This Just In

Sardonic and hilarsquared comedian Andy Kindler will be covering the RNC. He's on assignment for the "Late Show with David Letterman."

"Weather permitting, I will be appearing via satellite on the show (11:35 PM on CBS) starting this Tuesday, September 2, for three nights in a row!!! Each evening I will attempt comedy with a three second delay! I must be excited about this!!! Notice the overuse of exclamation points!?! My punctuation humor is top notch."

Ya Big Heeb

Jumping off the poli wagon for a mo... Here's a good yarn for yas. The good folks at Heeb Magazine, a most excellent Jewey read, one of my favorites, placed me in their Battle of the Schwartzes for the summer 08' issue. Fab, right? I thought so, too.

I highly recommend it, by the by. She, me, dished aplenty about my forthcoming book, Emotionally Pantsed, and my thoughts on being a Schwartz, etc. Ah, but there's a catch, if you look at the picture below, you'll see that it is me. However, look at the name? Not only did I get a new first name, I got a fabulous back-story-makeover.

Didjyas know I was a Jeweler? A famous one at that. When you pick up this issue and read about Lorraine, I'm sure you'll agree that she sounds like a very cool and wildly talented dame, to be sure. If the opportunity to get a back-story makeover presents itself, is it so terrible to be someone who sounds this cool?! No siree bob.

The winter issue of Heeb Magazine is due out in January/February, and this Katie Schwartz is scheduled to be in it. I will keep yas posted.

Palin's Offspring of Lies (UPDATE)

(FYI) Updates are in Red. Floating around the blogosphere are rumors that Palin's baby is her 16-year-old daughter's. I am jumping on this buggy faster than an Amish family churns butter.

When this story finally breaks, it'll be huge. My girl, Politits has spun a must-read yarn with some interesting theories and facts we need to consider, It Matters. My other girl, PulpFriction is blogging her fierce and funny opinions, as well, here and here. And, of course, what post would be complete without the Daily Kos spin.

(UPDATE) My girlie girl FranIAm has written a very important post about Faith and how Palin's faith, factors into this election. Read.

(Update) via @drugmonkey on Twitter regarding a new article on the Daily Kos, Sarah Palin is NOT the MOTHER. Run. Read. Now.

(Update) Politis new post Okay, Let's Talk About Something Important, John McCain's judgment and convictions to "Country First". Please read it. I love DCup. She's so damn brilliant.

(Update) September 1st, Palin says 17-year-old daughter is pregnant. In an effort to combat internet rumors that her daughter Bristol is the mother of Trig, Palinstine is now saying that Bristol IS 5 MONTHS pregnant and will marry the father. Second time she's knocked up, honey, not the first. Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahd.

(Update) September 1st, Still Not Good, Politits. Read.

(Update) September 1st, Tuna or Mackeral, Fishy is Fishy, PulpFriction. Read.

(Update) September 6th, From The Left, Read it. Hilarious and important update about the spawn of satan's mistress, Palin.

Thoughts?

So Much Dish, So Little Time

When asked by People (HuffPo scoop) if she was ready to be VP, Palin said, Yup. Very presidential that yup. You disagree? I guess so. She could've said "Fer shur, dude" or "Hells yeah" or "Yuppers" or "Fuck yeah, baby".

I think it's offensive and insulting as hell to women, to think that we demmy broads would jump ship and vote for McCain because Palin has a vagina. Are you fucking kidding me?! SUCK MY OVARIES.

I have news, Palin is a republican who wants to throw women back 50 years. She's anti-abortion, anti-equality, anti-gay marriage, she's opposed to universal health care, and if that shit-stew isn't disturbing enough, she's also pro-war, and a member of the NRA. Oh, there's more to come, children. This is the tip of the Palinstormberg.

Hillary represents equality for women in the truest sense of the word. I would never vote for Palinstine, ever. When Biden and Palin debate, folks who are worried that he'll hold back, I wouldn't give it a second thought. No way, no how will he give her an inch, there's too much at stake.

I am hoppin', I'm so furious about this nomination. All of the women I've discussed it with so far are as disgusted as I am. During Obama's speech, I felt an overwhelming sense of pride to be an American. I haven't felt that in a long time, too long. Obama represents hope, change and progress. In my lifetime, I never thought I'd see a woman or an African American receive a nomination for presidency. I cried tears of joy as he spoke after receiving his nomination. Mazel fuckin' Tov and looooooooong overdue. Still.

I found lots of good dish online and I know all of yas have, too. 2 Top Alaska Newspapers Question Palin's Fitness and this 'Troopergate' inquiry lurks for Palin.

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My good friend Katherine Tomlinson of Gourmet Food Garden interviewed Joanne Renaud, an artist we adore, about food, history and art. Quite a kick ass interview: Check it out.

My good blog friend Romius, the only fellow I know who can slam me and love me in under three paragraphs nominated my post And Now A Word From Coco's Cavernous... as his Blog Friend of the Day™, for which I am eternally grateful. And he wonders why I adore him?! Isn't it obvious. More on that in a forthcoming post.

On Monday, September 1st, the very first essay for the Who Wants to Fuck McCunt Contest will be posted. Yas'll have one week to cast your vote (in comments). I expect to see lots of dish coming from yas. This essay, lemme tell ya, it's a doozy, from the man who invented munt. That's all yas are gettin' fer now. Finally, (oy, does she ever stop hockin?!) submissions will be accepted through October and you can send words, images, videos or audio clips. Winners with the most comments receive a dozen Jintrinsique original Bojamacakes (cupcakes)!

And Now A Word From Coco's Cavernous...

... Say it with me.

Thanks to my good friend Teeny for sending me this ginormous shot of Coco Grand Rapids and some research on Coco's website, she has a lot to say. Or should I say alot to say.

In case you were wondering about Coco's breasts and if they're real, here are the facts straight from her V, also found on the BIO link: "My breasts have been enhanced (ya don't say?!) and they've been done since late in my 18 years age (that's a sentence I'd want to repeat). I've always had nice sized breast (breastSSSSSSS) but I just wanted them to fit my shape and I love to go braless" (forTUNAtely, your breasts will survive you, and your braless corpse can bounce into eternity. Happy?).

