My first concert ever was to see The Cure. I borrowed my parents’ car in 11th grade, loaded up my two friends, and headed to Albany on a school night. Not before, of course, piling on the eyeliner and collecting some excellent mix tapes for our road-trip soundtrack.

Maybe a year later, I found out that Radiohead was playing at the Hammerstein Ballroom. Excellent news! The problem was that the concert was the next night, sold out, and I naturally had no tickets. Solution? Grab my two friends again, pile on the grungy-punk clothing, and hop on the train to Grand Central. That’s what scalpers are for! Unfortunately, I also learned what “friends” are for that evening…for bailing out on the concert plans when they realized that the tickets were $80 from the man in the greasy coat. I had no choice but to pay for the two freeloaders in addition to myself, but at the time I couldn’t care less. I was getting in to see my future husband, Thom Yorke. What’s $240 to a teenager in heat love?!

Being kids on a mission, we were there way early and had tons of time to score excellent seats. But this is where my complaint begins (there’s always one lurking below the surface). We sat through Teenage Fanclub, the opening act, a band that I wouldn’t appreciate until years later, just waiting for the main event. There were whispers through the crowd about Courtney Love and Marilyn Manson sitting in the balcony or something, but who cared? Ok, maybe we did a little bit, but we were fucking high school kids!

When Thom and company finally took the stage, I was completely besides myself. I’m certain that if I needed to undergo a psychiatric evaulation at that exact moment, I’d be diagnosed as clinically insane. The humungous speaker on my left side kept the music vibrating through my bones and drowned out any possible sing-along I was attempting.

But then the couple arrived.

The dude was leading the way, but he wasn’t exactly the type of guy that commaded a room. He was on the short side and had a very clean-cut hair-do. Once he shoved his way past me and my friends and planted himself, and his female counterpart, directly in front of me, I wanted to stomp him into the floor. Now, mind you, I was a freshman to this whole scene really, and, therefore, could not be held fully accountable for what I was about to do. The fanaticism took control, and I only knew one existence…to get that motherfucker out of my place. This was, after all, my spot on the GA floor. How dare he shove in front of me for the better view?! I imagine that my shock could only equal that of a kid in Disney World being pushed aside for the front seat of the Batman Rollercoaster after having just waited for 3 hours. And then being told that the park was closing. Or maybe a fat guy on the beer line being shoved aside by some frat kid as the beer truck gets tapped out. You get the fucking picture. I was irate, at the least.

Like a wave, the fury too control. After tapping the guy on the shoulder, asking him to move, telling him to move, and then screaming in his ear that he move, I was greeted by his oblivious smiles. Silly boy thought he could ignore me away! Bah! I think at that very moment, the band started playing Planet Telex or something. That anger blended with my bouncing excitement and I began to jump up and down to the song, using the man’s shoulder as a balance for my leaping. Soon, he became a leverage so I could project myself even further into the air. The entire time, he did not budge. What’s more is that he never even turned around to tell my highschooled punk ass to grow the fuck up or he’d bully me out of the place. Later in life, I’d wonder about the chick and why she’d date such a spineless bastard.

Anway, I still love going to concerts, but the idea of General Admission gives me flashbacks of that evening in Manhattan over ten years ago. But whatever. I’m a big girl now, and my permanent scowl typically scares would-be spot-grabbers away before they ever think of striking. Besides, there’s nothing better than dressing up for the evening and pretending, for a moment, that you could possibly score the lead singer. He’s totally going to see me singing along to every song and be so fully impressed. Plus I’m sure he thinks my shirt is hot, and OH MY GOD, he totally just fucking made eye contact…! His people will be coming to find me after the show to invite me backstage, I’m sure…I better linger at the bar…possibly by the back entrance…

*I know, my guy wasn’t a chick with a “pom-pom head,” but that picture cracks me up.

I don’t think I’d get many arguments if I throw the following generalization onto the table: people watching is one of America’s favorite pasttimes.

