A review of Neil Gaiman’s Coraline (the book, not the upcoming movie) is at Heretical Ideas.

Reviews since we last talked: The Cramps, Soft Cell, Beastie Boys, Marilyn Manson

Story #4 in 52 stories: Happily.

And, of course, I’m always on Facebook and twitter when I’m not here.

behold the power of the snuggie!


I did this on Facebook, but I know most of you probably don’t even know I have a FB let alone look at it, I’ll torture you with it here as well. I tagged a bunch of FB people but, as usual, if you are reading this, consider yourself tagged.

Also, these things are kind of silly but awesome for content when you are lacking anything else to put on your blog.

What does your music library say about you?

1. Put your media player of choice Shuffle (I am on the only person on the planet still using Winamp).
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.
3. You must write down the name of the song no matter how silly it sounds!
4. Put any comments in parentheses after the song name.
5. Tag at least 10 friends

Also, you’re supposed to use the answer to the last question as your title.

What do your friends think of you?
Another State of Mind – Social Distortion [this is most likely true]

If someone says, “Is this okay?” You say?
Sheep – Pink Floyd- [alternately, i might say baaaaaa]

How would you describe yourself?
Unstable – Life of Agony [well, i guess that couldn’t have worked out any better if i cheated]

What do you like in a girl?
Beer – Fear [well, you are more fun when you’re drunk]

How do you feel today?
Plans I Make – Husker Du [very fitting, in a re-examining my life sort of way]

What is your life’s purpose?
Breaking Free – Gorilla Biscuits [YES!]

What is your motto?
Dumb Fun – Juliana Hatfield [works for me]

What do you think about very often?
Junk – NoMeansNo [insert dick joke here]

What do you think of your best friend?
Accept Yourself – The Smiths [very interesting…]

What do you think of the person you like?
Panty Raid – Murphy’s Law [oh yea, raid my panties, baby]

What is your life story?
Losing Your Mind – The Accused [i think my winamp is sentient]

What do you want to be when you grow up?
Organ Grinder – Marilyn Manson [only if i can have a little monkey sidekick]

What do you think of when you see the person you like/love?
Super Bob Bon – Soul Coughing [because he’s delicious like a bon bon? hey, i’m trying here]

What will you dance to at your wedding?
The Evil Powers of Rock and Roll – Supersuckers [i suppose if we ever got married, this would work]

What will they play at your funeral?
Chewbacca – Supernova [that would rule]

What is your hobby/interest?
Here Comes Your Man – Pixies [if love is a hobby, i’d like to go pro. i have no idea what that means, but it sounded good in my head]

What is your biggest fear?
Rooster – Alice in Chains [Yes, I fear the rooster, for he is an evil rooster!]

What is your biggest secret?
Disco’s Out, Murder’s In – Suicidal Tendencies [Well now you know. I murdered disco. You’re welcome.]

What do you think of your friends?
Hooker With a Penis – Tool [apparently i run with a pack of tranny whores. sorry i let your secret out, guys]

What will you post this as?
Rock n Roll Nightmare – Rich Kids on LSD [isn’t it, though?]

Tag, you’re it.

Dear Women Who Don’t Like Football,

Now, I am not a HUGE football fan. I used to be. I used to plan my Sundays around games and wear my jerseys (Packers/Jets) and spend my entire Monday mornings thinking about what went wrong. But I’ve let my fandom slip away and I’m more of a casual observer now. Still, it’s Super Bowl Sunday and there’s nothing like an excuse to eat all kinds of junk food and yell at some football players to get me sitting in front of the tv on a Sunday again.

But what does the woman who does not like football do on a day which her significant other considers a High Holy Day?

Oh, there are at least a hundred articles out there detailing how women can enjoy the Super Bowl even though they hate sports. Because, you know, there are no women who like sports. Not at all. We’re all running around in our high heels and pearls, acting all silly and dumb and watching Desperate Housewives in between making some pie and birthing babies.

