Meow House Theatre

Do you think it’s tacky to plant a “garden” in an old toilet, which you will be placing in your backyard?

Yes:  _____

or

YES:  _____

I’ve seen a lot of weird things on craigslist but this one is pretty near the top on the WTF scale:

Girls with long tongues needed (Boston and New England)

If you know a pretty girl over 18 with a really long, agile tongue, please ask her if she’d like to get paid to show off her tongue tricks on video. She can make the video herself and I`ll pay for it. I am collecting videos of the longest, most talented, sexiest female tongues in the Boston area. I know this sounds unusual, but it`s absolutely legit ! This girl (name removed) replied and made a few videos of her tongue tricks for me, earning over $600 to date. (link removed, it’s a girl with a tongue WAY past the bottom of her chin) No nudity, no sex involved .. just her face, soft voice and sexy tongue tricks. I will need to see some pics of her tongue before hiring her, obviously.

Um okay sure! “No sex involved”?? Yeah maybe not for the girl doing the tongue tricks but I have a feeling there’s plenty of sex, one-sided and/or one-handed as it may be, for the guy on the other end.

Now just because I’m saying it’s weird, and it IS weird, doesn’t mean I’m judging. People should do what they want no matter how oddball it is! Free love for everyone!! <—-there’s a long tongue for ya but I guess a little green body-less man isn’t what this guy’s looking for.

Hey guess what? Today I stopped traffic! Yes that old cliché is completely true. You’ve heard how it goes: some women are just so smokin’ incredibly hot that cars come screeching to a halt as they pass by. She walks in beauty like the night, men fall to their knees, Song of Solomon, etc. etc.

Unfortunately, those words do not describe me. What is more fitting is “Damn that girl trips a lot.” Or “That’s a big scab you got there, how’d that happen?” What happened to me was I caught my toe on some invisible thing that everyone else can just step over but nooooo not me and then fell on my ass in the middle of the crosswalk and nearly got run over. Then some guy yelled at me about it because he had to slam on the brakes because he does not care about pedestrians, obviously, and that made the guy behind him have to slam on the brakes and within seconds people were beeping their horns and making a generally unpleasant racket as they waited for the road obstruction to clear. AND I scratched my iPod.

But at least it was a very elegant fall, really. Nobody can say I don’t trip like a ballerina, if ballerinas tripped. If they ever thought about it that is.

In other cliché news–even less flattering if such a thing is possible–last night I had ants in my pants.

Okay, one ant. I was inside listening to messages and I felt “something” tickling my backside. I ignored it for a minute, since there was no one there and I’m not prone to believing in ghosts, but this faint yet noticeable tickling continued. I thought maybe a hair had fallen down my shirt and into my pants, which are rather too big for me and thus there’s plenty of room for things to fall into. So I put my hand down my pants–oh come ON don’t tell me you have never fixed your underwear when nobody was around–and I felt this “thing” and flicked it out and it was an ant. In my pants! I think maybe it fell in when I was out fiddling with the rose bushes before coming in.

I also had a giant bee down my tank top once and that was not something I’d care to repeat. No cliché goes with that one, not that I can think of anyway.

I was watching Colbert the other night and he had an author on who has written a book, the message of which, when you get right down to it, is:

“Men Like Tail.
They Like Looking At It, They Like Chasing It,
and They Like Getting It.”

Subtitle:
Some Are Better And/Or
More Lecherous About It Than Others

I thought years ago about writing a book like that but assumed it was TOO OBVIOUS. Like, “Hey Random House, I have a great idea for a book: ‘The Sky Is BLUE!!!’ What do you think?”

Late on the damn gravy train again, I am.

I’ve been watching DVDs of The Wire, which might be the best TV show you’ve never seen, which if you haven’t seen you ought to fix like right now if you can. Anyway one thing is really confusing me: all the drug dealers have fantastic teeth. Gorgeous straight pearly white (but not “fake white”) beautiful little jewels in their mouths. I don’t get it. They’re all drug dealers and most of them, at least the lower-level ones, are pretty skanky-looking otherwise, but they’ve all got fantastic teeth.

Now I KNOW it’s a TV show and those aren’t real drug dealers and they’re actors and actors have good teeth (usually). But it would be easy to make them seem to have not-quite-so-good teeth, or at least give a few of them something to make you eternally grateful for your company’s shitty insurance plan. But no, they’ve all got stunning teeth that any Crest Toothpaste commercial would be proud to display.

A ha, you say, they’re drug dealers, which means they’re rolling in dough, and can afford to get their teeth capped, bleached, porcelained, veneered, braced, or otherwise cosmetic-fied, just like they do on Extreme Makeover. But noooo, not all of them are lighting cigarettes with hundred-dollar bills for fun. Some of them are living in burned-out tenements with no running water yet their teeth shine with the brightness of a new diamond. I can understand the high-level drug dealers having good teeth but not some of these corner boys. (I am also puzzled as to how the high-level guys, who are apparently raking in $50,000 or more per day, appear to be storing their money in random places like inside walls–which can be robbed–instead of finding a good Cayman Islands offshore.)

