This is an archive blog for now...

It seems I just can't live up to the very cool title. No Bill Gaines am I. All of my new posts (starting with today's) will be at http://love-suki.blogspot.com/

Finally: The Answer to: Do I look fat?

"Do I look fat?" she asks in that tone. You know you are in dangerous territory.

Step 1.
Turn down the TV, music, or glance up from your newspaper--but don't turn your attention to her completely. She obviously needs your attention, but ninty percent of the time, this is poor but forgivable behavior (on the same level as you yelling at her because your boss yelled at you) and you don't want to encourage it.

Step 2.
Say, "Are you alright, honey/pumpkin/boopsie? You sound unhappy."

Response A. Now, you will probably get some kind of rant or whine about that she doesn't look like Britney Spears anymore, or whatever. But you successfully deflected. Now just blanket reassure.

Response B.
"I don't know what you're talking about! How do I look?"

Step 3.
Don't lie. Here is your vocab. to answer this question:
Beautiful/Gorgeous or
Great/Pretty or
Good or
Fine.

Where is bad, you ask? Frumpy? Satanic? Creepy? Wide as a VW Beetle?
Fine. Fine means bad, or worse. There is nothing worse than fine. Now, sometimes "Fine" doesn't matter: if she's just walking the dog, who cares? There's no paparazzi. But when fine matters, use "fine, but..." as in, "Fine, but that green ball gown really shows off your figure when you walk the dog." Like that. "Fine, but you look so good in black."

Now that you've conquered that question, try your hand at: "What do you think about threesomes?"

Death and Comics

I have been saddened to learn of late that my mentor in the comic book biz ended up kicked out of the comic book business completely, and is now mooching off long lost relatives in Mormonville. It's sad, because he's brilliant and rebellious and kind. I just wish I could tell him (as if he would listen to me) to quit being hard on himself.

The American comic book business has long been dying--the Japanese do it better, the movies do it better, tv does it better. Ask any editor, and they will tell you the same thing. And look who is successful in the industry. I don't want to name names, but all of the survivors keep their poison-fang filled heads down and start printing the same cycle of shit every four years. The innovators all work the graveyard shifts at video stores, and suffer, suffer, suffer.

Mr. Lizard, be happy with what you had, get someone to doctor you an IT resume, and come back to the east coast. Please.

OK, correction: very, very few people would call Mr. Lizard kind. But never a backstabber, and he was more often kind to me than not.

Vaporized

Okay. I'm all done with fatness and top ten lists. Both are old. I now grudgingly admit I love the attention I get from being sexy, (though that guy who honks at me and waves me over every morning while I wait for the bus makes me feel harassed) and my guy has a slim body that completely vaporizes me every time I see him. I mean, I can't make top ten lists about Drongo, because there are too many things to write about: I would bore everyone with "Top Ten Things I Love about Drongo's Nose." It would be stupid.

Top Ten Reasons to Say Yes to a Fat Man

Now, I am not talking about guys with beer guts. I am talking about large men who love food. Sure, slim looks great in bed(...grrrrr...Drongo), and the other positives are obvious, but I have gone out with several large men, and I highly recommend them:

10. Need a midnight snack? No farther than his kitchen.
9. When you say, "I need chocolate," he understands.
8. He always orders dessert.
7. He won't make you exercise.
6. He makes wine sauces, 5-cheese omelets, without batting an eye.
5. You'll still feel small standing next to him.
4. Did you know these guys can dance?
3. Intense cuddling. Serious.
2. Tall men, long cock/Fat men, fat ...
1. Fat men know how to eat a girl out. Like it's their last meal or something.

Lots of Work today...so here's a story from my guy.