If you log onto her site and hit BLOG ATTACK, you'll see this dandy note, too: "Blog Attack (with an image of big red lips) A lot of ugly blogs are out there saying some really mean things about your Coco. It's easy when no one ever says anything back. Speak up on my behalf. Pick a link (I didn't see my fucking link. We're supposed to guess?! You're making us think?) and fire away. Let them know how you feel. Attack! (that's butch)"

Love,
Coco's ....

Snag It, Baby

Thanks to my good friend Bubbsie's mad skills and my less than desirable paint skills, we now have an official banner for the McCunt essay contest.

Snag it, scoop it, syndicate it.

Remember loverdeedo's, spin those yarns, or work your audio, or video mojo (love that word, it's so Camaro) and submit to katiegirl@gmail.com. I've gotten oodles of dandy submissions and have a few delicious spots left for October. Get ta'steppin, yo!

After tonight's Obamalicious speech, I'm super motivated to elect this man into office. He was so presidential, wasn't he?!

Blogging From Bed

So, yeah. okay. dish. Today, a friend of mine was driving along the highway minding her own business when some cuntola tried to sidle into her lane without signaling. She was going 55, and had to act quickly, you know how you do. She honked. Not long, not loud, short and quick. The lane stealing snatch called her fehatty. Fehatty! She's not fat. Chuvvy, yes. STILL. That's not really the point.

Here is the point in my humble opinion when I've been called fehatty. It makes me feel soooo bad. As if fehatty-name-calling-snatchcookie called me the following one-liners: Stupid-fat-and-poor. Dirty-fuck-baby. And. Slovenly-bad-ass-wiper.

It's okay to say fat. Chuvvy. Not a skinny minny. A chub on the low (meaning losing weight). Semi-Spheereena. Those I could live with. But, fehatty?! Ah, God, it's the worst.

Cuntest updates from the Cuntessa (I cackle-snorted when I wrote that. Shame). I got the most di-viiiine PSA from the diva at PulpFriction. Her blog is so politically irreverent, it makes mine look virginal. From the inventor of Munt, TravelingManRick, I got one hell of a healthentry. His blog is as lovely as he is. Run. Read. Both. Now.

Not only did one of my blog heros, Mock, Paper, Scissors add my lil' Vey-a-Shmear to their rockin' blog roll, the great Ten of Grain (Tengrain) posted a hilarious blurb about the McCunt Essay Contest. Have you not read MPS? Oh ma gawd, you have got to read this online rag, especially if you're a lefty Lucy lookin' for the real deal, not the watered down snatchcrap you find in right wing press.

I got the greatest comment EVER from this broad who took my wig off. I loved every word, slopped it up with gluten free bread and awwl. Scroll down and read the 32nd comment. You will scream, seriously. It's very South Park with a religious twist and everything. Love ha.

I am in a real snatchy mood tonight, right? Snatch this and snatch that. Oy. I'm snatching myself into a frenzy, huh? Don't worry I'm still BFF'ng w/cunt. Just sayin'.

Loving....

Cuntessa Schwartz has a Contest Update

Regarding the "Wanna Fuck McCunt" Contest. First, you have got to read the comments here on my blog, and here on FranIAm's Bloggy, you will howl your asses off. Oh, and WAIT, the goddess Jintrinsique who will be baking the contest winners Bojamacakes wrote a delicious post about the contest here.

I am so proud of how many cunterific create-a-cuntariations have been posted. I feel so empowered and elated, so proud to be a dame. Yes, it's true, I'm kvellarella.

Moving the story along...

I've updated the rules because you're all so insanely creative and hilarious.

1) The CUNTEST officially starts on Monday, September 1st and continues through October 27th. Deadline for submissions is October 26th. My dad's birthday, a very lucky day!

2) If you're not ready to come out of the cuntloset, no worries, come up with a fabulous word that you feel great about and use it, can we say 3 times? Please?!

3) Instead of an essay, if you prefer to send a cartoon, or graphic image, or an audio podcast or video, please feel free to send it on over, it counts!

4) I cannot WAIT to read your submissions. I'm plotzarella from the comments alone. You're all too fabulous for words.

5) Loving.

6) Jewgirl

Oh, wait, duh: Please feel free to cross-post the contest. Invite everyone you know to submit. If we end up posting more than one entry a week, fabsquared. Let's be Obamalicious, yo.

Image credit: My dear friend and fellow blogging pal, Bubbsie over at Sprawling Ramshackle Compound. THANK YOU!

Wanna Fuck McCunt?

Okay beautiful babies, All the Way from Oy to Vey is endorsing and promoting the hell out of Obama and Biden.

No shit, right? Like you don't know I'm a lefty lucy?! As if you're new to my blog?! What am I, fucktarded underestimating my divine readers?! Forgive Jewgirl for her shortcomings, please. Grazarella.

So. News?! I am running a contest on my blog for September and October. Each month's winner will receive a dozen Bojamacakes (cupcakes), courtesy of the divine baking Goddess Jintrinsique, shipped to wherever the winner likes in the U.S.

Now that you're drooling. I am, too, by the by. Jintrinsique is sooooo talented in the baked goods department and quite a lovely dame, too. Packaged in exceptional design and presentation, each pastry will make your taste buds climax on the spot. PS: make sure you have wipes and a few paper towels when noshing.

Here's the dish to enter the "Wanna Fuck McCunt" Contest

1) Each week, a guest blogger will post an essay,= 500-1,000 words, or an audio podcast, or a video about an issue up for debate. Or a fact we can't find in mainstream press. Or that we aren't paying attention to and need to, outting McCunt for the cunt he really is, and defending the values Obama truly stands for and why he IS the only hope for America. I mean, seriously, yo. As if you disagree?!

2) Hold your horses, bubbies, I'm just getting started...

3) You have to use the word cunt three times in your essay, podcast or video. You can even create cunt variations. Here are a few cuntdeas: cunterific, cunterella, cunting whore, cuntola, whatever. Ya feel me, right? Fab. Moving along.

4) You know how much I love creating words, so in your essay, podcast or video, you must also create at least three words. Some of the words I've created over the years since we've been blogdating: McCunt, Bojamacakes, shrinktail, shrinkdating, vadgearincess... Hit the archives. 99.9% of my posts have Katie-create-a-words peppered throughout each post.

