Supafine!

Topics searched on eBay this evening, while under the influence and with aid from Iain ...

• banana
  
• quilt
  
• 2002 ford ranger
  
• 2-year-old male
  
• ebay
  
• fuckers
  
• used toothbrush [Only used 5 times, but it still brushes teeth fine. $10 shipping]
  
• iPod
  
• Panther
  
• Condom Machine: You are bidding on a Lancer's Diplomat, slightly used, double mechanism condom vending machine. It was placed on location for a short time but removed due to re-modeling at the location. Look at photos. The two slots are for 25 cents and 50 cents. It comes with key. Measures 24" high x 7" wide x 11" deep which includes the coin slots which are front vend.
  
• pool table
  
• Lucky Strike Vintage Metal Case
  
• underwear
  
• lord of the rings
  
• my so called life
  
• Saddam Money Iraqi UNC 100 Dinar Mint Graded : $1.75
  
• jesus christ
  
• glock: Full Auto AK-47,AR-15,GLOCK, RUGER 10/22,SKS $2.50
  
• john deer quilt fabric

This post brought to you by: Sell Sell Sell from the album "Maroon" by Barenaked Ladies.

This is the girl power I'm talking about. Strength in numbers, righteous indignation, and hard kicks to the groin: Girls Pummel Man Who Exposed Himself.

Sexual predators, beware. There are many, many more of us than you.

Thanks for the link, Dan.

I can't wait to see Shattered Glass when it hits Baltimore. I'm a major sucker for journalism films. Broadcast News and All the President's Men are at the top of the list, of course.

And as I've read The Fabulist, and can't really get enough of the Jayson Blair/Stephen Glass scandals, I'm all over this.

Insert Glass Wordplay Here, Part I.

Bah. This Halloween stuff is for kids.

I'm not bitter or anything. I don't have a costume, I don't have plans, and I don't know anyone to have plans with, but really, I'm not bitter.

Really.

Well, yesterday was pretty good. Dave called, and we had a good chat. We always have a good chat. And Jeffy called, and Carrie called, and we all had a good chat.

And I walked to the library and got some books out. And then we had dinner. And then we tag-teamed my quilt, taking turns snipping and pressing and arranging, with me stitching. And now I have half my quilt-top done now. I think I can finish the whole thing this weekend.

But today ... christ.

Today, at about 8 a.m., some idiot jack-ass with a jackhammer was attacking the sidewalk directly outside my window. Walls shook. The sound was deafening. I got pissed. I snapped open the blinds, glared a dirty look at the dirty construction worker. Snapped the window shut. Snapped the blinds back. Stomped out of the room.

But there wasn't much I could do, except sit exasperatedly on the loveseat in the living room and pull the pillow over my head. Which I did. To no avail. My teeth were dancing with the sound of it.

So here we are. Tired. Cranky. Hungry.

Halloween morning, and nothing to wear.

This post reluctantly dragged out of bed by: Invisible Ink from the album "Lost in Space" by Aimee Mann.

I really like that as a name for my site: MonkeyGirl.com.

Anyway. I really have a lot I've been thinking about, way more than just Girl Scout Cookies and monkeys and masks and shit. I don't think I can get it all out here though. I dunno.

First: Read Ishmael again. Depressing, yet heartening. Wondering about the fate of humankind makes my troubles way less important. Also inspired, again, to make some slight changes in the way I live. Already gave up television and mass magazines; need to work on other consumerist habits, smoking habit, poor diet habit, introversion habit. Probably some other stuff, too.

Second: Reading this pregancy book. Don't laugh. It's cute and funny and I may need it someday. Thinking about babies and ... well, babies. I think I want one. I think I'd be a good mother. I think I'd look really cute as a glowing pregnant lady with a little Buddha baby and stylish maternity clothes. Don't know if anything will come of this in the next three years, but there you have it. MB, who was never going to get married and never going to have kids, who was going to bounce from paramour to paramour and live in her fabu NYC apartment as editor of the New York Times, is thinking about furthering her suburban experience and layin' a couple of eggs.

What the fuck is the world coming to?

Third: I'm the Beast From Hell today. Totally irrational, angry, bitter, depressed, moody and generally unpleasant. Can't for the life of me figure out why, but there you have it. Iain, I'm sorry I bit your head off forty-seven distinct times this evening. It's not you, it's me, and I'm crazy in the head.