My Crop Circle.
“Signs,” a movie with that Mel Gibson fellow about crop circles, starts this weekend. In1992, I built my own crop circle. I was living on anacre in East Hampton, and cut the grass weekly with ariding mower. That was fun. It took about an hour andhalf to do the acre, and I used the interim as“thinking time”—there wasn’t much else to do. One timeI was thinking about the slew of crop circles thatwere appearing in U.K. farm fields that summer, and I thought, I’m gonna make my own. I went to the far backcorner of the lot, which was sort of shielded by agrove of trees—I had let this small portion of grass“go to meadow.” I drove into the middle of thisunmowed patch (with blade disengaged, natch), andproceeded to circle outward from the center, cuttingthe tall grass down to size. Soon, I had a circle thatwas about 20 feet in diameter. I had made a cropcircle.I loved my crop circle, but it was kindanondescript—it was nothing like the beautiful designsin the English countryside. So, I decided to make TheOne Stone Henge. I found a rock in the stone wall thatwas about the size and shape of a toilet seat cover,similar to the “heel stone” at Stonehenge. I made asmall trench in the center of the circle and plantedthe rock in it. Presto! Instant pagan worship site. Iwould go out at night and dance around the stone nakedunder the moonlight (NOT!).I cared for the circle all summer, carefully enteringinto it with blade up so as to keep a buffer of tallgrass around it. Apparently the neighbors took noticeof the construction, and being the big Christians thatthey were, suspiciously asked my wife at the time whatthe circle “was used for.” She told them I was an“artist” (I’m not) and that the circle was an“installation”. Ha. Good answer.Toward the end of August, we went away for theweekend, and my brother-in-law stayed at the housewhile we were away. Imagine my dismay upon our returnthat he had cut the grass. The dumbbell mowed everyinch of the yard—including the buffer surrounding thecrop circle. I think he did it at the urging of mymother-in-law, another fanatical Christian. I wantedto murderlize him. Shoot, I never even took a photo ofthe thing. As far as the “real” circles go, I believethat they are all man-made and “aliens” and “universalnature energy” have nothing to do with them. Some ofthem are really quite beautiful, and I admire thosehoaxsters and artists who make them.

Top Ten Things I Miss About Being a Fat Punk

Right now, I am an office worker, ok? No American would accuse me of being "skinny" but definitely "hot." I'm wearing a tight black short sleeved dress, tan fishnets, and black heels with rosettes on them. Good lord. I used to be Mrs. Avant-Punk Drummer, working nights as a ticket-taker/security/accountant for a lapdance club. I was 200lbs, and 5'4" (oh that's so horrible, right?) but you know what? I miss it!

10. Nothing to iron.
9. No mirrors
8. Doc Martens broken at the little toe.
7. Throwing on my boyfriend's clothes
6. Torn skull t-shirts
5. Folding laundry? Are you kidding?
4. Eating, drinking, drugging my fill.
3. Shallow assholes avoid you.
2. Falling asleep in front of bands at CBGB
And the thing I miss most is...
1. Integrity!

What I really don't miss was the discrimination: fat chics, esp. get a really hard time from people. Maybe people take it as a kind of rejection that some women don't care about the mating dance. Who knows?

Someone Call the Pope!

A miracle has occurred:
I am angrier at my ex- now (after the divorce) than before--and my head has not exploded!!!

If a miracle happens to me, am I sainted or something?

If I Were Dear Abby

I read these advice columns a lot! I love 'em, unfortunately, of late, there are only three questions.

Dear Abby,
My husband wants me to have a threesome with my friend, but I don't want to.
Or: my boyfriend is out with his friends all the time
Or: he wants to watch pornography
Or: he likes to go to strip clubs
Monogamous in Idaho

Dear Mono,
Equality is important in any relationship. Tell him you want to have a threesome with him and his friend first. If that doesn't cool his heels, you'll have the time of your life.

Or: if he's out with his friends, go out with your friends. Before you know it, you will both find someone new and exciting to spend time with.

Or: if he wants to watch porno, get some mags, and try to find somethings (actors/situations) you will both like.

Or:if he wants to go to strip clubs: if he's sophisticated, you can go with him; you'll make him feel like a majarajah, and he will make you feel like his most favored. If he's not sophisticated, let him go, and go to Chippendales if you like that sort of thing (my version of Chippendales would have a lot of young skinny men wearing only codpieces and glasses reading erotic short stories and poetry, while my friends and I ate chocolate and drank heavily.) But if that's not available, you could have the girls over to just watch a good erotic movie. 9 1/2 weeks, etc.