5) Irreverence, brilliance and ranting! Get it? Irreverence, brilliance and ranting! Got it? Irreverence, brilliance and ranting! Good.

6) Each week, I will post one guest blogger's essay, podcast or video with a link back to their site, as well as their bio (cross-posting is welcomed).

7) Whoever receives the most comments each month, wins a dozen Jintrinsique Bojamacakes. Votes will be talleyed on October 1st for all September entries, and November 1st for all October entries.

8) Send all essays, podcasts and videos to katiegirl@gmail.com.

9) Contest starts Monday, August 25th. Tell everyone you know to enter asssapy. Feel free to post the "Wanna Fuck McCunt" contest on your site. I want the first post up by Monday, September 1st. Oy, I'm demanding.

10) For inspiration, check out a few of these irreverent-as-hell political bloggers: The Daily Pitchfork, DCup, Mister-Mister's posts on RedBlueAmerica. Virgotex who also pointed me in the direction of this diva ThePoliticalCat and FranIAm who hooked me up with this fabareena PulpFriction. PS, yas are all invited to submit too, ya know. I'm just sayin'.

11) Loving...

12) Jewgirl

Photo credit goes to my good friend and fellow blogging pal Bubbsie over at Sprawling Ramshackle Compound. Grazie, bubbie.

And Your Keywords Are?

I randomly check the top keywords (who doesn't, right?) I come up on every month and sometimes post them.

I give you the top keywords Katie Schwartz's blog is coming up on for Jewlie and Auggie:

Coco Fishnet: I admit it, I went through a big Coco writing phase, so much so that at one point BestStuff created a landing page with my name and Coco's image. Fab.

Domestic Discipline: Is that really something this feminist would cover?

Pussy Eating Contest: In my defense, that was a Blair Warner post from two years ago. Remember my Blair's Journal phase? Oy vey.

Doreen Orion Queen of the Road July: Such an honah.

Vintage Pussy: Is that like geriatric porn?

Coco's Fishnet Dress: I digress

Danny Bonaduce Dick: I had to dish that, but only once, and it was because he showed his mini-orange-peen, which was, hi, super creepy. Plus, it killed my love affair with mac & cheese". A win-win for sure.

Is John Mayer Jewish?: I don't remember asking that question or posting about his Jeweyness or non-Jeweyness, do you?

Titpedia: I did link to bustypedia. Loved them. They went bye-bye.

All the Way from Oy to Vey: Yay!

Christian Domestic Discipline: I wrote about it once, gaaaahd.

Katie Schwartz: Most excellent.

Cunt: FAB.

You Kick Motha Fuckin Ass

My girl and dear friend, Frannylish and Kelso's Nuts, another true and dear friend, of one of my favorite reads The Daily Pitchfork, overly-generously awarded my blog with the Kick Ass Blogger award. How super menschy are they?! Seriously.

From Frannygirl: Katie - my Jewgirl There is nothing else for me to say. She is the kickiest assiest broad of all. She put the gefilte in the fish, the matzoh in the ball and the mazel in the tov. I love her without reservation.

From Kelso's Nuts: KATIE "JEWGIRL" SCHWARTZ of All The Way From Oy To Vey: Very funny and honest writer with New York neighborhood smarts, a slick Hollywood cynicism, a wry Northern English layer, and a personal-is-political feminism that everyone has to dig. Literate, literary and sexy.

I know, right?! Plotzarella squared. I think they were under a guilt influence at the time.

This list could easily exceed 50. If you look at my blogroll, you'll see that all of the bloggers I've posted are blogs I love and read often-- they all kick mothah fuckin' ass. I'm only allowed to choose so many, oy to the vey...

Instructions:

(1) Choose five other bloggers that you feel are “Kick Ass Bloggers” (2) Let them know that they have received an award. (3) Link back to the person who awarded you.

Lesbian Dad: An extraordinary, soulful writer who reminds us about the beauty of family in its many incantations. She celebrates feminism in what I consider to be an earthy, bountiful and distinctive way, drawing on the history, our history, and dishing it up with a modern voice.

Madam Z: Diva Z is so fucking irreverent. God forbid she holds back, God forbid. I respect and appreciate the hell out of her for this.

Gail Konop Baker: Author of Cancer Is A Bitch due out in October, available now at Persus Books, is a magnificent, brave and beautiful writer and person. I adore this child hard.

Doreen Orion: Author of Queen of the Road out since June, now in its fifth printing, is belly laugh hysterical, adorable and one of the most exquisite writers I've ever read. She's fabulous and flawless.

Virgotex: Virg and I share a deep and passionate love for Adrienne Rich's work. An activisit, divine feminist, choice photographer, animal lover and truly good hearted person, Virg is one of a kind, and a special dame I couldn't adore more.

Freida Bee: My co-editor at Dear Thyroid, a kick ass, insanely frank writer, FreidaBee is tits to the tenth. Her blog is as jarring as it is welcoming, she takes my wig off with her level of candor. I have undying admiration for her and her work. A very sagey broad indeed.

Passion of the Dale: POTD as I've coined him, is David Sedaris' loin fruit and my eye candy. Fucking sick, dark brilliance.

The Very Hot Jews: My heeblettes, two celebrated, gifted writers with one hell of a POV. Whether they're dishing politics, noshes (they love good food), or life, they spill their guts into each post, hilarsquared intellectual porn.

Cormac Writes: My online BFF 4Evah and my very good and true friend. Though Cormac recently broke up with WriteProcrastinator, he continues delighting us with his glorious, mysterious yarns (always) with a vintage twist (love that). He's one of the finest fiction writers I know and wildly talented.

DrugMonkey: My dear friend and thyroid advisor (you know what you did during that time, child). DM is a pharmacist to the people, dispensing pearls of wisdom that we need to be informed about. He does it with such wit, cynicism, irreverence and (though he'll kill me for saying this), a sprinkle of hope.

BookFraud: Is no fraud. In fact, I'm convinced he's a famous writer and BF is his dirty little secret. He has a sharp, biting with and he's so damn talented. If you haven't read his bloggy, you must. It is such a divine, writerly read.