Fourth: I made some more slight progress on the Fabrication [a.k.a. the quilt]. I've got a few blocks sewn together, and my seams are straight, and it's all just going together so smoothly. I may have this done in two weeks if I keep on like this.

Fifth: I decided to hate a few people from afar today. They don't really deserve any of my brainpower whatsoever, but may I remind you I'm the Beast From Hell, and the BFH can hate whomever she damn well wants to. So to these people, who shall at least remain nameless: Fuck you, man. Fuck you.

Sixth: Wow. That felt good. I should say that more often.

And this brings us pretty much up to speed. I think I'm going to stay up too late tonight, and finish off that box of cookies, and maybe curl up in my pajamas on the loveseat and watch a movie. Possibly something good/awful like Romeo + Juliet or similar. Recurrent "hibernation" feeling returning again. Who knows when next you'll hear from me.

For that matter, who cares, right? Go do something productive. I ain't got nothing new to say anyway. Bah.

This post brought to you by: Four Walls of Raiford (Undubbed Demo Version) [1991 Box Set] from the album "The Essential Lynyrd Skynyrd" by Lynyrd Skynyrd.

I am Monkey Girl! I am Monkey Girl! My legs are too short and my arms are too long. Only evidently I am not as cute as some primates.

Ugly Monkey Girl!

See ... this is what happens when you don't eat for 23 hours. Urrgghhhh ...

Sweet, dude. Thanks to the City Paper, I don't have to sweat not having a Halloween costume. I'll just use one of theirs. I think the Kendal Ehrlich mask is the most frightening ...

Curse you, evil Girl Scout Cookies! Be gone! Tempt me no further!

Best day of October: today, because it's Girl Scout Cookie Delivery Day!

Delicious, so nutritious ... I must be careful, though, because I have six boxes of cookies underneath my desk, and I could inhale them all in less than five minutes with no problems whatsoever.

Best Part of the Month: When they change the mini-posters in the ladies-room stalls. They're always for Breast Health, courtesy of Howard County General Hospital, a member of John Hopkins Medicine, blah blah blah, but at least it's something to look at. Today was the day the posters changed from Breast Cancer Awareness Month to Breast-Healthy Attitudes. It sucks, though, because July was Breast-Healthy Attitudes, and I already have the poster memorized. It's like, cheap recycling. Can't they think of anything new to write about breasts?

For much more clever awards,see Jen's blog. It's Aveeno spelled backwards, see?

Oh yeah, baby. Got the mad quiltin' skillz.

There's got to be a cooler word than "quilting," anyway. Why not ... um ... hmm.

Anyway, got the mad skillz here. I'm cuttin', I'm trimmin', I'm makin' little triangle pieces. The plan is to do a bunch of little pinwheels in autumnal colors, then stitch the whole bitch together. I've got about 80 little triangles, and need only about 100 more.

This'll take, like, two years! But it's fun. Iain got all into it, plotting a quilt-top grid in Photoshop and then designing all these intricate layouts and shit. He's getting very M.C. Escher, which is way out of my league. And this begs the question: Why don't more boys get into quilting? There's all that math, first of all, fractions and adding and shit, plus the geometry. Then you've got the architectural elements, and the cold calculating. It'd be perfect for them. Or maybe just Iain, I don't know.

Anyway, it's coming along, slowly but surely. I'll keep you posted.

Speaking of fall: We played around at the Gunpowder [Falls State Park] yesterday for a few hours, tramping through the leaves and throwing rocks in the river. Terrific.

Finished reading The Hobbit, am starting on Ishmael again, by Daniel Quinn. Iain's got about 10 copies in a stack by the couch, for his science class, so I picked one up to read it again. It's been awhile.

Oh, and I shined my boots today. Woo-hoo. Big times.

Was that a home run? Oh! And my alma mater, Bowling Green, totally pounded Northern Illinois yesterday. Broadcast on ESPN 2 and everything. Score! [I don't give a rat's ass about football, but come on, this is big. For us, anyway.]

Why, oh why, have I never seen Better Off Dead before? All these years, denied the opportunity to have an even bigger fatter crush on John Cusack.

So, so unfair.

Gettin' chilly: Revival of the back-porch routine last night, with an October twist. Bundled up in coats and blankets, sitting on armchairs we dragged out onto the back porch, drinking beer much more comfortably and discussing time, journalism, children, real estate, history, simple pleasures, crafts and home decor.

