Another one rated R for language

Well, I have to say that I thought twice about yesterday’s post. I was afraid that maybe I’d finally crossed the line with all the “suck my dick” talk. First I thought about the poor, nice, unsuspecting reader who might be visiting my blog for the first time and then gets assaulted by that crap. Then I thought of all the perverts who are now sure to be coming to my site because they’ve Googled “suck my dick.” Great. Hi, guys.

But when the comments came in from my dear, sweet readers saying, “Yeah, fuck cancer! Cancer can suck my dick, too!” I started feeling glad about throwing the filthy talk out there. It was actually empowering. I mean, how often do women get to say something so in-your-fucking-face, and with such conviction? Man, it felt good! Of course, I’m sure I’m the only person on earth who’s ever gotten an email from her daughter asking, “Who is Elisabeth Kubler Ross and why should she suck your dick?”

Yeah.

Sorry, there’s just no smooth segue… Go pour yourself a coffee or hit the john and come back.

Okay, here’s the latest on Beautiful Aunt Joyce. It’s not good; I guess the doctors are projecting 2-14 days. My sister Lori drove down to Pennsylvania yesterday and my cousin flew in from Texas. Mom is leaving Boise on Sunday (though for the record, BAJ is my father’s sister). I’m not sure what to do; I was on the fence about whether I should head east as well. I was a hospice volunteer for several years and I know that sometimes people hang on much longer than you’d ever expect. It’s a tough call.

For now, I’m just proceeding as usual, knowing that I might be on a plane sooner rather than later. Beloved boyfriend and I are following through with our plans to go away this weekend; we’re seeing Lucinda Williams in Mesa, Arizona, on Saturday night. I’ve been to a million Lucinda shows already and she’s always wonderful. We’ll be staying at what should be a beautiful resort in Cave Creek; hopefully it will actually look like the photos they have on their website. (Remember my post from last April about the Cottonwood Resort in Scottsdale?)

It will be good to rest up and have some peace and alone time, knowing what’s inevitably lying ahead. So sad.

Thank you all for your prayers and best wishes for Joyce. My heart is breaking, but your kind words mean so much to me, more than you can possibly imagine. I’ll keep you posted.

Um, did I tell you I hate cancer?

This is not the post I intended to write for today; I’m a bit out of sorts. Moments before I did the panel presentation at the library last night, I talked to my sister Lori, who had some bad news: Beautiful Aunt Joyce in Pennsylvania is not doing well. That’s actually a massive understatement; she’s in the hospital and will soon be moving to the inpatient hospice area. Lori says the medical people said it probably won’t be days, but it could be weeks. Hopefully BAJ will reach a point where she can have hospice services at home. Right now she’s in a lot of pain and her quality of life is starting to suck. She told Lori on Wednesday that she feels she is ready to go.

Cancer. Started with breast cancer; now it’s everywhere.

My first thought is WHY HER? That’s what I just don’t get. BAJ lived the cleanest life imaginable—I doubt she’s ever had a drink and certainly never smoked and maybe I’ve heard her swear once. (Yes, she’s a blood relative—I know what you’re thinking.) On top of it all, she’s a goddamn pastor! Of all people to be suffering. Wouldn't you think God should be on her side?

I fucking hate cancer. God forgive me for saying “fuck” in a post about Beautiful Aunt Joyce, but I fucking hate cancer. Years ago you never heard of cancer like you do today. Hell, I think my first exposure was the movie Brian’s Song; Brian Piccolo was the first person I’d ever heard of having cancer and he wasn’t even someone I knew in real life. That was 1971; I was in junior high school before I even knew a thing about cancer! And now it’s fucking everywhere. WTF is going on???

So as I’m sitting here typing on a laptop computer, it’s hard not to think of all the amazing goddamn technological advances that have been made since that movie came out. It’s just hard to believe that with all the goddamn geniuses coming up with shit like the Internet and freakin’ iPhones that there’s not a single goddamn person walking this earth who’s smart enough to analyze some cells in a fucking petrie dish and discover a cure for cancer.

I mean, really--and all the fucking races to raise money for the cure and American Cancer Society this and that… and give, give, give… and don't even get me going on the New Age thinkers who’ll tell you that it’s your own feelings of resentment that in turn manifest themselves inward as cancer… they can just SUCK. MY. DICK.

Clearly, I’m in the anger stage. I so preferred denial.

Oh, Elisabeth Kubler-Ross, you can suck my dick, too. If I had one.

