Batwoman is here, she's queer

BBC News reports that Batwoman is returning from a 27-year hiatus in the erebuian netherworld (which is why, I assume, she is able to return from the dead).

Maybe she's like the hero in the Princess Bride who returned from his "partially dead" state to win the women... just like Batwoman will do in this, her new life.

Now. I'm on the fence about her coming out. Obviously, I am excited that our world is becoming more tolerant and accepting (excluding the whole Iraq and south-of-the-US-border thing). And I really do think it's healthy for younger readers to have access to such a progressive character.

But her obvious outness is just not as curious for adult readers, especially ones who are in the metrosexual know — folk who laugh at the signs and metaphors hidden like gemstones in the granite-rock dialogue.

Personally, I like word play and playing on words. I hope that doesn't disappear because she's officially out. It's so much more cheezier when a pun is written for the obvious.

Plus, if Batwoman's out, you can't play the "she's totally gay" or "she totally is" game.

Here's my story of playing the "she totally is" game with eight lesbians:

When I was visiting San Francisco, I shacked up with five lesbians in a lovely Victorian home just off Haight and Ashbury. They were a fantastic and generous crew who welcomed me into their home when my other accommodation fell through.

One night, they invited me to watch Melrose Place with them and a few friends. I wondered why five intelligent women who had very little in common with the Melrose Place characters would watch such pulp fiction but I accepted the invitation, curious to see what would transpire.

Seated inbetween a woman who was chewing tobacco and whose biceps were as large as my head and her totally fabulous girlfriend (she was a supermodel mixed with a bit of K.D. Lang... serious, I'm not making this shit up), I was ready to watch Lesbians on Melrose.

They all leaned forward, a hush fell over the room when the blonde Melrose character came on and started crying into her friend's ample bosom. They looked like an image on '50s pulp fiction jacket.

-One girl piped up, "Oh, she totally is".

-"Comon', she's not, you just wish she was... now she, she totally is — she's riding a hog," another girl retorted.

-"You're all totally gay," muffled one girl through a mouthfull of burrito.

Throughout the whole evening I was introduced to the world of secret and hidden gay entendres... and I never went back. The world is so much more fun when language takes on two levels of meaning. I guess that's why I'm on the fence about Batwoman coming fully out.

But then, how often do I read comics? Like never. This is the first graphic novel that has caught my fancy. Hmm. I may just pick it up.

Gothic Park

A coworker and I were discussing our teen-goth roots. I was telling him about my 18-hole steel-toed boots. He was telling me about hiding in dug outs, smoking cigarettes and reading books. I love cool losers. We got to talking about the goth characters on South Park. And the coworker dug up a site that lets you design your own South Park character.

Long ago I attempted to be a goth. I had no choice really. In my community, you could either be a jock who didn't play sports, a hippie or a mod goth. I wasn't too fond of crushing beer cans on my forehead or sporting feathered and permed hair. I wasn't accepted by the sanctimonious patchouli drumming circle. So I gladly chose goth – it fit with my love of Siouxsie and the Banshees, Nine Inch Nails and Jane's Addiction.

But one day, when I was tromping down to a somber little cafe in Victoria's Bastion Square – goths alway hang in cafes, especially when they think a coven practices nearby — to meet my macrabe gang, I espied them waiting outside the cafe, standing shoulder to shoulder, arms crossed.

The leader, let's call him Malachai, pointed at me and said ominously, "You can't hang out with us anymore, you smile too much." WTF?

I just about threw my complete book of Edgar Allen Poe at him, but I didn't want to ruin it on such a vapid boy. What a tit.

I should have been sad to lose my mealy-mouthed pals with their straight shootin' leader. But I was too amused about the reason for being kicked out of the goth gang: I smiled too much. Hah. Who knew? I sure didn't. I thought I was a sombre, sullen sort of teen. It was rather uplifting to find out that I was, oh how shall I put it, happier than I thought.

