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4:09 p.m. - 2012-06-04
Hot Dog!

Thoughts from this past weekend:

Joe Barky earned a new nickname, he shall henceforth be known as- 'The Douchey Landscaper'.

This year's sparkly silver sandals are my all-time favorites.

Kristen Stewart really, really cannot act. And she has giant Bugs Bunny teeth.

Mick who wages a relentless grooming campaign against his own body hair honestly and truly thinks it would be a dopey waste of time for me to start shaving my legs.

And that nobody wants to shake hands with a 6' tall wiener.

So, Joe Barky aka: The Douchey Landscaper reached a new low in neighbor noise. We get it that he's doing whatever he can to stay away from his evil shrew of a wife and frankly we don't blame him, but we're thinking of getting up a petition to implore him to take up hunting, fishing and drinking copious amounts of cheap American beer and give over his current avoidance tactic of taking 9 hours to weed-whack his miniscule lawn every Sunday. Mows all day Saturday, weed-whacks all day Sunday and we, the innocent neighbors, are going shrieking insane with the endless racket. Joe, old buddy, please go find something else to do. Or just murder that bitch and be done with it. We'll even help you bury her body. Seriously. Enough already with the dawn patrol lawn edging, you cowardly douche.

One of the more powerful humiliations my mother beat me down with was her constant attacks on my big feet. The way she went on you'd have thought I had the biggest, most ungainly and unfeminine feet ever. To hear her tell it I had deformed diver's flippers with toenails. I swear, to my mother I was Sasquatch's sister and my ginormous unwomanly slatches must be hidden as best as possible. At no time was I to EVER call attention to my boats by wearing eye-catching shoes. The consequences of having a man notice my outsized embarrassing feet would not only kill my chances of getting married, but every man on the planet would run screaming in the opposite direction from her and my sisters just for being related to a giant-footed freak. That's right, my feet were so awful they'd doom my sisters to spinsterhood and worse...ruin HER chances of getting laid.

I went along with this craziness for far too long and then about 20 years ago I took a good hard look at my feet. Okay, yeah, they're larger than most women's feet, but then again so is everything else about me. I am simply a big person. And far from being freakish my feet were okay looking and completely proportional to the rest of my bod. On the spot I told the mental ghost mother to go piss up a rope. I gave myself a pedicure and painted my toenails for the first time in my life and when the polish was dry I got in the car, drove to Payless and bought the prettiest, sparkliest sandals they had in my size. Thus a ritual was born. Every summer since I've treated myself to pretty silver sandals. Silver works because it goes with almost everything, especially my mostly monochrome wardrobe, and because sparkly silver sandals are as close to glass slippers as it gets in a size 11 $30 or less universe. Here is this year's pair. Cute, eh? They look even better on.

Last night we went to dinner and a movie as a family. It is so rare there's a film all three of us can agree on. The ex will take Wolf to see any and every mind-numbing piece of celluloid crap out there, including several that if I'd known about in advance I'd have vetoed outright. However, 'Snow White and The Huntsman' seemed to be a good fit for this family unit. An updated fairytale which wasn't an outright kids' movie (me) and had battles and cool special effects (Wolf), and monsters for Mick? Good deal. Our thoughts afterward broke down just that way. Though the guys liked it more than I did. Wolf and Mick enjoyed the battles and the monsters as expected. I did appreciate that the evil queen was given a backstory which explained why she was so bent on maintaining her looks and power, it's about time she stopped getting such a bum rap. I also liked the fairies' forest because it's a lot like how the world looks to me all the time. But Kristen Stewart is so goddamn wooden. And I'm not on the 'We hate Bella Swan' bandwagon either. I've not read or seen a single installment of 'Twilight', but knowing stuff about it is unavoidable unless you live under a rock. Bella Swan's weak-ass masochism and the whole backward 'sex for a woman = pain, ruination, social rejection and death' thing makes me cross-eyed with fury. And lord knows the internet has been full of scorn for Kristen Stewart's one-note portrayal of the pathetic retrogressive Bella Swan, but I was still willing to give Kristen Stewart a fair chance. Wrong! That girl can't seem to muster a genuine emotion to save her life. Or her movie. Good gravy what a stiff. And without anything else like actual character or emoting to distract me all I could focus on was her gigantic front teeth. Visible in every scene because along with not being able to act she's obviously a mouth breather. How attractive. Maybe that's why she's such a hot piece to a vampire, they have problems with oversized teeth too.