Whether we actively seek out specimens of fine human existence for visual study or participate on a more casual level, observing fellow mankind in action is basically unavoidable. The fun, as you know, is in assessing such observations as honestly and wittily as possible. Unless, that is, you are one of the few that maintains higher moral ground and does not stoop to such levels that call for mocking our peers on the sly. And if that’s the case, I applaud you. Of course, there’s probably something very wrong with you, and you certainly shouldn’t be reading this site. Ironically, both aforementioned flaws make you a perfect addition to our reader base, so you might as well call your therapist, bump up that appointment, and sit back and browse through the archives.

But I digress.

People watching. Right. It’s all about the honestly and humor of the situation. Case in point: my boy and I were enjoying a fancy-schmancy dinner Friday night, something we like to do every few months or so. We even got all dressed up in grown-up clothes. The restaurant had a great view of the Hudson and we caught a glimpse of some flurries beyond the massive windows as we dined. The waitress was young and cute, but not too cute, and she wore one of those aprons that stretches all the way to the floor. I mean, that in itself is enough to tell you you’re going to drop a couple of Benjamins by the time the night is through.

Did I digress again?

Ok, so we’re eating, right? There were a few other parties enjoying their meal, and we entertained ourselves by eavesdropping on our neighbor’s conversation about some young relative with a ticking biological clock. Thankfully, by the time our appetizer arrived, a couple came in and sat behind us. My boy had a perfect view and proceeded with a play-by-play. I poured myself some more wine.

We spent some time giggling at their lack of fine breeding, but that was cut short when my salad arrived and I made a terrible error. After digging around the mesulun mix with my fork, I realized the prepared mouthful would be too large. What’s a girl to do? Well, push some of it off, of course….with her finger! Well, not one to miss a beat, my boy chimed in on my behavior, citing it as uncouth, an observation I heard as “you might as well go sit with the degenerates at table 14.” Dismayed, I blamed it on the wine and proceeded eating. Now my boy took up his fork and dove into his Caesar salad. As he looked over my shoulder at the degenerates, he suddenly realized that they were doing shots at the table. Shots! At our posh eating establishment! At the table! And he’s pretty sure it was tequila! As he formed his lips to share this newsflash, a single crouton found the opening in his mouth and launched itself, with a perfect arched trajectory, onto the table.

I spent several moments laughing the mascara off my face and wiping it onto my white cotton napkin. Then it dawned on me how well WE would serve as a specimen for people-watching. In fact, the degenerates could be laughing about our lack of fine breeding at this very moment! So I began to make a mental tally. Here’s what I came up with:

Incident #1

Degenerates: Female degenerate’s forearm decorated with tasteless, Disney-inspired tattoos. Her attire for the evening seemed to accentuate them rather than disguise.

Team Jenna: Jenna’s new haircut kind of looks like a mullet from certain angles, and her attempts at styling it for the fancy-schmancy dinner failed miserably and possibly served to accentuate, not hide, the feathering.

Winner: DEGENERATES

Incident #2

Degenerates: Male degenerate is dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, possibly and probably picked up as a two-for combo at Wal-Mart or Target. I believe there may have been a size sticker still attached to the back of his thigh.

Team Jenna: Boy arrives at the restaurant looking studly in a suit and no tie, but wearing his distressed Miller High Life ball cap, also purchased as a combo with matching t-shirt at the local Wal-Mart.

Winner: TEAM JENNA

Incident #3

Degenerates: Female degenerate is twice the size, height and width, of her male companion…so much so that Team Jenna deduces its impact on their sex life.

Team Jenna: Jenna, prior to leaving the house, realizes she has very little to wear. She decides upon an out-of-season top paired with too-large slacks and too-short heels, resulting in a look that is quite Romper Room, if you ask her.

Winner: DEGENERATES

Incident #4

Degenerates: Um, did I mention the shots of Tequila?

Team Jenna: When ordering a $43 bottle of wine, Team Jenna misreads the menu and asks for something that does not exist, sennding the waitress and her small impromtu search party on a 20 minute mission impossible in the wine cellar.

Winner: Draw. (Depends on the type of tequila…)

So there you have it. I’m not sure who got the better end of the deal for that evening’s people-watching, but my money’s on whoever had the best view of both our tables.