Presentation at the library tonight

Hey, I know this hardly qualifies as a swinging time in Vegas, but if you’re a local and have no plans for tonight, come on over to the Clark County Library at 1401 E. Flamingo. I’m going to be a panelist on a “Meet the Authors” event at 6:30 in the Jewel Box Theater. A few of us will be talking about our experiences as contributors to the Chicken Soup for the Soul series, which is a good first step on the road to publication.

If you’re around, come out and say hello. For those of you who are not in the Vegas area but are interested in submitting a story to the series, check out the Chicken Soup call for story titles here. Don't delay—deadlines are approaching!

Hope to see you tonight!

Back to reality after another fantastic weekend

Julie leaves this afternoon at 3:30 (Dar had to get back to California on Saturday), but for me, it’s back to reality today. In another hour or so, I’ll be returning to the prison-gray cubicle. Weh.

It really was a wonderful long weekend. Truly, I feel like I’ve known these girls forever. I wish Dar could have stayed longer, but Julie and I still somehow managed to have lots of fun. Saturday night beloved boyfriend took us out to dinner at the Elephant Bar in the District in Green Valley Ranch and then we went to Boulder Station to see the best classic rock band of all time, Yellow Brick Road. Julie won some money playing Blackjack, so bonus!

Sunday we floated around the pool in the morning (NO bathing suits shots of that, of course) and then made our way out to one of my favorite biker bars, the Mountain Springs Saloon outside of Vegas on the way to Parumph.


It was a good 10-15 degrees cooler up there in the hills, and to me, there’s nothing like drinking beer out in the sun while listening to good old rock and roll. And biker bars provide the best people watching opportunities, don’t you think? Check out this guy’s T-shirt. The sad part is, he kind of has a point, you know?


Afterward we stopped at Cactus Joe’s outside of Red Rock Canyon for a little shopping before heading to Red Rock casino for dinner. By the time we got home, we were exhausted and yep, the PJs were on by 9:00, when we settled in to watch an episode of Rescue Me. Julie shares my unhealthy obsession with Denis Leary, so you can be assured we had sweet dreams involving handcuffs and whipped cream that night.

Damn, I have to hop in the shower and get ready for work now, so I’ll send you over to Julie’s blog for details of our Monday adventures. (If she doesn’t post today because she’ll be traveling, she’ll have the full story and pictures tomorrow.) All I can say is that it was an absolute joy to meet Julie and Darlene and I am thrilled to have two new BFFs. Look at them--so freakin' cute!


We have so much in common and man, oh man, did we get in some serious and juicy girl talk. Nothing like it! I love them!

I LOVE them!!!

OMG, I absolutely love, love LOVE my blogging girlfriends! Just as expected, we are all like long-lost friends who've known each other forever.

That's Julie and Dar--aren't they adorable?


The girls are relaxing out on my balcony right now and we're going down to the pool soon, but I just wanted to steal a few minutes to post a couple of pictures.

Dar and I picked Julie up at the airport around 6:00 and we made a beeline to Green Valley Ranch. They had a good band in the showroom, but who cared? We had some girltalk to do.


After a while we decided to go back to my place for dinner. I made some eggplant parmesan Thursday night (I know--I cooked!), but the girls wanted salad (yuk) so we stopped at Whole Foods on the way home. As you know, the only things I buy at Whole Foods are my Young's Chocolate Stout beer and hair dye, so I patiently waited as they perused the produce.

Remember what my fridge looked like in last Saturday's post? How about this? Yep, that's my eggplant on the top shelf. Don't worry--the spotted dick is still in there.


Here are the girls making their healthy stinkin' salad. (I'm not a big salad girl, in case you don't know.)


Sorry I don't have any photos of our swinging Friday night. You see, by the time we finished dinner, it was well after 9:00 (midnight Julie's time) and we were happy to just hang out in my living room and continue our female bonding. So we got in our pajamas and... well, you know how it goes... somebody starts a pillow fight and before you know it we're all half-naked and kissing. Yeah, those are the pictures you really want to see, right?

Dar has to hit the road and head back to California this afternoon, but Julie and I have a rock and roll weekend on tap. I promise, we won't be in our PJs by 10:00 tonight!

Hope you're all enjoying your weekend, too!