You can try this: www.forthegirls.com/

Question #2

Dear Abby:
My daughter and I have never had a great relationship. We haven't talked in years. Now, I have learned I have a disease, and I will only live for another year. I have tried to get in touch with her, but she won't talk to me. What do I do?
--Dead Soon

Dear Dead,
For whatever reason, this relationship died before you did. Send one last letter, not expecting a reply, and write the whole thing off. Next: call your doctor and your accountant, and try to figure exactly how much and what kind of fun you can have for the next year. Carpe diem!!!

Dear Abby:
My mother-in-law keeps bringing her dog over, and it pisses and shits everywhere, and licks the food off my plate at dinner. What do I do?
Spineless

Grow a spine, and tell your m-i-l she can't bring the dog over, and tell your spouse that if she gives him any lip, just refer her to you. Follow through. Have a back-up plan and suggestions (kennel? neighbor? can the dog stay outside?) Be polite, but firm. It's your house too! Spines, like everything else, get stronger with use.

I really did send this email to the President of American Atheists

To: Ms. Ellen Johnson
President
American Atheists


Dear Ms. Johnson,

Thank you for American Atheist TV. I feel strongly that all beliefs should be aired on television—not just religious ones. Myself, I had the benefit of growing up in an agnostic household. I had no religious education whatsoever, except what I chose to learn on my own.

My own small critique of your dialog is this: at the end of one episode, you said that you not only didn’t believe in god, but if a supreme being came into the room, that you would have issues with (and I believe you masculinized this being) him, because of all the pain, suffering, and murders/massacres/wars in the world. I feel this statement shows that you are a reactionary or devout atheist, meaning that you decided to swing this way only because you are angry and disillusioned at what people taught you to believe.

I think the underlying reactionism is a weakness in an overwhelming case for evolution and a fact-based universe, because it’s an emotional argument, and not a rational line of thinking. It also brings us back to childhood Christian beliefs. Many parents tell their children their god is good, to soothe them, etc. However, in many older religions (e.g. Hellenic beliefs) the gods were more whimsical than good. Though they might have believed these gods are more good than bad. If there is/are supreme being(s), I would say evidence suggests they are more good than bad: as long as more people are eating than not, enjoying their children and grand-children than not. But I would not say that there is evidence of only a purely “good” supreme being out there.

I look forward to watching your television show and will put a link to your site on my blog.

http://www.cultnews.net/
http://www.americanatheist.org/

Tattoos

I saw a girl with black stocking seams tattooed on the back of her very white legs. Ha ha.

Criteria or Why I Love My Guy

I have heard that women start out with really high standards, and as they get older, their standards get lower and lower. When I started my dating career at 14, I only looked for one thing: a guy who could make me laugh. (It was my dad who pointed out that it didn’t matter to me if I was laughing with him or at him).

After years of experience, my standards have gotten higher and higher—basically I’ve learned that no matter how hot my date is, he’s not worth waking up to without certain qualities.

Here is my latest list of criteria by order of importance (which my guy, Drongo beats hands down):

1. Positive energy
2. Extremely bright
3. Creative, but not artsy
4. Kind/not too snobby
5. Funny/Silly/Makes me laugh
6. Similar interests.

I can assess the above within a few minutes, and numbers 1 & 2 knock out a lot of people in seconds. Below sometimes takes about a half hour.

7. Free-flowing and growing (as opposed to rigid and giving up)
8. Dogmatists need not apply (incl. atheists, right wingers, devout vegetarians)
9. Works more often than not.
10. Parties often, but isn't into "getting wasted" on a daily basis.

Looks aren't on here. I got better things to think about.

Mother's Day Story

My mom came to visit me at my new place for the first time. She hadn't met my guy, Drongo, yet so we had him over for dinner the night before mother's day. Drongo brought us roses for mom's day, and shrimp cocktail for appetizer. Both my mom and Drongo listen to Coast to Coast, and they seemed to hit it off. I felt nervous and distant, but more or less ok.

