Tuesday, May 20, 2008

Oh, Dish

  1. My apologies for being a bad e-stalker and blog hopper. Next week, I will be catching up on all of your juicy words and I can't wait.
  2. My new website is live. KatieSchwartz.com. Love? Hate? Spill.
  3. I know I should be asleep.
  4. Too much to do.
  5. Oy to the vey. Will I get it all done? Hell yeah.
  6. XO
  7. Katie
  8. Chicagoans, you are coming to the Fixxy Reading Series on Thursday night, yes?
  9. PS: I know I'm repetitive. Hello, are you new?!

Oh, Have I got Dish for you!

1) Thursday night, The Fixx Coffee Bar Jami Attenberg and Katie Schwartz (not the other KS's online, this Katie Schwartz will be reading. I'm reading an essay from my book. You must come! I want to see all of your fabulous faces.

2) I went to a corsitorium today for bras to hoist the hooters. Back in New York, they used to have proper corsitoriums for dames with generous racks. Older dames who chose your bras for you. This non-diva was a riot. She was in her 80s, a handsome woman, reminiscent of the days in New York when pickles were purchased in barrels, a very lower east side kinda dame. After throwing me in a room, she told me to take my top off so she could stare at the twins. Five minutes later, in a thick Russian accent, she said, "I be back. You wait." Upon her return with three highly unattractive brazatskies (bras), she placed the bra over each arm, pushed me over, hoisted my girls into the bra, locked that bitch up, straightened me up and proceeded to feel me up. I'm being modest. She pushed the tops of my breasts into the bra, caressed the top, massaged the center of my boobies from front to side and scooped the wire underneath. Four bras later, I said, "Okay, I think I have what I need. I'll take these. "No more bras for you?" She asked curiously, almost as if I'd betrayed her. "No, I think I'm good," I said. "Let me feel one more time," she asked. Why not, I thought. It was hysterical. I haven't been felt up in so long.

3) My Fed Ex man knew I was home today and instead of calling my name or knocking, that rat bastard bailed, fled, with my packages. I was not having it. I got in my car and went after him. I knew what alley he was parked in and I waited for him. Is that stalking?! He showed up. I got out of my car and said, "I know you have my packages." His head dropped in shame, shame, shame. I got the goods, yo.

4) I am leaving for Chicago Thursday for Pilcrow and I'm plotzarella. I will be blogging as much as I can. Are we all coming? Spill. I want names. e-Stalk me or twitter me and we'll exchange cell numbers. Psychos need not apply. Remember, I know Bubbsie! He's my friend.

Have a beautiful night, bubbalahs.


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