Happy Birthday Baby Jesus!

My humble gift to cyberspace on this blessed day...




And Freebird, I am calling you out! If you are half the Ohio State fan you claim to be, you will unearth your Santa visit pic from that mall trip and share it with the world. Mr. I-Got-To-Sit-On-His-Lap-And-You-Didn't! -- jerk.

Happy Hannukah II -- Electric Bugaloo

FOUND IT! An excerpt of it anyway.

Happy Hannukah!

Being the fun-loving godless ass that I am, Hannukah just wouldn't be properly celebrated without Harry.

Sorry, you have to sit through an advert to see the clip, but Youtube failed to have HH at all. Shame be upon them! And I'll be damned if I could find the one where he actually saves Christmas posted anywhere.

The Jews really need to get a better toe hold in the entertainment industry....

Enjoy!

Little Nut Grabbing, Tree Hugging Bastards!

I hate squirrels.......or rats with a better coat as I like to refer to them. I have never understood a love for these little vermin.


My dad used to name and feed the ones that came through his yard, and all I could ever envision was a back of the neck sneak attack when I went out there. Imagine my dad's horror when he finds me face down with the top of my spine chewed out and a blood smeared squirrel face sneering at him as it ducks behind my head. Not a pretty sight is it?! Well, a time or two I went out there and that scenario seemed imminent as I heard little evil feet scampering over the roof towards me.


I have also been challenged to more than one Mexican Standoff with a squirrel when I was only trying to walk to wherever I was going. Minding my own business, they would just leap out at me and not move. When I displayed my docility by moving aside to let the little hairy aggressor pass, they would jump in my path again, getting all up in my grill!

Anyway, I tell you all of this in a celebratory manner because my dislike and distrust has finally been vindicated!





The Squirrel Defamation League

Suck on that tough nut Squirrel!

Hey Troops - America F***s You!

The Department of Defense has a program named America Supports You. Created to reach out to deployed and previously deployed military, their site lists many charities who's mission is to help out our service members both home and abroad.

WHAT A GIANT F*****G JOKE THESE GUYS TURNED OUT TO BE!

From Bloomberg:

ASY was established in 2004 and during the next three years received $9.2 million in government funding, according to the audit. Most of that money -- $8.8 million -- was spent on contracts with the Davis firm for public relations activities, the audit said.

Under those contracts, four senior program managers were paid annual salaries ranging from $312,821 to $662,691 in 2007, according to the audit.

I know government corruptness is nothing new, but this one makes my head want to explode with extra force! Our service members are working hard for this country -- in a combat zone -- the last thing they need is for our government to make a greedy joke out of a program designed to show them much deserved acknowledgement and support.

From personal experience I can say that it is difficult enough to gain donor trust and support without programs like this making everyone look suspicious.

Click here to read more on this heartwarming story of greed and bullshit.

Thanks for staying classy ASY!

The baby Jesus would have liked it!

Sleeping with people is always an interesting endeavor to me. Whether you are 10 years old at your first slumber party or hitting the hay with your spouse of 50 years, we all at one time or another probably figure out the delicate dance of co-hibernating.

Without getting too intimate about this intimacy, I slept with a dude last night. Literally. I have done it before in fact -- slept -- with BF. This time was different though. I woke at about 3:00 a.m. to find a pillow lodged on it's narrow, long side in between each of our own pillows. "WTF?!" crossed my mind as I propped myself on one elbow to look over the top of the new barrier BF had obviously put up after I had fallen asleep. There, on the other side was BF, lying on his back softly huffing through his mouth on each exhale. His hands were even curled over the top of the covers like he was getting ready to imitate a dog or some other little pawed creature. He looked so peaceful.

"Aww...how cute" I thought as I tried to remember how long he had told me one time it takes a person to lose consciousness from suffocation. Why? Because I was staving of an overwhelming urge to clap the pillow between us right over his little unassuming sleepy face!

I know, I know. Maybe I am jumping to conclusions here. Perhaps he didn't mean to put the pillow there like that.

Yeah........no -- he meant it.

Several hours later I open my eyes and see him looking back at me over the cotton filled fence he built, volunteering an explanation with no prompting. "I'm sorry, but your nostrils are like giant air movers. I couldn't take it -- too much air, so I put this up as a shield."



An "air shield" for protection from my supposed giant "air movers"........hmm.......the nerve of some people!

Then I got to thinking. It's December and many of us are getting ready to celebrate Christmas. Well, the dear sweet 8 lb, 6oz baby Jesus in golden fleece diapers would have loved me breathing on him all night! Remember the manger scene? Even the animals kept their air movers right on him so he could grow up big and strong and save us all from our sins or whatever.

I told BF this, and he was completely unimpressed and unconvinced. Dick.

If only I had been born BCE......I would be appreciated.

You absolutely MUST give me this recipe!

A new cookbook arrived in my mail today. I ordered it after a friend sent me a link for it right around Thanksgiving. This new read is titled: Natural Harvest, A collection of semen-based recipes.



Oh yeah, you read that correctly ... semen-based.


Some of the tasty treats featured include, Irish Coffee with Extra Cream, Slightly Saltier Caviar, Tuna Sashimi with Homemade Dipping Sauce, and Cum Creme Carmel.

You may or may not be surprised to know that the author is a homosexual man with one of those fabulous middle-aged gay lisps, or lithsps (did I spell that right 55?).

He passes down quite a bit of jiz wizdom in this book, like how long semen can be left out, or refridgerated before use (1-2 hours and 2-3 days respectively for the inquiring minds).


My Review: Homeslice has a giant freak flag waving right next to that rainbow one!

Photenhaur has no formal culinary training, and although I know he is taking himself very seriously, the book is a total joke -- which is why I purchased it in the first place.

He's just trying to make money off of his particular fetish, and he isn't the first person to ever try that. He made 25 bucks off of me out of my sheer curiosity alone; I can only imagine who buys it to actually try out the recipes.