XOXO

Coming soon: My blogging buddies

Well, tomorrow’s the big day—the blogging buddies’ meet-up. I finally get to see Julie (47 and Starting Over) and Darlene (Travel Girl) in the flesh! Julie’s flight arrives from Ohio at 6:15; Dar is driving to Vegas from California. I’m going to love them, because I feel like I know them already. You can’t read someone’s blog for months on end and not get a sense of what the person is like in real life.

Dar, I am sure, is the sweetest thing that ever walked this earth; she looks adorable in the pictures she’s posted on her blog. She’s a midwife who lovingly soothes laboring mothers and welcomes their babies into the world. How could she be anything but nice?

I am equally as certain that Julie is a whack job. Of course, I mean that in the most complimentary way and let’s not forget it takes one to know one. This chick is twisted and that’s exactly why I invited her for a visit in the first place. I’d say birds of a feather flock together, but like me, Julie has a wicked bird phobia and we don’t care for expressions like that.

There are other similiarites: We also can’t stand rap and hip-hop music (is there a difference?), have unhealthy obsessions with Denis Leary, and even arrange our closets in a similar manner. Here’s a picture Julie posted last week, displaying her practice of arranging her blouses according to color:


And here’s my collection of sleazy $7.99 tops from Ross Dress-for-Less:


According to color, of course. Scary, huh?

But there are a couple of ways in which I know we’re definitely not alike. A few years younger than I am, Julie is a big-haired girl who loves the 80s. To me that decade represents a big black mark on American culture. The music was horrible (save for U2 and Talking Heads), the fashions were fugly, and then only way I could have big hair with my anemic locks would be if I put on a Don King wig.

But the biggest way that we differ: I would never, ever be able to stay at someone’s house for four nights sight unseen.

[Now, Travel Girl (who’s staying only until Saturday evening—those babies know no holiday schedule), she’s has been all over the world and I know Dar’s slept in conditions that would make me shudder; my idea of roughing it is a Courtyard Marriott with a broken air conditioner. We’re not cut from the same cloth when it comes to that.]

No, I am way too Princess and the Pea to blindly stay at someone’s house. Seriously, I’d be broken out in hives and eczema wondering,

What if they have a dog? What if it starts licking me?
What if they have a cat?
What if they have a cat and they let it walk all over the kitchen counters?
What if they have a dog and they’re the type who pets the dog and then starts molding the hamburger patties?
What if they have a bird?
What if they have feather pillows and one of the feathers falls out and then I have to have somebody come in and get rid of it for me because I don’t touch feathers?

Okay, so you know I’m afraid of animals. But I have other worries; worries about food

What if they make scrambled eggs in the morning and they’re runny?
What if they use margarine and not butter?
What if they make tuna salad with chunk light tuna instead of solid white?
What if they don’t use Hellman’s mayonnaise? What if they’re (gulp) Miracle Whip people?
What if they use skim milk and not 2%? Even whole milk would be fine, but I’m sorry, skim milk is blue.
What if they put celery in everything?
What if they make something I don’t like the sound of, like soy?

Remember, this is coming from someone with spotted dick in her fridge.

Those brave girls! So maybe Julie’s not a whack job compared to me. Hmm… I wonder what questions are going through their heads right now

Stay tuned for the latest in Saturday’s post. But don’t expect it too early—we have a swinging Friday night planned!

My Saturn hits 200K

I thought it would have happened on Saturday, but on Sunday my beloved 1996 Saturn with the dent in the roof passed the 200,000 mile mark.


Isn’t that awesome? You’re probably thinking, “Whew! Maybe now we’ll stop hearing about this bloody car,” but for me, this was one of those days of infamy I wrote about last month. Yep, right up there with the moon landing, Princess Di’s death, and the day they canceled Guiding Light. (I’m still in denial about that one.)

I’ll always remember exactly where I was when my when the odometer (that’s what it’s called, right?) hit 200K; as it turns out, we were on Auto Show Drive, almost right in front on the Saturn dealer! If it hadn’t been a Sunday, I would have marched myself in there for some public bragging.

Beloved boyfriend came over to film the milestone for me—as you can well imagine, this guy is a freakin’ saint. If you click here you can see the video. It looks like Katherine Hepburn is holding the camera, but I assure you, that’s a reflection on my driving ability, not his videography skills. It was a very exciting moment.

Yikes, I have a lot more to say, but I have to get off to work.


Long may you run!