My other two choices are Sprawling Ramshackle Compound and Cup'a Joe (cup-of-coffey). They're both slammed, so I'm not sure if they have the time to post. I love these two so much. SRC and I met and spent time together in Chicago. He's the sweetest, kindest, menschiest person and his writing is off-the-hook, it's so fucking good. Though I've not met Coffeykins in the flesh yet, I look forward to the day we are dishing face-to-face. She's an amazing friend and a beautiful writer.

Q4U Fabulous Readers

Ahhhkay, here's the deal. I'm striving for change, so, you know, I'm changing everything in my life, as many things as possible, from the minutia to the extreme to achieve a greater good within myself. No, I'm not becoming creeparella-hemptress. Breathe. Come on now, it's me!

In the midst of all of this self imposed change, there's this one thing that I can't seem to part with: my altoids tin. I've used this tin as my wallet for years (Frannygirl's seen it and I think Bubbsie, too), I'm talking 10 years we've been together.

There is a lot of personal significance and meaning for me with this fuckin' tin (the shame... I know).

The a-tin represented a time in my life when I felt the most free, when things in my life were so close to exactly the way I wanted them to be. There was accelerated movement in all areas of my life. I find myself wondering many things at the mineee... Am I afraid if I let it go, I'm giving up the concept that possibilities and better times exist? If I don't let it go, will be holding myself back from all of this change?

Hmm....

So, dear readers, I want your opinions. What do you think should do? Spill.

Joanne Renaud, Illustrator, Ya Artist, And One Kick Ass Broad!

When Katherine introduced me to your work, I was so taken aback by the sheer beauty of your illustrations. Each is as classical as it is whimsical. And there is an elegant, inviting darkness to your work, as well. The women you sketch and illustrate, even in seemingly vulnerable positions illuminate strength and poise. I'm so intrigued by your work and want to know more about it and you. Start spilling, sistergirl.

Do you remember the first time you drew something? If so, what did it feel like?
I've been drawing as long as I can remember. I was always the "artist" in the family. When I was eight or so, I used to write my own Choose Your Adventure stories and illustrate them. I still kept a number of those- one of them was called "The Secret of Unicorn Valley." It was really silly, but there was this boy at school who saw my books and was so impressed by them that he wanted me to do a Transformers story. I was flattered, even though I thought the Transformers were lame.

You have a very distinctive point of view. Did you always have this or was it something that took time to cultivate?

"Distinctive point of view"? Do you mean my style? It's taken me the past ten years or so to really hone it, I think, but I always have room to grow and evolve.

Were any specific artists who influenced your style?

Trina Schart Hyman, Mercer Mayer, Kinuko Craft, Sanjulian, and Judith Mitchell influenced me when I was really young. I loved their craftsmanship, details, rich colors and their sense of drama and whimsy.

Any specific illustrators work you admire?
Rebecca Guay's work is astonishing; I also love the work of Josephine Barrett, Angus McBride, Niroot Puttapitat and Riyoko Ikeda. All of them are amazing at drawing and painting, and can draw people and clothes from different eras beautifully. They're also not married to using models; over-reliance on models, I've found, tends to really stiffen up a drawing.

Do you sell your illustrations to art collectors?
Well, I've shown a few pieces and have done a few commissions, but I haven't really tried to make any serious inroads into the gallery scene. That's a really big investment, and I don't want to move into that direction just yet.

Do you have a sketchbook?
Yes I do. I'm generally pretty good at drawing stuff in it every day, but I haven't been up to it lately. In fact, the last thing I drew was Chris Sarandon as Prince Humperdinck from "The Princess Bride," right before Comic-Con. When I was there, I actually met some friends of Chris's, the guys who made the great animated movie "The Chosen One," who really liked the picture when I showed it to them. I kept in touch with them, and through them I was able to send C.S. a scan of the pic. You can see it here.

Chris's response to the drawing was: "Truly Cool. Looks like my fuller lipped, blue-eyed younger brother. But what's with those pointy shoes?"

I replied: "The pointy shoes were actually a style popular in the 15th century. I wasn't trying to follow any particular costumes from the movie, but since Humperdinck's wardrobe had a 15th century feel, I decided to draw a specifically mid 1400s outfit." I haven't heard back from him yet, but I hope he was amused by my costume geekery. Fab response. I'm sure he was.

If I'm not mistaken, you illustrate Ya Novels, correct? Please tell me more about that and some of the novels you've worked on.

Well, my first book cover was YA, but most of the rest of what I've done has mainly been middle grade, for the tween market. Nowadays YA covers tend to be Photoshopped photographs, which annoy me. There seems to be this assumption now that teenagers want stock photos on their book covers... I'm not really sure where this comes from. Teens like illustrations too, but good luck telling the publishing houses that.

How has the market changed since you first started selling your work?
Well, that would have been in 2004, so I can't really reminisce about the good old days. I have heard plenty of stories what the children's book industry was like back about fifteen, twenty years ago, and by all accounts it was less corporate, more hands-on, and art directors actually took their illustrators out to lunch.

A friend of Trina Schart Hyman recently told me that Trina used to work 10-12 hours a day on her art every single day. To me that's amazing. Can you imagine? Being able to spend every day drawing and painting! Nowadays illustrators (regardless of medium) have to blog, network, write emails, update their MySpace and facebook pages and know html, in addition to promoting themselves IRL. The days before the internetz seems very long ago to me.

Where do you feel the market for YA and children's books is going?
There's been a lot of rampant speculation about that lately. Graphic novels and comics will probably continue to be really hot, and ebooks and blogs and everything pertaining to the intertubes will probably get more important. Other than that, I really can't say. Almost any predictions about the future are notoriously unreliable. After all, look at "2001." Weren't we supposed to be living on Mars by now? Good point.

Who are your favorite YA novelists out there?
I love almost anything by Jane Yolen, Kathleen Duey and William Sleator; I'm also a big fan of Carolyn Meyer, Edward Bloor, Vivian Vande Velde and Geraldine Harris (who should be better known- her Seven Citadels quartet is amazing). Other fantasy writers I like- ones who aren't specifically YA, but who get read in a lot of high schools- are Tanith Lee and Richard Adams. So many authors, so little time...

