I Love You, But Not Enough To Convert For You, Sacha

Eeeeeew. No thanks. Guess I don't have to feel bad about this engagement afterall. I'm not converting to anything for anybody. No way, no how. Not unless they change rules in the Mormon Church and I can marry 12 hot dudes or whatevs.

Sometimes Life is Like a Cat's Ass in Your Face

Doodle 11/06

Isn't it though? Doodle says you can kiss hers. Little black bush and I don't care, little black bush and I don't care, little black bush and I don't care? Oh, here's my junk in your face. Ta-da!

Asparagus

I was talking to a friend the other night and she mentioned that she was going on a date and they were going to share some asparagus and cheese for dinner. She had never heard of asparagus pee. Weird, right? I thought everyone knew about asparagus pee. Anyway, she said she was going to look out for it.

"Life is Just One Damned Thing After Another": E.G. Hubbard

Elbert Green Hubbard. Just one of my many dead heroes. Founder of the Roycroft movement, artist, philosopher, writer. The only bummer part about this cat is that L. Ron Hubbard is related to Elbert Green via adoption somewhere down the line. But L. Ron is no reflection on his ancestor. Here are some great quotes by Elbert:

1) "An ounce of loyalty is worth a pound of cleverness."
2) "Genius may have its limitations, but stupidity is not thus handicapped."
3) "Life is just one damned thing after another."
4) "Never explain—your friends do not need it and your enemies will not believe you anyway."
5) "To avoid criticism do nothing, say nothing, be nothing."
6) "Do not take life too seriously. You will never get out of it alive."
7) "The greatest mistake you can make in life is to be continually fearing you will make one."

I like #5. Lord knows I'd like to avoid some criticism sometimes. Impossible. 4 and 5 are good too.

Friends of Clay Aiken

If you can make it to the flute scene in this video, then my job is done.

Doodle Says Calm Down and Have a Drink

Doodle 11/06

SWF, No Kids

Maybe I'll move? No strings to keep me here. I hear Utica, New York has employment opportunities. What about Iowa? I hear Iowa's hiring too. Meanwhile, I'll keep working on my novel and try and sell my things. Who wants a cat?

Sometimes the Light is Just So Right

11/30/06

I Feel Icky

Oh so icky

What the World Needs Now is Love Sweet Love

Doodle, 11/06

Enchanted Mountains

11/06

Call Me and I'll Kill You

Do Not Call List For Your Cellphone.

Get on it. Or get in touch the old fashioned way: 1-888-382-1222

If they call you, you are charged. That is total horseshit and you know it.

Extendo-Bra

Here's a poem I wrote containing a nifty fashion tip! You're welcome.

You ate much at Thanksiving.

Now you have 6 tits instead of two.

These bra extenders are for you.

Bra Extenders
Fabric shrinkage, weight gain, half or off sizes all make for uncomfortable fitting bras. Inexpensive hook-on bra extenders relieve pressure and give extra-life to bras in otherwise good condition.
Available for bras with two, three or four hooks.
Comes in set of 3 for two and three hook bras.
Comes in set of 2 for four hook bras.
Buy yours today.

140 Years of the ASPCA

The Empire State Building has a lovely little tribute to the saint Henry Bergh and the organization he founded in 1866, the ASPCA. Happy 140th Birthday, American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals!

I've been catching and releasing flies ever since I sprayed that hornet's nest with Easy Off Oven Cleaner in high school. I feel terrible about that. Be nice to animals and bugs, people, they're people too. Although I did kill a plant recently. My bad.

Nice Buns

When I was in second grade, we had to play the violin for a few weeks. Everyone in the class got a loaner violin, and if you took to it/liked it, then you could continue on.

I didn't take to it. Hence my phrase "had to play the violin." I'm sure there were some kids stoked about the idea, but it wasn't my bag. Anyway, we had a concert. The song was "Hot Cross Buns." I don't think we played it around Good Friday, I just think it's an easy song to play.

If you practice, that is. I didn't practice. I didn't like the string instrument. I found it annoying. So, soon enough time came for recital day, and Annie didn't friggin' practice her Hot Cross Buns. But I wasn't going to let on. No, siree. I didn't have a plan yet, but I'd figure one out. The show was held in the cafetorium. My parents were there. My Dad had a fancy new tape recorder that took mini tapes. Miss Uyema the music teacher began the show, and I panicked. What was my plan?

The plan became, "air violin." I was going to take some stabs at the notes, but then I figured I'd really stand out. Plus, my Dad was there taping the thing for chrissakes! So, I hovered that bow right about the strings and air-violined away. Nobody was the wiser, except for me of course. I finally garnered the courage to tell my Dad a few years ago. You know, that I faked my performance in the 2nd grade violin concert. He didn't know what the fuck I was talking about.

Pick n' Choose

You can only have sex with one person for the rest of your life. That person is

1. Clay Aiken
2. Star Jones

Tall or short?

Fat ass or fat gut?

Stringy hair or ruthless afro?

Spindle fingers or potato fingers?

Big nose or big teeth?

People call you the following behind your back (choose 1):

1. annoying
2. cheap
3. hideous
4. dumb

Tough choices you don't get to make in real life. But at Two Can Anne, you can be who you want to be. Enjoy your new life.

Ooooooh!

It appears that someone has a Ph.D in Annoying!

And someone has gotten all A's.

Wow.

Hey, if you see me on the street and aren't close enough to trip me, throw something really hard at my head. Thanks.

Time To Revisit the New York Social Diary

I will call this first 3 photos from the New York Social Diary "Attack of the Giant Rich Broads With Huge Friggin' Heads."



My, my...














...what a huge friggin'

















dorm fridge-sized head you have, Ma'am!!!










CODE ORANGE !!!!
CODE ORANGE !!!!
CODE ORANGE !!!!
Call the police!

DEAD PEOPLE!!!
DEAD PEOPLE!!!
DEAD PEOPLE!!!
Call the morgue!

Though They Did Notice a Strange Smell

Bleeech. Kidnapped? For what ransom, your shitty t.v. with crappy plug that always falls out of the outlet? Smells like they really tried really hard to find her. I'm not sure what the moral of this story is, but heed it anyway.