Because I am sick -- and a jerk, I want to make something he lists without the semen and then bring out the book as soon as my intended victim is done enjoying the dish [insert wicked laugh here].

Even just reading from it has been a most entertaining form of torture. The following excerpt is on one of the last pages and it ended up pushing my bf over the edge, as evidenced by a dry heave on his part that made me laugh so hard I could barely finish reading it out loud.

Chef's Note: Heat up a lightly oiledfrying pan/skillet. Remove from heat and ejaculate directly into the pan, return to heat and fry the semen without stirring. This will create a mini-omelette, or in some cases, many small omellete-drops. Salt and pepper to taste. This is the perfect introductory recipe for all newbie semen cookers.

Mmmmmm-hmmmmm!

Dude....Your Hair....

I absolutely love Mullets! I never tire of them. Just saw one yesterday (yep, and to verify it is 2008) and felt I needed to post a picture collage Ode to the Mullet. Let's get started!



The Baby/Kid Mullet: The most insidious form of child abuse. You feed them right, teach them manners and then go and deliberately set them up for failure with an awful haircut. Girl mullet pictured here is me. That explains a lot, right? Thanks Mom and Dad!





The Midget Mullet: I know, I know, "The Little Person Mullet". [If you think that sounds better, you need to get your funny bone checked, cuz that shit ain't funny.] How much can I say here without really looking like an asshole? Hmm..... Midget. Mullet. Rare, fabulous combo.


The She Mullets: Ladies, ladies, ladies. It's awful enough when the guys do it, but what in the hell were you thinking?! Thank you though -- sincerely and from the very bottom of my heart -- thank you!


So, it's true what they say about redheads....Ssss....Hot! Can't afford you huh? I bet I could spring for some chicken fry and Pabst's Blue Ribbon. Wouldn't be long after that I reckon I could have you face down butt in the air in your 5th wheel with my fingers running through that hot mess!



This is the Butch Mullet to the max right here folks. Crew top, full length in the back. Let's have a little respect here. It probably took her full Lesbianic career to get it that long. Kudos. Actually, she reminds me of the ladies lovin ladies who used to buy me Miller beer and shots of Jagermeister at the gay dive bar I used to sneak into before I was 21. Nice gals.




Sister soldier looks like she is sitting home alone [again] perfecting her profile shot for Mullet Match.com "I like long walks on the beach, tractor pulls, hair..."

Before I am awkwardly outed, let me just come clean: This mullet is me too. I wish it were a real one, but just like my boobs and PhD from Columbia -- paid for.



Man Mullets



This is the classic, sweet ass Man Mullet right here. All business in front, full party in back -- nice!
BF - I'm putting it out there right now, if I find this guy, you're out baby!



The Tourist Mullet: See the world, see this hair!



The Skullet: Gone fishing. Hey dude, while you are down there, can you look for some hair? This is technically not quite a Skullet yet, as one has to be sporting the full chrome dome. Earl is getting there though.



The Kid 'N Play Ethnic Mullet: Stuff like this just underscores the opinion that there is a lack of assimilation amongst our immigrant population in this country.



The Serial Killer Mullet: Nothing says "you are going to be my bitch and toss my salad (with grape jelly)!" like the I Will Kill You Mullet. Scary! Don't shank me!



What do you want me to say? Just soak it all in, really sit with it. If ever a picture spoke a thousand words...



And finally...

Safety In Numbers Mullets:



Aww...the family that mullets together, stays together. "Mom, when is Dad going to give up his lame-ass I-could-be-head-roadie-for-Bon-Jovi dream so we can live a normal life?"

Reverse Costanza - Backfired!

Do you remember the Human Fund Episode of Seinfeld, where George creates the fund and then gives "in honor of" donation cards to his coworkers for the holidays? He explains further, "I think I could be a philanthropist. A kick ass philanthropist! I would have all this money and people would love me. Then they would come to me and beg! And if I felt like it, I would help them out and then they would owe me big time! The first thing I'm going to need is a driver."

[Author's note: I started a nonprofit for this exact reason myself. The begging packs a powerful ego headrush, second only to the celebrity caliber popularity. I still need the driver though. If you are interested in this position, please email your resume to the address listed on this blog. Thank you.]

Anyway, I decided to try sort of a reverse version of The Human Fund for Christmas this year. Here is the email I sent out:

I truly appreciate how generous you are with me on holidays, however, in the spirit of true giving and paying it forward, etc., I am asking that people make a donation to one of the charities below in lieu of buying me gifts.

Of course, if this does not work for you no worries! I don't need to know what you decide. Just an idea.... : )

Happy Holidays,
Daniella

http://womenofhopeproject.org/home/

http://www.hfa.org/about/index.html

http://www.leobuscaglia.org/index.html

http://www.kiva.org/app.php

http://www.operationiraqichildren.org/

Now don't get me wrong, I am no Mother Theresa. I am a typical greedy, sweeping, bloated consumerist American, who makes a good sized asshole footprint on this planet. I just honestly couldn't think of anything I wanted this year.

I sent that email out last week, and so far I am going to have to chalk this little holiday experiment up to a big fat, backfire. The few responses I have gotten are peeps thinking I am requesting this out of a desire to not gift to them. Unlike George, I wasn't looking for the ole, oh-no-I/we-have-to-get-you-a-gift-but-I/we-don't-want-anything-this-year response. Damnit!

So, fuck it -- revisions to my Christmas wishlist are as follows:

• New car -- Anything but a Prius. If you get me a Prius, I will stab you in the neck
• Fur coat -- Winter PETA protests are brutal without a cozy animal to wrap up in
• Pony -- Just would be nice - an actual mini horse would be nicer
• Carl from Aqua Teen Hunger Force -- I will take the guy who does his voice if you can't bring Carl to life in an easy bake oven or Weird Science sort of way.
• Donuts -- enough said
• A younger sib -- because the gift of a person it is legal to beat the crap out of is priceless - ask my brother
  
• Cash -- because it's king baby! And of course I will need it to start my Save the Orphans and Whales slush fund

Happy Holidays! And you better get to steppin - you've got a shopping list to tackle!