Conclusion: I am going to take up quilting. In fact, I may head to the fabric store right now. I'm a stitchin', bitchin' maniac. Nerd with needles. Terrible textile tyrant. Crafty lady. Domestic dame.

I could go on, but time's a-wastin'.

Nabbed directly from Gawker.com: "I Love Six Months Ago."

Drat drat drat.

Side note on trucker hats and farmer chic: These East-Coasters are playing Farmer Bob, what with their mesh caps and shiny tacky jackets and worn, holey jeans and boots and whatnot. Puh-leeze. Why'n't y'all go and actually visit the Midwest and take a look at the guys you're imitating. Stick your hands in some cow poop, and THEN tell me how cool you are.

Perhaps Elizabeth Spiers says it better. ...

And duh, I realize that this fad is like, so over, obviously. But being without television and Cosmo, I catch on a little slowly.

MOVIE LOG
Italian Job: Better than expected. Had to suspend belief and lower expectations for a while, then vow not to take it seriously. After that, a fine ride.
Walking and Talking: Fantastic. By woman who brought me [Okay, okay, "us"] "Lovely and Amazing." One more reason to love Catherine Keener. Sidenote: one hard flick to track down. Resorted to nabbing a screener copy from work, but was well worth the constant eagle-eyes.

SOUND BITES
Recent acquisitions include the Kill Bill Vol. 1 soundtrack and 12 Memories, the latest by Travis. Haven't listened to the latter just yet, except for the song "Peace the F*** out," which is playing right now.

AND IN PRINT
Reading The Beauty Myth by Naomi Campbell and The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien. Not quite meshing together, I realize, but need the latter to battle the depression caused by the former.

I know you care. I know you do.

In other news: Grudges dissolved, fences mended. Some, at least. Thanks for that.

Enough already! MCI is prank-calling us now. The phone rings at all hours, and there's no one on the other end. I'm waiting for the heavy breathing to kick in. Iain's taken down their number from Caller ID and has vowed to call them back and give them a piece or two of his mind. MCI, if you're reading: For the love of God, leave us alone! We don't want any! And we don't have all day to start prank-calling you back!

This post brought to you by: Forgiven from the album "Burn To Shine" by Ben Harper and the Innocent Criminals.

Elliott Smith is dead. They think he killed himself.

This sucks. I hate suicide. And death.

Man.

I am officially emerging from my cocoon, shedding layers of blankets and blinking as my eyes adjust to the light. I feel much better, too; I've been sleeping since Sunday, basically, fighting off the flu.

But enough about me ... har. Who am I kidding? This is all about me. So here are some highlights from the last week:

• Shopping with my little sisters on Thursday. We hit Jo-Ann Fabrics in South Toledo for some quilting material for me and pillow-making cow-print fabric for Katie. Then we hit up the thrift store for t-shirts, including such classics as "Is That Your Final Antler?" [with a picture of a moose] for Kate and "We Scare Because We Care" [featuring Sully and Mike of Monsters Inc.] for Kelly. Talked Kelly out of buying the teal pleated miniskirt ... for now.
  
• Coffee on the porch with Mom. We discussed everything under the sun over a couple of cups of Folgers and a smoke. That's what being home is all about.
  
• Pumpkin picking! Nothing so picturesque as shopping for pumpkins under the wide Ohio sky. We patronize Moser's Farmer's Market every year, and they never disappoint.
  
• Late nights with Dad and the genealogy books. Poor Dad is on the night shift now, but at least that puts him and me on the same schedule. He showed me some documents from the 1930's, when GrandMatt [my grampa] was just a pup, and some photos of the old homestead in Westchester, New York. Ancestral pride, yo.
  
• Wombification [wom-buh-fuh-KAY-shun]. Some very quality time spent with my college roommate Mandy, also known as Wuz, Wombie, Ska, and a host of other adorable, yet unintelligible, nicknames. I met her steady beau, Nick, and she and I made the impromptu trek to Sandusky for Halloweekends at Cedar Point ["America's Roller Coast."]. It was mad crowded, but the hour-long waits for rides ensured that we had plenty of time to catch up.
  
• Topsy Turvy Tuesdays and Wacky Wild Wednesdays. Work just gets more and more interesting as weeks go by. The latest installment in the saga includes ... well, lots of crazy zany stuff that I really ought not to go into right now. One word: Army.