Please, Read the Signs

11/22/06, Randy's Up the River, Allegany, NY

A Night Drinking Beer in the Southern Tier

Randy's Up the River (in the 60's: the Wormy Chestnut), Allegany, NY Thanksgiving 2006

It is with great pleasure that I dedicate the following poem* to a place very near and dear to my heart, Western New York State.

"A Night Drinking Beer in the Southern Tier"

by Anne Altman

~

The Buffalo Sabres and Buffalo Bills

Are not the only things you'll see in these hills

You'll find mullets, mustaches, a ton of fat asses

Some hunting hats, bad perms, and too much acid washes

But there'll be cheap beer, and beef, and chicken wings

Foozball and pool and many other things

Like music and dancing and smoking a joint

So much good stuff it's difficult to point

To the only bad thing about it for me

Which is FOX News constantly tuned in on TV

Long Live the Southern Tier!

*This is a great friggin' poem. Seriously, steal it? And I'll kill you. It's totally copyrighted and stuff.

Kid Rock and Pam Anderson D-I-V-O-R-C-E???

The gays are going to rescind their requests to marry if we keep this shit up. I THOUGHT THEY WERE IN LOVE! I THOUGHT IT WAS "UNTIL DEATH DO US PART" (OR "UNTIL EITHER OF US MEETS ANOTHER CELEBRITY SKANK WE FEEL LIKE BANGING INSTEAD" ?!) How can we exclude the gays properly from society if marriage is something they don't want in the first place? It's like the death penalty for a suicide bomber. People need to get more creative.

I can't wait to get married so I can get a divorce. I'm pretty much chomping at the bit about it. All my gay friends will be there. Except I'm going to reverse things by celebrating the divorce bombed out of my tits on a yacht. Yes, I will be wearing white bikini and Cap'n Twat hat. So will Doodle. Duh.

Sing, Sang, Sung

Some "2006 Meat Me in Olean" Classics included:

• You Are My Sunshine (lead by Natalie Waddell)
• Twinkle Twinkle Little Star (an ensemble sung as Kwinkle Kwinkle Wittle Car by Rachel Waddell)
• The Chickie Chickie Song (an ensemble):

And up, chickie chickie, chickie chickie chickie

And down, chickie chickie, chickie chickie chickie

All around, chickie chickie, chickie chickie chickie

And stop, stop, bock, bock, bock!

To the left, chickie chickie, chickie chickie chickie

To the right, chickie chickie, chickie chickie chickie

All night, chickie chickie, chickie chickie chickie

And stop, stop, bock, bock, bock!

• The Prune Song (Anne and Whipcreamy)

No matter how hard a prune may try he's always getting wrinkled

A baby prune is like his dad but he's not wrinkled half so bad

We get wrinkles on our face

But prunes? They get them everyplace

No matter how hard a prune may try he's always getting stewed

Little seed inside a prune

Is it May or is it June

What you doin' prune, stewin'? Hmm?

*Songs 3 and 4 contributed by Whipcreamy

Penny Wise Pound Foolish

There once was a lady so loca

Who made me so mad I wanna choke her

If I had my way

I'd punch her today

Does it make sense

To argue over fifteen cents?

-a great friggin' limerick by anne altman. all rights are "like duh" reserved.

Happy Holidays to You and Yours

May you enjoy this holiday card which I am sending you from my boss. Ignore the fact that the label has obviously been peeled off of another envelope to save money. Ignore the fact that the envelope has had another label peeled off it to save money. Happy Holidays; you're worth every penny.

Mondays aren't Fundays Without Sundaes

Thanks to you peeps who have already placed orders for 2007 Doodle Cat Calendars! You know that early birds get the discount, and as of this morning they were still on sale for $4 off the retail price of 23.99. So get 'em while you can. I'm adding more products soon--in the form of apparel--just need to select the perfect image. Doodle is so photogenic, it just ain't easy.

In other news, Get Mortified was on the Today Show this morning apparently. This means tickets for the December 7th show at the Tank will sell out faster than usual. There was a technical problem last week, but tickets are officially on sale now. There's a party afterwards, people, so you can get your goddamned groove on.

Hate To Be a Kelly Ripa Fan, But She Is a Lady

And ladies deserve respect. I'm a lady. So, I know. Oh, Clay Aiken. It's terrible enough that you're terrible. Now look at this mess. Ah, well, you fucked up. It's less about the germs and more about the respect: you don't put your hands on someone's face unless they're your sister and she's asking for it.

I don't care how much I can hang with the guys watching sports, dressing like a dyke most of the time and swearing like a sailor, I'm still a lady. And you need to understand that.Like I said, it's about respect. You friggin' hold the door for me, you let me go first, and you say please and thank you, dude. And most of all? You don't put your friggin' hands on me unless I tell you to. I make 70 cents to your dollar, am burdened with a glass ceiling in addition to complicated and expensive fashions, unattainable body image goals/double standards, and I possess the power / responsibility of carrying football-sized human life and shooting it out of my cooter. You will fuckin' respect me.

On Monday, when I was downtown early for work, I went into a crappy deli across the street from the court for some coffee. There were two broads working the long line and the place stunk like stale bacon egg and cheese grease; I hadn't even had my first sip of coffee yet when suddenly I was rudely tapped-- oh so vigorously-- on the shoulder at the very same second a cashier announced, "Next!"

I was like, WHAT THE FUCK? ? ? I haven't even had my coffee yet today and some stranger dude is touching me? I don't care which cashier is open or how much of a hurry you are in, YOU DON'T FUCKING TOUCH ME, you asshole! You may shout, "Hey douchebag, you're up!" but you don't touch me. Ever. The nerve! I am a LADY, YOU ASSHOLE! I am a fucking lady.