Leg shaving. I've said this often enough over the years- I do NOT barber my body hair. Part feminism, part practicality. Despite the ridiculously thick brunette mop on my noggin my body hair is fair, sparse and nearly invisible. Shaving, depilatories, and waxing cause way more issues than they solve. Except for the occasional larkish topiary trim of my Eve's thicket (mostly out of curiosity to see if made any difference looks-wise, when you only have 15 pubic hairs not much is going to matter, I am the master of the pubic comb-over) I haven't shaved anything since my modeling agent told me to stop butchering myself 35 years ago. Made for a lot of retouching to cover up the gouges and such from my futile attempts at shaving something which wasn't really there. To him I was a quicker and easier sell with armpit and leg hair intact. In time I came to agree with him and became proud of my body and its peculiarities and honesty about what women look like.

This is a subject I've given a lot of thought to over the years. Armpits and legs, and nowadays all pubic hair must be stripped off to the skin for a woman to be considered 'beautiful'? Removing women's body hair to their pre-pubescent state so they look like little girls with fully developed breasts? This is the gold standard of sexual desirability? Could it get any sicker? Any more perverted? Blech.

And this is a wannabe princess speaking here. Hey, I understand my fixation with pumpkin coaches and being the fairest in the land, for me it's always been about being wanted, being chosen. That's all it is. Rejected, abused and neglected from the very beginning, all I've ever wanted was to seen and wanted as I am. Exactly as I am. Brainy, very tall, big footed, sharp tongued, unshorn, sappy hearted me. Mick gets that. He gets me. And doesn't want me to do anything I don't want to do. Especially not to conform to some idiotic pervy male-centric ideal designed to strip women of all of the talents, voice, sexual self, and accomplishments that mark of lifetime of growth and experience so as to not threaten men who can't get it up with a true equal and need some dim-witted groveling hairless Bell Swan to dominate or risk being flaccid failures. I don't shave. It's part of who I am. I adore sparkly silver sandals. I got all frothy and involved in a mini-series about the history of chemistry the other day and went on about it with Mick until he was crossed-eyed with information overload. I helped him write a new job description and designation of duties and outline of student and staff safety procedures to submit to the school board as part of this year's evaluation. I discussed sex reassignment surgery with Wolf and helped him study for his World History final. I made coq au vin for dinner on Friday. That's part of who I am too. I think tiaras and quantum mechanics can coexist in the same person. String theory, string cheese, and string bikinis too if that's what does me. To be seen and accepted and wanted with all my contrasts and complexities and to offer the same to him in return, to me that is real freedom and the fairytale come true.

Now about shaking hands with a 6' wiener...

Nathan's Hot Dogs has joined forces with Arthur Treacher's Fish and Chips. Hot dogs and fish might not seem to be the obvious pairing, but for this family it's perfect. Like the movie we saw last night a place that serves kosher hot dogs, coleslaw, batter-dipped cod, hushpuppies, and cheese fries is THE place to cover all our junk food jones. So we went to the free-standing Nathan's/Arthur Treacher's joint up on Rte. 9 for dinner last night.

After ordering a truly disgusting amount of food we got set up with all our condiments and fixings and went to sit down. WHAM! I smacked my head into a low-hanging light fixture over our table. Hurt like a motherfucker and scared me silly but no lasting damage done. The manager hustled over to check on me and do the 'Please don't sue us!' supplication dance while Wolf and Mick choked back huge snorts of laughter. Not that they enjoyed seeing me hurt, but the whole thing was silly in a Looney Tunes sort of way. Head bonking + loud noises = hilarity. Thank you, Chuck Jones. Once it was established I didn't have a concussion or needed stitches Mick and Wolf put on Nathan's fry cook paper hats to make me laugh. Giveaways akin to Burger King crowns the fry cook hats had the desired effect and I got the giggles over what utter tools they looked like in their dopey hats with a smiling anthropomorphic hot dog on the front. This got us to talking about cartoonish mascots in general. The goofy Red Robin, Chuck E. Cheese, the big dancing Best Buy price tag guy, the Fruit Stripe Gum Rainbow Zebra, and how grateful we all were that this Nathan's hadn't made some poor schmuck in a giant foam rubber hot dog suit go around greeting customers. Wolf (who's almost 15, remember) was laid out. A giant wiener! Sure, let's all shake hands and make chat with the giant wiener! Let's get a picture with the giant wiener! Wolf's hysteria was infectious. For the rest of the meal it was wiener jokes, we couldn't stop. On and on with the innuendoes and absurdities about the giant wiener and all the possibilities therein.


And this is how it goes with us. Annoyances, profundities, junk food, movie reviews, and wiener jokes. ~LA

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