And that pretty much brings us up to date. Oh, but with a few disclaimers: A. I hold grudges way too long, B. I worry way too much, and C. I shouldn't take myself so seriously.

OK, 'nuff said. Good night.

Lovely Dan documented my trip to Toledo from a few weeks back. He's so damn talented he even makes me look good.

Must ... close eyes ... pass out .. on couch.

After three fitful hours of sleep, I hit the road today and beelined it to my parents' house, where I curled up in the fetal position on the couch, pausing only to fend off my sister's jibes and to eat some home cookin'.

Am looking for a giant blanket to put over my head and something to stuff in my ears ... basically, it seems, am trying to recreate the entire womb experience. Nothing feels so safe and comfortable as Home -- even when there's a hanged man dangling from the tree across the street. Which there is.

I mean, he's a stuffed, fake, scare-crow type guy with a mask for a face ... at least, I think he is. I really, really hope it's a Halloween trick. It's still scary, though. He's just dangling there from his rope, lit up like Christmas by a small spotlight which illuminates him in the creeping suburban dark.

I'm talking fucking creepy.

But even with the hanged guy swaying in the breeze, I feel like I can finally turn off everything else. All the bullshit that's been going on with people from my real life, all the hassles and drama of Deadline Disaster at work Wednesday, all the depressing crap going on. I just turn it all off and turn up the volume on the dinner-table conversation:

Me: So I had this dream last night --
Kel: Hey! I read this book yesterday --
Kate: No, wait, I didn't tell you --
Me: I was talking --
Kel: Shut up! I was telling you ab--
Ry: Did you know that in the Zelda games --
Ma: SHUT UP!!
Pa: [rolls eyes]

Sigh ... just like the olden days. I miss this. When Iain and I talk, we usually let each other finish talking. I forgot what it was like to have to battle seven other people for the floor.

Anyway. Shall remain cocooned for a few more days, venturing outside only to smoke. Fully plan to sleep off my 8-hour drive, watch Star Wars Episode II with my little brother, hang out with my three sisters, shoot the shit with Mom and Dad, and feel bummed out that my other brother is still stuck in school down at Florida.

If you need me, I'll be that lump under the blanket on the couch.

I just had an "I Love Lucy" moment.

So I thought I'd set the water going in the washing machine, just to get a head start til I got my clothes gathered up [and a cigarette made].

I really thought I'd get back and dump the clothes in before the water got too high.

Nope. There's foam everywhere, gurgling up out of the gaping maw of the machine, threatening to spill over the top and repeat the flooded-kitchen performance of a few weeks ago.

So I just kind of squished everything in on top of the suds and fiddled with the dials til it seemed less dangerous. Hopefully I won't turn around and see a Bubble Monster lurching toward me ...

I'm such a moron.

Don't we all harbor a little vain hope that someday, somehow, someone will read what we write and say, "Damn, that person would fit in marvelously at Name Of Big Publication"?

An article in The Sun today pulled my green-eyed monster out of the closet, huffing and puffing and drinking too much coffee: Publications hire those whose talent emerges on blogs.

It's about those unbelievable people you wish you knew, who write astounding things on their blogs instead of just self-absorbed personal trivia and self-deprecating comments about ass size or nicotine habit. About those writers who actually write things which matter and who actually, lo and behold, get recognized for their skills.

Now, I've always been a slice-of-life person, a tid-bits and small-talk gal. Never a City Reporter or Big-story Breaker. That isn't my way. I can't stick to writing Important Things ... mostly because the Unimportant Things are so much more interesting.

But the fantasy of being "discovered" is such a delicious one, isn't it? Hoping that some stranger will see through the tough [or not-so-tough] veneer into the shiny reality beneath.

We've all done it. We've all had that daydream, the one where you're at the mall and the Ford Modeling Agency agent spies you at the pretzel stand and says, "We must have you!"

Kind of like the daydream where the bus you're riding crashes into a building and you're the only one who can rescue all the scared and injured people inside, and then the mayor honors you for your valor with a little medallion and forgives you all your parking tickets and waives your taxes and maybe throws in a little catered party at the Hilton for good measure.

Or was that just me?

Candles are flickering. High Fidelity is rewinding. The banana bread is in the oven. The leftovers from our steak dinner are cooling in the fridge. My book is laying open on the loveseat, and my cigarette is burning in the ashtray.

I love Sundays.

This post brought to you by: You Were Right from the album "Have You Fed The Fish?" by Badly Drawn Boy

Just got back from seeing Kill Bill Vol. 1. Now that was a fucking movie.