I didn't even turn around. I moved slowly. I did that thing where I put on the brakes when someone is tailgating me. It wasn't until I had paid did I catch a glimpse of this idiot, a male in his late thirties who lumbered out as if he had done nothing wrong. WHO RAISED YOU?!?!?! Anyway, it is with special interest that I present the following chain of events. Just a smidgen of the news I no doubt missed while I was celebrating Meat Me in Olean 2006. I love Rosie but she also fucked up here. What is worse, is that Elisabeth Hasselbeck (the revolting piece of dipshit that she is) and I agree on this mini debacle. For shame, Anne Altman, for shame.

Clip of Clay Aiken Co-Hosting Regis and Kelly, Talk to the Hand

Kelly Ripa's Side on Regis and Kelly

Rosie's Take on the View

Baked, Smoked, or Deep Fried?

Happy Thanksgiving, folks! Aren't you glad it's over? I hope you all had a wonderful holiday. And if not wonderful, then at least tolerable. Tolerable can be wonderful depending on the circumstances!

I spent 6 days in Western New York State for a good old fashioned Altman Family Reunion. Serious. Sorry if you weren't invited. Other than the Altman Family itself, an official AFR contains another significant ingredient: Meat. Meat downed with copious amounts of beer. Hence the event's ubiquitous slogan, "Meat Me in Olean." Yes, Olean, New York is farm country, hunting country, meat country, folks, so vegetarians beware: it's going to get ugly. Celery sticks and twice-stuffed baked potatoes will be the only food available without a face for you to chew on during your stay. Can you handle it? I'm not sure that you can. I have a tough time with the reality of the whole thing myself. Steak, pork sausage, Beef on Wick (sliced beef with au jus on caraway seed and coarsely salted Kimmelwick rolls), classic Buffalo-style chicken wings, and Friday Fish Fry are this region's specialties. Soggy, soupy wings with a lame, thin, watery excuse for bleu cheese? Um, no. They don't serve bullshit like that in Wing Town. You'll choke on the clumps of bleu cheese and you won't think you've died and gone to heaven, you'll know you have. You might even indulge yourself in a hot or sweet sausage sandwich with peppers and onions, a Texas Hot (hot dog with special onion sauce) or an Elephant Ear Sandwich prepared "All the Way" (thick-cut bologna with peppers, onions, and cheese on a roll). In other words: If you don't restrain yourself during your visit, prepare to return home a fat tub of shit. It the stuff of a Weight Watchers' Nightmare.

For reals.

But, whatevs. Meat Me in Olean 2006 was a 3-pronged attack of Food, Folks, and Fun. Food: as described. Fun: a lot of singing and drinking. And folks? My dad is one of ten and I've got a huge friggin' family. 30 cousins have all married off and spawned, so it's obviously serious mania. Not Mormon mania, but close. We had Thankgiving dinner for 80 at my family's restaurant the Ho-Sta-Geh and dined on at least 3 (maybe more) poor turkeys 3 ways: baked, smoked, and deep-fried. We had 8.5 pies, and 3 cakes. And this stuff called "White Trash" which is basically Chex Mix type deal with mini marshmallows which is then dredged in white chocolate to kill you. We celebrated not only Thanksgiving and reuniting after several years but also three birthdays and one in the form of a surprise party. We surprised a 76-year old man for cryin' out loud. And he survived. Risky. Also, I think there were at least 59 kids under ten at this thing. And I survived. Risky.

And so did Doodle survive-- without me. Thanks to Bumpkyn looking in on her to feed her and flush her turds. I brought Doodle Buggy (who to her chagrin, has demonstrated behavior indicative of missing me) back a gift of the form of the scent of 3 dogs, one cat, and two hamsters on my shoes. She seems pretty pleased with it. I knew she would be.

The 2007 Doodle Calendar -- Now On Sale!

They're here! They're queer! And you totally have to get used to them (by buying several)!

It was Project Catwalk here at Two Can Anne this year, and as you know if you read this blog regularly, Miss Doodle was living the life of a supermodel with all the accessories, costume changes and chain smoking that it entails. Or should I say, cattails.

2007 Doodle Custom Oversized Wall Calendars: Just in time for the holidays. Buy yours here, or visit the new Two Can Anne Store* in the sidebar. For a limited time, these buggers are on sale! Retail price: $23.99, now on sale for $19.19. So, gobble gobble, people!



*Additional products will be added at some point soon--Doodle is in Ibiza recovering from the shoot with Tom Ford et al.

I am a Stale Donut Who Will Wait For You To Fight For My Honor

Can I hear it for Peter Cetera's "The Glory of Love," one of the gayest songs ever? Ever? Yes, ever. And guess what?

I FRIGGIN' LOVE THIS SONG.

And so should you, fellow romantics out there. These lyrics are powerful: I am a man who will fight for your honor? I'll be the hero you're dreaming of? Like a knight in shining armor, from a long time ago? Just in time to save the day...take you to my castle far away? This is romantic shit, people, I mean come ON! Where is this castle of which he speaks? Of course, I'm biased a bit because this song came out when I was in high school, but whatevs. It's about love: The glory of love.

And how about this video? It's fantastic! Peter Cetera is wailing his heart out in the foreground in his black button down shirt and in the background, Karate Freakin' Kid is there in a dramatic montage with Mr. Miagi, and there's blood, sweat and tears. It gives me shivers, it does. It makes me think of the glory of love and makes me ask myself, "Where the hell is the man who will fight for my honor?"

Recently, I've had couple men in my life whom I thought would be up for fighting for my honor. You know, have me to themselves and not share. Men who would "take it outside" for me, drag race for me, tug of war for me-- as if I were a piece of lingerie being fought over between two broads--at a half-price bin at Filene's Basement. But, to my honest surprise and disappointment, neither dude fought for me. In fact, I've been rendered about as desirable as the very last donut hole that nobody will take, rolling around in the box all lonely and stale. I look around to find no dudes dueling. Um, dudes? (primping myself) Um, hellooooo? Weren't you two supposed to be dueling? And they're like, "Yeah, uhhh, nahh. We're good. But thanks." Guess I wasn't worth the duel. And one of these dudes has no problem eating a stale donut with or without dunking it in coffee. Or six and a half for that matter. Ah, well. Serves me right for thinking so highly of myself anyway, because it's extremely out of character for me. I'm so done with that self esteem shit.

So...

