Feminine Hygiene?

It's always kind of bothered me that, in stores with a pharmacy section, condoms are always kept on the same shelving unit as, say, Summer's Eve. Usually across the aisle from the tampons & sanitary napkins. In the girl section. On the shelves that remind us that we took the first bite of the apple. That hint that our ladyparts are somehow unclean unless the chemical scent of "Shower Fresh" wafts from them.

With regard to condoms, by sole virtue of placement, basically department stores & pharmacies are saying, "Hey girls, that's your responsibility". How many guys really want to go hang out amidst yeast infection medications to debate the virtues of plain ol' rubbers vs. the four-variety Pleasure Pack? (I know, I know, not all guys have issues with picking up a box of tampons for their girlfriend...but a lot do.) No, it's up to the girls to prevent the spread of veneral disease, if Wal-Mart gets their way.

Which, I'm sorry, but why? Call me crazy, but I always thought that, push come to shove, it's a dude's duty to sheath his pork sword. I take the pills; you get the rubbers. I mean, obviously, it's good to have some on hand. I guess that, really, it should be the equal responsibility of the involved parties. But damn, pharmacies don't really help out much on that whole "equality" front.

The icing on the cake (or perhaps the lube on the rubber?) is that when I rang up the box of condoms on the U-Scan, it registered on the screen & receipt as "feminine hygiene".

Indeed.

You're Going To Have To Lose That Leg, Son

About six or seven weeks ago I drew a conclusion which led to a decision. The process was rather akin to a doctor's decision to amputate a gangrenous leg - at least, as I imagine it. It's all very Gone with the Wind in my mind. (A couple of weeks after that, I had the correctness of both conclusion & decision unequivocally confirmed, but that's a whole 'nother bowl of beans.)

The strange part is, after losing the leg, I feel like the doctor bestowed laser-shooting nipples on me as recompense. Everything in my life has suddenly become fantastic. And I've been really, really happy. Not to mention, I've had the greatest idea EVER (well, okay...Trish, we can be tied for first. Oh, BTW, just to validate my fabulous idea - as if it needed validation - according to an 8 August post on my beloved Portland food blog, "This just in, Oregon Cheeses won over 22 awards at the annual American Cheese Society Conference held last week in Burlington, Vermont, including 7 first place prizes in various categories. Woo-Hoo!" Dude, I'm so right on here).

Anyway. My world has gone totally butt-crazy D.I.S.C.O. on me. Even though nothing truly substantive has changed in my day-to-day, it's like that one choice has freed me to really enjoy life for the first time in well over a year. Although a cynic might say that this is because I've rather wantonly spent hundreds of dollars in the past weeks buying fabulous useless things for myself, & living in the pursuit of such is bound to make one momentarily happier, I am not that cynic. And random wonderful things just keep happening.

For instance: on Saturday, my folks & brother came up to take me out to a (belated) birthday lunch. My birthday, my choice. I picked a Mexican joint in NE PDX called Autentica. Why? Well, to be frank, because I've never really actually been to NE Portland, save to sate a long-ago Saturday's hungover craving for a po' boy. I'm a bit embarrassed, but the reason is that the part of NE I want to go to is about four whole miles from my apartment. A bit too far to walk unless I'm totally juice. I don't know which buses run there. And I hate driving.

Anyway, so I used my lunch as an excuse to go to Northeast. I'll be brief, but it was fucking excellent. Delicious. Tasty. Pleasant. Everybody was happy, except maybe my father. The margarita was a wee bit light on tequila, & the service was, erm, "relaxed". But the food was amazing. I got the pollo en consome rojo (chicken in a dried chili broth) & a sope con chorizo, crema y queso (hand-made tortilla with chorizo, cream & cheese). I definitely want to go back for dinner - their dinner menu looked even more astounding. Mmmm....

Afterward, I suggested a brief jaunt about the neighborhood. My father, brother & I strode off. I espied a vintage store that was kitty corner to Autentica & decided to stop in. (The store had some pretty awesome furniture, decently priced...like a huge art deco armoire for $600...I need to go back.) Whilst exploring the store, I saw these boots...these fantastic faux leopard-skin boots. Usually, when you see those things, they're always in a size 6. But these fit! And beautifully! And they looked brand-new! And they were only $12!

Clearly, those boots were my very destiny. That's why I insisted on Northeast. That's why I wanted to stroll about after lunch.

So it's stuff like that, which just seems to keep happening. It's like all this shiny, sparkling, flashing stuff is falling into my life - the best birthday EVER, Dirty Dancing at the Laurelhurst, Heather moving to Portland, Misty deciding to come to Burning Man (& also me going to BM in the first place!), the full-length faux fur coat from the 70s, the disco bar, shiny gold dresses, black halter dresses with sparkly gold spots, red snakeskin stockings, shiny dining room chairs, amazing ideas...the list, seriously, goes on. Hey, I'm not complaining. Look:


I'm just so happy to be happy. It's been too long! Cheers to draining the festering sores out of life.