PS. Live in NYC?? Don’t forget to go watch the sexy ladies of Girlspoke at SMUT, tonight!! (And it’s not often that I double up on my end-sentence punctuation.)

So, you haven’t exactly been flooding my inbox with concerned and worried emails. It’s ok. I know how to read your silence. That’s why I’m here; because I don’t want you to fret any longer. I’ve been on a brief hiatus, and my story can be heard here. It’s a long tale, full of stormy nights and dangerous creatures, but it’s important that you all know the truth. Even more important? That you consider this post to be humorous…so humorous, in fact, that you disregard the fact that I can’t really take credit for much of the humor.

So, with that, rest assured that I shall return next week. And by “rest assured” I mean, get wildly excited. If you could jump up and down a little, that would be nice. It’s ok, no one is watching.

Aries (March 21-April 19)

Aries, this will be the year of ultimate adventure for you. That trip to the mountains? Fantasizing about a foursome? Whatever your particular urgings have been last year, 2007 is all about doing and not thinking. In other words, it’s going to be a return to normalcy in a sense. You may not notice it now, but 2006 was kind of lame by your standards. And if you don’t believe me, let’s make a date to meet back here in exactly one year. Your stories and reflections of the past twelve months will invariably begin with “You’ll never believe this, but…” or “Oh man, and then this one night…”, etc. You’ll be earning bragging rights here very shortly, so you best brace yourself.

Taurus (April 20-May 20)

My bulls have to be cautious this year. Your inclination toward jealousy and rigidity could have some devastating consequences in 2007. Thus far, you’ve been able to keep these traits at bay enough not to alienate those that you love. But I’m foreseeing some very trying times for you towards the middle of the year. Here’s the bottom line: don’t be a selfish bastard. Seriously. You kind of have been lately, and no one has been courageous enough to inform you of this. There is some good news though. If you take this opportunity as it presents itself, you’ll have one of the best years of your natural born life. You know, as opposed to the best of your unnaturally born life. And that year was pretty fucking solid.

Gemini (May 21-June 21)

Twins, as I’m sure you may have noticed, you experienced a bit of a surge in your productivity as 2006 dwindles down. Last year, you’d plateaued so unceremoniously that your energy actually took the form of inspiration and assertion rather than mindless dribble. (Let’s face it.) The important thing is that you maintain your focus on worthwhile projects. Your charm and, well, charm, will always keep you afloat, but let’s make sure that you’re adrift in the ocean and not some quagmire. Self-awareness, my friend, is what 2007 is all about. Don’t let your nerves–or tendency to fall into other peoples’ beds, naked–get in your way. Stay the course. Or something.

Cancer (June 22-July 22)

2007 is going to be a banner year for the Cancer cluster. I normally rag on you people for being too touchy-feely and all sensitive and shit. Of course, I usually have reason (however fabricated) for such criticisms! This go-around, I’m sensing that your intuitions will vastly overshadow your abandonment complex. So let’s turn off the Moonlight Sonata soundtrack that has been clouding your judgement in 2006. Got it? Ok, now listen closely because this does not happen often. I’m about to give you the Jenna pep-talk: You are a strong, kickass, foul-mouthed (go with it) motherfucker (not in the literal sense…I mean, unless you are in fact, dating or married to a mother. But this is a metaphor, asshole.). Choke down your tears as often as you can this year. I promise it will help you accomplish more than you ever thought possible. Or, you know, just increase your unresolved issues, thereby leading to a rise in your therapy costs. But I’m no financial analyst.

Leo (July 23-August 22)

Leo, you’re another one that I’ve been rough on over the ages. So, here’s the thing…your positive traits will rule the skies in 2007. Of course, that’s got to be a good thing, but, naturally, there’s a downside too. Warmhearted optimism is typically kept at bay by your overbearing ways, but I have a feeling that you’re going to leave your guard down at a critical time. Here’s the real kicker though…no matter what you do, this is going to happen. You will be crushed, jaded, taken advantage of in all the wrong ways, etc. But but but! I promise that undergoing this humiliating experience will leave you feeling refreshed. I swear. I mean, giving further details would simply be messing with fate, and though I am close to perfection, I’m no God. Just go with me on this one. Touchy-feely looks good on you!