THANKS A LOT, PETER CETERA, FOR CONJURING UP IMAGES OF UNATTAINABLE CRAP! I BLAME YOU AND RALPH MACCHIO. And Mr. Miagi? You're off the hook, as I believe you're dead.

This is Absolutely Foul

If any of the following topics offend/upset/displease you, do NOT click on this link for this quick flick.

1. hot tubs
2. scantily clad skanks
3. low budget porn/music video shoots
4. stomach upset
5. poo
6. explosive poo

If not, click away, because it's hilarious. And completely immature. But, whatevs. It's more of a "laughing at" not "laughing with" type of thing.

I'm a Jive Turkey

Oh, the holidays. Is everyone ready for Thanksgiving? The Christmas songs blaring inside of the Korean deli last night were enough to kill me. I was only there for 10 minutes tops, and I think I heard every single one. You know, the medley o' tunes: "Have a holly jolly Christmas...Chestnuts roasting on an open fire...Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells...Have yourself a Merry Little Christmas..." Then the guy at the counter gave me shit for my Red Sox hat, "How you wear that? You the enemy." Whatever, dude. Just sell me my orange juice, my beer and my gummy coke bottles and I'll be on my way, ok? Great.

Here is some crap going on in my world other than the pending holidays:

• Some Get Mortified News: The Mortified Book goes on sale in one week! I am a soon-to-be published beeeyotch, so check yourself before you wreck yourselves. Either get the book or go to a Mortified Show in your area, because it's quality entertainment for anyone who has ever had the pleasure of being 13.
• Speaking of shows, I'm booked for the December 7th Mortified Show at NYC's Tank Theater. This thing sells out. Either get your shit together or snooze/lose. Your choice.
• Did somebody say 2007 Doodle Calendar? Meowza! I'm putting the final touches on this project tonight and sending it off to Magic Land so it will be available for sale via my blog ASAP. I opted for the Deluxe Large/Oversized Wall Calendar because there's no such thing as too much Doodle (unless of course it's 4 a.m. and she's all up in your grill about breakfast or scratching the shit out of plastic bags to annoy you for other reasons you'll never know). Cost? A pittance! A mere $23.99! (They wholesale for $18.99). Is a 5 bean profit from all the pain and suffering I incurred while cramming Doodle into her business suit and other accessories fair? I certainly hope so. I'm no business lady. That's more Doodle's bag.

I guess that's all I got for now. Does anyone want a tangerine? Ten for a dollar down in Chinatown, folks.

Mint?

Thursday night I went out for a friend's birthday during Happy Hour. The place was called Slate. When I arrived, I was introduced to my friend's colleagues, and one of these women left to go outside for a cigarette. She was semi-hammered. Not trashed, but "feeling good." On her way to Trash Town, I suppose.

When she came back, her top lip and front teeth were blue. I asked, "What are you eating?"
"I don't know. I can't get the wrapper off. They have a big bowl of them up front," she said as she continued to fiddle with the wrapper with her fingernails and occasionally her teeth.

It was pool cue chalk. Slate is a bar with an upscale pool hall downstairs. This broad must not play a lot of pool. Or, she simply really likes the taste of pool chalk.

Things That Make You Go Eeeewwww

This morning, I encountered a few unpleasant sights. My stomach is on the queasy side and needless to say, this shit put me over the edge.

1. Lady clipping her nails with a big ol' fat nail clipper while waiting for the subway. She wasn't clipping furtively; nothing phased her the least bit about this action. Ping! Ping!
2. When I picked up my boss's telephone messages from "Busy" our receptionist, I noticed she had an un-used* peel n' stick panty liner face down on her desk.

*Though if it's face down anywhere (other than in the original packaging or an a similar hygienic bag), I sorta consider it used.

Can I get an Ewww Ewww?

Can I get a G-rooooooooossssssssssssssssssssssss?

I think I can.

Bring Back the Draft? You Bet Your Ass

Word. I love how all these rich bitch politicians with armed service eligibility-aged children voted for Bush's War of Quagmire Mirequag in Iraq. It's cute. And fucking bullshit. Bring back the draft, I say. And bring back Back Draft on TBS. I've never seen it. And I sure as hell ain't gonna waste a Netflix order on it. So, bring it.

Yeah, I'm Cute, So?

Doodle Bug, 11/16/06

Thank You, Majestic Killer Elephant

Ancient animals like elephants are not coping well the rapid and rabid development of land and the razing of forests by a-hole human beings. They lose their homes as well as their food sources when this happens, and it's pissing them off. Being abused by humans is also pisses them off. At least this poor guy picked off twelve fuckers before he had to lose his tusks. Sad.

Mission Accomplished: The Paper Shredder Chase

I'm not referring to the official creepy union between Katie Holmes and Tom Cruise. I'm referring to the most recent installment of drama to affect me at my place of residence that I will call The Paper Shredder Case.

My neighbor is so loaded that he wipes his ass with monogrammed towels. Sometimes he throws luxury items away because he's purchased even more luxurious items to replace them. A few weeks ago, I found a perfectly fabulous full-sized document shredder in the recycle room on my apartment floor. I plugged it in. It worked. I dragged it into my apartment and shredded everything but the kitchen sink and the cat. Then having no place to store it really, I put it in the kitchen, and I tripped over it for a few weeks.

Friday night after 4,000 beers, I came home a memo under the door. When I spied it, I literally shouted, "NOW WHAT?" thinking it was going to refer to someone having a problem with me about something or another concerning whatever, and I am simply sick of everyone so I wasn't excited to read it. We had our yearly co-op meeting the other night where I was chided ever so publicly about sending out a building-wide memo. Here was another building-wide memo. The subject? Building Paper Shredder is Missing.

"The document shredder was last seen in the recycle room on the 7th floor. It was put there to be returned to the basement where it is shared by all tenants. It was not garbage. If you have the shredder please contact the super or doorman to arrange for pick up."

Oooops! Well, there is no possible way I'm admitting that I have the thing, I thought. My name has been in the friggin' news too damn much around here lately. So this morning around dawn, I changed into my hamburglar outfit and lugged the shredder down two flights in two pieces (it's heavy, man) and stuck it in the fifth floor recycling room. Then I threw out all the document shreds in another garbage can on the 10th floor.