The ambience at the theater was less than, shall we say, amenable. Now, I don't necessarily advocate checking one's Tarantino IQ at the door, but for Chrissakes, if you're surprised that it's bloody, don't fucking be there. Especially don't fucking sit right behind me gasping, and I quote, "Whoa, Nellie, that was tough." Or saying "Ouch" every time someone gets sliced with a katano-thingie. Or murmuring that you have to go to the bathroom.

It makes it kinda hard to concentrate. In fact, in kinda makes me want to kill somebody. Does violence in movies promote violence? No. Assholes in movies promote violence.

OK. Where was I? ... Oh, yeah. Now that was a fucking movie. I have to say I was actually dreading seeing it, because my tolerance for gore is about the same as my tolerance for assholes in movie theaters.

But it was tolerable, surprisingly. I won't say that I enjoyed the spurting blood, or that I particularly relished the squishy sound effects. But taken as a whole, and with the knowledge that this film was an homage to samurai films, I have to say it was effective.

And the music! Obviously not surprised that the music was so fucking fantastic, but it's still good to witness it, you know? Nancy Sinatra's Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down) sent shivers down my spine. It's not necessarily the song, it's the moment of the song and the action together.

In sum: No shocker that people think it's good. It is. Big shocker that I thought so too.

But I'll never know, 'cause I wouldn't eat the filthy motherf*cker."

Low-key day [sound familiar?]. This afternoon Iain and I surfed around for higher rates for savings accounts, and didn't find any worth switching over to. Then we decided to find out how much our vehicles would be if we traded them in. The answer? About the same as a box of popcorn.

That sucks. So our "House Fund" is transmogrifying into a "Pay Off The Damn Cars" fund. The going is slow, but they say every penny adds up.

Question: Why is it that when I borrow from the bank, they charge 20 percent interest, but when the bank borrows from me, I get .25 percent interest? Don't seem fair at all.

Anyway. Stayed in and watched movies. Iain wants to see Kill Bill Vol. 1 tomorrow, so we rented Pulp Fiction as a kind of Tarantino refresher. However, I don't particularly care for Tarantino films -- at all -- so I may sit that out. True Romance was OK, because it was a love story, and Pulp Fiction because, well, because it's Pulp Fiction. But generally: Icky. Too sanguinary, to say the least.

Also ashamed to say I rented View From The Top. Having not watched television for the last six months, I couldn't remember if it was good or bad, and it had Mike Myers, who's usually a redeeming factor. But this was barfy. Painful. Dare I say excruciating? Yes, I dare. At least they made Cleveland look like Cleveland (kinda) and not a California backlot. Small favors.

This post brought to you by: "Son Of A Preacher Man," from the Pulp Fiction soundtrack, performed by Dusty Springfield.

Thought I'd 'shop up pictures of some of my friends and paste them on a page for easy access.

Pretty good day, considering. Carrie called about 11 this morning, and we chatted for a while -- she caught me up on the beau, and work stuff.

Picked my poor Birks up from the shop this afternoon. Never, ever leave Birkenstocks in a hot car. They warp in much the same way that CD cases, video cassettes and old Simon and Garfunkel tapes do. Which I always have to learn the hard way, for some reason.

Anyway, they're lime green and kind of ugly, as most Birks are, but they're my shoe-babies. I got them on sale for $40 in an orthopedic shoe store in Fort Wayne, Indiana, and I couldn't bear to see them all mangled and sad. So I brought them into the new Birk store on The Avenue in White Marsh for repairs a few weeks ago, and finally got the news that they were out of the shoe ICU and ready to return home. They're so pretty now that I want to show them off to everybody, take pictures, maybe make a little scrapbook, throw a Welcome Home party.

After that I brought Buzzy, my olive-green Chevy Nothing, to the auto-care place for some major brake work [and by major, I mean "somewhere in the neighborhood of $400 worth"]. Something involving calipers and rotors ... what do I know. I sat on their little outside porchless porch swing, reading yet another British Fluff Novel in the warm October sun and enjoying the breeze over my bare tootsies. Buzzy was in and out in about half an hour, and was sitting in front of the shop for a good twenty minutes before I decided to go back inside and find out what the hell's up.

"You looked so peaceful out there, readin' yer book, that I di'n't want to disturb you," said Mr. Mechanic as I walked in.