How can a YA Novelist contact you for work? Do you primarily work with publishers or publishers and authors?
Mainly I work with the publishers. However, recently I finished a job for an author who hired me to do a number of interior illustrations for a book she was writing for Simon & Schuster. This was actually in her contract, to find and pay for illustrators, since her book is graphics intensive. I've never heard of such a thing before, and neither have any of my colleagues. It was a highly unusual situation, but it ended up working out for me since I got paid far quicker than I would have if S&S were handling the job directly.

Generally, I discourage working with an author directly, unless he or she is planning to self-publish. Publishers frown on authors finding their own illustrators. I've been told many times that the houses want to find their own artists, and it will actually hurt a manuscript if it comes with illustrations that the author hasn't done herself.

Is there a feminist angle to your work? Or am I just projecting?! God knows, I live to project, being a favored pastime and all.
No, I don't think you're imagining things. Depicting strong (and well-dressed) women with agency is definitely a priority of mine. I hated Buttercup from the "Princess Bride" for being such a helpless idiot... I wanted to be Princess Leia. She got to kick ass, slap (and kiss) Han Solo, and wear very cool costumes. I was especially fond of the cloaked pantsuit she wore in Cloud City.

Over the next five-years, what direction do you see your art taking?
I'd like to diversify my artwork, do more editorial, and get into the fantasy market. I also have a few books up my sleeve- one of them involves princesses. Because it all comes back to Leia, probably.

Is there anything else you'd like to spill that we should know about? Because you know we want all the dish, toots!
Well, I don't know if I can think of anything particularly interesting offhand, but I would like to move to New York soon. Also, our mutual friend Katherine and I are thinking of working on a girl's adventure series, about a time-travelling girl mercenary (think Stargate meets Time Bandits, sans midgets). I'll let you know how that goes! You are a riot, child.

You shared a bit about a book you're writing, can you please go into more detail?
I can't say too much about it yet, but it's a picture book about princesses. And bunnies. I'll keep you posted on how it goes!

I'm a big Jew Yorker, you're moving back, when?
Next year, I'm hoping.

Why? (Not that I blame you, of course...)
I have family there, and it's where the publishers are. I've lived in LA for ten years, and it was fine, but now I'd like to move on.

Do you think it will be better for your career? Do you miss the city? Spill.
Yes, I think it will be better for my career in the long run. It's been said that nowadays, with the internetz, one can be a freelancer and live anywhere. That's not quite true. You still need plenty of face to face time with your prospective clients, and if you're in publishing (and not established yet) you either need to fly in constantly to the city, or live not so far away. I like New York. I've spent a lot of time visiting, and I tend to feel more artistically "plugged in" when I'm there. You've got all those cool museums like the Met and the Frick, which I never tire of. Also, I have a lot of good friends on the East Coast and in the UK and Europe, and living in NYC will enable me to visit them more often.

Give me links to all of your work online, everything you got babe!
Okey dokey! Here's my website, and my deviantArt site. "Honey Cake," by Joan Betty Stuchner, published by Random House, is due out in stores on August 26th. It's a thrilling little middle grade novel about a Jewish pastry shop owner's son who gets caught up in the middle of the Danish resistance in World War 2. It's got eclairs and Nazis... and a cover by me! You can pre-order it on Amazon.

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Joanne is also on Facebook and Twitter (don't whack me darling). Friend the girl and fast. Keep track of her work, dish with her and get to know her even better.

And How Was Your Monday, Katie?

Golly gee willackers, my day started with a glorious stretch and some yoga at home, followed by teeth brushing, flossing, some face washing and ear cleaning (I'm an OCDer to the core with floss and a few Q-tips). I was ready to embrace the day and opened my laptop. A few hours later, I made myself a generous helping of oatmeal served with a side of... Ohhhkkkay, surrealeena?!

While noshing on my meal-of-oats, helicopters circled several buildings bellowing from megaphones Come out with your hands up. I repeat, come out with your hands up and drop your weapon. So, what did my schmucky neighbors do? Run out of their houses and scurry down the street. Great way to get whacked. News?!

I have a friend who is temporarily vegan and gluten free at the minee, too. We commiserate about how torturous it is for us, often. There are so few foods we enjoy. I understand a lot of people love being vegan and gluten free, I think that's fabulous. I'm over the moon for them. I'm just not one of them.

Anyhoodle, every Monday morning my friend stops at a coffee shop for a vegan gluten free blueberry muffin and soy cappuccino. This is her weekly pleasure, she loves it. You can't relate?! Please. Today, she walked in and ordered her ujsh-- it was the last muffin. As she salivated, waiting for her cap and muff, a nun walked in and asked for the same muffin. (MF) My friend said, That's my muffin. I already ordered it. The nun, in a Habit'n'awwwl was dumbfounded, thinking MF was going to give it up for her. The nun, again said to the woman behind the counter, I want that muffin.

MF, I kid you not, screamed, I called dibs on that "Nuffin" and you cannot have it! It's mine, mine, mine. I need that nuffin a lot more than you do. Meanwhile, the woman behind the counter was laughing so hard, thinking MF was going to rip this nun's Habit off and throw down, yo, she fell over, tripping on the guy who was steaming milk, hit her head on the counter. He teetered, drenching wicked hot milk all over the baked goods, slightly scalding MF and the nun.

PS: MF and nun immediately snapped out of it, decided to split the nuffin over coffee and became wicked fast friends. Everyone is okay, by the by

PSS: I got the most wonderful awards from my girl Frannylish (love this dame) and my boy over at Hell's Brimstone (la-ha-ve HELL). I will be posting that dish tonightish. Thank you guys. Ya such mensches. You made my day.

PSSS: Imhaaahjjjes aren't loading. Oy, I know... This will have to be a, dare I say it, image free post.

Cancer Is A Bitch, Gail Konop Baker's Memoir

I read Gail Konop Baker's memoir Cancer Is A Bitch *Or I'd Rather Be Having a Mid-Life Crisis, twice. Before reading it, I wondered if I'd be able to relate-- I've never had cancer, I'm lucky and grateful for that. I also grew up in a neurosis-is-the-breakfast-of-champions environment, where the word cancer is whispered for fear that elevating the pitch would somehow invite the disease into our lives. Flowing along that superstition, I wondered if reading a book about cancer would beckon a social call. Would I be dialing-a-disease-for-delivery by reading this memoir? What would my grandparents think? Should I even tell my parents I was reading a shh-book?