Virgo (August 23-September 22)

Now, my Virgos out there are going to have the most eventful year by far. In every facet of your life, you’ll be experiencing some sort of change, mostly in a good way. Career? Check. Love life? Check. Financial bid-nass? Check. So, because you’ll be having such a grand ol’ time this year, you need to make sure that you keep all skepticism and worrying at bay. With such strong forces in your world in 2007, worrying about these changes will be as smart as using an umbrella in the midst of a hurricane. You’ll still be drenched and now your Nautica rain-gear ensemble is missing the most important piece. And wouldn’t that just be such a sonofabitch.

Libra (September 23 - October 22)

Libra, this could be a make-or-break you kind of year. You’re going to be floating about in some new circles and meeting lots of new folks. Whether socially or for business purposes, it would behoove you (that’s right, I said it) to make a lasting impression on these boys and girls. My caveat for you is that these people are different. You’ll likely think them as stuffy or arrogant, but hold off on any final judgements until you’ve seen them drunk at least 5 or 6 times. There’s going to be more there than meets the eye. And in your case, if you don’t withhold your criticisms, you’re going to be made out to possess the asshole qualities that you’d pegged them to have.

Scorpio (October 23-November 21)

Sometimes as an astrologer you have to be the bearer of bad news. When I heard recently that there was a black hole in Uranus I didn’t want to believe it. I bet you’re wondering what this all means for you, well we’ll need to examine this. The thing with black holes is that they’re tricky little fuckers, kind of like “opposite day” and a flushing toilet south of the equator. So everything you try to accomplish will ultimately fall apart, or turn to shit so to speak, and spiral downward in the wrong direction. If you can somehow keep yourself under the radar you may come out unscathed but I make no guarantees. Oh, and Venus is lazy in your sign so your love life will suck too.

Saggitarius (November 22-December 21)

Sag, you’re such an optimist and this year it’s finally paying off (unlike years past when you received glares every time you belted out your rendition of… Be Optimistic, but perhaps it had something to with the curls in your hair and the stupid good ship lollipop looking dress you always wore.) Looks like you’re getting what we astrologers like to call the Stellar Trifecta. This means you’ll be lucky with love, money AND health. Goddamn! But be careful with all this good luck because there’s sure to be some envious folks out there, especially Scorpios, so keep it all under wraps then at the next NYE celebration you can gloat like a fat pig.

Capricorn (December 22-January 19)

What’s up Cappy? Looks like this year has already started out with a bang (did you get laid at the New Years Eve party?). But this little high you’ve been on is fleeting. Come Valentine’s Day your holiday fling will become more like a burden and you’ll long for the days you spent Valentine’s alone eating ice cream or in a sports bar. Then once you finally rid yourself of your attachments you’ll long to be back in their arms again. Ah, my dear, don’t you know you can’t have it all? In fact this looks to be like your year of regrets, you’ll regret every single decision you make, you’ll regret not making decisions. Rock and a hard place…sound familiar? My best suggestion is to hire a personal advisor to follow you around to make your decisions for you (my rates are reasonable).

Aquarius (January 20 - February 18)

Phew, you must be tired! Worn out from the holidays? Well, you need some rest, pronto, or you’ll drive yourself into the ground and you need your energy this year. If you’re single you’ll need to gear up for all dating you’ll be doing, crazy-mad dating, commando dating, I tell you. But don’t get your fatigues on just yet cause you’ll first need to get over your pickiness when it comes to choosing partners. You know what I’m talking about. So she’s got a wooden leg, so what? He’s your cousin? Get over it. Because if you continue to limit your possibilities you’ll not only end this year much like you did last year but you’ll be another year older and that just sucks.

Pisces (February 19-March 20)

My dear Pisces, you may be a fish but this year you’re the dark horse of the astrological landscape. What does that mean exactly? Well, it looks like you’ll be given a ton of opportunities this year and your outcome depends on what you do with these opportunities. My best advice would be to accept all invitations, say yes to your boss everyday ten times a day, drop a quarter in every panhandler’s cup, and make a lot of impulse purchases. This way you’ll make sure you don’t get fired from your job, you won’t be mugged on the subway, you’ll keep getting invitation, and you’ll have a ton of stuff that you can ultimately re-gift next Christmas. Whatever you do, don’t make a wrong move or it will all fall apart. Good luck and let me know how it goes.