Disco Bar!

Was ever a piece of furniture more perfectly suited for yours truly? The pictures don't do the flashing lights justice at all, but so it goes. You get the idea.

I absolutely adore this thing. Perhaps one day I will actually use it as a bar, but right now it's the most excellent stereo stand ever. It's like having a disco fireplace.

It makes me very happy.

Tres Exciting!

OMG!!!! I am about to have the best birthday ever! Seriously, with the possible exception of that one birthday in 2002, which was rather too naughty to bear repeating in a pseudo-public forum, I can't imagine how this weekend could fail to be super-fantastic.

I'm as excited as a five-year-old. Actually, I think I may wet my pants. Oh, wait. Certain wardrobe choices have rendered that rather impossible.

Battlestar Galactica

Recently I've been watching the Sci-Fi Channel series "Battlestar Galactica". People's reactions to this show have surprised me - for instance, when I rented the first couple of discs from my video store, the clerks warned me that it would become my new heroin. (Confession: I was spared the shame of walking up to the counter with the final season of "The O.C." only because it was already rented. I suspect that selection would not have garnered such an enthusiastic response.)

And so, I suppose it has. Become my new heroin. Because while it's totally addictive, it also makes me feel kind of dirty & gross. Far be it from me, who has to avoid a veritable minefield of information on the not-yet-on-DVD Season 3 in order to glean any kernels of knowledge on the first two seasons of the show, to indulge in spoilers, but...I cannot resist airing a few grievances & handing out a few compliments. I WILL NOT GIVE AWAY PLOT POINTS.


1) Edward James Olmos is AWESOME.

2) Sharon "Boomer" Valerii (played by Grace Park) is HOT, & an extremely interesting character as well.

3) Most of the other characters are annoying as hell. In fact, I can't even make a list of annoying characters, because that would mean naming almost all of them, & I don't have time to look up those spellings.

4) But the show itself is still captivating. The interpersonal relations, the shifting dynamics, the tension, the action...good stuff.

5) Except that a lot of the time I feel like my chain's being jerked. It's like a pseudo-serial, where they drop tantalizing bits of plot before you, then just leave you hanging. (Sometimes I feel like I want it to be more like "Lost", where mystery abounds but you can trust that it's probably actually going somewhere.)

6) Which makes me very hopeful that eventually everything will tie together. Apparently the deal is, they've got a TV movie & then Season 4, & then that's it.

7) But somehow I doubt it. The show seems to often have an "issue-of-the-week" mentality.

8) Considering the sand-buried heads of most popular entertainment, however, this is refreshing, if frequently overwrought. A show that actually considers the consequences, & dare I say, ethics of torture, as opposed to "24", which merely revels in its own pointless brutality.

9) Though it's hard to care when the humans are, by & large, such buttheads.

10) Luckily, the Cylons are endlessly fascinating & I'm entirely curious to see what their deal is.

11) However, that just takes us full circle back to the possibility my chain is being jerked & these rampant speculations in which I've indulged will never see the light of payoff.

12) Then again, who knows? There's two seasons & a movie to go.

So, would I recommend "Battlestar Galactica"? Hell yeah. Do I feel like my expectations & hopes stand a good chance of ultimately being solidly crushed? Hell yeah.

I'm A Capitalist, Baby. I Work For My Living, Not Suck Off Of Someone Else.

Hee hee! Beyond the Valley of the Dolls is the work that gives me respect for Roger Ebert, who wrote its screenplay. Who knew that Mr. Ebert was capable of penning lines such as "You will drink the black sperm of my vengeance"?

In fact, I'm utterly torn as to which is the better film, Valley of the Dolls or Beyond the Valley of the Dolls. How can you choose between the former's "You know how bitchy fags can be" & the latter's "This is my happening & it freaks me out"? Or the first film's "'Neely, you know you shouldn't take liquor with those pills'. 'They work faster.'", & the second's "You're a groovy boy. I'd like to strap you on sometime."

You cannot. Both are brilliant. Both demand to be seen.

If I had one complaint, in fact, it is that Beyond doesn't have enough sex. It's all implied. This was my first Russ Meyer film! I thought there would be, y'know, some freakin' sex! Apparently, though, he was actually trying for an R rating, so he shot lots of scenes for both R & X versions. It got an X anyway, but the studio insisted on rushing the film into theaters before he could re-edit the X-rated "R" version to add the actual X-rated scenes. Bummer.

Anyway. These movies RULE.

Bear With Me Here

My left ankle is in pain from when I slipped down a couple stairs on Sunday.

My knee still hurts from when I fell last week on my way to the airport (note: slide-on platform wedge shoes + heavy duffel bag = BAD IDEA, people!).

My legs ache from the Sunday hours I spent crouched over the loft's built-in furniture, painting it. And I mean ache. I can barely walk (note: leg pain + high-heeled sandals = bad idea).

