if anywhere was possible?

In my vivid imagination. You have no idea the magnificent scope of my imagination.

Is there a sex toy that you would endorse?

I don’t know…is there a good looking RealDoll type of male figure that cooks, tells good jokes and vibrates in all the right places?

Is there a religion that's fulfilling for you and/or the masses?

The Religion of Cheese. I invented it. We all gather and drink wine and worship a wheel of Dutch Edam. We get a tax break and everything.

What inspires awe in your life's experience?

Nature. I’m really a tree-hugger at heart. Save the Earth! Do they know it’s Christmas time at all?

What and when is the most potent emotion you've ever experienced and why?

Lust and anger. If you say otherwise you’re lying.

On what occasions do you act self-absorbed or just plain selfish? If someone assigned you a quest, or if you decided your own, what would you be looking to find?

Selfish? If there are two people and only one chocolate I can see that happening. As for the rest of the question, say what?

If you had to choose between them, would you live in Hollywood, Washington D.C. or New York, and why?

Well I’m already IN New York and have little desire to live in either of the other two places I’d have to say….Santa Fe.

Who or what makes you feel "whole”?

Big, open scenery like the ocean or the desert or the Scottish Highlands. Or a good margarita (frozen, no salt).

Where is your greatest opportunity for change?

I'd say the best place to get change is a bank. Drumcrash.

What do you consider to be the greatest opportunity for humankind?

I’m all about space travel. We need to know what’s out there and more importantly, who. And if their ears are pointy.

What surprises you about getting older?

That you don’t feel any different than you did at 21, you just KNOW more.

What or who makes you feel younger or rejuvenated?

I think I’ll always feel like I’m 25 inside. Music is a good one though. Music can take you anywhere. Even Iceland.

Where or when do you feel most alone?

In a crowded room. I know it’s a cliché but it’s true. I only ever feel lonely in a crowd of people. I don't really feel lonely much. I like lonely.

Where or how is society most ripe for change?

Well wherever people don’t change their underpants regularly, certainly.

Do you think of yourself as attractive to the opposite sex?

I’m more of the girl-next-door, tomboy type whose shoulder they cry on when their girlfriends dump them.

When or where do you feel the most free?

On a sunny, deserted beach or in Death Valley. Or when I’m driving.
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What is the greatest memory of your life to date?

I don’t think I can pick one thing. My most vivid and traumatic memory was the death of my dog. I’m more of an animal person than a people person so it affected me a lot. I think I started getting cynical after that. Before I was all angelic and stuff.

Where and when did you find out who you really are?

Well I have my birth certificate! I mean DUH.

How and when do you collect your thoughts and why?

Seriously, do I seem like someone who collects their thoughts ever?

If someone told you when and where you would die, what would you do immediately after being told?

Well first I’d drink till I fell down. Then I’d inform all my friends never to let me go to that place. Then, assuming my death date was many years in the future I’d party like a monster and do all sorts of crazy stunts knowing I would be fine since I wasn’t going to die for many years. See? Logic at its best.

What are the best parts of being in love?

Anticipation. When that person is the most exciting person in the world.

What's your favorite libation (a drink offered to a god)?

MARGARITA of course. Again, frozen, no salt.

What "life philosophies" have you adopted since you've become an adult?

“Adulthood is seriously overrated.” Oh yes. And "Never lick your own or anyone else's arm pit."

How would you like to be remembered?

I think a bigger than life-sized statue of me in a bikini would suffice.

7 Random Things About The Guv'ner You Have No Desire To Know

That mischievous beeyotch, TERI has tagged me to do this meme thingy, and since this blog lately seems to be all about the meme, here it is! Try not to faint with the joy.

Seven Random (or Weird) Things About Me. (only seven??)

1. I don't burp. Really. It's not an etiquette thing or some noble reason like that, it's just that I can't. I try really hard. I want to be able to burp words like my sister Ahnnie. She can say things like "BOLLOCKS!" while burping and this is a talent I long for. She got all the talent in cool stuff and I got none. (She can also do that wolf whistle thing with two fingers that can hail cabs two miles away. I can't do that either.) I only burp maybe once a year if I get taken by surprise by a super gassy soda or something and even then it's a weak yelp that no one can hear and I'm more surprised than anyone. So surprised in fact I have to advertise it to anyone in the vicinity. "Did you hear that? That was me! I let rip with a mouth-fart!" I do make up for the lack of burping prowess by emitting gasses from my rear at regular intervals and blaming the cat.


2. I have fantasies about moving into one of those perfect showrooms at IKEA full of furniture called Krav and Hub and Stankar.


3. I secretly like mariachi music. The simplicity. Harmonies and Spanish guitar. Perfectly melodious. Big-assed sombreros and sequins! Ahem...yes.


4. Sometimes, at home, I talk to myself in French.


5. I wish all my neighbours would move out and disappear and that the new people moving in would all be older, quiet, childfree, enjoy solitude and have no urge to party or play loud music, but not be too old that they'd fall asleep soaked in gin and set the house on fire with a stray candle.


6. When I was three I fell over, hit my face off a shop window and split my lip open, requiring stitches. I can still remember every moment of this incident including the sewing of the lip and having to eat custard and soup for a week. I know, how interesting.


7. I once recorded an E.P. of "comedy" songs about British celebrities I hated and sold it at my band's shows. I recorded it on a four track in my bedroom and produced a fanzine to accompany it. I had a lot of free time on my hands in those days. No I don't still have a copy.

Well that was sort of anti climatic, no? Oh well. January is sort of a blah month, what do you expect? Happy New Year!