100 things I like... to do

(1) walk over bridges (2) warm my feet on the coils of hot water heaters (3) read cyber punk novels (4) sit in my kitchen nook (5) be totally out of my normal element (6) swim in lakes... at night— can you guess which one I am? (7) eat crepes for breakfast (8) write without punctuation (9) remember my grandmother (10) put the fork presses on peanut butter cookies (11) good book covers (12) dreaming (13) roadtrips — especially with gummy bears, chips and soda (14) playing on words (15) backyard BBQs (16) dusty smell of asphalt after a summer rain (17) Long Beach, Tofino (18) Triumph Motorscyles (19) talking (20) faded signs on the alley sides of brick buildings (21) hardwood floors (22) steams (23) the cool watery air streams in dense forests (24) really good couches — the kind you can tuck up in and read away the afternoon (25) perusing cluttered shops filled with odd items (25) good fitting and sassy underwear (26) disturbing watercolours (27) squishing water outof sea anemones (28) sun on my back, lying on a blanked in that half-sleepy state (29) christmas trees decorated with home-grown decorations (30) islands (31) renting a cabin with a gang (31) turning rocks over and watching the wee crabs scuttle away (32) neon signs — old ones that include a picture like a seahorse or mermaid (33) walking down a busy sidewalk and blending in with the cacophony of colour and noise (34) that poem from the Nag Hammadi (35) roasted almonds (36) walk, jog, run with music (37) drink wine with girls (38) travelling — I think (39) blogging (40) riding the ferry (41) reading my horoscope (42) hiking (43) debautch a good hotel with coco chanel (44) sleep (45) study (46) learn (47) holidays (48) sing in the shower (49) dance in my hallway (50) read metafilter (51) read slushpile (53) read 50 books (54) go dancing with this man (55) pull fairy cards with this girl (56) talk theory and trash with this boy (57) support my brilliant roomates (58) sigh: yoga (59) eat granny smith apples (60) ignore time (61) brain streaming (62) drink a spot of good scotch (63) tuck under a blanket and watch a good movie with food and drink at arm's length (64) bike crusing (65) hyperreal realities (66) sex (67) scratching the surface deeper (68) see, touch and taste and... (69) walk barefoot on sand or grass (70) take obnoxiously long showers (71) mastermind a creative plan (72) manifestos (73) roundtable theory discussions (74) collage parties (75) read Harper's Index (76) old school ice cream sandwiches (77) crack the spine of a new book (78) discuss the detritus of culture with Mata Hari — preferably while watching some campy '80s flick (79) support novel happenings (80) good logos (81) mangos (82) figure out how this coding thing works (83) can I say travel again, but make it long-term travelling — like living somewhere foreign for a long spell? (84) ride my urban bike, though it gives me "the fear" (85) book club (86) eat brunch on a patio (87) plaster on a mud mask then laugh at myself in the mirror (88) be outside during "golden time" (89) on occasion, get up early, grab a trashy book and read in a cafe (90) walk through alleys (91) buy cheap flip flops (92) wax poetic (93) instant messaging (94) sop up melted brie with crusty white baguette chunks, ripped not cut (95) attend art openings and watch the politics play out (96) visit hunt & gather (97) dye my hair (98) think (99) act (100) feel.

Pop Icon Down!

George Lutz, owner of the Amityville Horror house, died on May 8th, 2006.



If you don't know the Amityville story check out the original 1979 film starring Margo Kidder and James Brolin. It is an entertaining flick, in that freaky, kitchy way that only 70's horror films can be (also see: The Exorist/Rosemary's Baby). It's worth the rental fee just to see Margo's flash wardrobe.

Don't bother with the new version. It's campy, gory and over-acted, making it painfully hard to suspend your disbelief.

It is a pretty crazy story if you have any taste for the paranormal. To get the full scoop on this real life house of horrors, check out the interview that George Lutz did with my favorite basement podcasters: Ghostly Talk. The interview is in 4 parts on their archive page and is free to download. Just scroll down and you'll find it labelled "George Lutz".


And all of you d.i.n.k.s who are currently trolling the real estate market, REMEMBER...if your dream house is selling for well under market value, there may just be a portal to hell in the basement.

Madonna: Faust or Glenda-the-good?

I am not the first to catch myself once again really diggin' the latest Madge*.

So is she the Godess-incarnate, elementally in tune with where the world is at?

or did she simply sell her ectoplasm to the man in tight shoes in exchange for unending decades of mainstream domination?


*Damn her, I really do like it.

Morning pinners

Figure 8 just sent me these morning pinners (I especially like the second one, I'm guessing was said by either Chris Rock or Ali):

Paris, Ali, Yoda, and Chris Rock to start your day...

It's just a job. Grass grows, birds fly, waves pound the sand. I beat people up.