Basta!

Mission accomplished.

I hate everyone.

Mmmmm Maple Frosted Donut With Sprinkles

Last Sunday. Third Avenue. NYC.

He's Awesome

Oh, Ricky you're so fine you're so fine you blow my mind Hey, Ricky! Hey, Ricky!

Um...Patio Umbrella? Um....Disturbing.

Ok, so you're white and you're a white supremacist. You're at a party. A Hispanic kid is also at the party. He is not a white supremacist. So, you decide to shout "WHITE POWER" and...

...Shove a patio umbrella up his ass.

A patio umbrella?

Not just once, or twice, but 50,000 times so that he needs to spend 3 months in the hospital, thirty operations and almost doesn't survive. Couldn't you have just called him a spic and punched him in the face like in the old days? What's with the ass fixation? For someone who hates gay people, that's a very very very gay way to assault someone, Mr. McWhitey. Gaaaaay. Have a delightful time in prison identifying the various things you'll soon find up your own ass. It ain't gonna be no patio umbrella.

It's My Flag and I'll Fry It If I Want To

I can't stand it when people mess with what other people consider art. It's a slippery slippery slope to the Taliban, man. Years ago Rudy Giuliani stuck his bald dome piece into the Brooklyn Museum of Art's grill when he objected to a painting of the Virgin Mary that had some horse poop on it. He took away their funding if they didn't take down the painting. Ok, Adolf. What, in addition to replacing porno with Disney in Times Square and being a 9/11 hero, you're also an art critic? Please. Hey, I would have liked to have seen someone painting with horse poop, so why punish me because you were raised Catholic? I don't share your guilt. Lemme see the poop.

Here's a story about some artist who deep fried some flags to make a statement about who the fuck knows. Let him do it. It doesn't mean he's anti-American, it doesn't mean he doesn't support the troops. It could mean he's anti-cotton. Who is it hurting? The flag? Jesus? Your momma? Who cares?As long as he pays his taxes, I don't care. People need to settle down and worry about more important problems. Like the fact that I can't find Charleston Chews anywhere.

All this deep frying of flags has made me hungry.

Let's Get a Drink

What a silly phrase. If you're in the company of someone you like/enjoy/love/whatevs, it's never, EVER, one drink. How about 50? 50 sounds about right.

Huh?

Does that make me crazy

Does that make me crazy

Does that make me crazy

Does that make me crazy

Probably

And I hope that you are having the time of your life

But think twice

Thats my only advice

HmmCome on now

Who do you, who do you, who do you, who do you think you are

Ha ha ha!

Bless your soul

You really think you're in control

WellI think you're crazy

I think you're crazy

I think you're crazy

I think you're crazy

Just like me

~gnarls barkley and doodle

It's Something About That Smoky Voice of Hers

That makes me want to yell at the Time Warner Cable Automated Lady.

SHE JUST DOESN'T LISTEN TO ME.

And the yelling gets me nowhere.

Who is this Time Warner Cable Automated lady? This mysterious smoky whore of yore?

Time Warner Cable. The Place to Be. Annoying.

That Reminds Me of a Fascinating Story

"Busy" the receptionist just told me that the office is cancelling the Poland Springs Water. After this supply is gone, the water cooler is finito. Why? People are drinking it too fast. I have a feeling it could have something to do with the 92 degree temperatures in the office itself, but it doesn't much matter, someone is drinking too much water. And now we're all going to pay.



In the eighties, my aunt Neeny used to buy that Aussie Sprunch Spray stuff (hairspray gel for the ultimate in crunchy bangs) --which was all the rage--for her two daughters. She'd get all flustered and could be heard complaining, "I buy them the Aussie Scrunchie Spray and...and...and... they just go and use it all!"

Hmmmm. Poland Spring Water, Aussie Sprunch Spray. Look, people, if you keep using it, we're going to stop buying it.

I Would Bang the New Bond

Yes, it's true, I don't normally go for blondes, especially as James Bond (Roger Moore was blleeeechhhh), but I like this Daniel Craig guy. Of course, he has a smokin' body and smooth demeanor as 007 in Casino Royale. But it's his imperfect face that I like. It's craggy and rough and his nose is big and smushed his ears are big and dopey, and he's ssssssexyyyyyyyyyyy all the same. And not the least bit interested in me. Whatevs. I'd bang him anyway.

Phoul Photo Phor Phriday

Oversexed? Horny? Jump into this sack and the only thing you'll feel like banging is your head against the wall until you're blind and shielded from the horrible sight of this bedding. I believe this style is called "Kill Yourself Country" and it's guaranteed--or your money back-- to kill your sex life. Go ahead, and enjoy a full-night's sleep!

Patchwork Quilt
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Doodle Says Knock You Out

I'm gonna knock you out
Doodle says knock you out

Breakdown!

Shadow boxin when I heard you on the radio (HUUUH!!!)
I just don't know
What made you forget that I was raw?
But now I got a new tour
I'm goin insane, startin the hurricane, releasin pain
Lettin you know that you can't gain, I maintain
Unless ya say my name
Rippin, killin
Diggin and drillin a hole
Pass the Ol' Gold

I'm gonna knock out
Doodle says knock you out



-LL Cool J and Doodle

Today Was Rough, Today Was Tough

And I don't even fully have the strength to post about it just yet. It was simply pathetic.

Let's call today, Mouse Goes to Court. And it was a hot boiling mess of mania.

I had two Jack and Diet Cokes with some friends under the guise of "celebrating Elizabeth's birthday," but I knew it was more celebrating my survival.

Back at it again tomorrow.

Then one more full day in Mouse Town until Thanksgiving vacation. It cannot come soon enough.

If You Like Somone, Give Them Onion Bread

You all remember Amy, the broad in my office whom is fond of me? There's plenty of awkward conversation to be had because I sit right next to the pantry. Yesterday she told me that I have "quite beautiful face" and take it "as compliment because I don't give compliment to people," and so I did. In the afternoon she asked me what I was eating, and I told her it was 3-day old salad. She said, "I always eat old food. Otherwise I just throw it away. But who can afford to just throw away? In China, lots of people don't have access to water or streams, so they put lots of spice, because food goes bad. That's why lots of spice."