And I wonder where my hypochondriac roots stem from?! Really? Really. OY.

The minute I started reading Cancer Is A Bitch, I could NOT put it down. Honestly, irreverently, hysterically and exquisitely, Gail hurled me into what she endured and continues to face as a cancer survivor. But, more than that- the frenetic chaos, endless questions, overwhelming fear and love, so much love for her family, her life and her relationship with herself, it was so poetically human, so perfectly written, how could I not relate? With every page I devoured, the more invested in Gail's life, in her family, her hopes, her dreams, her friends, her choices, her fears, her consequences, and her everything, I became. I felt so deeply connected to her. I fell in love with her, her bravery, the complexity of her mind, how fucking brutally-unrelentingly-honest she is and her humor.

Everyone will take something different from Cancer Is A Bitch, of course. What I took from it, why it had such a profound impact on me and why I had to read it twice was because (again, for me) it was about my relationship with myself and how sidelined and consumed by others that can become. How quickly I have, at times dismissed the importance of it or realized that it even was important.

Gail's book officially hits bookstores in October. You can pre-order Cancer Is A Bitch now. I beg you to do so. Any book that can make me laugh, cry, feel chaotic, angry and nauseous, all at the same time is a must read, period. I felt all of that and so much more. I am grateful to Gail for having the moxie to spin this yarn, it's beautiful. You will love each and every word. READ IT. READ IT. READ IT. Right now. Drag your ass to this link and pre-order it. Ga'head... I'm waiting.

--

Gail's Website, Blog, Book

Snatch Express Incoming

Officially, I am grossly behind on my e-mails, grossly, like it's embarrassing how behind I am in e-stalking people back. My sincere apologies.

The past four days have been a cluster fuck wrapped in a riddle, served on burnt toast with rotting oysters and penicillin drenched cheese.

The Way We Were, saltines and Ginger Ale, my combo cure-all for stress, is doing fuck all. I have stressrhea, stomach pains that would make Satan climax, nausea to the point of making bulimics everywhere green with envy. Oh, wait, and I'm ovulating. If I were fucking, even myself, I'd be worried about getting knocked up. I'm too stressed out to take 5 minutes and spin a get-myself-off yarn. The shame. It's time to back the fuck off and re-evaluate my life.

Before I do...

I'm supposed to participate in a sleep study because of my freakish, incessant nightmares. My shrinktail hooked me up with a Sleep Daddy Doctor of Doom. Whatever. I called their office today to inquire about the process. I've never done a sleep study. I wanted all the dish and to find out if they'd let me sleep at home in my own bed. They don't. Today was not the day to hear that.

I spoke to SDDOF's sleep assistants. Lemme tell ya, that was an exercise in minimum wage isn't working. Pause-response-super-peen-egos-pause-response-hate-their-nine-dollar-per-hour-jobs-pause-response-white-lab-coat-beige-docker-wearing-pause-response-mullety-hair types. They felt so nose pickery, too, and like they eat Thai food at inappropriate hours of the day and call frozen yogurt "FroYo".

There was no way I was signing up to sleep in that clinic from midnight to 5:30 AM, to be gang banged, laughed at and boobie groped by Pip and Flip, two bitter pricktards who think driving around in two-toned black and gold Z-28's circa 1987 is hot. I'd rather belly slide attached to a rope behind a white trash 4x4 at 50 MPH on the 405 with a yeast infection and keep my nightmares.

How are you?

No More Chair Drama

I finally got the chairs I wanted on Craigslist. OddChairBoy delivered two of the most divine 100-year-old chairs evah on Saturday afternoon. I got both chairs for 60 duckets, isn't that amazing?! I was plotzarella, too. I've always been so wildly in love with these chairs. They were so far out of my price range though, that I couldn't swing'em.

I wonder how many asses sat on these chairs in the past hundy years, what decisions they made, how many of those tooh-chai were happy, how many hearts were broken, how many people laughed, wrote, spun a few verbal yarns. Perhaps that's why I adore vinty tchoch as much as I do. I like to imagine the history of each piece.

Schwartzy is out to run errands and bust a few chops along the way. Have a beautiful Sunday, dollies. PS: Moon River (my favorite song) just popped on the pod. Bliss.

Bernie Mac, BRILLIANT

I was so sad to learn that Bernie Mac died yesterday. The world won't be the same without this extraordinary comic genius, a beautiful man-- brilliant and hilarious. B-Mac depicted family in reality, not some watered down, sugar coated version of family, one of the things I loved the most about him.

Bernie Mac was the menschiest of mensches and such a talent, oy, and now he's dead. I am such a blueJew.

I loved his TV show, "The Bernie Mac Show" and his stand-up comedy. He was one of the Original Kings of Comedy, donchya know! He was flawless. He will be missed terribly. 50-years-old is too young to die. Tributes to Bernie Mac.

Faith

My faith did the drama diva swan dive off the Golden Gate Bridge when I almost peeled out from Graves' disease. Over the past year, I've been working on faith restoration in every area of my life. Let me tell ya, it ain't easy.

I have good days and bad days. Days when I am so in the flow of faith-- if we bonded any harder, I'd spontaneously combust from being overly faithed. Other days, I want to fuck faith in the ass with a giant cock the size of the Chrysler building sans lube. My faith is moody, tempestuous and unreliable. I know it's there, it's just a matter of rekindling it.

Pre-Graves' I was a very idealistic broad. And now my idealism is fractured. When it surfaces, it's a beauuutiful thing.

Today for example, I have been reading Wade Agnew's poetry books A Desultry Way and Solace for a Starving, Naked, Alone In The Dark Soul (does that scream KATIE or does that scream Katie?! Please...) The boy has serious poetry chops. I'm falling hard and fast for his work. Anywhoodle. After receiving his books a few weeks ago with a lovely note attached, I mentioned that I wished he'd signed them. Ya know what this mensch did, he sent me two more books SIGNED with another fabulous note. Faith restoration in people-BOOM.