Chinese Restuarant -- A Good Home?

My b.f., BF doesn't like my dog. How one could possibly dislike lil Ruthy I do not know, but he is sticking to that story. Even when hand picking little tidbits from the leftovers and making a hot water gravy with them to go over her kibble, he will tell you he wants to drop a brick on her...or tie balloons to her and float her away....or tape her to the street in front of his house and back over her. Good times.

A couple weeks ago, the lack of lil Ruthy love got to me and I told BF that if he found her a good home, I would let her go. I posed this option not only to get him to shut his pie hole, but also out of a sense that I know my enemy. BF self motivates to coordinate for work, food and bj's; he's not going to go looking for a home for my dog. Plus, I know he thoroughly enjoys complaining about her and if he gave her away, that goes out the window.

So I was feeling pretty secure tonight when we ordered Chinese take-out for dinner. When the food arrives, the doorbell rings and sends Ruth into a barking frenzy. As BF pays the small Asian man who delivered our food, I overhear a conversation from the kitchen.

BF - "You want a dog?"
Small Asian Man - "No."
BF - "You sure? It's a good dog."
Small Asian Man - "No, No."
BF - "Come on...."
Small Asian Man - "You Serious?" [leans around the corner sizing up lil Ruthy]
BF - "Nah, I better not. She will get pissed at me. Next time you come though, when she is not here, you can have it."
[Small Asian Man smiles approvingly and then exits]

He tried to give lil Ruthy to a Chinese restuarant! Are you fucking kidding me?! Small dog. Chinese Restaurant. Come on! How is that a good home?! We had an agreement. My trust is shattered, bj's are going to be ancient history, and I dare say lil Ruthy looks shaken.

I just informed BF of today's post topic and I got "If you are talking smack about me on there, I am going to blow up your computer!"

No one is safe.

Happy Birthday Big V!!

Ahh yes, it's that time of year again, that blessed day Big V arrived. [Okay, proper wording on the aforementioned is "the anniversary of that blessed day Big V arrived." Watch - he is going to catch it and call me on it. Damnit!] I wasn't there, but it just seems like it had to be special.

The occasion is inspiring me to reflect on a bit of our history...




I "met" Vince 2 or 3 years ago on EHarmony. Good times. Yeah, I tried it - shut up.

Anyway, I had a mad crush on him. We're talking constant emails, calling all hours of the night, pictures of my Vince shrine sent to his phone at 4 hour intervals. The day he filed the restraining order is when I think we both knew we would always be friends. Aww.

We had one glorious year together before he fled to Ohio. We made good use of it though! Highlights include, brakestands in my new Mustang down Cherry Ave, Movie Sundays where we would pick the film and then the food that went with it, and lots of hours in his room putting the OAP website together [it's friggin awesome, btw!].

We set the foundation for our own language as well.

Some examples:

"Dude you forgot to hook up the doll" [adapted from Weird Science]- meant that Big V had posted something new during web construction but hadn't refreshed the page so I could see it. Even though the website is done, we still find ways to use this one. It's one of my faves for sure.

"Todd just read the map; I wanna get there!" [adapted from the fab reality show Andrew Dice Clay had last year] - meant one of us was taking too long on a story and/or being tangential, so get to the point already.

"Special skills and Unicorn magic" - is a Dani original I created whenever he would impress me with something techy.

There are more, but I am blanking. Perhaps the birthday boy himself can add to this list.

In summary, [just wanted to use that] We had much fun, lots of laughs, great conversations, and some serious cocktails.

You make the late 30s look fabulous tiger! I hope you have a wonderful birthday!

much love,
dani

'Tis the Season...to be Naughty...Hells Yeah!

There are so many reasons I love this photo, that I am going to have to make a little list here to cover them all.

1. Okay, let's start at the start: Flashing is just classic! Kudos to all who can go out there and get bare. You really can't go wrong. Any reaction is going to be the right one. Mission Accomplished. Every time. We salute you.

2. Check out Mom on the right. Awesome Reflexes. Looks like she just did an insta-swoop move to not only lean the child away from said yule log, [think Robin Williams stand up here when he is impersonating Adam cautioning Eve on the occasion of the first erection, "Stand back, we don't know how big this thing is going to get!"] but she also got those eyes covered damn quick too. I have heard of ovarian acts of heroism from mothers, but this one is stellar. Good job Mom! No therapy necessary in the future for little Billy on that one. Whew!

3. Now let's move to the left. These two make me both sad and furious at the same time. Shame be upon them for their reaction to this special moment. Seriously, what the hell party people?! Two adults. One flasher. This guy just gave you the gift of spontaneity and you are blowing it [Poor choice of words perhaps; let's not blow anything.] And finally, let me just dust off my feminist hat here and slap it on...Homeslice is not actually covering her eyes for her is he?! Oh no he deh-ent! That's a bunch of crap. Let me underscore my point with a quote from the great Pretty Woman, "I say who, I say when, I say who!" Get your damn hands off her eyes! Street berries and dangle should always be in the safe viewing zone. Relax buddy, it ain't like she paid for it.

4. Center stage is that kid on the bike who looks like he is late for an audition of A Christmas Carol with that red hair, hat, and wreath or whatever slung over his shoulder. He is going to have a great story to tell the Greater Metro Gay Men's Choir when he gets there!

I am going to start praying to Santa today that this season be as blessed as this for me and all those I love.

Happy Holidays Everyone!

The Leo Buscaglia Foundation

My maternal grandmother's birthday is coming up in a few days. Eleanor was in many ways the stereotypical Italian Nonna. During Christmas dinners at her house, we would have to squirm through her recitation of a passage from "Seven Stories of Christmas Love" by one of her favorite authors, Leo Buscaglia.

Being that she and Leo were close in age and raised in similarly cultured homes, she just thought he was the cat's meow on humor and wit. I was too young [read: punky] to really appreciate much of him at the time my grandmother was sharing with all of us.