Hmmm.

Then she offered me some old salad she had. She told me she often throws old salad in soup so as not to waste it. Salad soup. I politely declined. She mentioned that she had some garlic bread and some other stuff if I'd like it. "Anytime, just come see me."

Today I am wearing a light sweater with a big sparkly brooch. I feel like it is Christmas Day because they just delivered the Poland Spring water bottles and my neighbor placed a fan between our desks. Yesterday, I wore a black summer dress to cope with the heat in here and hoped that nobody noticed it was cotton on my walk home. Anyway, I have unshaven legs with visible stubble, and a wrinkled cotton khaki skirt. My boss has toothpaste down the front of her shirt.

Amy commented on the fact that we have water today. As she did so, she said, "You have nice wardrobe." Then she threw an enormous loaf of onion bread on my desk. It landed with a huge thud and scared the crap out of me. "Keep here, so they don't eat. For you."

If you can imagine the wafting of 7,000 bits of black roasted onions on a loaf of bread (that feeds12) sitting on my desk right under my nose at 11:30 a.m.--what I still consider early morning--well, the smell of generosity varies, doesn't it? It sure does.

If You Can't Lose Weight, Get Taller, You Slob

How are you gonna make any money being a fat midget? You're not. So get your fat shit together, you fat shit*.

Thanks.








*I realize this applies to me.

Doodle McQueen

See that bit of green top left? That's the Empire State Building. Doodle could give a shit.

Things Got Ugly at the Co-op Board Meeting Tonight

Let's just say that things were said, and I said things back. Then the subject was changed, but I wasn't finished.

Doodle said she's not finished until she finds a live bed bug and puts it under someone's door as a "I Friggin' Told You So, So Why Don't You Suck On This" Present.

So far, we have no evidence. By golly, if Doodle has to beg, borrow or steal a bed bug, she will.

I'm like, "Doodle, don't be crazy!" and then I give her a little wink wink and then we laugh. Doodle's got a great laugh. She doesn't break it out that much, but when she does, it's a good one.

Yay, Emmitt Smith!

Congratulations to Emmitt Smith, 2006 Dancing with the Stars Champion! I love Emmitt! And I love guys who love to dance. Even if they suck. Which Emmitt did not. Smooth moves, fast feet, large, in charge (not really, more like Cheryl his dancing partner was in charge), always in control. He was fun to watch. That Mario Lopez may have more natural talent, but he bugs me. He looks annoying. I wanted to poke his dimples through his face. He can't possibly be as good a guy as Emmitt, I mean, come on. What shit show was he on anyway, Saved by the Bell or whatevs?

Anyway, yay, Emmitt!

I realize this post makes me sounds like an old lady, but I like that Dancing with the Stars program on television. First I watch that, then I eat my soup, and then I watch my stories. Then I soak my teeth. Then I go to bed. Then I get up early and read. Then I get my teeth and make some toast.

Smile

Eeeeww, Cheap

So Anne's broke, been eating the same salad for three days, and can't look at it anymore. Hungry for some lunch on the cheap, where's she gonna go? Across the street to Gray's Papaya, for a 99 cent grilled dog with relish, and that onion stuff, duh.

So there I am, and this 40s-50s looking grayish forgettable-looking dude who seems rather employed for the most part with his leather jacket and Dockers and all shouts over everyone, ignoring the line, "How much is a knish?"
The dude behind the counter "Two dollars."
Silence.
Other people order, pay, and leave. As I leave, I hear him again shout, "How much are the fries?"
"One dollar."
"Ok. Lemme have the fries."

Um, this is a 99 cent restaurant, pal. You're asking how much shit costs? Are you that friggin' cheap? They say if you ask how much something is, you can't afford it. I say that the only people allowed to ask how much menu items are at Gray's Papaya are the homeless so they can pick out enough change from the cup. Otherwise? Shut your friggin' hole. Thanks. Bye. Eeewww.

The Office Geyser Pisser Just Walked By

Heh heh.

Me = totally immature and inappropriate. But, whatevs. You sit next to a woman in a bathroom stall who pisses like 10 racehorces in a Ten Race Horse Piss Race and you're going to be able to forget that it happened? I don't think so.

It Could Be Worse

Last night when I was walking home from Hell, I saw a woman with open toed sandals on, and I marveled at the size of her big toe compared to the rest of her toes. All ten were neatly manicured, but her big toe was so enormous, it sort of didn't matter. The bright red paint may have brought more attention to the fact that her big toes were the size of skate boards, and the rest were pretty much normal-sized.

As I crossed the street I thought to myself, Boy. My life is really sucking hard these days, but at least I don't have a big toes like that. On a lady no less! At the end of the day, if I were she, and I had those toes, even if my life was great because I had a great job and a great husband--even Big Toe got married--people could say, "Whatever, Big Toe. And hey, Big Toe! What's up? Double A Big Toe, what's goin' on?" Sure, maybe I wouldn't care. Wouldn't care because I could twirl basketballs on each big toe if I practiced hard enough. Or whatever. But for as much as I'm down in the dumps, I think I'd prefer to have a shitty job, no man, and regular-sized big toes than the alternative.

Today, I'm not so sure.

Hey, You, Get Off of My Vag

For as "religious" and "holy" and "full of family values" and "pious" and "prim and proper" and judgemental of everyone else's sexual behavior as these folks are, they sure do like to bang. And full-on bang, to the point of...well, 7 thousand kids. Gross.

Snakes on a Plane? Nah, Sex on a Plane, Please

Hmmm. Were they? Or weren't they?

I Could Be a Model Making $4,000 an Hour

According to the friendly neighborhood cuckoo with whom I was in line at Dunkin' Donuts this morning, I need to get my ass on the runway. Now, I don't know this cat personally, but I "know" him from seeing him out my window and in the hood walking, smoking. The nickname we have for him is Puff Puff Step. Or Puff Step Puff. He looks a lot like a 60+ year old Humpty Dumpty with flood pants belted way up high, greyish white hair, blue eyes, and zipper teeth. He's very friendly, and I've seen him talking to the ladies before whether or not they cared for it.