This may be difficult for some of you, but imagine for a moment that us girls over here at GS are slacking at the moment. Perhaps we’re all draped about the heartshaped bed, maybe hungover, possibly snoring, hardly clothed. And then Meme’s voice pierces the muffled silence of gorgeous, scantily-clad, somewhat smelly girls in slumber…

“Is somebody gonna fucking post today, or what?!”

Inevitably, Jenna rises to the occassion, but not without stepping on Brandy’s arm and kicking Heather in the shin. It’s a mess, really. And the bottom line is that I have nothing original to say to you when I’m in this state. I could contemplate why I thought peach schnapps was a good idea, but where does that ever get anyone? Or maybe you want to know about my fondness for feeted pajamas. But, alas, another time.

Today, my friends, I’m putting it all on you. Just like Time.

Today’s post is all about YOU, because, well, I really want to get back under my covers before the spot gets cold. And because, maybe I’ve been neglecting you. Maybe you have something really important, or witty, or insulting to say. And just maybe you haven’t felt that the opportunity has yet arisen. Today, my friend, is that opportunity. Today is your turn to shine. Or, at least, do a bit of my job for me.

So let’s hear it. Write a post. Write a topic. Write a comment. Write what you are eating for lunch, and how it’s so delicious that you’re going to bring me some of it, too. Write whatever you want, readers. Today is all about you.

See? You can even borrow our bedroom mirror.

Here’s your present!

I know, I know. You’ve seen it already. But it’s Christmas, people! You should be in church, not looking at explicit videos.

All this talk of exes and breakups and being non-attached has really got me thinking:

Is it possible to dump your mother? I know this isn’t exactly in the spirit of the holiday season and all, but I’m really at my wit’s end with my own mom. And, I’m sure I’m not the only one out there feeling this pain. So my logic has brought me here. Is breaking up with your mom possible, and, if so, how would one go about such a thing?

Let’s just run with the premise for a moment and presume that this maternal divorce were possible. What do you think the most common “line” would be?

It’s just not working out?
I’ve met another mom…?
You’re a raging, selfish bitch?
I’ll just post about you on my blog and hope you read it and get the hint…?

And then, once the barrier is broken, how would things be afterward? I mean, would there be visitation rights for family pets? How would the old furniture be split…I mean, I know I didn’t buy that bedroom set, but I have used it for like, most my life. Is that kind of thing going to fly? Even if I can prove that she’s maniacal? How about the lawyers? Would I still get the $399 deal from that guy in the stripmall?

Is it even going to be possible to remain friends? How the hell are we going to act at family parties? Do I lose that entire half of the family when I split with her? Because, I mean, I kind of like my brother quite a bit. It’d be a shame to have to lose him in the mix…

I mean, I’m obviously just fishing around here, because, as usual, I propose more questions than answers for you all. But I can’t help but think that this type of scenario would be possible. I just need to be able to shake this undying guilt complex despite my valiant efforts to patch up something that is quite ready for the scrap heap. So, yeah. If any of you think you’ve got the cure for that one, lay it on me. Muchos grassy-ass and all those pleasantries.

PS. I found that picture on truechristian.com. I couldn’t help myself.

Not only was my post last week an poorly thought-out rant, but it was also in place of a Horospokeâ„¢ that I owe you all. I’m dreadfully sorry you needed to go through the first week of this month without a clue as to how to behave, or how to guide your actions. But all is well now; Miss Jenna is here. And, of course, we’ll go with an appropriate holiday theme.

Next month will bring your big-bang into the New Year, traditional horospoke. However, for this month, choose the gift that you’d most like to recieve this year for Christmas (or whateverthefuck) and read your corresponding fortune. As always, if you’re still confused as to how this works, bang your head against the wall several times and try again.