As life would have it, both Leo and Eleanor are gone now, but I find myself wanting to know more about this man she thought had such great gifts. I am reading one of his books "Loving Each Other, The Challenge of Human Relationships" Not at all a bad read so far. And when her birthday arrives on Sunday, I think I will celebrate it by donating to The Leo Buscaglia Foundation

Founded By Dr. Buscaglia in 1984, the foundation serves to give special aid and attention to those who have dedicated themselves to the betterment of others through the art of giving. The LBF is structured around the dynamics of sharing and giving, and influencing others to do the same, the roles of helper and helped constantly interchanging.

This dude may have been on to something: "It's not enough to have lived. We should be determined to live for something. May I suggest that it be creating joy for others, sharing what we have for the betterment of personkind, bringing hope to the lost and love to the lonely" ~ Leo Buscaglia

I invite you to click here and find out more about the work his foundation is doing.

How Bad Can The Economy Be?!

This guy has a job....

Happy Thanksgiving!

What can I say? .....We aren't all in to turkey -- too dry. Now puppy...that's different. Mmm, mmm moist!

Ancient Water Crackers

What I am about to share with you is one of my fave little life lessons. I love stuff like this -- instances where people learn they are the same person they have made a passion out of mocking.

Perhaps I particularly enjoy it because I have caught myself in these ironies a time or two. My latest is the uncomfortable realization that I am one of those freaks about my pets. I always held myself up as a staunch non-anthropomorphiser......wrong! As I scrolled through some posts on this blog the other day, I had to suck my teeth when I realized it. Dog is in love with cat, cat is a premeditated fecal terrorist.........riiiggghhhhtttt. I'm a tool about my pets. Damnit!

Enough about me.

Let's instead talk about BF. He loves to endlessly tease his mother about ignoring expiration dates on foods. Trepidation over Thanksgiving dinner at her house the next night thoroughly set in as he described finding scads of rotten food in her fridge. Yikes! Is there ever an instance where stomach pumping can be considered holiday festive?

BF and I told his mom we would bring appetizers for Thanksgiving, so Wednesday evening we were firming up our recipe choices and making a shopping list. As some of the ingredients were basic staples, I was browsing his fridge and cupboard as we compiled the list.

Bonanza! As it turns out, the Rotten Food fairy comes to BF's house too!



Can you read the Mar of 98, 15 Apr 97, and Sep 03 99 on these bad boys? Yummy!

And for the record, I didn't photograph the Boursin cheese that died in the back of the fridge in 2002, the dozen or so cake mixes that were 24 - 36 months past, or the Prosciutto in the meat drawer that had actual rigor mortis from being about 8 months over it's flavorful life with us here on earth. R.I.P. guys.

BF's defensiveness about all of this is almost as enjoyable as finding all of this stuff in his kitchen.

We laugh because it's funny, we laugh because it's true.

May all your food be fresh and flavorful for our big day of thanks tomorrow!

Are You A Drip?

Over the weekend, I got through a quick read titled "How Full Is Your Bucket?" It is basically a condensed compilation of research and studies, outlining positive strategies one can use to improve relationships.

The premise is that each of us has a "bucket"; an imaginary reservoir that fills when we received individualized, deserved praise and empties when that recognition is missing from our work and personal relationships.

At the end of the book a website is mentioned where you can log on and take the Positive Impact Assessment. This 15 question test instantly grades you, so you can see how good you are at filling others' buckets.

One a scale of 0 to 98, I scored in the bottom "low impact" tier at a whopping 24. Unlike aerobics, low impact is not a good thing in this case.

"Although [I] might not be actively bucket dipping -- taking from other's positive emotion -- [Iam] probably not doing much to make things better."

Umm yeah, let's just be honest here: The diplomatic bucket runneth over duo that wrote this book are telling me I am a g.d. Dipper!

I honestly thought I was a Medium High Impact type, giving in to the urge to dip when some flopsweat really deserved it, but overall I was filling other's buckets with great pleasure and abandon.

Damn!

Continued Adventures In Cat-Butt

Umm....there is really no delicate way to put this: My cat has diarrhea.

Have you ever walked in on something like that? Yikeys!

First it was the smell. As I opened the door, a wave of stench hit me like a bread truck going 90mph. No question as to the source. When you are catching even a whiff of that much cat crap, there is no doubt. The brain does not go, "Hmm, is that poo I smell?". Oh, you know.

I half expected the cat to be dead. A visual flashed across my mind of her getting up to use the litter box when her little cat guts lurch (you know, the 30 second heads-up lurch). Then suddenly, she just explodes from behind and is actually propelled around the room like a balloon losing air, spraying my whole house with liquid poo in the process.

Not the case. As I am staving of dry heaves, she meets me at the door meowing and looking absolutely fine. Not at all bothered by the smell I might add, thus proving the theory "whoever smelt it first, dealt it"

I have to go in there. I have to go in the bathroom where the litter box is kept. There is no way around it. How bad will it be? Where is a damn Hazmat suit when you need it?!

So I gear up with gloves, a dish towel wrapped around my nose/mouth, goggles, and a fly swatter (to use as a slotted spatula, of course). Alright, alright -- I didn't use the goggles or fly swatter, but go visual -- it's pretty damn funny, right?

So, I put my head down and go in. It's bad. Real bad. The thought crosses my mind that it might be better if I just demolish this bathroom and start over. We are in a recession though, so I flip the fan on and start with paper towels and lemon scented Pine Sol.

I manage to get it all cleaned up without puking. Victory......or so I thought...

Sidenote: When you can't wipe your butt AND you have diarrhea, chances are you are going to drip. I'm sorry. Simple facts here.

I point this out because my cat dripped. As I walked out of the bathroom and took a deep, relief filled breath, I see them. Out the door and across part of the living room is a series of little brown reminders of the carnage that took place in the room behind me. They are reminiscent (in a demented, fecal way) of Hansel and Gretel's breadcrumb trail. Even if I am wiping out the cat's way back to the litter box, these have to go. More Pine Sol.