Today as he was waiting for his change, I looked at him and smiled. With a wide grin he said immediately and matter of factly:

"You could be a model making $4,000 and hour."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah four thousand."
"Wow. Thanks. Guess I'm in the wrong line of work."
"Yeah Jackie Six Four Two Forty, Six Four Two Forty."

Um...right. I don't know what he meant by that last line, and then I remembered he's a crazy person. Receiving a compliment from a crazy person I suppose should be taken with a grain of salt, but considering that I had wet hair and no make up --because my boss wears wrinkled gym shirts to work, and I've simply given up on life in general--it was a compliment nonetheless.

As I walked out of Dunkin Donuts, he had seated himself by the door. "Be a good model," he said.
"Ok, I will. Bye."
"Jackie Six Four Two Forty."
"Ok."

If I Don't Come Home With Cat Food, Doodle's Gonna Kick My Ass

1. If I don't come home with cat food, Doodle's gonna kick my ass
2. If I don't come home with cat food, Doodle's gonna kick my ass
3. If I don't come home with cat food, Doodle's gonna kick my ass
4. If I don't come home with cat food, Doodle's gonna kick my ass
5. If I don't come home with cat food, Doodle's gonna kick my ass
6. If I don't come home with cat food, Doodle's gonna kick my ass
7. If I don't come home with cat food, Doodle's gonna kick my ass
8. If I don't come home with cat food, Doodle's gonna kick my ass
9. If I don't come home with cat food, Doodle's gonna kick my ass
10. If I don't come home with cat food, Doodle's gonna kick my ass

Immature is My Middle Name

Terror Level at the Office Today is: Bat Shit (Orange)

Ghetto
Strange
Crazy
Bat Shit
Run For Your Life It Could Get On You

Wow. How quickly things went from Blue Alert to Orange. I'm terrified.

Have time for a quick story? Great. So I told you guys that there are old timey bathrooms down the hall. It's a three staller, nice ceramic tiles, black and white, quality doors and fixtures and the whole bit. I'm about to come out of one of the stalls as someone comes in. She unleashes such a voluminous stream of piss that sounds like she's got a pizza pie-sized cooch for chrissakes. I'm talking Niagara Falls, I'm talking Hurricane Katrina, I'm talking one of those showers at the beach where you pull the cord and you get dumped with water.

So, I need to stay a second and find out who it is, right? Of course, I do. I'm standing at the sink washing my hands and who walks out? The hottest broad in the office, a tall and lanky 22 year old who looks a lot like Paulina Poriskova. Ha! The whole time I'm thinking, this must be some broken down old broad with no control over her anything. Wrong!

Kegels, Paulina, practice your kegel exercises. You're this loose now, you're in trouble.

The upside: You can give birth to a giraffe vaginally.

Yay! Surrogate Giraffe Mother!

Annoying Girl Names

1. Sloan
2. Taylor
3. Madison

Have I Told You Lately How Much I Love Carol Burnett?

Well, I do. She's friggin' hilarious, and I've loved Carol Burnett in the Carol Burnett Show and Mama's Family ever since way back whennity when when when I was a little bitty bit thing.

What reminded me of the Great Carol Burnett was the fact that we've got ourselves a Puerto Rican version of Mrs. Wiggins over here at my new job, folks. She ain't a characature, she's our recpetionist. If she's not chewing gum, filing her nails, walking around, fiddling with her radio, acting stupid, coming in late, and leaving early, then I don't recognize Busy. Our receptionist.

Haven't I Told You Guys How Much I Friggin' Love Pie?

Well, this is what I'd do for a humble piece of cherry.

The Smoke in the Smoke n' Mirrors: Sarah Graalman

Guess who is featured-- 3 times --on artiste de makeup Sarah Graalman's new website? Oh, I don't know...

ME perhaps?

I'm hot, and I knows it, and I really had to shows it.

Without Sarah, I'd be just another dog at the pound. And without my dear Dale May, I'd just be another flabby painted up doggy whore. Let me tell you something (and he would concur): No broad looks this damn good by her own damn self. Puhhlease. Even if you be touchin' it, it still may not be real. Crazy. Woof. Wooooooooof!

How Many More Days Until The End of Everything?

Like a Rhinestone Doodle, 11/12/06

Just tell me already. I'd like to know. So I can check it off? Thanks.

Today was my 6th day of work in Real Life, but in Crazy Land? It's been 6 weeks. Yes, kids, each glorious day feels like a week. Now, this would be great math if you were in love, on vacation, counting your piles of money, taking a nap, having sex, doing drugs, or whatever the heck makes you happy, but alas, none of this is the case. What's the case? The terrible reality of the way time moves when you're playing defense with a crazy person.

I was benched a lot in Varsity basketball in high school because of my attitude. For those of you who are surprised, I am pointing to the door. There it is. Now, riding the bench came with an added punishment in the form of playing a lot of defense in practice. For those of you who don't follow sports: Defense is way more exhausting than offense. Coach knows this. Even if he is a dick with a terrible perm/fro, and he won't let you wear white shoelaces with blue hearts, and his wife has a brown mole the size of a large green grape wedged between her cheek and her nose. But, the upside of the mole is that at breakfast, your Dad will take a raisin out of his Raisin Bran, stick it between his cheek and nose, run around the kitchen, and imitate this shit out Coach's Wife, and you will laugh your fucking ass off.

Where was I? Oh, yes. Defense. Defense especially bites if you lost the toin coss or "paper, rock, scissors" duel for whichever side would have to wear the pinnies--polyester loose fitting vest (the broads' version of "shirts" vs skins at practice) --because then you're working not only extra hard with no glory (no glory on defense) in a hot skanky ass gymnasium but with the added heat of polyester.

And that's how I feel at this job. From ten to six everyday, all day, I am playing zone defense with a crazy person, setting picks, wearing a red polyester wife beater in 90 degree heat, and I don't get to wear my preppie blue heart shoe laces.

