@megeliza I spent most of my teenaged nights driving around aimlessly with friends, screaming along to Fiona with my friends. Same difference? :)
@CharlotteVale YES YES YES YES SECONDED. I find the second-stage artists so much more interesting than the big players - Melissa Ferrick, Tracy Bonham, K's Choice, Wild Strawberries, etc. So much mysterious, underrated and untapped talent. And don't get me started with Dar Williams. *sigh*
Oh - I have a Mary Lou Lord story! My friend and I went to Salem, MA for Halloween (as we New Englanders are so wont to do) in 1995 or so. We staggered upon this twee little lady busking and selling CDs down some side street, and stopped to listen. Turns out, it was Mary Lou Lord, singing "Some Jingle Jangle Morning". I hadn't heard of her before, but thought she was fab.
These two douchebros stopped to listen alongside us, and one said (practically to MLL's face) "Urrrnghngjhgh, I thought she was cute and was gonna ask for her number, but she's all old-looking and shit". My friend proceeded to lay into said douchebros whilst I stepped forward and said "They are assholes. You are gorgeous and talented, and I hope to hear a lot more from you someday. One CD, please!" Then I proceeded to absolutely ruin that CD, and still play it at least once a week (though it's been ripped to my music library for safekeeping).
@dracula's ghost Re. hard floors - use a crappy old towel instead of a mop! I, too, have always been freaked the fuck out by mops and sponges and whatnot - they are filthy cesspools of filthy filth, and always smell like off cheese (in my paranoid opinion). So, I lay an old towel down on my floor, pour my cleaning stuff onto it (someone above mentioned Murphy's Oil Soap, which is my raison d'etre), and skate around the floor on the towel, using my toes to get into nooks and crannies, and using my old mop handle to get into hard-to-reach areas (e.g., under the stairs). Chuck the towel into the wash with lots of bleachie when you're done. Saves all that wear and tear on the old hands and knees; which, if we're being good Fifties housewives, we can instead utilize for tuna casseroles and blowjobs when our men return home from a long day in the office. ;)
1. "You're The One That I Want"
2. "Running Up That Hill"
3. "Love Is a Battlefield"
4. "No Diggity" (IMHO, best sung amongst a crowd of extremely drunk total strangers)
5. "Time After Time"
6. "Proud Mary"
I've attempted every year to reenact 200 Cigarettes (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NOZIhJlncTM), with mixed success. I've yet to bone Elvis Costello, but have succeeded at falling in dog shit and making myself ill over people whether or not people will attend my parties (Feliz Navidad dance and all).
@Dancercise Oh, Greek holidays FTW - love them all (Pascha is my favourite, though). :)
@Cawendaw I'ma read a bunch of my own ish into this, but...could it be possible that LW1 has dated a series of hopeless dudes? Guys who, I dunno, live in their cars/dumpsters, can't hold a job, lack any ambition or drive to improve their lot whatsoever, who perhaps saw International Chick as a ticket to their only foreseeable way of improving their lot in life/doing something cool-sounding, without having to actually expend any energy or take any risks themselves? Even though these guys have since partnered up, perhaps they're still unhappy and floundering, and thought hitching their wagon to International Chick and her cool-sounding life would be a good cure-all. "Pulling a geographic" with International Chick holding the safety net would allow such a guy to brag to his friends at home about living the dream in Monaco or whatever - even if he's spending every day in front of the teevee in their Monegasque apartment with Cheetos dust in his undies just like in mom's basement/his car/dumpster boudoir at home - whilst International Chick actually does all the heavy lifting, decision-making, bolstering, etc.
This struck a chord with me because I have had no less than three exes contact me in the post-breakup years to convince me to get back together, get married or have a child. (The last one in particular is a common thread amongst my exes; "All chicks just want babies, she'll really go for this carrot/stick! See what I'm willing to do for your love?!?". Bleh.)
Anyway, said exes do not contact me because they want to see my alabaster boobies, or because they want more amber pearls of seduction thrown their way; nor was I doing anything particularly interesting with my life whatsoever (unless working 9-5, paying my rent and hanging out with my cats is wildly fascinating, and I didn't realise). Not only do I have none of that to offer to begin with; in fact, what they want really has nothing to do with "me" at all. My exes try it on because during our relationships, I've kept a roof over our heads; bought them food-cigarettes-beer-healthcare when they couldn't keep a job; bolstered their typically shitty self-esteem when it got dinged; encouraged them to pursue their dreams (usually at the expense of mine); and didn't threaten their shaky masculinity by demanding they DO SOMETHING with their lives...and once on their own, they couldn't find a better enabler than me, and it made them feel like shit. I have no money, I'm not all that positive or fun, and am pretty much a total asshole in general, but I am a champion enabler, and those I've dated who need enabling have a history of not letting go when it's time. When you're low down on Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs like said exes, even someone who's crept a little bit ahead (but still exists on the bottom) can be quite attractive, in terms of what they can do for you - whether it's providing electricity and hot water, or a new life somewhere else. This may be reaching, but maybe International Chick's exes see latching onto her as a way to change their own life narratives from "boring/kind of sad" to "awesome/adventurous-sounding", even if the reality would be anything but.
Also, guys...um...I don't mean to brag, but...I've had an international UTI and kidney infection combo, whilst travelling and living overseas. From my Authentic Overseas Partner, in the early, banging-away stage of our relationship (<3 you, Cipro!). Though sadly, I am neither leggy nor blonde. *tossing hair, sniffing contemptuously*
Most of my immediate family's extensive book collection came to us via my grandmother's assisted living facility's freaking amazing communal (and totally unsupervised, honor-system) library. Whenever we, the honorless, visited, my dad would get my sister and I to bring our biggest purses, and our brother a tote bag or backpack. We'd walk out of the place like smirking Sherpas; our bags heavy with Henry James, our pants packed with Proust.
Such is the life of poverty-stricken, shanty Irish bookworms. See you in the lowest level of hell, ladies!
@Clare Um...here. I wanna dip my balls in it, for real.
Also, Kerry Kenney-Silver was recently totally awesome on my favorite podcast, the Mental Illness Happy Hour. Listen to it here, if you wish: http://mentalpod.com/Kerri-Kenney
@EngNaturalBeauty@twitter I just cleaned out my purse yesterday, and it's still somehow a total catastrophe. Contents include:
- Enough highlighters, pens, pencils (mechanical, ftw), white-out, etc. to choke a horse/draw on everything forever.
- Self-care implements; i.e. tweezers, metal nail file, lip gloss, lip balm, clear and red nail polishes, menstrual supplies, this weird little sheet thing that you run under water and it becomes soap.
- Constitutional law textbook
- Divorce papers for three discrete couples
- Phone & charger
- Earplugs that I bought with the intention of wearing to bed every night to keep bugs from crawling in my ears, but are still just sitting in my purse, all like "Oh haaaay, got any bugs crawling around your brains yet? 'Cuz we're still in here, dummy."
- A single to-do list, consolidated from about ten to-do lists scrawled on various bits of paper (the best feeling ever, until you realize how much shit you actually need to do, usually due last week.)
- My old and new passports
- Wallet, bristling with receipts and with all of my various cards just jammed inside rather than in their pockets. The cards are probably no longer there, actually.
- Gum (in blister packs, because gum wrappers give me the heebie-jeebies)
- The clusterfuck of sesame seeds, brain craziness drugs, paracetamol, ibuprofen, dog hair, headphones, hair pins, hair elastics, binder clips, paper clips, loose change, etc. that I looked at, screamed silently, and piled all of the above on top because I couldn't deal. Hahaha.