It would be wrong to seal the cat with Wacky Glue so I don't have to go through that again, right?

Can you believe people who write this kind of crap -- about crap – yuck!

Sunshine Go Away Today!

The damn sun is making me feel guilty as hell today. I just want to vege in my sweats, spending the bulk of my day sitting on the couch doing my favorite tri-tasking of laptop whateves, reading, and watching junk TV.

Just like tea and snacks accompany this kind of day perfectly, the weather you need to top it all off has to be cold and overcast, preferably even rainy.

But no, despite my mad craving for a storm so I have the perfect excuse to stay in, it is sunny. Really sunny. 77 degrees. Damnit!

When you try to pull off this sort of day in Indian Summer weather, it isn't cozy, relaxing and mellow. It becomes the hermit like behavior of an agoraphobic tool.

I feel mocked. I feel like the sun is just blaring down judgment on me for not being outside right now. You know how holier than thou stars can be....

Alright, off I go -- gotta Google rain dances and turn this craptacularly bright day around!

Happy Birthday Butthole!

Butthole is my pet name for my brother Sal. He turns 35 today.

Before you go off thinking I am an awful sister, please know that he has equally rough sounding nicknames for me as well. I will not list them here as I do not want to change the setting on this blog to 'Adult Content'. Anyway, it's all done out of love, so it's coolio.

Sal and I are only a little over a year apart, so much of our growing up was done side by side. Over the years, that has woven a lot of great stories into the fabric of our sibling history together.

To commemorate Butthole's big 3 - 5 birthday, I think it is only right and good to tell the Fishtailing On A Chicken Chunk Into A Vomit Puddle story.

Every winter when Sal and I were elementary school aged, it seems we would get the stomach flu. Of course, once one of us had it, it was not long before the other was to fall victim. This particular bout had beaten a path to my GI tract a day or two before Sal's. By Sunday evening, I was feeling better and ready to eat dinner. As my dad makes our plates, Butthole sits down at the table claiming he feels better too. Forgive me for not remembering everything that was on the menu that evening. As the title of this story states, there was definitely chicken, and you are about to find out why I haven't been able to forget that.

Sal starts shoveling food in his pie hole in his usual sloppy, too fast fashion. He then stops to open the cranberry juice. We were one of those families that didn't get soda unless it was a special occasion. Even juice was semi-rare, but my dad believed in cranberry juice so it would grace our table from time to time, when the grocery budget allowed.

Now there is a little blur in my memory here.......but next thing I know Butthole is yacking all over himself -- at the table!! His weepy, pitiful puking has apparently immobilized him and he is stuck in his chair. My dad is aggravated, asking him why he didn't get up if he didn't feel well. He just sits there, whiney and yacks again, covering the edge of the table in front of him and the cap to our beloved cranberry juice. That relegates us back to milk until we can afford non-puked on juice. Jerk.

My dad finally carts Sal off to the bathroom and I help my grandmother start to clean up. As she clears the table, my dad calls to me to get the bucket and the mop.

I don't know if I was supposed to take that instruction as my father telling me to clean up the puke puddle Sal made on the floor next to the table, or if I was just supposed to get it out for him to do. Call me an over achiever, but I thought my dad was peeved enough and I better had just clean this mess up, so I filled the bucket and started to mop.

It looked like Chicken A La King and seemed to have spread everywhere. I was trying to attack it from the sides, and soak it up with the mop. This is my first foray into puke mopping, so I have no idea how efficient I was being. I do know I had my fire engine red highwater school pants on. Shut up -- it was the 80s you haters!

Here's where it gets really messy: My shoe caught a lone chicken chunk off to the side of the puddle and I started to slip on it. Before I can even figure out what is happening, I am in a slow motion slide, doing the splits towards the Chicken A La Puke my brother made. I am using the mop to try and stabilize myself against full contact, but it's no use. The leg sliding on the chicken chunk goes right into the vomity depths of the main part of the puddle, while my back leg ends up kneeling in an outer edge of it. Good times.

All cleaned up and in his jammies, Butthole comes back into the kitchen just in time to see me trying to lift myself out of the mess without getting more puke on myself. Of course, there is no greater elixir for GI health than seeing your sibling thoroughly humiliated.

I survived. Despite picking up some chicken chunks in the aftermath, my bad ass red pants pulled through too, and I think we went in to another school year together.

Obviously Butthole survived, and we will celebrate his birthday Monday.

Good times. We laugh because it is disgusting. We laugh because it is true.

Yo Bro -- you make 35 look fabulous! Much love to you!

Happy Birthday!
d.

Honoring All Who Served

Today is Veteran's Day. Please find a way to remember and honor all of the brave Americans, past and present, that have risen to the call of duty to serve our country.

Serving in our military is one of the toughest jobs this nation has to offer. As someone who has dedicated the last couple of years to reaching out to as many service members as we can, I can tell you how selfless and humble they are about the work they do for us.

They deserve our acknowledgment and respect on this, and ever day.

And a special shout out to Google for observing Veteran's Day with a graphic on their homepage. Rather surprising after they unceremoniously blew off Memorial Day for several years in a row. Good times.

Officer Douchebag

I loan money to friends, and on one occasion, a family member. I know, I know -- worst thing in the world to do. Ruins relationships, right?

Right! This last one has come full circle to bite me in my ample ass. I hate when that happens...

Reader's Digest version: A few years ago I loaned a sizable amount of cash-ish to someone I was currently dating.

Let me digress here: Loaning money to a person you are dating is the coup de grace on stupid money moves. Take the emotionally charged environment already existent, and flame it up with some good ole cash now being open between you two, and voila! You got yourself a nice hot financial mess! Yummy.

Anyway, back on track here.... Not long after said loan, we break up. Whateves. It happens. Officer Douche Bag [name has been changed to protect even the not-so-innocent, but I will provide a pic so you have an ass to put with the story.] signed a legally binding promissory note at the time the loan was made. Built in to that note, is an agreement that monthly payments will be made.