Oh, look. Here’s one. 10 Easy Tips to Enjoy Super Bowl Sunday (Even If You Are a Girl)

My favorite:

6. Toilet Penalties and Seat Fouls. Every time the boys leave the seat up, girls get a 2 minute reprieve from the football talk. Feel free to bring up any non Super Bowl related topic for two whole minutes without being shushed!

Ladies? You know that myth about Super Bowl Sunday being the day when most wives/girlfriends get a domestic beating? It probably stems from all the women who have ever tried something like this. Don’t be a statistic, ok?

A few of the other tips on that page boil down to this:

Show your tits, shake that ass, pry his eyes away from the tv with promises of sex that you’ll never make good on. And if all else fails, pretend to know something about football.

As one of those women who actually likes football, I’ll give those of you tempted to follow this misleading advice a few pointers.

First of all, there are few things more annoying than watching a game with someone who feigns an interest. We don’t want to answer your incessant questions, especially “what color are we again?” You’ve had all season to pretend to be interested in football. Super Bowl Sunday is not the time to start asking why the guy with the whistle is waving his arms like that.

Second and most important piece of advice: Why don’t you just leave the game watchers alone instead trying to ingrain yourself into their world? Can you imagine the uproar if a bunch of men walked in on your scrapbooking party and started wagging their dicks and pretending to care about your creative borders and special scissors? Someone would end up with the nickname Bobbit, that’s what would happen.

It’s obvious when you’re faking it, I just want you to know that. I’ve been at many Super Bowl parties where women have been hostile towards the females actually watching the game because we were allowed in the inner sanctum of the couch in front of the tv, rather than being relegated to the back of the room or the kitchen. Why are we let in? Because we really have an interest in, and knowledge of, the game. Listen ladies, our interest in the NFL is not going to somehow going make your spouse stick his tongue down our throats. Nothing could be farther from the truth, girls. I could sit there stark naked with a vibrating dildo in my hand and your husband wouldn’t even notice. The only things on his mind are wings, beer and the end zone. That end zone. Not mine. Or yours.

Just let it go, girls. If you hate football, give the day over. Don’t spend hours trying to figure out a way to insert yourself into the picture; it will only cause resentment later. Go find all the people you know who don’t care about football and start your own party. Get sloppy drunk and sing hair metal karaoke. Strip down to your underwear and play Twister. Or watch a Women in Peril marathon on Lifetime. . Whatever floats your boat, ladies. I just know there are guys out there who hate football, too, and I’m sure they’d be happy to join you rather than trying to spend another winter Sunday trying to play the part of interested participant.

Super Bowl Sunday is not Take Back Your Man Day. It’s not an opportunity to discuss toilet bowl etiquette or ask what those white lines all over the field are.

And really, it’s not you who annoy me so much as the insistence of the media to put out stupid articles on how women can get their man’s attention on Super Bowl Sunday. Attention news people: There are lots of women who like football. And there are also lots of women who don’t feel threatened by their men who do.

[In the interest of full disclosure, I have no favorite in this game, so I’m rooting for the Steelers because, Franco Harris. As good a reason as any, I suppose]

[Note: This week’s story for 52 stories is here: Happily]

Unlike the rich friends I had in high school, I was not afforded a brand spanking new BMW upon receiving my license in 1980. No, I had to purchase my very first car on my own. It wasn’t easy to save money on my four dollar an hour salary I got for slicing lunch meats at my uncle’s deli, but I scrimped and saved and cut down on my drug and alcohol expenditures and soon had enough to get myself a decent used car. I had these visions of getting a used nice car, like a Chevelle or Mustang or even a souped up Nova like my neighbor had, but my dreams were crushed when I realized exactly what kind of car $800 would get you in 1980.

I became the proud owner of a 1973 Oldsmobile Omega. Maybe it wasn’t sporty or fast or sexy or brand new, but let me tell you, that car was one solid piece of machinery. When I was behind the wheel of that thing, I felt invincible, like I was driving a tank.