The Nintendo Wii

Here’s the craze of the gaming world this season. Even my brother waited on line, as number 43, to be told that they only had 42 units. The appeal? You get to move more and stuff, from what I understand. The drawbacks? Gamers are already complaining that the remote can easily fly from your hand and crack expensive equipment that, evidently, gamers like to put directly in front of their hands while playing. Your fortune for this holiday? Try actually playing tennis. Or going bowling. Or shooting at people. Well, maybe not the last one. But whatever you do this holiday season, remember to hold onto your Wii, for fuck’s sake.

Diamonds

No, just plain gold won’t really cut it for you. And you may be content with your birthstone, again, this year, but it’s not going to make you truly happy. Well, that’s probably because you’re a selfish bitch. Sorry, kid. No more coddling; it’s all tough love from hear. Not only can your man not really afford it, but haven’t you heard about the demonic things surrounding the diamond mining industry? Damn, there’s even a movie coming out with Leo DiCaprio…and YES, he IS still alive, isn’t that crazy?

Puppy or Other Animal-Type Creature

You realize that this is quite juvenile, don’t you? I mean, really. A puppy? Do you expect it to have a red ribbon around its neck too? You clearly have not thought this through. I mean, unless you’re suffering from empty nest syndrome, you are not fully eligible for this gift this year. Plus, you’ve got some serious issues to address. Yes, really. Puppies piss. On your floor. And eat. Like, eat your shoes. And then? Then they poop and you get to step in it. Yeah, isn’t that just so cute? And don’t even get me started if you’re actually going to BUY one and not adopt from your local shelter. This season, it’s time to grow up. And maybe buy a Chia Pet. See how you do with that first.

Lingerie

Lingerie is nice and all, but the fact that you’re actually hoping you’ll see it packaged under the tree this year is where your problem begins. You see, lingerie is an inherently selfish gift to give. Sure the girls like to wear it, but that’s not why the boy is buying it. You hear me? Secondly, you really should be the one to purchase it. If he’s resorting to handing it to you in front of your relatives on Christmas morning, you’ve missed some other major hints along the way. If you’re desiring lingerie, you best get your booty to Vicky’s and buy it your damn self. Even better? Wrap it up and give it to him. Let’s think outside the box this season.

Plasma Screen TV

Similar to the puppy scenario, I’m not sure that you’ve fully thought this one through. I mean, once you have the high-def, super plasma television, you’re going to need the upgraded cable service. Plus, you should really have a DVR. And while you’re at it, maybe some surround sound to fully grasp the effect of the images on your crisp screen. Goddamn, that’s getting pricey, isn’t it? You can afford to wait a few more years more than you can afford to receive this thing for Christmas. Don’t let your temptations get the best of you this year. What’s that? You can afford it? Then why in the hell aren’t you contributing more to the damn Girlspoke Drinking Fund, you bastard?!

Tools

You are probably among the best of hearts this holiday season. Seriously: you are hoping for a gift that is going to put you in line to do more work than you currently do. How is that anything other than awesome? Well, I suppose an argument could be made for maniacal, but we’ll err on the side of caution so we don’t go to Hell and stuff. Don’t be the schmuck that asks for it only so it can clog up your garage or storage closet, though. Because those shits are expensive. But you’re so not the type, I can just tell. And while we’re chatting, could you take a look at this chair I’ve got? It’s got a bit of a wiggle…

A Good Lay

Sigh. I hear you and everything, but this is gonna take more than a couple of wishes to the fat guy in the sleigh. You’ve got to be taking a more proactive stance on this. What can you do to improve your chances, you ask? The list goes on and on, my friend. Hit the gym, tone that ass, work on them kegels, and learn to be vocal above all else. I’m not saying you need to get all dominatrix, but a few sexy suggestions are all he or she needs to get the right moves. And if you’re not sure what it is that you’re craving, then I suggest you just wish for some porn for Christmas instead. You know, to get the jui…err…ideas, um, flowing.

Toys

Pervert.

I spent most of my weekend–like, all of it–painting a room in my house. One room. The smallest room, actually, in my house. I probably used a total of one gallon of paint, and I even had, at one point, three other girls assisting me. All the brushes are cleaned and drying, the blue tape has been removed, and furniture has been replaced to its original stomping ground. The odor is even starting it’s slow process of dissipation.