Which brings me to another thing, one of the “rules” these drug dealers follow is that nobody touches the product. They’re mainly selling heroin, and nobody NOBODY is supposed to be using it. To which I say: are you naïve or what? You’ve got all these people, kids really, who grew up in the projects where it seems (on the show) that everyone and their mother is shooting up day and night, and yet this group of people who are staring at it all day long never touch it? I find that hard to believe.

By the way, they do have one guy who is missing a tooth but he’s a mere user, not a dealer. And for a long-term hardcore heroin addict, he seems to be pretty well put-together.

Anyway this is the first of a few posts wherein I shall outline things that puzzle me. Why? Because I want to, that’s why. Next up: the proliferation of “secrets” that are going to be revealed within the pages of trashy magazines sold at the supermarket checkout counter. I even took pictures for that one. How can they be secrets when millions of people have just been told what they are?

I wish someone to explain to me the purpose of “spoilers” on the trunk of a car.  I saw one today about 2 feet high.  It was hideous, but more importantly, it probably cost heaps of money extra and if that guy has an accident I bet it’s another $2,000 to replace that useless piece of plastic.

What are they for?  Do they have any actual purpose or are they just supposed to look cool?

I am a very extremely highly sensitive person, yes it’s true, I know you don’t believe it, but I AM, and here I come over here to see if my spot on the Technorati list of Web site popularity has gone up from #2,445,879 to maybe an even 2,000,000 and what do I see but COMMENTS, which makes me so happy to know that someone is reading this, someone besides the automatic spambots who leave me lovely pornographic messages about things that I have never even heard of and trust me I have heard a LOT, and the secret goings-on of various celebrities that I don’t give a flying fuck about, and how I can make a million dollars trafficking in African monies, and I go and click on these comments and

THEY ARE EMPTY.

This is because you, you commenters are whom I am talking to, did not do the math question, the one that says “please add 2 plus 2″ or something like that. If you write your profound and educationally valuable thoughts here and do not do that math question, your comment will be gone with the wind. This makes me so sad. I am left to wonder who actually took the time to write something and the stress of not knowing is very disturbing. IT IS and NO I have NOT talked to a therapist about this and I WON’T.

If you don’t want me to go hang myself from a tree over the despair from this, please remember to do the math question.

Off to find my Valium now!

What do those “baby on board” signs mean? Are they telling other people to drive more carefully, or that you (the driver of the sign car) will drive more carefully, since there is a baby in there? I think announcements that you or others should or will be driving more cautiously because of whom you’re carrying are just stupid. You should be driving cautiously anyway. Certain types of passengers don’t warrant safety more than others. The corollary would be that some passengers warrant less safety. Like maybe unemployed & temporarily non-contributing people should be paired with chronic speeders, or wayward not-sufficiently-repentant youths should only be passengers in the cars of persons who are unaware that “red” means “STOP.”

Or are those little signs supposed to be telling emergency personnel that there is a baby in the car, so that in case there’s an accident they know to look for a small, possibly immobile, perhaps unable-to-speak, person?

Well that makes a little more sense, except: is there anyone on this entire planet of baby-on-board sign-holders who takes that sign off the car when baby is NOT on board?

I didn’t think so.

Yesterday I arrived home to find my mailbox stuffed with things I’ve recently bought off ebay, all clearly marked “DO NOT BEND” in big letters. The mailbox was filled to the brim and yes things were bent.

I went inside the entry to my interior door and what should be laid gently upon the mat? Why, not something fragile and delicate, but rather the latest Hanes Underwear catalogue. Because, obviously, preserving the pristine flattened state of a 30% off coupon on granny drawers is certainly more important than not bending items marked “DO NOT BEND.”

P.S. I FUCKING HATE STUPID PEOPLE. Please go and die now.

P.P.S.  I swear I am not a bitter old complaining grandma type all the time.  I have to find something cheery to write about soon.  I’ll work on it.  Look here, I’m fake-cheery all day long at work, what more do you people want from me?

I drove past this place today that I see a lot and it reminded me that I’ve been meaning to write about it.

So I live in Boston and real estate is pretty expensive here. Commercial real estate can go for a LOT of money per square foot in this area. So why do I keep seeing stores that have a curiously deserted vibe to them? For instance today I passed a store called something like “Good Feet.” And underneath it said “The Arch Support Store.” That’s all.they.sell. Arch supports. This is not a tiny little dusty place either; it’s about the size of a CVS. Fairly big in other words. And all they have is arch supports and I think bunion stretchers or toe straighteners or whatever it is that knobby feet require. Thankfully I have been spared any hereditary or shoe-induced foot problems and so don’t know much about them, except for this one time I had a corn between my pinky and my next toe that caused me no end of grief and on which someone stepped once, hard, and caused me to experience the most horrific pain of my life, like a lightning bolt smashing into my brain. I don’t think anything could compete with that pain and I have had a large rock embedded in my head and had cluster headaches that caused me to seriously consider axeing the top of my head open to make it stop. (It seemed to briefly make sense at the time of the headache.) Nothing compared with the pain of having that corn stepped on. You know in cartoons when they fall off the cliff and see stars upon hitting splat on the ground? That’s more true than you might think possible. Bright shiny swirly stars, which start after a few seconds of a nuclear-bomb-blast of white light that blots all perception of the world from your brain, except for the motherfuckingly astounding pain that has shot up from your foot up the leg through the chest and to your cerebral cortex. That thing hurt me for about 10 years, until it got massively infected and I went to the doctor finally and he had to lance it and well it gets really disgusting here so I will spare you.