Soon after I got the car, my younger sister got her learner’s permit. She begged me daily to take her driving, but I kept blowing her off with the excuse that with her permit, she was only supposed to drive with someone over 21. Sure, at that age traffic laws are meant for breaking. Unless not breaking them is convenient for you. I just did not my sister driving my car, so I feigned obedience to the law.

And then one fateful day, her constant begging and nagging wore me down. I picked her up from school and decided to let her drive home, just to get her shut up. Oh, you see where this is going, don’t you?

She pulled out of the school parking lot, made the left at the light, did all the right things like turning on her directional and checking her side view mirror. It was going good. I relaxed a bit. She accelerated as we hit the main road and got it up to 50 before I reminded her that the speed limit was 40. But she wasn’t paying attention to me. She was waving out the window to get the attention of her friend who was standing on the corner.

“Jo….” A traffic light was approaching. She kept waving at the friend.
“Jo…..” That traffic light was red. The friend on the other side of the street was waving back.
“JO!” The light was not just turning red, not briefly red, but red as if it had been yelling “Stop, you moron!” at us for the past ten feet.

By the time I actually got the words “Fucking brakes!” out of my mouth it was too late. I saw the car coming at us on my side. It was barreling through the intersection at a good clip and, well, it had the green light. I’m sure as that driver lazily sped through under her green light, she wasn’t expecting to see a car zooming in front of her. But there were were.

I braced myself for impact, which is what you are not supposed to do, in theory, but what your body automatically does, in practice. The sounds of the Clash’s Brand New Cadillac coming from my cassette player gave way to the sound of metal upon metal and screeching brakes. The other car slammed us broadside, so hard that its license plate became embedded in my back passenger door. The Omega spun and turned and ended up on the median, a “No U Turn” sign inches from my face in front of the windshield.

When the car stopped moving, I took stock of the situation. I was alive. My sister was alive. In fact, we were both kind of sitting where we had been at moment of impact even though neither of us were wearing seat belts. The engine was hissing, the woman who had hit us was screaming something, and Brand New Cadillac was still playing. I heard voices outside the car “Holy shit, did you see how hard they got hit?” “They have to be dead!'” “I’m afraid to look in there!” “Dude, that was sick!” There were people milling around the car. Finally, someone poked his head in the driver’s window and was surprised to find two young girls, very much alive and not the least bit hurt.

I turned to my sister, trying to be a bit compassionate since she was probably very shaken up. I resolved to save my abject anger at her until later.

“Are you ok?” She looked up at me, nodded, and then:

“I broke my fucking nail!”

That’s when I started punching her.

That the car completely wrecked and we escaped unscathed, is quite the testament to the strength and tank-like qualities of the 1973 Oldsmobile Omega. They don’t make them like they used to.

To this very day, my sister will insist that her light was green, maybe yellow, but not red yet and the lady that hit us was in the wrong. I have given up pointing out the obvious, like the fact that the other lady got nary a ticket, or that she couldn’t get her license until she was 18 because of the accident, or that there were several witnesses that refute her story of innocence. She can believe what she wants to believe. In my world, she wrecked my first car and, while I’ve forgiven her for it, I make sure to never let this story rest.

So, what was your first car?

25 things

In case you haven’t heard (most likely from me complaining on twitter), I’ve been down with the bubonic plague the past few days. Just in case my seven or so readers have been wondering about me. And it seems in those few days I was AFB (you know, away from blog), I was tagged several times in another one of those “tell me more personal details about your life so we can further strip away any anonymity the internet provides you” memes. Well, I just recently did the seven things and it’s pretty damn hard to come up with 25 more things that would be semi-interesting even for someone who liked me. But I’ll certainly try. In a roundabout way.

Rules: Once you’ve been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you. Ok, then.