You know the world is going crazy when the best rapper is a white guy,
the best golfer is a black guy, the tallest guy in the NBA is Chinese,
the Swiss hold the America's Cup, France is accusing the U.S. of
arrogance, Germany doesn't want to go to war, and the three most
powerful men in America are named 'Bush', 'Dick', and 'Colon.' Need I
say more?

Size matters not. Look at me. Judge me by my size, do you? Hmm? Hmm.
And well you should not. For my ally is the Force, and a powerful ally
it is. Life creates it, makes it grow. Its energy surrounds us and
binds us. Luminous beings are we, not this crude matter. You must feel
the Force around you; here, between you, me, the tree, the rock,
everywhere, yes.

I don't like parties past 2am. Then it's all losers and weirdos.

Ancient E Meets Tiger Mountain

So instead of being an urban experience,
Seattle this time was all about
the forest on Tiger Mountain
and music, music getting there
getting back
getting it on
and
an ancient (but so clean) e The Ninja
happened to find in an old medicine bottle
(how handy)--
then walking for miles in the woods
up and up
laughing
sharing beers and js
figuring out
the world's workings
and pulling perfect (if dangerous)
360 doughnuts in the parking lot.
Both The Ninja and The Twilight Samurai
won the day
over late late sashimi,
The Twilight Samurai singing
Alison
in key
to great applause.

Portland just rolls

Did a girl road trip this long weekend. Me and Figure 8 stuck out a two-and-a-half hour long border crossing to get down to Portland, Oregon.

I absolutely love this city, but I'm not ready to rant it out yet. I am still savouring the sentiments in secret like Smeed if he ever got his hands on precious.

But if I was to do a "top ten reasons why I love Portland" list, this would be reason number 8:

Powell's Books — the largest independent used and new bookstore in the world. It takes up a whole square block smack dab in the middle of this lovely city.

I got a totally bitchin' unicorn t-shirt. (Not like the picture, but close — who wears these things without irony?)

Under Score?

My first boyfriend was a fan of the banana hammock undies, also known as man-panties.

ewwww...

At the time I thought they were hot. What does that do to a girl's sexual psyche...?


I suppose it could have been worse. I stumbled across these today.

I know I shouldn't be surprised that those exist in the world but I really had an OMG moment over those ones. Thank you Internet.

Men in lacy underwear is not the issue here...those are just creepy.

Please note* The site has a page entitled "Kinky Things"; those underwear are not on it.

Flippin' flipbooks

Hey this is a pretty sweet idea: take the flip book concept, make an online do-it-yourself flipbook maker.

This elephantine flipbook is the top-rated one.

Oh, I just realized that is it's a viral campaign tool... for Benetton (it's still around, who knew?) called Benettonplay. You can find games in all shapes and colours (chuckle, chuckle).



Noooo:
neon's
back.
Please
make
it
stop.

It's
just
too
Wham.

Wake
me
up
when
this fad go goes.

Happy Ghettoday GBS!

Happy birthday to us! I can't believe my one-year-old birthday wish came true: we've hit AND surpassed 10,000 hits.

(Thanks mom for taking eight hours out of your day to atari-hit refresh your daughter's blog. Oh, by the way, that mom I usually talk about, she's a fiction of my imagination.)

Muppepic post

This find has made my week. Aw heck, why not admit it; my year! It's an entire wiki devoted to the Muppets.

Muppet Wiki, a database that anyone can edit.

I loved the muppets. When I was a wee little ADD monkey, I remember watching it with my dad.


Now dad is normally a rather somber, angry sort of fellow, but whenever he watched the Muppets, he would chortle and chuckle so furiously that the beer and crackers precariously balanced on his gut shelf would cascade down the wreck-room couch (tits make handy beer holders, by the way).

I remember being charmed and confused by this. I knew the Muppets was a "kids" program, so why did dad find it funny? Why did he always laugh at the un-funny parts?

Why? Because the Muppets is two-tiered: there's the punny kids humour and the bawdry adult jokes. This fact only really became clear to me in my 20s when I suddenly recalled one episode in which some '70s blonde, Goldie Hawn-ish babe was dressed up as an eight-year-old girl. And she's prancing around her house, singing some song about locking postmen up when they knock about her door. So she's skipping and dancing around her place showing us where she's hiding all the service men — drawers, closets, beneath the bed.

I think she's funny AND cool because she's confident enough to steal service men and hide them all over the place.