Photos of Linda-Land (and how I stay so thin)

I’m so excited! Next week at this time, my blogging buddies Julie, of 47 and Starting Over fame, and Travel Girl Dar will be here in Las Vegas. Yay! They’re staying here with me in my apartment, which I’m totally psyched about because I love having company. Plus that gives me a good reason to super-clean without having to pretend that Princess Di and JFK, Jr. came back to life and are coming for dinner.

I haven’t met these girls before, but geez, you may ask, isn’t it risky to put up complete strangers? Hell, no! I’ve been reading their blogs for months and know I’m going to love them. If anything, they have more to worry about than I do.

You see, I’m not normal.

Don’t get me wrong, I am nice as hell—if you knew me in real life, you wouldn’t freakin’ LOVE me! I think my problem is that I’m not at all materialistic and therefore I don’t quite live like a fully grown-up adult.

Remember this picture of my living room?


Yeah, well, my kitchen isn’t any better. Let me give you a little more insight into Linda-Land. We’ll start with my refrigerator--visitors always have a field day with that.



Empty, I know, but in my defense, there’s usually a six-pack of Moose Drool or Young’s Chocolate Stout in there. I need to go grocery shopping. What’s that on the top shelf, you ask? Oh, that’s a can of spotted dick. My sister Lori gave me that for my 50th birthday. I would never eat it (aside from the fact that it’s a year and a half old); it’s just for show. Sometimes I bring it to work and leave it front and center in the fridge in the break room. For fun.

My freezer isn’t any better: cheese ravioli (my favorite food on earth), some shrimp stir-fry, and a bag of ice. I don’t know where that came from; I don’t use ice. Usually there’s ice cream in there, but I told you, I need to go shopping.



Here’s my food cupboard. Yes, that’s it. But in my defense, I usually have about four boxes of Organic Morning Light cereal on the top shelf—I told you, I need to go shopping. You’ll see, however, that I do have an ample supply of Healthy Request soup. And vitamins. I know--I’m a health nut, huh?

Sometimes when people come to my place, they get the big idea that they’re going to cook for me. They come home with bags of groceries and start flitting around my kitchen and then start asking ridiculous questions like, “Where do you keep your cheese grater?” or “Do you have a wisk?”

A wisk? Seriously?

And then they get all bent out of shape because I don’t have a sharp knife. I do have knives—look! They were a wedding present when my first husband and I got married in 1977. I’ve never actually sharpened them, though. But in my defense, hello? Does any of my food look like it actually needs to be cut?

Sometimes people ask if I have a cutting board, and you know what? I used to, but I swear it mysteriously disappeared about a year ago after some visitors came to stay. I like to think that maybe a well-meaning guest put it somewhere when emptying my dishwasher and I just haven’t been able to find it, but I really have looked for it and I can only conclude that after I become a famous author it will end up on eBay and someone will be sitting on a tidy little profit.

Okay, so whatever--I’m not normal. My boyfriend says he feels like he’s with a college student (which I take as a compliment). “Is that a futon?” he asked one night as we stood in my guestroom. “You’re so cute!” But in my defense, I’m just not materialistic. (BTW, my car is totally going to hit 200K today!!!)

I don’t care about things; I’d rather do stuff than have stuff. I mean, look at the outside of my refrigerator.


What a cool magnet collection of my travels, huh? See, sometimes it’s not what’s on the inside that counts.

Believe me, when I’m 102 years old, I am not going to look back and go, “Oh, man, my life would have been perfect if only I had a nicer couch that didn’t have a stain on it” or "Maybe I should have splurged for a soup ladle." No, I am gonna remember all the fun times and adventures I had with my family and my friends, like Julie and Dar.

If they’re still coming.

I guess I have to kick Mom’s ass

Remember how I told you about my trip to Boise last weekend, you know, for Mother’s Day? Well, on Tuesday morning, I got an anonymous comment. Now, normally I delete anonymous comments after reading just the first line because they’re usually from my crazy blog stalkers who have nothing better to do than pore over and lambaste every goddamn word I’ve ever posted, but I did read this one in its entirety:

So, a complete rundown on your trip to Boise? I think not. There is no mention of playing Scrabble with the old, demented seniors who live there. A little memory lapse, maybe, or just a bad dream? Hmmm...

Man, I was pissed! I moderate comments now and I rejected that thing in a nanosecond. I know I’ve talked about playing Scrabble in Boise before, and people can say whatever they want about me being all full of myself and who needs to see my sagging granny cleavage—I don’t give a shit—but to call my sweet Mick Jagger-lovin’ Mom and microbrew drinkin’ Stepdaddy “old demented seniors”?