Sweet of him, I'm sure. Except I'd really rather not spend all my time in the side yard of an auto-care garage when I could be at home, eating Cheez-its and watching "Raising Arizona."

Rock stars: Excellent times with Stitch today; she called from Chicago this evening. Haven't talked to her since the Homecoming craziness. Anyway, for some reason we decided to get out our photo albums and do a long-distance Trip Down Memory Lane. Such good times. Such wackiness. I'm putting together a little photo page of some people, which maybe 5 people will find interesting. But it's good stuff. Tee hee!

I swear I'm going to go to bed soon. But first: Directions from Hobbiton.

I'm such a nerd.

Look, everyone! It's Bitchy MB, right here in our studios!

Bitchy MB says: People are stupid. People elected Ahnuld to be their governor. People allow Bush to continue to be our president. People make stupid decisions. People are rude, inconsiderate and bitchy to their friends. People are manipulative, temperamental and moronic. People are annoying, and get all up in your grill about personal shit you don't want to talk about. People get other people in trouble to cover their own asses. People never shut up.

In short, people are stupid.

Ugh.

Are you there, God? It's me, MB. I'm freaking out. Please tell me Arnold Schwarzenegger isn't winning. I don't think I'd be able to go on if he is.

I'd really have to move to Canada this time. Ronald Reagan was bad enough ...

Thrift-store Sofa has added a new comic: Mozart In A Suitcase.

Oh, dear. Everybody's on crack. Lauren wears peanut butter like it's Lancome. Homeslice smells like Romance, when he doesn't smell like a cupcake. Jemlefer snorts milk out her nose, but only if you mention a phallic appendage three times in a row. And Dani's kittycats are signing my guestbook.

Of course, I am not immune to the insanity. To wit, sharing a mini-mattress with the aformentioned Jen and letting slip an "All y'all" which sounded a whole lot like "Aw yeah."

And I quote: "You want dis pickle?"

Good thing I'm not the only one! Jebus is gonna git me for this ... and damn, if I drop this cigarette one more time, all hell's gonna break loose.

This post brought to you by: Boyz-n-The Hood from the album "Superfast" by Dynamite Hack.

Happy Yom Kippur, by the way, to all my peeps rockin' the Judaism. I'm an eighth Jewish, so I'm feeling just slightly atoney today.

The Catholic guilt helps, of course.

Feels good to be back, strangely -- or not so strangely. I never would have thought I'd miss Maryland, but I really did while I was trying to relive my Northwest Ohio days.

Huh.

So Iain and I did our back-porch routine last night, and he helped me hash out the whole weekend. [Monogamy is Fun!]

What I Miss about Ohio

1. Family and friends.
2. Zero traffic.
3. Seeing for miles and miles.
4. Roads that are laid out in straight lines.
5. The simplicity.
6. Being a big fish in a little pond.
7. Knowing all the back roads, shortcuts, longcuts and everything in between.
8. Pollyeye's breadsticks and Easystreet's grilled cheese.
9. Small towns.

What I definitely Don't Miss about Ohio

1. That damn wind.
2. The seasons: Almost Winter, Winter, Still Winter, and Construction.
3. Small-town minds.
4. The lack of anything to do besides drinking or pushing cows over.
5. Utter lack of topography.
6. The homogeneity.
7. Places are a little too spread out.
8. No Smoking anywhere. Stupid law.
9. Constant reminders of every mistake I've ever made.

There's some other stuff, too, of course, but I don't feel like thinking up what it is right now.

This post brought to you by: The Distance from the album "Fashion Nugget" by Cake.

Hanging out at Lauren's studio apartment on the southside of Bowling Green. Four people trying not to step on each other ... we're reaching that 3:12 a.m. giggle time.

I took some notes on today's events, which included tailgating, going to the homecoming game after all, and random BG craziness:

• So many white kids. So many.
• Ohio fashion is firmly rooted in 1995.
• Cheap keg beer is nowhere near as good as I remembered.
• Somebody was able to successfully drop a literary allusion to Walter Mitty.
• My first football game -- BG against Central Michigan, 23-3 -- was so boring. And cold. And boring.
• Orange and brown is not attractive in any combination.
• A billiards injury nearly put me out of commission for the evening ... I'm recovering, but slowly.
• Drunk boys do stupid, stupid things [As we were dancing at one of the bars {which shall remain nameless, because I'm so ashamed} one drunken idiot prodded me in the bum with a beer bottle several times before his friends were able to yank him out of poking distance. And later, as I was sitting on the curb outside, another boy actually leapfrogged over my head. Fortunately, he cleared the leap. ]
• My bar claustrophobia totally kicked in at Kamikaze's, so I had to start throwin' elbows. I hate that shit.