1. Michele does not have herpes.
2. Michele is not currently doing the Humpty Dance.
3. Michele has the “fail whale” as her desktop background at both work and home.
4. Michele now refers to Firefox as “Mozzarella Firefox” thanks to her best friend’s kid.
5. Michele does not really enjoy talking about herself in third person.
6. Michele will therefore stop talking about herself in third person after this.
7. I am good at keeping my word.
8. I rather enjoyed Chocolate Rain, in a completely unironic way.
9. I cry at the end of Armageddon.
10. I only watch the end of Armageddon and have seen the complete movie only once, but the ending about 25 times.
11. I want to know what love is. I want you to show me.
12. I have never wished I was an Oscar Meyer wiener just so everyone would be in love with me. But I did wish I was a little bit taller.
13. I will possess your heart.
14. I have never had a sexually transmitted disease.
15. I have a tattoo on my ass that says Property of Todd.
16. I have no tattoos. I am also a liar.
17. I have, since fifth grade, been living with the suspicion that someone is watching every single thing I do on a giant movie screen somewhere and this affects me to the extent that I sometimes get embarrassed if I sing the wrong lyrics to a song when I’m alone.
18. I believe that everything you need to know about me is wrapped up in that last sentence.
19. I will not go quietly. Unless I die in my sleep, then I suppose I have no choice.
20. I’ve got to let you know, you’re one of my kind.
21. I right now, at this very second, am experiencing a head throbbing that might be a tumor.
22. I am an alarmist.
23. I am also an overthinker.
24. And I am really big on going with worst case scenarios.
25. I think everyone hates me and you’re all plotting to kill me, which you will accomplish by contacting the guy who is watching me on the movie screen, because he can tell you when I’ll be alone in my living room, crying over Armageddon, which would be a really good time to kill me.

Now I’m supposed to tag 25 people, but fact #26 about me is I don’t have 25 friends. So consider yourself tagged if you read this.

So some group did some survey about some dogs and some stupid dogs made it to the top of some stupid list as somebody’s favorite dogs ever. Do I sound jaded about bitter about that? Well, I’m NOT. I’m just astounded by the poor choices and bad taste of some people when it comes to dogs. Because everybody knows that miniature Schnauzers are the greatest dogs EVER. I mean, look at this. Come on, LOOK AT HER.

friday morning, eager

Could you die from the cuteness? Lili Von Shtupp is an awesome dog. And not just because she’s MY dog. It’s because she’s a Schnauzer. A cute, little, mini Schnauzer.

These are the top 10 dogs on this year’s list:

1. Labrador retriever
2. Yorkshire terrier
3. German shepherd
4. Golden retriever
5. Beagle
6. Boxer
7. Dachshund
8. Bulldog
9. Poodle
10. Shih Tzu

Ok, Labs are nice, but too big. Same with German Shepherds though, in my experience, they are pretty stupid dogs. Poodles? Lame. Shih Tzus? Those are not dogs, those are little balls of annoying fur. If you can carry your dog in your purse, it’s automatically disqualified from being the best anything, besides fashion accessory. Also, if you dress your dog in clothes? SHAME ON YOU. When the dog revolution comes, you will be first against the wall!

My awesome, incredible dog is a terrier, by the way. And terriers, well, allow me to quote the brilliant Kids in the Hall here:

Terriers are my very favourite breed
Cute, cuddly easy dogs to feed
Terriers were there in the 11th century
Napoleon had one to prevent misery

Anyhow, I was wondering about you, as I often do. But this time I’m not wondering about what color your boxers are or how I can fit safely between your hedge and your window without anyone noticing me, I was wondering about your dog preference. Because the answer to this might be a deal breaker in the “friending you on a social media application” thing. So, if you have a dog, what kind of dog do you have? If you don’t have a dog, what’s your favorite breed, and don’t say hot dogs.

No matter what you choose, I will make up my own answers to this informal poll and announce later on that the Kennel Club is wrong and Miniature Schnauzers are, indeed, the greatest dogs EVER.

Feel free to link to pictures of your amazing, but not as amazing as mine, dog. Ok fine, stick your cat in their if you left out.

[and while I have you here, don’t forget to check out TisP, where today I anger die hard Clash fans. And also, I really need to update my blogroll. Y’all have some awesome blogs I’ve been trying to catch up on]