Within two months, checks are bouncing and I am getting every lame excuse ODB can extract from his ass.

The real ass in this story is me though. I let him get away with the theatrics, and the use of my money for about two years.

Last night I talk to ODB and he runs the gamut of ridiculousness throughout. He starts off all business, then he swings to being under the impression that he could keep the money (yeah, that is what signed promissory notes are for) after that he goes on to claim he is a victim of big bad me, then he tries to buy time by saying he is newly married and has to discuss all of this with his wife, and then.........and I love this part........you are going to love it as well...........wait for it..............he thanks me.

I shit you not, he tries to express gratitude for my loaning him the money in the first place -- when he needed it.

Hmmm....

I may be a bit slow, but trying to steal my money doesn't really shout out 'thank you'. It's more screaming of 'I'm an a-hole!', don't you think?

You have taught me a great lesson though ODB, never again will I be able to walk into a situation where I think I can help someone, and do it without a little doubt of their sincerity.

Thanks for that you ass!

Self Proclaimed [and named] Literphiliac

I am a big-time book lover and recently me and a few of my cousins decided to form a small book club.

Anyway, I got to choose this round's selection and I thought I would share what I came up with, here.


1. Let's get it started here with a winner: The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Diaz is 2008's Pulitzer Prize winner in Fiction

Review: The titular Oscar is a 300-pound-plus "lovesick ghetto nerd" with zero game (except for Dungeons & Dragons) who cranks out pages of fantasy fiction with the hopes of becoming a Dominican J.R.R. Tolkien. The book is also the story of a multi-generational family curse that courses through the book, leaving troubles and tragedy in its wake. This was the most dynamic, entertaining, and achingly heartfelt novel I've read in a long time. My head is still buzzing with the memory of dozens of killer passages that I dog-eared throughout the book. The rope-a-dope narrative is funny, hip, tragic, soulful, and bursting with desire. Make some room for Oscar Wao on your bookshelf--you won't be disappointed. --Brad Thomas Parsons


2. Throw food and anything Italian (this one has a Sicilian focus) in a book and you are going to get my attention, and La Cucina: A Novel of Rapture did just that!

Review: Sumptuously appointed, celebratory and sensuous, this debut novel is a mouth-watering blend of commedia dell'arte and Greek tragedy. Prior cooks up a cinematic yarn full of characters so rich you'll fear they're fattening, but readers will be sure to splurge on this saucy tale chock full of sex, recipes and murder. Born in 1915, Rosa Fiore grows up on the family farm in the Sicilian village of Castiglione with six older brothers and her younger Siamese twin siblings, Guera and Pace (war and peace). Rosa spends most of her time in what is really the core of the family, la cucina, the kitchen, which is the outlet for all Rosa's passions except one, her lover, Bartollomeo. ... Ironic humor, fantastical subplot twists, attention to touching detail in setting and tone and a delightful gift for characterization make this sexy black comedy an award-winning recipe for pleasure. The combination of sex and food will undoubtedly invite comparisons with Like Water for Chocolate and 8Y Weeks. Add a dash of Goodfellas, and there's something for everyone.


3. They put locks on diaries for a reason -- because they are so fun to read! A sneak peek into this one looks like a unique perspective into one woman's experience in the wild, wild west: A Thousand White Women: The Journals of May Dodd

In Brief: Based on actual historical events, One Thousand White Women is the poignant story of May Dodd's journey west. Committed to an insane asylum by her blueblood family for an affair with a man beneath her station, May finds that her only hope of freedom is to participate in a secret government program whereby women from the "civilized" world become the brides of Cheyenne warriors. She soon falls in love with John Bourke, a gallant young army captain, even though she is married to the great chief Little Wolf. Caught between two worlds and two men, Dodd is forced to make tough decisions that will change her life forever.

Happy page turning!

Amazing

We just elected Barack Obama the 44th President of the United States. Wow.

High Paid Ho

I hate to even give this woman any more space in my brain, but she and her bullshit story are bugging me.

Looking for background noise while working from home, and taking a chance that the Tyra Banks Show wasn't going to result in my developing an aneurysm, I let it run yesterday.

Natalie Dylan was the guest. This 22 year old recent graduate of Sacramento State now has her degree in Women's Studies from the school. That sounds benign enough, right? Well, here is where it gets good -- no wait -- stupid and contrived is more like it.

Natalie, [Ms. Dylan if you're nasty] is auctioning of her virginity. She has taken [and passed] two lie detector tests in regard to her vestal state and is also willing to submit to a medical exam if asked. But to all you possible bidders out there: Do not ask about what she has actually done sexually because Snow-not-so-white has been down for everything but The Deed. That might not be exactly what one is in the market for when buying a fresh stab at a girl.

Anyway, since this is prostitution, she will be giving it up at the Bunny Ranch which is a legal brothel in Nevada. Apparently she has gotten bids so far topping $3 million.You go girl! Seriously, can you go somewhere? You are making me ill.

Why? Dont get me wrong, I don't really care about the auction itself. I care about what she is saying. One storyline is that she is doing this to pay off school loans since her stepfather cleaned out the family's bank accounts. Then she has this other scenario where her degree in Women's Studies inspired her to do this to show that women can be empowered by choosing whatever it is they want for themselves.

Okayyyyy........so which is it?

And furthermore, what message are you sending to young women and girls in this country? Grow up, get a college degree and then sell your ass -- very empowering!

So empowering in fact that Natalie Dylan is actually a pseudonym our enterprising little buddy chose for herself. Coward.

Too legit to quit is also the fabulous commission the owner of the brothel is getting -- 50%! I bet handing over half the cash wad your hymen pulled in to some fat dude makes a girl feel 10 feet tall. Pimping -- now that is feminism at it's best right?!

The least little bit of respect for "Natalie" that can be gleaned from all of this can only come from sister soldier owning her choice. Use your real name, admit you want as much cash as you can get for this stunt, leave feminism out of it since you have no clue what that is, and get on with it!