Oh, and I kind of got stranded at dinner ... but that's another story.

On the plus side, I did get to see some people from long ago and far away: Dan The Man, Quentin, Sara, Darla, Stephanie, Bob B. ... I got to meet or re-meet some of the old South College boys ... Oh!!! And I got to see Manders, a.k.a Wuz, Ska, Mandisa, Wombie, my old college roommate, in totally bizarre and freak running-into. She looks gorgeous as ever, of course, and I can't wait to see her in two more weeks.

All in all, an interesting, albeit strange, foray into days gone by. More revelations and realizations coming soon ... who has changed, them or me?

This post brought to you by the ubiquitous "P.I.M.P.," by 50 Cent, from the album ... oh, whatever the hell album that's off of. It's late.

Damn cat. Rocky's been bitch-slapping me and scratching my arms up.

Rocky, of course, is my sister's roommate's kitten, with claws as sharp as pointy toothpicks. I'm drinking coffee [hazelnut], Em's watching something on the television, and we're just chillin' in her Rossford pad until she has to go to work.

Yesterday I hung out with Dan and did the East Toledo thing. OK, technically it was the Oregon, Ohio, thing, but that's cool. You know, Baltimore is all about its neighborhoods and charm and all that, but Toledo has a little bit of that going on, too. For example, yesterday we went to Birmingham, the old Hungarian neighborhood. And when you go to Birmingham there is only one place to eat, and that's Tony Packo's.

You got yer dogs, you got yer dumplings Paprikas, you got yer chili, yer mashed potatoes, yer strudel ... and it's so, so good.

Post-Packo's, we shot some pool and endured some of the most polar examples of Karaoke talent ever, from wailing banshees to velvety Sinatra impersonators.

Good stuff.

Leaving in a few hours for Northwest Ohio, land of my birth um, childhood. And young-adulthood. Going to meet up with Dan, Jen, Denise and David, among others. Going to do it up old-school: Tailgate at Homecoming, visit all the old haunts, you know the drill. Super-duper excited, because I've been homesick for the Flatlands, the cornfields, the flat accents, the corn-fed Midwestern hoes ... among whose number I count myself, in that non-ho kind of way.

And in between mad bouts of packing [you gotta have exactly the right pieces, because you never know what you'll end up doing] I found the funniest thing. It's my sixth-grade Memory Book. Think I'm a dork now? You shoulda seen me back then. But I'll just share the highlights:

• Most Embarrassing Moment: "... was in gym. Once, we were playing kickball. I didn't know if it was OK to walk or what. I sort of walked/ran/jogged. It looked so stupid." [As years went by, my most embarrassing moments got a lot more embarrassing.]
• In the year 2001: "... I will be cruisin' in my red car to my large home in Pennsylvania. My 2 dogs, 3 cats, 4 fish, 1 bird, 2 hamsters (and maybe a horse) will be waiting for me. So will my tall, dark husband and 2 kids, a boy and a girl, named Michael and Dawn." [Huh? What was I thinking was going to happen at age 21?]
• And from my teacher: "Mary Beth, you are such a sweetie. It was enjoyable to have such an artist (even though a quiet one) in my classroom. Good Luck in Junior High!!" [Funny ... when I was waitressing at the country club and got assigned to her table, she looked right through me ... ]

Anyway. Funny stuff. I ought to get some sleep now, so's I can be up in time to make the eight-hour drive. And I'll get to do it again in a few weeks, too, when I make the same journey to spend a long weekend with the fam. Woo hoo! Quality time!

This post brought to you by: Can't Stand It from the album "Summerteeth" by Wilco.

The Asbury Park Press's "Night Out" page is the only conceivable reason to live in Jersey. Hell, I'd move just so I could subscribe. D'ya think they deliver to Maryland?

so I'm standing outside, smoking a cigarette back by the loading dock, watching the kids play at the day-care next door. One of the two-year-olds spied me through the fence. He watched me for a little while, hands slung through the chain-link. Finally he said, "Are you Danny's mom?" I shook my head. Then he yelled, "Bastard Mommy!"

Kids these days.