I’ll kick your ass! But seriously, what kind of sick f*cking dickhead would say such a thing?

Oh. That sick f*cking dickhead was… my sweet Mick Jagger-lovin’ Mom.

Yeah, she's the one who posted that comment. Yeah, that was her way of reminding me that Saturday night… I lost at Scrabble.

I know! I never lose, but this time I came in third place! I had five i’s at one point—give me a break, for Christsake! But then when they were driving me to the airport Sunday afternoon, I got a brilliant idea.

Me: “Oh, my God! I had the craziest dream last night.”
Mom: “Really?”
Me: “Yeah, I dreamt that we were all playing Scrabble and I lost. Can you imagine?” [nervous laugh]
Mom: “Oh, my! That sounds like a nightmare.”

Whew, I thought. I totally passed the horror of my losing off as a dream! No, she’ll never remember that I actually came in third place.

But I guess she did remember after all.

Okay, Mom—looks like you’re still sharp. I guess it’s not time for the home just yet.

WHAT??? Is Boise cooler than Las Vegas?

I had a really nice weekend in Boise. I went up there to spend Mother’s Day with Mom and Stepdaddy. Look at this cute little house they just bought. It’s perfect for them, don’t you think?


This is when I have to wonder why anyone would possibly be interested in seeing my mother’s new house, but I’ll betcha anything some of you actually are. Oh, hell… here’s one of Stepdaddy watching TV.


There. Now you've seen it. Pretty nice, huh?

Anyway, Saturday I helped move furniture around and unpacked some boxes and then Saturday night I dragged the folks to my favorite movie theater on earth: The Flicks in downtown Boise.


I’ve told you about The Flicks before. It’s a funky place that shows independent films, but the best part of all is… well, take a look at what they have in their concession stand.


Can you believe all those lovely microbrews? They also serve baked goods and other stuff, and oh yeah, popcorn. I’m telling you, this is the coolest place! If you get there early, you can sit out on their patio before your show starts. Here’s Mom, with her big-ass tub of popcorn, and Stepdaddy, with his Black Butte Porter. (Mine is in the foreground.)


So my question is, why the hell can’t we have a place like this in Las Vegas? Not that I have to have a beer every waking moment, but there is something very cool about enjoying a nice dark microbrew while you’re watching a movie. I mean, this is Sin City, for Christsakes! But the saddest thing is, we don’t even have a theater here dedicated to independent films. Sure, a few of the chains have a couple of screens for the art-house types, but it’s not the same.

I hate to say this, but I am seriously starting to think Boise is cooler than Las Vegas. Boise! I know, it’s full of Mormons and there’s nobody darker than an Italian, but they have a neat little downtown area with lots of coffeehouses, bars, shops, and restaurants, and… okay, this is the tipping point. Yesterday I saw on Pollstar that Sonic Youth, one of my favorite bands to see live, will be playing in Boise on July 23.

Are they coming to Las Vegas? NO!

This is pissing me off. I saw Sonic Youth at the House of Blues in Mandalay Bay a few years ago, but do you think they could make a stop here on this tour? I’ve also seen Lucinda Williams a couple of times at the House of Blues, but next month beloved boyfriend and I will have to travel to Mesa, Arizona, to see her because she’s not stopping in Las Vegas, either. (I’ll make the best of it--we’re planning a nice weekend in Sedona. Schwing!) And remember, we had to travel to Phoenix last month to see Leonard Cohen.

My point is, I can see Cher or Tom Jones or Barry Bloody Manilow anytime I want. Or—God help us—the Spin Doctors are coming to town on May 21. As if.

So Boise is surpassing Las Vegas in coolness, and it’s even rubbing off on Mom. Sunday morning I got out of the shower to find her grooving to a broadcast of Farm Aid on Direct TV. John Mellencamp was performing.

Me: “He‘s in great shape, don’t you think? Especially since he has to be about 57 or 58.”
Mom: ”Yeah, but who’s that little rat that moves all over the stage?”
Me: ”Mom, do not tell me you’re referring to Bruce Springsteen as ‘that little rat.’”
Mom: ”No, no! You know, the little rat that praces all around.”
Me: ”Oh, Mick Jagger?”
Mom: "Yeah, Mick Jagger. I like him. I’d love to go to his concert.

Well, she'll have to come down to Vegas to see the Rolling Stones since they're still playing the venues here. But maybe I can turn her on to Sonic Youth.