But fuck me if I can’t help but sit here and be miserable. And yes, I’ve already assessed the situation: no splashes of paint on the carpet or other inappropriate spots, all friends left in amicable moods and still on speaking terms, and no moments of realization resulting in last-minute and time-consuming trips to Wal-Mart for that damn paint roller. Nope, everything went relatively smoothly.

So why am I miserable? Other than the fact that I’m a perfectionist, I’ve narrowed it down to one of two things. Either I have stupid friends, or I just hate painting. I’m not sure, but I think it’s the latter.

Yep, cue the list…

Top ten reasons it’s a good thing Jenna didn’t become an interior designer (in no particular order):

1. Because stencils require measuring. And taping. And waiting for shit to dry. Failure to follow such measures results in an effect similar to that of your finger-painting days.

2. I really wish I could still just use finger paints and spent a considerable amount of time contemplating the idea.

3. There’s actually some merit behind the reason why painter’s tape was invented. And why, like, professionals use it.

4. Because although I can pick out two colors that match, I can’t exactly remember that there’s cherry wood edging-stuff in the room that may, in fact, clash with those lovely hues.

5. I say things like “edging-stuff.”

6. I took two days to paint a small room. With lots of help. My rates would be astronomical.

7. And, in the end, I’d still be unfinished. And sad. Except you’d have to live with it, not me.

8. Because I think it’s appropriate to play loud, obnoxious music when I’m painting. It dulls the pain. I’d likely do the same thing in your house.

9. God, how do you get paint off domestic animals?

10. Because, after typing up this entire list, I *just* realized that an interior desinger would probably have some goon do her painting for her. But I just wrote this entire fucking post! Fuck.

Fuck. I have paint in my hair, ok? And that’s after a shower. If anyone tells me about the paint on my nose today at work, I’m going to tell them it’s not paint. It’s cancer, ok? Green, freckle-y cancer. Now aren’t YOU the gigantic, insensitive asshole!

My back hurts, too.

I know, I know. No one gives a flying fuck. Isn’t that the worst part about wanting to whine? Does anyone ever really care or feel the sorrow that you so desperately desire? Damn. I hate painting.

Ladies and gentlemen, clearly the must-have toy of this holiday season is an AquaPet. Now, now. I know…you’ve already seen the newsflash on boing boing. But I’m reviving this bulletin for a few very special reasons. First, it’s always fun to look at:

Plus, you can purchase them for your male children with a Spongebob Squarepants model.

OR SO YOU THOUGHT! Here’s where the news grabs hold. I’m about to get Dateline on your asses. You see, when I was sent the link to check out this oddly packaged toy, I was redirected to amazon’s error page.

But surely this was a mistake. I tried again. Then, I tried by going to the home page and starting the search from scratch. Still, nothing. According to amazon dot com, no products matched such a search term. What in Sam Hill is going on here, I pondered. This link was merely days old and already amazon was trying to erase history? There had to be more to this story…

My first stop was eBay. Swiftly, I landed two hits for the Aquapet. Two? Only two? And wait…the seller is in Australia?! The only thing that made sense was that the bids were about triple the value of the penis toy. I shook my head. Now, I can’t make any accusations here, but I’m certain that either that auction is going to be “cancelled” at the last minute, or Nick Junior’s execs are sitting with their Blackberries glued to their pudgy thumbs, ready to pounce and peck as soon as they’re outbid.

But I couldn’t sit and dwell. This was a mystery to unfold. Certainly Yahoo Shopping would be able to show me some other sites still hawking the Dora Penis Dome. A couple of clicks and my heart, again, sinks. Amazon must have beaten me to the punch.

Only available from the site that denies their very existence. Sigh.

You know, I’m not sure if I should be worried or impressed. I’m not sure why Dora is being singled out here, but this has got to be one of the most impressive attempts to erase history since my 8th grade social studies textbook. Who knew amazon had so much power? And more importantly, WHY DORA? Perhaps most importantly, I wonder if they do traffic tickets?