In the meantime, I'm craving raisin bran crunch. I won't drink soy milk or eat RBC straight outta the box. It's dry as a bone and dripping in gluten. I will suffer in silence. Dramatic enough?!

What is it with Craigslist and chairs?! I'm telling you the chairs are cursed on the list of craig. I found two more beauts I wanted and to get them to my house.... Don't ask. The fellow won't give me his address and he won't accept my address. He just wants cross streets. What's his fuckin' plan? Hit the corner and start shouting "SCHWARTZ, I GOT YA FUCKIN' CHAIRS."

And now I must run. Virg has a new post I want to read. I need to e-stalk a few peeps back and, oh, wait, wait, WAIT. I have more dish. One of my naybahs has decided that smoke from my apartment is infiltrating her apartment through the walls. 1) I don't smoke. 2) I don't cook. 3) I'm not an arsonist. However, she's decided that the smoke is my fault. My landlord comes over today with a cigarette and walks into my kitchen, lights it and says, "Smoke this. I'm going to turn on the stove and be back in 10 minutes." While a ciggy burns in my kitchen and flames from the stove shoot out, I stand observing this strange turn of events. My landlord comes back, puts the cigarette out and turns the stove off. He then decides she's nuts. Hi. Who you tellin?! His theory is that she's trying to get out of her lease. NEWSFLASH... she doesn't have a lease. We've lived in this buildink for the same amount of time and we're both on month-to-month. She's free to flee any damn time she wants.

I'm off like a prom dress.

More later.

Oh, I gotta cawl my fathah.

Loving....

TravelingMan Rick's Blog

I just started blogdating Traveling Man Rick. Sharing a love affair with the word Cunt, it was inevitable. Rick has coined a new variation on Cunt for men, MUNT. He wrote a fab post about it, including a few examples WE appreciate. His blog is divine. His views are liberal squared. He loves, loves, loves to travel. He's also a menschy good kid and fun-neee like nobody's bizola. Check him out. You'll dig the read, to be sure.

Bitch Slapped By Karma Twice?!

What is going on with my Karma?! I'm not cunty dame, or so I'd like to think. So, what the fuck?! The past few days I've been in Karmic hell and my K-Rolodex is yielding no insight. I'm trying to dig deep and figure it out.

Let's begin with the chair Odyssey. Today, I schlepped my ass in 90 degree weather to a chair joint. My car doesn't have air conditioning, it's a vinty number, over 30-years old. Love it. Schlepped it from NY and I'm not giving it up, period. Anywho. I met with the owners of the chairs I wanted. Lovely black and white 7o's high camp chairs. I was thrilled, hoping to walk out of their with my new chairs. Mind you, I had cash in hand ready to complete my transaction.

The owners sat me down with a clipboard in hand. A fucking clipboard. Their house was hotter than it was outside. God forbid they crack a window or use a fan. GOD FORBID. I admit it, I was a bit snippy. But, nice. Keeping my snippiness to a low roar. I pushed sarcasm aside and kept telling myself, Katie, stay open. Maybe it's just a few simple questions.

Fine.

Meanwhile, I was shvitsing like a dawg and dehydrating as each moment past. Natch, I broke out a bottle of water. Chairboy sat across from me with his legs crossed and said, I kid you not, "I need to ask you some qualifying questions." Shocked, I asked, "You do realize I'm here for the chairs, right?" He said, "Yes, I do. These questions must be answered. I have 10."

10 fucking questions. Oy to the vey. Fine. If it meant I was going to leave with my chairs, the trip would've been justified.

"Should you be granted guardianship of these chairs, how do you plan to care for them?"

My mouth dropped. Guardianship?! These are chairs. They aren't living, breathing beings. I held my tongue and said, "I will treat the chairs with respect."

Nice answer, right? I thought so, too.

He asks, "How will you treat these chairs with respect? What do you define as respect?" I wanted to call my psychiatrist and ask him to fill in for me. This was becoming an emotional transaction and I was sweating like a whore in a Bikram's yoga class. My sister kept touching my arm, as a reminder to keep breathing and not rip him a new rectum or provide him with insight into the acquisition of cock and balls, something he failed to receive in this lifetime.

I said, "I'll tell them every day how grateful I am for providing comfort to my tuchas." Inside I said, "Take your chairs and shove them up your mothah fuckin ass. I have a feeling that if anything spends 10 minutes in your anus, it's sure to come out a diamond and I can use the cash flow."

He said, "You're doing great," and touched my leg while saying it. I wanted to sever his fingers with my vagina dentata, I was that furious.

"Do you have any other questions for me or can we have closure", I asked.

"I have a few more questions I need to ask you." He said, and continued "How will you care for these chairs? Will you wash them daily or weekly? When you relocate, will you take the chairs with you and if so, will you bubble wrap them to ensure they sustain limited damage? If you get rid of them, will you make sure they go to a good home? Will you send me pictures of the chairs on a monthly basis, so I can keep an eye on them?"

I smirked at my sister. She knew the look and stood up, ready to be kicked out of his home.

I said, "I am going to to post signs on the chairs and request that strange men jerk off on them, so they're dripping in foreign (God willing) disease laden cum stains. I'll also make sure that every man I fuck, dines at the Y while I sit on said cum stained chair. If I relocate, I will hold a seance and use the chairs as kindle for the massive fire, we will sit around while conjuring dead spirits. Will that suffice, sweetie?"

He was so appalled, he clutched his clipboard and said, "It's time for you to leave." I said, "Honey, it was time for me to leave the minute you referred to guardianship in relationship to owning your chairs. And YES, I would own the fucking chairs. Own them. Own them. Own them. They would be MINE, all mine, to do whatever the fuck I wanted with them. You can take your chairs and shove them up your God damned ass. Because I don't want your fucking chairs, anyway. I hate you and your God damned chairs!"

We left. He was so furious, he said, "You don't deserve the chairs!" I said, "I have news, toots, neither do you. You need help. Serious help. Get therapy because it's time for you to develop a healthy relationship with inanimate objects."

We slammed the door and ran out of his house.

Bitch Slapped By Karma?!

