If You Want to Get Fired Up About Toll Takers and Their Attitudes

Read this article "The Toll Road Not Taken," by Paul Kix.

$70K, full benefits, 6 weeks of vacation and 15 sick days? We're all in the wrong line of work.

We're All Hanging in There

Doodle (in a harness not a noose) in Astoria, NYC~ July 12, 2009

Photo by Jenn Wehrung.

Whisker River Take Me Down

Doodle, NYC ~ July 12, 2009

Whiskerlicious. Whiskdiculous. Wicked f'in whiskery. 

Willie Nelson, live in 2004 with Whiskey River. My Dad's favorite. And mine. Da. Da. Da. 

PS See where Doodle's mouth slopes down on the right (her left)? That's where her tooth ain't these days. 

What People Want to Do This Summer: So Far

get tan
0 (0%)
get rich
3 (15%)

get fit
2 (10%)

get high
0 (0%)
get laid
4 (20%)

get over him/her
1 (5%)

get over myself
3 (15%)

get drunk
1 (5%)

get bent
1 (5%)

get married
0 (0%)
get divorced
1 (5%)

get a life
1 (5%)

get a job
3 (15%)

get a pet
0 (0%)
get lost
0 (0%)
get boobs
0 (0%)
get arrested
0 (0%)

Today's "News"

1 - Dick Cheney is a creep

2- The French are rude

3- Doodle is cute

Tighten Up, Yo

Archie Bell and the Drells, live w/ Tighten Up, 1967. 

Hotel: Adult Channels

From who else but m' peepz at Front Page Films. Enjoy.

I'm Not Sayin' Your Cat's Not Cute

Doodle, NYC ~ July 11, 2009

It's just that mine will get more work. Tragically, your cat's a sweetie and Doodle's a bitch. That's Hollywood. 

We Want to Wish You a Great Weekend

You KNOW this is cute.

The Back Room's at Ochi's Tonight So Come on Out

THE BACK ROOM at Ochi's Lounge- The Back Room is a provocative gay stand-up show featuring NYC’s best working and up and coming gay, lesbian and sexy comics. The show is always polished and sometimes a little dirty. We’re next to a rest room in the Meatpacking District, would you expect anything less? While in the crowd you can peer over and perhaps meet a hunky man or a sassy gal to your liking. You never know what will happen in the Back Room! Click here for more.

The Back Room

Tonight, July 10, 2009

9 pm

Ochi's Lounge (basement of Comix)

14th Street near 9th Avenue

Free

I've done this show, and it's one of my favorites in the city. Hosted by my idol Jenny Rubin and my other delightful (and handsome) pals Paul Case, Dave Rubin, and Shawn Hollenbach.

See you there, punks!

Bull Euthanizes Idiot in Pamplona

Congratulations, bull! Sure, you were only able to pick off one idiot in hundreds who traumatize you through the streets of Madrid before murdering you in a bullring tonight, but at least you got one. Viva, bull.

You Wouldn't Understand, It's a Whisker Thing

Doodle, NYC ~ July 8, 2009

www.marriedtothesea.com

Word, Freddy. Word.

Freddy Fender, Wasted Days, Wasted Nights, 1975

One Week Until Maximum Awkward: Mortified NYC on July 16

image from the Georgetown Indy.


Original awkward teen angst material read aloud in front of strangers by its original now-adult authors who may or may not still be awkward. Come share the shame!

At Le Poisson Rouge
Thursday, July 16 @ 7 pm

Got tix? $10 tix available now! ($15 day of show)


Yours in angst,
Anne

http://www.getmortified.com/

Texting with Tuna the Fish

Autobiography: Vol. VI
Vol. 1: Not One Head Turned
Vol. 2: The Dirty Prude: My Story
Vol 3. No One to Love and Nothing Left to Drink
Vol. 4. Tuna: Thin Lips and All

Tuna ~ 07/09/2009 12:28 PM

What I'm Reading Right Now: A Drinking Life by Pete Hamill

A Drinking Life by Pete Hamill
A memoir about a first-generation Irish Brooklyn-born boy and his relationship with his family, the city of New York, and booze. Vivid and fascinating.

Lonesome, On'ry, and Mean

Waylon Jennings c. 1973, Lonesome, On'ry, and Mean, written by Steve Young 

The Incomparable Giulia Rozzi

If you find yourself in Beantown this weekend and want to howl, I've got the broad for you: 

My pal, Giulia Rozzi. 

You may recognize the lovely Giulia from MTV, Vh1.com, her weekly standup all over NYC, her performances in Mortified, or from the comedic sex-themed storytelling show "Stripped Stories" which she co-produces at UCB. Check her out, Boston peeps, because she'll be headlining at Mottley's this weekend. You can thank me later. 

Giulia Rozzi headlining at Mottleys Comedy Club! With guests Jon Rineman, Jamie Lee, and Shaun Bedgood! 2 Nights Only 8pm, Friday July 10th and Saturday July 11th  61 Chatham Street (Near Fanueil Hall) Get tickets at http://www.mottleyscomedy.com/  or call 877.615.2844 

Doodle on the Ottoman & a Brassiere on the Door

Doodle, NYC ~ May, 2009

An Open Letter to the Terrified, Balding Dudes o' the Land,

Dear Terrified, Balding Dudes o' the Land,


I watch a lot of televised sports without the benefit of DVR, so I endure endless commercials aimed at terrified balding dudes. Such as yourselves. I paid particularly close attention to the Bosley spots last night, and I'd like us to go over this new hair business together, shall we?