We said our goodbyes--Drongo said he'd see us tomorrow, with a hint that he might take us to some Tibetan museum.

The next morning I woke up with a sore throat, and so did my kid, but I called him anyway to see if he wanted to do anything. He was sick too, and wanted to stay in bed.

My mom asked me if I was disappointed. Of course I was (I love seeing that man o'mine) but I was okay, until my mom started saying this in a hardened voice:

"I'm not disappointed. Oh, I bet he has mama-itis. I knew he wasn't going to come today. Just the way he said good bye yesterday, and he didn't make reservations for lunch today, and he gave us the roses yesterday and not today. And we went to that art community yesterday, so there's nothing to do today. I'm not disappointed. I knew."

I didn't say anything. All those things were true. I felt really down, and started feeling like maybe my guy really had called in "sick" on us--and how come I didn't see this coming, she's so much wiser than me, and I'm a real nothing.

And then that night I was lying in bed and all this was coming back to me, I thought, really, why would anyone say those things? How could anyone know they were true? She doesn't really know my guy well enough to say that about him.

This morning I said, "Mom, I got really angry lying in bed last night..."

And she said, "About yesterday? You shouldn't be mad at him..."

"No," I said, "Mad at you. You made all that up about Mama-itis, that you knew that he wasn't coming and stuff. Because he's not the only one sick. I'm sick, and so is the baby, too."

"Yes," she said. "I make up stories like that all the time."

What to Wear to the Revolution Part 2

"Obviously, Glynda dresses!" my best trannie friend would say. "Can't you see them, paratrooping down with machine guns in a purple dawn?" Ok, I'm paraphrasing here, but that is a beautiful image, isn't it?

After another "Dawn of the Oxford Shirt and Denim Clad Dead" I have come to the conclusion, not that the revolution is dead--and I'm not just talking about hippies and punks here, I am talking about the real indescribable, unnamed freaks who are born that way--but that anything new or different or interesting is such a high commodity these days that it is quickly repackaged and resold to the general populace before it can become part of a given subculture.

As I find all this draining, I remember one of my biggest heroes in freakdom (and for me, there are really no other kind) is Bill Gaines, and he did not start out looking the part of an artsy freak. Well, maybe he did, by wearing his tie loose, but he didn't have to have purple hair or tattoos to work on Tales of the Crypt or Mad Magazine. (I had a big pre-teen crush on him!)

What Bill Gaines Wore to the Revolution

This is Bill Gaines. He's my hero, and the editor/writer/etc. of Mad Magazine, Tales from the Crypt, etc. The plaque behind him says, "Everything I enjoy is either illegal, immoral, or fattening" Same for me.

My, this is addictive...

I find blogs to be a weird case of semi-publishing.

When I write for myself, in my real journal on the ferry every evening, it's a depressing mix of all the things I have to do, with a lot of oh-poor-me thrown in there, and a dash of anger.

When I write for other people, it's pretty much all anger. It's the only thing about myself I find mildly entertaining/educational/worth listening to. People, I have heard tell, find me funny (or at least, I say things and they laugh) and half the time I don't know why.

The other thing I like to write about is new biz's to start, like the personalized want-ad t-shirts that are seriously talking about what you really want (job, girlfriend, car). Picture someone wearing a t-shirt that says "GWM into ballgags and nude horseback riding seeks same--tap left shoulder "I think they'd really sell at the street fairs. Now, you might read that and laugh. And it is funny. I also think, seriously, it's a good idea.

link

Okay...usually I use chaldean numerology, but someone sent me this hot chic (fast, easy & fun)

http://www.123numerology.com/

What to Wear to the Revolution.

As I was walking to work between Union Square and Fifth Avenue, a newly-Frenchy district with bistros in five story turn-of-the-last century commercial buildings, I saw an army of squares walking to work in blue jeans and oxford shirts.

!

So, the problem is this: Now that the enemy is camouflaged in our own uniform, what do we do?

New Blog, New Day!

Man, I hope it's easy to import pics into this thing.