Dad thinks it's funny because this episode is totally kiddie porntastic a la "it puts the lotion on the skin" without the creep. Plus a hot woman all dressed up as a little girl. I'm sorry, but our society wires this image sexy no matter how many times you dump your mental trash can.

So we're laughing at each other for "not getting it". I think that was part of Jim Henson's master-funnybone plan.

Hold on. I'm about to search the Muppet Wiki for my favourite muppets — those "oh, eee, oh, ah, ah. ting, tang, willa, walla, bing bang" xylophone creatures. I used to cry and cry whenever the musician banged them on their sweet, pink little heads — hold on... Got it: The Muppaphone

The Yip Yip Martians were pretty cool.
Beaker!
Lautrec Sister doing the "garbage can can".




Pfft. Have to get ready for work. I think I'm going to add to this throughout the day. It will be my muppepic post.

Sign to free me

Free Will horoscopes are up! Weekly Free Will horror-scopes are up! Based on Rob Brezsny's readings, here are my synopses of all the signs' modi operandi this week... I'll give myself one minute and one line per sign:

Aries —find a problem. get into trouble. wriggle your way out. eat your greens.
Taurus —be weird. enjoy it. find someone to tie you up — repeatedly.
Gemini — drink Absinthe with wheatgrass chasers. enjoy the head show.
Cancer —take mushrooms. forget how to talk. stare at grass. it's divine.
Leo —be powerful — enjoy picking the lint out of your bellybutton.
Virgo —swing out my electric sister. step on someone. just breakout.
Libra —you will have wet dreams involving heros in tights. feed them candy.
Scorpio —everything is a lie. now go prove me wrong.
Sagittarius —unleash yourself. tie a taurus up. move to china. teach ESL.
Capricorn —your stool will contain valuable riches. look before you flush.
Aquarius —become one with the turtle. eat rabbit not crow.
Pisces —cook your byatch a good meal you lazy fucker. cry into the sauce.

Super Columbine Massacre RPG

"Welcome to Super Columbine Massacre RPG! You play as Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold on that fateful day in the Denver suburb of Littleton. How many people they kill is ultimately up to you."

Q&A with game creator
Link to online game

Instant Coffee - One is never enough

Well, due to my suffering a series of extreme panic attacks over the past eight months, I've finally had to suck it up and cut out my favourite drug: caffeine.

Mmmm. Coffee. I remember the good 'ole days, the days when I consumed massive amounts of that tarry goodness. But no more. These days "Instant Coffee" is the only energy boost I'm allowed to suck up.

Have you heard of *Instant Coffee? It's a pretty groovy art collaborative that is currently conducting a series of event-based activities centering around a sculpture (read: the gallery's decked out as a sunken livingroom, which makes a normally sterile gallery ever so much more inviting).

The events are happening every Friday at the OR Gallery. After the jump, click on the image — you should see a listing of dates and events related to their show, "One is Never Enough".

But wait — just you look at the timestamp on this post ... that's right: 6:25 in the **morning. How the hell am I getting up early without jacking coffee through in the system? I don't understand. My c-c-caffeine world has been turned upsidedown. I'm reeling here, people, flat out reeling.

I'm also trying to get fit — again — and morning is the only time I can fit it in. Work soaks up about 11 hours of my day and bleeds into the early evening. I ask myself: how does one maintain AND foster an identity outside of work? I can barely make a joke. I am struggling to post.

The work brain- and energy-drain are not my major areas of concern, they're simple surface scratches. What really and truly concerns me is the identity melt that occurs in a work environ. Work is an all-too centering force, an ***interpellative creature that leaves you becoming what it calls you — be it bosses, co-workers, or your business battlewear. I'm fighting the melt, but it's a narsty, exhausting chore.

*"Instant Coffee barely resembles the real thing, but its effect is the same. Regardless of taste, it still works. Quality is beside the point. In this disregard Instant Coffee becomes a medium to be used. This is Instant Coffee.

**Morning people are a completely different breed of people. They tend to be very thin and fit and disgustingly happy. More sunlight? Aliens from outerspace? Tom Cruise clones? Or would that just make them aliens?

*** "Interpellative" the way Judith Butler describes it.

Somedays you eat the bear...

I was in Shopper's today buying Red Bull (*note time stamp on current post) and as I was paying, I heard Charlie Brown's teacher announce that something was 90% off.

I asked the cashier, "What did she say is 90% off?"

"Ice cream." The girl said vapidly.

"Ice cream?" I clarified.

"Ya, we're switching suppliers or something so we have to get rid of it."