Logically speaking, if reversing baldness was possible, then the promise of hair re-growth certainly wouldn't be described as a "Hair Replacement System." Also, if hair replacement systems are so awesome, why are the commercials so vague and entirely devoid of details save for Before and After shots?



I'll tell you why:




Because whatever the heck it it's all about, it's going to be terrible. For you, for me, for everyone.



Look. A decent broad doesn't give a fat crap that you're balding because she's got bigger things to worry about, like whether or not you're a good person, or that you're employed. Or the fact that there's a Hair Replacement System on the market but no cure for cancer of the lady bits, PMS, or an easier way to grow another human being in / shoot one out of her body. Sure, nobody likes getting or appearing older, but it's a fact of life. So, you're going bald. Imagine if you were a baldish/balding/bald woman? You can't imagine it because you don't have to.

The simple truth is, Terrified Balding Dudes, your hair loss is the least of your problems, and I don't even know you.

So, save your money and dignity and just say no Bosley. Shave what you've got high, tight, and proud, boys! 

And let. It. Go.


Love you mean it call me,

Anne

Anne's New Favorite Blog in Addition to Others' Blogs and Her Own Blog

Chingchang.


*Actually I'm not the biggest fan of my blog, but I don't want to insult the taste of those who are

Larry David and the Bluetooth Talker

See, the thing is, I think I was way more tolerant about when I was doing my Qi Gong regularly, but these daysl this type of crap, this public cellphone conversation junk? It's completely pushing me over the edge. I, like Larry, don't tolerate it well. Instead of talking to an imaginary friend, I instead repeat out loud exactly what the offensive person says on their half of the call. It's good. 

"OMG, so my doctor? he totally told me that I might be hypoglycemic? I know! And I was like..." --skank

"OMG, so my doctor? he totally told me that I might by hypoglycemic? I know! And I was like..." --anne, repeating after skank

Years ago, I did this to 2 offensive folks seated near me on an Amtrak train from NYC to Boston. One dude stopped when he heard his own words subtly echoed. The other was too self important to notice how obnoxious he was, too wrapped up in how important he was and how thrilled he was to conduct his personal business on a public train. Mr. Self Important (a "big" Broadway composer type--generally known as a theater fenoik--shall remain nameless. Why? Because I'm kind, of course) left his cellphone number repeatedly while leaving voicemail messages for others. I heard that number no less than 20 times and it was seared in my memory enough to share it with my friends (I have a lot of friends). No doubt the nutsack was a little bewildered when he started receiving dozens of voicemail messages at all hours, from all sorts of random numbers, in totally random male and female voices, about

1)Mom's recent eyeball surgery---they did something to the cornea, the doctor says recovery should take about 3 weeks

2) The flowers that the brother supposedly sent Mom while she was in the hospital--did they arrive?
2) The brickwork that he and the boyfriend are replacing around the fireplace--it looks amazing, but there is an issue with how long the job is taking
3) The grey pinstripe suit that needs to be picked up by his assistant from Today's Man--was it picked up yet? It's been hemmed and it's ready...

but I guarantee you he was the only one who was bewildered. F that guy. Stupid jerk. 

I Prefer to Judge You From Way Up Here

Doodle, NYC ~ May, 2009

The Ultimate Wish Burn

Let's say you're a mediocre piano player. When it comes to singing, carrying a tune is the only compliment you can garnish from anyone. And yet you've always fantasized about being a rock star.

One afternoon, while wearing some festive/functional lederhosen and hiking your way through a lush forest in Denmark, you encounter a strange toad monster ogre dude who leaps out from behind a bush to make your wish come true (I don't know, I'm still filling in the details here).

Ok, fine, he can't make you a rock star. But he can make you a rock star's girl. Which is better in many ways than being a rock star yourself, and you don't even have to pay/blow the strange toad monster ogre dude for the honor.

Then you find out you're Coldplay frontman Chris Martin's girl.

Ouch.

And there ain't enough poker faces in your arsenal to say with conviction time and again that you love your man and his music

No, seriously, Chris? OMG, Darling? You guys rocked tonight! Your new album is amaaaaazing, and honey, you sounded incrrrrrrediblllllle, and you are sooooooo hot! Seriously, the crowd went wild! God, you're amazing. You're sooooo talented and amazing, and you sooooo totally rock! I love you! Everyone loves you and your music! You're the best. You're amazing. I love you.*

...because you don't. And not only do you not love your man's music, you think it's the worst, worse than a pile of poo. And you think your now rocker-boyfriend man Chris Martin sings like a whining sack of doo and that his band sucks tremendous, big, bouncy balls. And simply hearing just a few seconds of one Coldplay song on the radio--even though it's a mind-boggling cash cow which is paying your ride through life--results in a skull-busting, emergency room-visit migraine every time.

Then what do you do?

Oh, life. How cruel and unfair it can be.

*good grief i just barfed a little burrito up there. did he notice? did you see that? i had total sweaty mouth. and the rocking that comes with the feeling that you have to puke and the dry heaving, drooling, wretching. holy crap. good god coldplay sucks so bad i want to die. seriously, somebody kill me