Back to these fishy retail establishments. It gets better. This arch-support store is right next door to a ham store. Yes, ham. That’s all they sell. Ham. And not a variety of ham, it’s all ONE kind of ham. One flavor, one variety.

I’ve been driving past these places for years and have never seen a car in either lot, yet they continue on.

Down the street is a small “shopping plaza” with, get this, TWO pool stores (people buy pools in stores?), a wood-stove-pellet store, and best of all, a pool CUE store. Yes a store whose entire purpose is to sell pool cues. Bit specialized, don’t you think? And I can’t figure out where the entrance to this the lot is. It appears to have no access from the main road. ???

These places certainly beat out the Irish store I used to pass by a lot. I had seen that place for years too and so one Sunday I thought I’d go in and see if they had any brown bread, and what should be on the shelves but only a few packets of Hob Nobs and a box of Barry’s. A box discolored by the sun, it had been there so long. I think there were some moldy old jars of Marmite in there too, not sure. I was given “the eye” by the various people “working” inside, far far too many people to possibly fill their timesheet with actual work at such a small store. I think I found a copy of the Irish Voice and then got the hell out. I have no idea what was going on in there. They stayed in business for years too. I think the last time I passed by though it had been replaced by an alternative bookstore, whatever that means. Someone must have bought the Barry’s and Hob Nobs and so they could finally close.

Edit:  I never, EVER, used to misspell words, or make typos that I didn’t notice.  I don’t know what is wrong with me lately.

Hey all you google-ers out there. FYI I am not that person in Texas who also uses the name “meowhouse” and who apparently has thousands upon thousands of people angry with her for 1) running a kitten-breeding operation; and 2) selling FIP-infected kittens. THAT IS NOT ME. Yes I have cats but I live in a whole other state and I find the breeding of domesticated pets to be disgusting, and I wish it were illegal. ….. I should edit this to say that I have known some very fine purebreds whom I loved very much, but they came from people who bred 1-2 litters per year from a small number of parents. They weren’t money-making operations but done out of love for the breed and a wish to let other people experience that. But generally, there are too many homeless animals in the world to justify large-scale breeding operations.

So if you think I’m her/him, you are wrong. Keep going down the list of google results and you’ll find that other person who dares to use MY super-sekrit-disguise Internet nick.

Did you know that if your sink is clogged and you can’t find your snake, you can unbend a wire coat hanger, make a little U-shaped hook at the end, stick it down the drain, and then pull up a big disgusting slimy “thing” that will make you totally gag until you are able to fling it in the trash bin and cover it up with paper towels? Then you can go look at pictures of flowers or kittens or fluffy bunnies until the memory of that revolting grayish dripping not-completely- identifiable “thing” is blotted from your brain, so that maybe you can keep some breakfast down?

Well now you know! Don’t say I never gave you any valuable home-maintenance tips.

Nine Inch Nails pre-sale tickets for Worcester start at 5:00 PM today so nobody bother me at that time! I can’t hear you I can’t see you I don’t want to talk to you, and I plan to be “on a conference call” for the duration of my login so that nobody even thinks of interrupting me. I’d actually prefer to go to Mohegan and will hopefully get tickets for that too.

Very useful, these “conference calls.” Another good trick is to be in a real crashing-bore of a meeting and arrange with someone else outside to page you “urgently” so that you have to leave. Barring that, bring a dull pin to stick in your leg to keep yourself awake during the endless droning. It works really well.

Edit: the “conference call” was a smashing success. Two GA floor. The “special entrance” information to follow. (”Special” to me and the eleventy-million other people on the mailing list.) Mohegan pre-sale in a week.

I can’t find a copy of it online anywhere but I’m pretty sure I just saw a McDonald’s commercial in which a black man repeatedly refers to his mother as his “mammy.”   I believe he and his female companion are dining–of all the things McDonald’s sells as food–on fried chicken strips during said commercial.

Is the whole thing inappropriate and vaguely racist or is it just me?

The Apple Store is opening in Boston on Thursday. I think it’s supposed to be the largest in the world so far. I will not go, I will not go, I will not go.

Well maybe I will go just to take some pictures of other people salivating. I will keep my own spit hidden away. And I will leave Amex at home.

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I finished up some nice pictures of a singer named Jacquelyn Wells this weekend. Man it was tough to get some good ones. With a band, or a regular singer or guitarist, they tend to move around a lot. Even a singer who doesn’t play anything and is just standing there moves around to a certain extent, in between verses or in between songs at the very least. But someone playing the piano has to stay put and that makes it really hard to get something other than 200 shots of her sitting at the piano! Thankfully she was very photogenic so at least that part was easy. These are a few that I liked; the whole set is here.