I peered back down the aisle. There was a clot of shoppers already aggregating in front of the freezers. I, of course, flew to join them before somebody realized we were robbing them of their frozen confections.

I actually saw a tiny woman with her arms loaded with ice cream from chin to choada, Ichabod Crane-style. She must have bought at least 8 cartons.

2.5L of ice cream. (*Rolo and cookie dough): $1.45
Karma return: Priceless

"Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. Red sky in morning, sailor’s warning"

At one time in the world that adage was an aid to memory for sailors and those people who lined the coasts of the old world. Sailors, back in the day, knew that red skies in the morning meant that the water content in the atmosphere was high, reflecting the sun's rays. Rain and possibly a storm was on its way. Folklore bound up the wisdom of the world. Much of that folklore remains today but we are forgetting the wisdom behind it.

My mother has this type of wisdom inside of her. I keep trying to convince her that she should write it down. However, she is ESL and still shy about her skill as a speller, so I doubt she has gotten around to it. I will have to keep after her.

My mother was the youngest of 5 girls with only one brother. She was, therefore, expected to help on the farm as well as in the house. This life granted her a thorough schooling in cultivation/harvesting/animal husbandery/gardening/etc in addition to old-world hand skills such as sewing, knitting and needlework. Even her own sisters call her "Mother Nature". Those of you who have sampled the fruits of her harvest will agree she must be some sort of botanical witch.

Unfortunately, much "old world" knowledge is just that...old, nearly obsolete. Who needs to know which plant's tea will help ease a headache or how to card and skein raw wool in this age of synthesized medications and South Asian sweat shops?

I think we do. This type of information is not required but somehow it is still necessary.

I'm not suggesting we all become neo-luddites. Don't start burying school buses full of survival rations just yet. All I am saying is that when embodied, lived understanding of how the earth works is lost, the world is going to seem colder. My mom is a warm, cozy spot away from the draftiness of life.

Happy Mother's Day Momma. xox

We are here.

Whoah. I found out about this bizarre infection via Drudge Report.

Most doctors assume it's a "phantom" infection, but as more and more people in South Texas seek medical treatment for flaming red lesions, tarry black sweat and strange tentacle-like fibers that pop out of their skin in different colors, there's a "growing concern" — yeah, I think somebody better start concerning themself about our brave new world. Like these dude are — check out the website for Morgellons disease, there's lots of creepy pictures.

I state: we are here. Before our cyber brains have time to catch up, our bodies are going rogue-ly into the cyber punk future. Comon' — a disease that makes your pores run black and your skin grow coloured threads?!? That's the stuff novels are made of. I repeat: we are here.

No kissing — it's wedding sandwich week

I’m mid-point between two (not kissing) cousin weddings — one down, one to go.

Flashback: It's suddenly last Sunday at 5am.

Mom at 5:00am: Are you awake, Violet? Violet? Are you sleeping? Are you awake? Violet?

Violet at 5:05am: No, mom, I'm sleeping.

Mom at 5:10am: Death, death, death...
Mom at 6:00am: Cancer, cancer, cancer...
Mom at 7:00am: Psychotic illness, treatment... and more death
Mom at 7:15am: Death, cancer, psychosis...
Mom at 8:00am: Scottish country dancing, bunyons
Mom at 8:15am: Violet, are you listening to me? Why aren't you listening to me?

Violet at 8:16am: Because I'm sleeping.

Mom at 8:16am: But I'm trying to have a conversation with you.

Violet at 8:16: You need two people to make a conversation.

Mom at 8:17am: But we're having a conversation. At least, that's what I thought we were having... we never get to talk.

Violet at 8:25am: We? We talk all the time. In fact, we never stop talking. We talk and talk and talk. Can't we just love ourselves in silence. Don't you think our love is strong enough?

Mom at 8:25am: snorts, snuffles, and huffs.

Violet from 8:25: .. __ . _ . ___ >> ::: __ ++ // _

Mom at 8:26am: Well, I guess it's time to take my niacin. These hot flashes are driving me crazy... did you know your aunt had a child out of wedlock? I just found out myself. But her child's dying and she's going to donate her liver. Should we go to Smitty's for breakfast? Maybe we should go to Smitty's for breakfast. What are you going to wear to the wedding? You're going to wear something nice, right. I hope you're going to wear something nice.

Does anyone know where can I get my hands on some good pot cookies, fast... or adavans?