Easy Like Sunday Morning Cat-Butt

Sunday mornings are fabulous (so is the word 'fabulous', by the way). I always try to carve out a few hours to do whatever I want, with coffee in hand. You know, just have a little time to unwind and relax. I love 'em.

Well, apparently my dog does too. She has a little different idea of what a relaxing Sunday morning looks like though. She likes to spend hers smelling the cat's butt. That is actually the everyday morning ritual around here, but I only really have time to be disgusted by it on Sundays. I will stick with the coffee under my nose, thank you.

I don't get the attraction, but the two animal train with the canine cat-butt smelling caboose has just made it's third trip through my living room this morning.

The whole thing is gross I know, but I will tell you that I have some respect for it on a dedication level. It may not be the healthy, well adjusted love Peck talks about in The Road Less Traveled but it is committed. I mean this has been going on for over 8 years! There are a lot of marriages that haven't lasted nearly that long, even if they did include butt smelling!

Here's the thing though: The cat shows no sign of appreciation or acknowledgement for what looks like quite a task. Instead, it seems to me that she has developed a pretty snooty sense of entitlement about the whole ritual. That doesn't seem right.

I don't know -- I just have a little bit of what I am sure is poorly placed admiration for sticking to something for that long -- even if it is an unappreciative cat's butt (you know you saw that coming).

I just blogged about my dog's fetish and my cat's butt. That's probably not ideal.


happy Sunday!
d.

Corn Palace

If you ever find yourself in Sunnyvale California and looking for a produce bonanza, go check out the Corn Palace.

This place is awesome! From the yummy variety of fresh fruits and vegetables, to the 5' dynamo of an owner Mr. Francia, it is virtually impossible to walk away without enjoying your visit.

Originally started in 1926 by Joe and Ben Francia's parents, the acreage now stands out as a reminder of the way the area used to be, with orchards flanking the property and the current expressway once being a dirt road.Ben is the surviving brother, and pushing 90 is still running the place. He is fiesty and chatty. He will tell you about the old days, he will tell you what he thinks of this election, and damn straight if you rub him the wrong way, he will let you know what he thinks of you too. I love that about him. He always has a smile on his little, round fleshy face and I love to chat with him a bit when I am there.

And let me own up to playing the race card here and admit that as a fellow Italian I feel a special affinity to Mr Francia and the Palace of Corn. Every time I stop by to pick up a special ingredient for a recipe, I want to bring some of it back to him to try. I lost my courage when I used some of his Roma tomatoes for my maiden voyage on the journey of Bolognese sauce and again when I stuffed zucchini.

Upon leaving there a little while ago, I promised myself (in front of a witness to keep me honest) that the persimmons I bought were going to go into cookies and make their way back to my paisan Ben.

Vivere lungo il palazzo di granoturco!

Happy Halloweeny!

Look at these two nerdbuckets.......HAPPY HALLOWEEEEEN!!

Georgia On My Mind

Columbus Georgia to be exact; home of the Army's Fort Benning.

I was watching a PBS documentary named School of Assasins that investigated what goes on at The Western Hemisphere Institute for Security Cooperation (WHISC or WHINSEC), formerly called School of the Americas.

Originally based in Panama before moving to Fort Benning, WHINSEC trains troops from Latin American countries. They take courses in areas such as combat, leadership and human rights. I think the last one you will find particularly ironic as numerous human rights violations and murders. It's some scary shit, and it gets even scarier when you realize our tax dollars have paid for it all, including the recently completed 30 million dollar renovation or their headquarters.

There is a lot of information out there on the school and the controversary surrounding it. I encourage you to learn more. This is your country. This is your business. This is happening in your very own backyard!

A couple good places to start:

Wikipedia Article on the Western Hemisphere Institute for Security Cooperation

School of the Americas Watch

Nothin To See Here...

I have no idea why I feel the need to post my thoughts on the internet in the form of this blog. Why don't I just get a journal? [If anyone happens upon this, they are going to replace 'journal' with 'therapist'.] The answer is: I don't know. I just feel drawn to do it this way.

Anywho, despite my public airing here, the chances anyone is going to read this are really slim.

I haven't told everyone I know about this, nor did I look into any ways to promote my web-enabled existence on other sites. I am not going to probably have thousands of profile views or comments to my posts. In fact, the more likely outcome is that I can just ramble away largely unnoticed in this vast sea of bloggers.

I kinda like that.

It sort of reminds me of those movie booths in an adult store. Yeah you want some privacy but obviously you are a gamer for taking a chance on being seen publicly too, or you would be a housebound masterbaster.

By the way, one time I saw a line for those little rooms. As I walked in the door, straight ahead there were like 4 or 5 dudes lined up with their backs against the wall, waiting for other dudes to finish roughing up their suspects so they could hop in themselves. I thought that was funny -- and brave in it's own sad, pervy way. But I digress....

I guess my point is that the notion that no one is probably going to read my blog motivates me to be more honest and uncensored. It also makes me feel more brave, and..........okay, sad and semi-pervy too.

Good times.

The Women Of Hope Project

Having started a not-for-profit of my own has never distracted me from a lot of other great causes out there, so I am going to post from time to time about some of my favorites.

Here is one: The Women of Hope Project

WOHP is an organization by women for women to restore hope and dignity to women who have been oppressed and denied personal freedom, health, opportunity, and respect. We hope to create a sisterhood to encourage and provide resources to help these women recover from the traumatic devastation of 23 years of war.

The women of the Women of Hope Project will be the back that these women stand on to rise above the ashes.

Their vision is to provide resources to restore hope and dignity and encourage opportunities for self-sufficiency to Afghan women and their families. Our projects provide training programs and resources supporting daily food and food security needs, economic development opportunities, and vocational and business training.

They are a 501(c)(3) charitable organization in need of all sorts of support from tax deductable monetary donations, to items they can use in their programs.