We've all had our moments like these. You know the moment, the one where you are so mad you want to spit, you throw up your hands, frustrated and red in the face and say either to yourself or under your breath or in my case completely out loud, "OH, HOLY FUCKING HELL! I AM NOT PAID ENOUGH FOR THIS FUCKING BULLSHIT!"

Needless to say, I'm exhausted.

Other jobs --which I've never had--I imagine feel may feel similar to this in pay, responsibility, and reward factor:

Bathroom Attendant
Fry Cook
Developmentally Disabled Assistant/Handler
Martha Stewart Assistant/Handler
TSA Agent / Metal Detector Machine Dude/Dudette

Thoughts?

Anyway, duh: rough Monday.

But I did learn one good thing today: If you shout, "Like a Rhinestone Doodle! ...Dooo... Dooo!" really loud in Doodle's face, she'll leave you alone for awhile.

What a Tall Drink of Water

The Poland Springs bottle in the water cooler has been empty since late Friday afternoon. People are now drinking their own urine. Things are going to get interesting around here. And when I say interesting, I mean more horrible.

Funny, I Don't Get that Fuzzy Feeling

I recycle and don't like to create unecessary waste. But peeling the labels off of folders and re-using them, collecting paper clips of the floor, and cutting my own scrap paper does not fill me with euphoria nor does it make me feel like by doing these things one day I will save my company thousands of dollars and one day become a millionaire. Instead, I get more of a gross creepy feeling.

"Good" Morning, "Good" Morning...

Terrible. Imagine this photo above. It more or less like my boss's office, except the papers pictured here are at least neatly swept to one side of the room. Now, imagine that your boss asks you first thing in the morning to find a few pieces of paper that have been "misfiled." As if anything in a pile of crap like this could possibly be considered "filed." Then as you're looking for the stuff, she asks you to move your coffee away from the chair, because you might spill it. Then she asks you to move it away from your foot, because you might spill it. Then she spills Diet Coke all over her desk. Then she pulls some files out of a folder and asks you to throw them out for her by your desk because her trash can is full. You are excited about the fact that you'll be leaving her office for a second and you enjoy the journey. Only to find out that she's followed you out there to pull the papers out of your garbage because she's given you the wrong ones. On her way back up from the trash can she smacks the back of her head so hard on the bottom of the wall- mounted cabinet that you can feel it too, but not hard enough to knock her out cold. It's just about this time when you look at the clock and realize it's not quite 10:30. "What's wrong?" she asks.

I Swam With the Coney Island Polar Bears Today, What'd You Do?

The Coney Island Polar Bear Club has been around for at least a hundred years. At any rate, it's a wicked long time. I'd be more specific about it, but I've given you a link for the interesting information because I'm tired; I swam in the 45-50 degree Atlantic today for cryin' out loud. In November. But, I was lucky for my first swim: it's been 50s/60s out, so not too bad. Try icy and snowy January, says my friend Mike, a Polar Bear. I don't know about that just yet, I'm still patting myself on the back from today's accomplishment. So, shove it.

Pre-Dip Nerves

11/12/06, Coney Island, Brooklyn

Anne's Debut Dip with the Coney Island Polar Bear Freaks

11/12/06 ~ Coney Island, Brooklyn

I'm front and center, not paying attention to the cameras and chatting with Danny
11/12/06~Coney Island, Brooklyn

Exhuasted from the swim and the excitement, but satiated after real Brooklyn pizza at historic Totonno's on Neptune Avenue with Mike.

11/12/06 Coney Island, Brooklyn

I dare you to ask "Mrs. Totonno" for some icing or fudge'ems dipping sauce for your crust.

11/12/06 ~ Coney Island, Brooklyn

No One's in the Kitchen With Doodle

Doodle, The Affinia Hotel, 9/06

Flat cat.

Things I've Never Done Before

View of the Manhattan Bridge from 135 Plymouth Street in Brooklyn

I decided yesterday that in order to celebrate fully the shift in power in Washington that it was high time that I attend a party--in this case a MoveOn.org party-- by myself. Why? So that I might be able to meet some new people. And force myself out of the house and do new crap I don't want to do. This gig happened to be in a spacious and strange loft in DUMBO, Brooklyn with an amazing view of the Manhattan Bridge. Having never been to DUMBO or gone to a MoveOn.org party by myself or a MoveOn.org activity anytime, the stage certainly was set for some serious unknown. I brought my camera, brought some beer and hoped for the best.

135 Plymouth Street, Brooklyn

Garbage (paper recycling?) next to 135 Plymouth Street

On my way up to the loft I met Randy a fine fellow and jazz musician who had just parked his car outside. This was his second MoveOn party of the night, the first having been at some bar and full of militant lesbians who talked nothing but about the closeted gays in the Repubican party. Not his scene.

Here there were about 50 people of all shapes, sizes and ages milling about the space with one thing in common: weary of Bush and excited about the Senate and the House. Beverages went in the jacuzzi tub which was prominently featured in the main room and filled with icy water. It was by the beverages that I met another couple of cool cats. Ashley, an animal rights activist, and her husband Dan, a cartoonist.

Ashley and Dan

Well, an interesting evening was had. I met some nice peeps, talked about some crap, had a few drinks, and saw some new junk. I ended the night by going to moby's MoveOn party with Dan and Ashley in the meat packing district. It was one of those things were you say to the bouncer at the velvet ropes, "We're here for moby" and either everybody either thinks that you're so great, or that you're an asshole.

Anyway, cheers to change in Washington, things can only get better from here. And cheers for me doing new stuff too: Tomorrow I'm swimming for the very first time with the Coney Island Polar Bear Club.

"Swimming." That's funny. Yeah, uh, less swimming and more standing and shrieking is more like it. I will shave my legs because there will be boys there, but I'm not trimming any weeds or bushes beyond the general maintenance. I need all the warmth I can get down there, for chrissakes.

Totonnos Pizza of Coney Island afterwards! Yay. Suck it, Dominos with your "Brooklyn Style Pizza"!

Meowzer

Doodle. 8/06