I realize you can never go home again but...

This is what you get for $259,900 in my home town:



This is what you get for $259,900 where I live now:

GBS High Fidelity Poll:

Ten Songs You'll Love* Until You're Dead...


Mine (no particular order):

Babe, I'm Gonna Leave You ~ Led Zep
Bad Luck, Blue Eyes, Goodbye ~ The Black Crowes
Black Is the Color of My True Love's Hair ~ Nina Simone
My Dream Girl Don't Exist ~ Neutral Milk Hotel
Sultans of Swing ~ Dire Straits
Caravan ~ Dinah Washington
Try A Little Tenderness ~ Otis Redding
Since You've Been Gone ~ Aretha Franklin
Take Another Little Piece of My Heart ~ Janis Joplin
Run Thru ~ My Morning Jacket
Promises in the Dark ~ Pat Benatar


*even when you're 42, or 58, or 76 years old

Toronto/Rumpled Bed

OK, this is not Toronto, where I am now, but a spring morning rumpled bed at home of a few weeks ago.

But I am in Toronto now for ten days, without my camera (how could I have forgotten it? and hence the picture from home). Am at a special program for women executives in TV, and am thriving on the inspiration and yes, sista-hood... While I have the lowest position in the group (I'm just a producer, they're all executives) it is the best place to be. We spent an hour with an idol today, Phyllis Yaffe, CEO of AllianceAtlantis, and she had the same start as me, in publishing, and she advocated the taking of risk for one's career--I felt like I was seeing a wise, 63-year old, started-as-a-librarian--ended-as-CEO version of what I could be, any of us could be.

Ghetto Bitch Whores

We are going about this the wrong way. If we want those hits we've gotta get the search-engines-that-be involved.

For example, "Stealth Birthday" is now offically re-titled Hot Ninja Chick. Yes, I know it lacks that certain GB subtlety and style but hey, do we want those hits or not? If we're trying to suck hits out of horny web-surfers, subtlety and style is not what they're after.

Shit, we don't even need the pictures; we could just use all the bad words and watch the hits tally up. But then I'd hate to be a cyber-cock tease.

Oh what the hell...



Ninja Dahl, you get to create the offical title for my balaclava-and-collar-bones contribution. It's only fair. I'm rather partial to "God Bless Laser Hair Removal" but how many hits could we get from sleek, smooth axillas?

I am so happy to always be the one to bring the base elements to the Ghetto.

Ciao bitches!

Fire Hydrant Ball Redux

Psst. The GBSs are turning one year old on May 17th. And well, I'm turning one year older a few days after that. So, I've decided to request a Fire Hydrant Ball. But how to have a fire hydrant ball online? Me must muse on this.

Here's my narcissistic birthday wish: to have 10,000 hits by mid May. It's not that big a request, we're only 100-and-something hits away.

But how to do it? Gotta muster up a hit theme — thinking, musing, thinking, need a coffee, maybe I should go outside, back to thinking, sun, humming and hawing...

Obviously sex sells. We can do an "May sex sell or sale". But what else? Any bright ideas?

Type tease

Ahoy all ye font pigs: typestester

Leading, colour and em-action — this snappy little online application lets you compare screen type.

Violet was here

PEEK A BOO!

If I absolutely had to...

Putting aside all the patriarchal, xenophobic, misogynistic bullshit that is inherent in most organized religions, if I had to choose I would definitely be a catholic...

a) Wine is an integral part of being catholic.



b) They believe in the paranormal.

c) They get to wear fancy outfits and there's all that pomp and ceremony. Any excuse to dress up and I'm in there.

d) Plus there was that brief period during my Audrey Hepburn phase...*sigh* That's why I became a nurse; all the self-flagellation with none of that silly virginity business.

e) Those mothers have got some serious bling. Hell, you can even buy your way out of sin.

f) The Vatican has it's own secret police force. Cue the ninja priest assassins.

The truth is I barely escaped just this fate.



Thankfully, my mother was so fed up with the knuckle-smacking, fit-for-naught-but-birthing Catholic horseshit, that she spared her girls her own upbringing. Now my Sundays are spent how they are meant to be spent... swearing to God that I will never drink again, if only he would stop my eyeballs from pulsing with pain.

Grotty carpets

The apartment hunt continues. Many a one bedroom suspiciously switches to a bachelor right before my eyes. So much anger, frustration, and truly grotty carpets.

I love this fact-turret post.