The cut on my finger looks like it's bleeding through the tape & bandages, but since I'm not supposed to touch it until tomorrow or Thursday, I'll just have to wonder. I banged it on my cubicle door not five minutes ago, which felt simply spectacular.

My left arm is stiff & sore & hurts like hell from the tetanus shot.

My neck has been a place of pain for several days now, as I keep falling asleep in terrible positions.

I left my Vicodin at home because I'm not supposed to take it at work, & tho' my office's first aid supply cabinet is chock full of Advil, Alleve, & Tylenol, not a single helping of ibuprofen is contained therein, let alone the 800 mg the doctor recommended.

My entire body feels like it has been folded & stuffed into an envelope of pain.

Shit, I even finished my book last night, so I'm fresh out of fun easy reading.

I find myself loathe to leave work early, as I've got a 20-hour CIC class starting tomorrow, plus I'm taking simply scads of days off (aka "PTO") this month already. But really I just want to go to my video store, rent some crappy TV or some old Hepburn-Tracy movies & sit on my futon knitting.

Um, also? It's friggin' August. And it's REALLY COLD outside. Okay, it's really 62 degrees & I know it will warm up to the 70s. But it's gray & cloudy & drizzling. NOT FAIR. It's summer! That five-month span in which we know no rain, only sunshine & blue skies! Bastards.

I may have said it before, & I'll likely say it again, but - life is pain, princess.

On the other hand, I'm wearing one of the five dresses I've purchased in the last month. Yeah, that's right - I've magically found five dresses that flatter me & were on sale in a mere FOUR WEEKS. Plus I bought really cute sandals whose cork wedge heels are loaded with GOLD SPARKLES (bonus: they are actually almost comfortable!).

So it's not all bad.

EDIT: Uncle, uncle! I give up! I think the shot has exacerbated my other pre-existing pains. It hurts to move. Futon. Drugs. Visual entertainment of an amusing kind. Sleep. Yes...the Land of Happily Stationary beckons. (For the record, it annoys me to no end that "stationary" means still while "stationery" means paper. Am I the only person who thinks that paper should be stationary-with-an-a? And that still makes way more sense as stationery-with-an-e? Sigh. Probably.)

You've Got A Vicious Streak For Someone So Young

All right, so I'm not all that young. But I do possess a vicious streak of which I was once wholly unaware. I'm not proud of it, but neither am I shamed by it, & it does not seem to unleash itself without cause. We'll forgo specifics.

Karma, however, apparently thought I went a little too far. On Sunday, I was making bread. A batch of plain white bread & a loaf of cheddar bread, more or less scheduled to follow each other into the oven. I have not baked in oh! ever so long, but I've got a camping trip coming up & am indulging in a baking binge.

Anyway, the white bread was rising in my pantry in a big glass Pyrex bowl (it was a cool day but my pantry attains the desired 75 to 80 degree temperature at which bread should ideally rise). I carried the cheddar dough over, also in a big glass Pyrex bowl. I thought, hmm, I really should put down this bowl before moving the other. Then, like a big dumb stupid thing, I failed to do that & decided to move both bowls at once. Long story short, I lost the cheddar bread & one of the big bowls, & gained a nice deep slash on my left hand index finger just below the knuckle, which proceeded to bleed profusely. I called my parents to figure out whether it required stitches (the last time I had a cut that deep, I was 14) & decided not to sweat it. Eventually the bleeding stopped (actually, it more slowed than stopped) & the gash really didn't hurt that badly. Then I decided to go buy a gallon of Ralph Lauren Capri Pink & paint until one in the morning. Fantastic idea. I woke up this morning & couldn't even use the damn finger. (The surviving bread turned out beautifully, by the way.)

Longer story short, I went to an immediate care clinic a couple of hours ago. No nerve or tendon damage, just a bad bleeding cut in an unfortunate place. The doctor taped it up, & now I have this lovely splint on my finger. Which still hurts, only now my finger is utterly pointless. I get to wear it for five fun-filled days! And I can't get it wet! AWESOME. Also, since I believe I was about 10 years old the last time I had a tetanus shot, I got one of those too. Which they tell me will start hurting tomorrow. Oh yeah.

On the other hand, karma did see fit to provide me with prescription narcotics as a result of my pain. Lose some, win some. I'm totally going to dope myself into oblivion tonight & watch Performance, which is summat like Ingmar Bergman's Persona on acid, if I recollect correctly. Starring Mick Jagger. The film was completed in 1968, but the producing studio, Warner Brothers, expected the Rolling Stones version of A Hard Day's Night (which, erm, Performance is decidedly not) & were so pissed off that they didn't release it until 1970. I believe they also attempted to sue the film's makers, Nicolas Roeg & Donald Cammell. The poster's tagline: "This film is about madness. And sanity. Fantasy. And reality. Death. And life. Vice. And Versa." Indeed.