Betsy Beamon, the founder is an incredible woman. She and I got to know each other at the beginning of the year when our project started reaching out to hers. We have not only purchased items from them to give as gifts, we have donated toys, toiletries, shoes and clothing as well.

Please visit their site [you can click on the link at the top of this post (in orange) or the logo] to learn more about what they do, what they need, and how you can help!

Huffy Baby Flopsweat

If you cracked me open right now like one of those German nesting dolls, I think you would find this punky little baby waiting in there to punch you with that balled up fist. Why? Quite simply: I failed. As you can tell by my inner brat, I am taking it really well.

I started a nonprofit to support deployed military last year and now I am faced with most probably having to dissolve it. We just can't take on any more debt, and I failed to effectively fund raise [my Kryptonite] from the get-go.

So, here I am......looking at debt and failure and feeling like a giant flopsweat.

Yes, I know I am supposed to view this as an opportunity for growth, see the lessons in the stumble and pull myself back up and try again.............no!

I am not there yet. For now, I am just going to sit here and sulk with my inner mental, baby arm cocked and ready for a swift right hook to the next person who tells me this is no big deal -- I did enough.

That is all best saved for everyone who ignored me when I tried to tell them how important this is, and how much these brave Americans need to be remembered and supported while they are serving us -- in a goddamned war!

Yep, I am definitely not there yet.

Hiding the Salami

I did some traveling earlier this week, and I often times get "pulled over" in airports. This is my term for the quality one-on-one time I rack up with the TSA crews across the country.

In Boston's Logan International we did a full take apart of my suitcase and dusted my book and shoes with special swipes to detect something super dangerous. Cleveland Ohio was another fun time when I got pulled from the boarding line, wanded in full jumping jack position and then felt up. You read correctly -- felt up people! The woman doing all of this apologizes as she drops the wand and goes in for full feel. Why? I was told it was because I was wearing an underwire bra. Those commercials do always talk about how dynamic and empowered you will be....who knew it was all in the underwire?!

Anyway, my latest adventure was notable as well. I was flying from San Jose, California to Vive Las Vegas baby! I am meeting one of my favorite cousins there and I have been looking forward to this trip for a while. I can't wait to get on that plane!

I am putting my shoes back on at the end of the security checkpoint, and getting ready to head to my gate when I hear, "Please step over here Ma'am" Here we go. Damnit!

My suitcase is now completely unzipped and this small, 50ish looking soft spoken man is going through every little thing I have packed. This is always very fun for me. Pretty soon he pulls out a 16inch or so cylindrical item that is gift wrapped in tissue paper, with ribbons on the end. He takes it from my bag and holds it with a pretty firm grip as he exchanges a glance with one of his coworkers. He then turns back to me, shakes the gift in a rigorous arm arcing away from the body motion (you know what it looked like given the shape of what he was holding) and simply asks, "Salami?"

Good guess! Yes it is indeed a highly seasoned sausage of pork and beef (Merriam Webster Dictionary definition for you there -- just so we are all clear on what exactly I was packing!)

I affirm his guess and then nervously start to chatter. Who knows why I do this. I mean, how much information does this guy really need?

Well, I can tell you he got more than he needed. The "Salami?" inquiry elicits all sorts of useless commentary, like: "Yes it is a salami. I am Italian and I am meeting a cousin in Las Vegas. The salami is a gift for her; sort of a family tradition"

The gentleman just deadpans while waiting for me to finish yammering away.

I do and eventually my bag is put back together. I am on my way.

He gave me back the salami, by the way. My cousin seemed pretty happy to hear that it came with a complimentary Daniella Is A Giant Nerd story. Good times.

Vive Las Vegas, cured meats, useless diatribe and support for our troops!
D.

Shut Up and Drive!........Whatever

Have you ever seen bumper stickers like that? The anti-cell phone ones that tell you to "Shut Up And Drive"? How rude! You aren't supposed to tell people to shut up. And what makes these people think I cannot do both?

On the 1^st of this month, California joined a few other states in banning the use of hand held cell phones while driving. I know many see this as a total legislation victory. I don’t. I feel lumped in and a little civilly violated to tell you the truth.

Here’s the deal: I am not a moron. I’m an excellent driver, (I know – go Rain man* with it – it’s okay) and a multitasker

I can hold my phone and drive. It’s as simple as that. I still watch the road, I still use my turn signals, and I haven’t hit anything. I can go forward, backward, park, and if I had to, I could pull of a brake-stand as well. Actually, I have hit some stuff, but it happened when I WASN’T on the phone. Add that to the study stats people!

So now I am reduced to using speakerphone while driving because I refuse to put all that crap in my ear. It’s not my problem or my fault that others are terrible drivers. I refuse to be punished for something that doesn’t apply to me!

Are we all good break dancers? Are we all great chemists? Are we all going to excel at blowing up bridges? No. Some of us are going to shine and most of us are going to be mediocre to craptacular. That’s just the way it goes. It’s the same with driving. In this country almost all of us are out zooming around on the roads when the reality is that the majority of us are not going to be very good drivers.

So I want a bumper sticker. I want a big M (for multitasker) for the back of my car. This way the police will be able to easily recognize me for the skilled vehicular pilot that I am, and move on to all of the true road menaces.

Until then, I will get behind the wheel, set the celly to speaker, and scream into it like a stereotypical Italian (I'm Italian so no nasty emails about how mean I am), torturing everyone with the accompanying feedback.

It's not my fault. Get me the sticker, and we can all go back to the good ole days when I got to be a big girl and make my own decisions while driving my own damn car! Thank you.

*Sidenote: Other things I have in common with Rain man

I panic when I burn toast

I repeat myself a lot

Sometimes my brother is a jerk to me

I have brown hair

Remember when they go into the casino dressed alike? My parents did that – dressed me up like my brother when we were little. Good times.

I require a lot of supervision

I like Wheel of Fortune

And…

Of course, I’m an excellent driver! : )

The Man Wall

There is nothing to say. Simply soak in all the man lusciousness.......really sit with it and let your soul be fed.