Before I fluffed and folded my laundry, I decided to shower. By 10AM, it was 96 degrees. I had spent two-hours shvitsing like a hellnine chasing a fast ball.

I'm well bonded with this shower. We've been together for two-years. I know she likes to have the hot water knob massaged before introducing cold. I can relate. I'm not a rebel for rebellion sake. It seemed an easy, respectful task. I was happy to oblige.

There I stood naked in front of my shower with the hot water pouring out of the head (this sounds like a set up for a dirty joke, but it's not. Really.) and carefully turned on the cold water, so the two could get to know each other on their terms and find a mutually agreeable happy medium (Aquarius enough fah'ya?!).

Testing the water with my fingertips, I noted that the hot water wasn't cooling down. I took a new approach and turned the hot water off, hoping the cold water would forcefully pour out of the shower head. Nothing doing. All hot. Hot. Hot.

What a cunt move, right? Throw me a cool-bone, something that resembles anything that isn't flaming-nipple-skewering hot.

Bupkas. Nada. Zilch.

Snatch.

Finally 20-minutes later, saturated in guilt about all of the water I wasted and no homeless people to toss in, to make amends for my wastin' ways, the water cooled.

I hoisted the hooters and off we went into our lukewarm shower.

Nothing doing.

1 minute into it, my hair was lathered in shampoo and I was grabbing the soap, and lathering the goods when my ass was pelted by scalding hot water. So hot, it makes you jump back and grab your own ass to make sure you're still together. We were.

I turned the hot water off and thought, fuck this. I'll just take a cold fucking shower. I'm committed-- my hair is filled with shampoo. My crack'n'snatch are filled with soap. I don't really have many options, unless I want a raging yeast infection and bone dry hair.

Icy bullets rained from the head of my shower. I thought my nipples were going to crack off of my breasts and fall to the shower floor like some dry ice-scifi-anime-comic-character beaten by a fencing expert.

I'm going through my karmic Rolodex and I haven't done anything wrong. So, what the fuck?!

Today Is A New Day

It's August, 2nd, 2008 and I have been doing a lot of thinking. Please, I spend so much time in my head, I blew "oy vey" away 10-years ago and replaced it with "oy gevalt". Seriously, yo. I'm a brain dwelling freak'o nature, which wouldn't be so terrible if I wasn't a raging insomniac. I haven't really slept properly in about a week. What sleep deprived person do you know has perspective? I've been an irritable snatcharella on wheels. I know it and you know it. Impossible to communicate with in any meaningful fashion. God willing, I'll sleep tonight. Tomorrow, I'll wake up feeling, oh, I don't know, human. I'd love to say, refreshed, but that's a stretch. I have never excelled in the art of sleep. It's never been my sport of choice. I envy those who can hit the pillow and fall hard. My sister is a great sleeper. I wish I had that gene. My ma says she had insomnia in her 30s, too and chalks it up to hormones. I can roll with that.

My insomnia was a gift from my nightmares, which started years ago. I've been writing on a non-fiction short story collection about said mares in the hopes of having the moxie to one day share them. I've only dished them with the great Shrinktail. He's been shrinkdating a slew of peeps for twenty-plus years and told me that my nightmares were the worst he'd ever heard. So, yeah, you know, I feel a bit, well, you know, hmmm. I appreciate his honesty, always. He is honest with me-- That's pretty rare in the doctor department. Still. Dare I share them? Fuck yeah. Slow down Sally. One day soon. Maybe. We'll see. Perhaps.

I'm such a fence dwelling bitch.

Right?!?!?!

A mini list of this, that and the other thing...

1. Should we break up with Blogspot and start blogdating Wordpress? What do we think?


2. Should I berate myself if I only accomplish half the objectives on my list? No, silly, you shouldn't. Really? It's great cardio. I hate to give it up.


3. I need to FedEx my father something today. Seriously. FedEx is a block from me. I suck at mailing shit. If I can get something mailed via someone else, it will go out. If I have to mail it myself, oy vey. I have this crazy aversion to opening mail, posting and shipping things. Gaaaaahd.


4. I need to buy two chairs today. This has been on the list for how long now? Oy vey.


5. Gail Konop Baker sent me the Galleys for her beautiful book Cancer is a Bitch, or I'd Rather be Having a Midlife Crisis. I'm almost finished reading it. I'll be posting awwwwl the dish. So far, I'm wildly, desperately and passionately in love. Her book is like being punched in the face and hugged while laughing your mothah fuckin' ass off. What an exquisite writer, Debutante Gail is. Don't wait for it to come out, pre-order it now. You must buy it. Must. Must. Must.

One of my favorite cuzzy bloggers Creepy, estalked me this morning with a note from the mouths of babes: "People are born so that they can learn how to live a good life -- like loving everybody all the time and being nice. Dogs already know how to do that, so they don't have to stay as long." Awww, so sweet. Thanks, bubbie.

Online BFF, My favorite rack, my love, Ah.... Mama Jones, the lamb, coffeekins and everyone else, thank you for your BEAUTIFUL missives.

One Year Ago Today

Rest in peace my sweet.

I'm no wiser, no more resolved, no happier. I have spent the year mourning The Kid's death instead of celebrating his life. To date, that would be my only regret in life.

I wish I could say that in the past 12 months, I've become a better person and more evolved in the death department-- I haven't. Every Friday, I lit a Yahrzeit candle and would recite the Kaddish, hoping it would sink in and that I would surrender to the global meaning. I didn't.

I needed him this year. I wish he waited one more year before dying. Though, I try to remind myself that if he died today, it wouldn't be any easier than it was one-year ago.

I wonder, would I have gotten through this year differently if I had him? Would his reflection of unconditional love have been the impetus I needed to find my way? Would the world continued to make more sense through his eyes?

I don't know.

As this day approached, I had bursts of anxiety, anger and sadness. The day is here. I don't want to regret my actions next year.

It's so funny, I've always been of the mindset that if you love someone enough, you have to let them go. Yet, when it comes to death, I'm a hypocrite. Why is that? Rhetorical question.

Today, I will mourn. Maybe tomorrow, I will let go a little bit more, just enough to begin to celebrate his life.

All of my blogging buddies were there for me last year and I wouldn't have gotten through it without you, each of you. THANK YOU for looking out.