Saturday, November 28, 2009

No Shortage Of Stuffing Pie Hole Here, Metaphorically Speaking

I broke up with J Crew, but we got back together.

I’ve noticed that a lot of Born Agains are starting to follow me on Twitter. To be clear, I don’t mean Christians or Catholics, I mean Zealarellas (zealots). I’m wondering… What part of me screams save me?

Wanna read more? Of course you do! Kidding. If you do, fab. If not, I understand. No pressure, no guilt. I'm a freak.

Saturday, November 21, 2009

Midgets, Siblings and Masturbation, Oh My

The non-sequitur post from hell.

The emails I’ve received for the wrong are worth reporting:

UPDATE: Received today 11/14 “I can’t poo any longer i thought my butt was stronger! but I need your help to tacke this deamen out! Juust stick your hand up there and move it everywhere until u u puulll it. Ouuuuttttt ooooo ya ya yaaaa!!!!!!!!!”

I bought software from under the name Katherine. For the record, it’s Katie Louie Schwartz, mothah fuckah. Ga'head, read the rest...

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Beautiful Photography, by Susan Ledgerwood

Susan Ledgerwood Other Worldly Visual Storyteller, She’s All About YOU

Susan Ledgerwood. You might know her via Twitter @SoyGoy. You might be a “Fan” of Susan’s work on Facebook. If you’re not following her on Twitter or have become a fan of her work on Facebook, after reading about her and seeing her work, you will be. Read the rest and see her work! You'll plotz.

A Decision Has Been Made

I am going to cross-post on The Vey what I post on I miss it. The Vey, I mean.

What's news and exciting, you ask? Posting now.

Stay tuned. I have insomnia and lots to dish.

Sunday, May 24, 2009


Beautiful babies, I have officially moved. I will not be deleting this blog, ever. I am in a new spot where I will be ranting and raving. You know how I do. Come visit me at Come on, don't be shy. You can do this. We'll do it as a family. Ready. Set. Click.



Friday, May 01, 2009


@Anastasia_Smith of The Sister Project, follow them on Twitter @sisters, wrote a gorgeous post about her thyroid, sisterhood and Dear Thyroid. Please read, From The Threads of Thyroid Tales.

Thank you!
Isn't she a honey? Click on over and read.

*cross posted at DearThyroid.

Saturday, April 25, 2009


This morning I woke up to Old Jews Telling Jokes in my box, courtesy of my girl, FranIAm. OJTJ is so funny, I think I want to marry the website.

Sunday, April 19, 2009


Good morning!

If you've been following my tweets, @katieschwartz, you know that my pal VeronicaWords, is working like a dawg to, well, save dawgs.

From VW: "Here’s the scoop from @VeronicaWords: vote 4 us! Fill in Pike County Humane Society Milford PA & Search. then select us. Animal verification, that’s it!".

It's a great shelter and you can vote every day, so please do. They're in desperate need of the fundage. Off you go to vote for canine hope.

My dad joined Twitter, @jsbrooklyn. I'm plotzing. @TanyaEspanya, doll that she is, friended my pops. As far as dark humor is concerned, you'll quickly learn the apple does not in fact fall far from the tree, not at all. Friend him, ga'head. I think he knows how to follow back, if not my brother, @nicktony will show him, I'm sure.

I'm obsessing about the song, Caribbean Queen, for reasons I can't explain, and the mispronunciation of the word, "Caribbean". It is not pronounced "Caara-beee-aun", which is, in my opinion, enunciation murder. Worsening the issue, lest we forget it was a huge hit. How? Why? What happened? Where was I during this songbacle?

Have you seen infomercials for the Bullet Express? In the middle of the night, when I can't sleep, I am a food product infomercial whore. Anyway, the infomercial has the creepiest crew, force feeding insert-grandma-here, a food bulletized beverage. What's worse, is her insert-son-here, staring at her wantonly while she's drinking. Watch!

Another one is the Cricut Expression, a scrapbookey spin-off tchoch that's fun for the whole family. Admittedly, this one bugs the shit out of me.

What happened to Ron Poppeil, you know, the infomercial daddy who coined the phrase "But, wait, there's more"?

Here's one I love -- Really, it's the dame I love, never the products, always the sales peeps and their handy-dandy-ever-so-shocked-side-kicks, the Turbo Cooker.

Saturday, April 18, 2009


In response to the Red Envelope Project, I have launched the Silver Envelope Project. I posted about my disdain and contempt for the REP, you might have read it here, Abortion, The Breakfast of Champions.

My objective for the Silver Envelope Project is for legions of women who are pro-choice, to join me in posting written letters, video letters and photo/collage letters to the Silver Envelope Project blog, to virally syndicate our message as aggressively as they are.

I hope you'll review and send me lots of letters and get involved!

Thursday, April 16, 2009


As we've discussed a blog is one part confessional, right? Right.

Today, I was reminded of the ultimate shamevent, I was with my ma and we were at the Farmer's Market buying produce, minding our own business when I happened upon my ex.

He didn't see me -- I saw him -- which was MORE than enough to make me run -- like a virgin towards the starting quarterback. I flew through the market. My ma, is, of course, fast on her feet and didn't need me to explain anything, she just followed. PS: That's love.

So terrified he would see me, I made my way into the back of the market and dove into a dumpster. Yes, I know that's disgusting. Whatevs, a girl does what a girl has to do.

A few minutes later, I could hear my mother laughing her ass off while leaning against the dumpster, so I peeked my head out of the top. Through tears, she said to me, "What the fuck is wrong with you, child?" I whispered, "I saw my ex, he was buying avocados. Remember he used to call them avo's? I hated that."

She looks to her left, sees him, whispers, "Duck", and slams the cover of the dumpster shut. She hid behind the dumpster.

Do you believe the shame?

Ten minutes later, she came out from behind the dumpster and made sure all was clear before helping me out of the can.

Oy vey, the lengths I will go to, to avoid this ex... don't ask.


Nice ad, huh? Circa 19-we-call-fat-laaaydies-chubbies. Of course we've "evolved" past this. Presently, we just quickly look away from said chubbette for fear of catching fat, which makes perfect sense, it was in the NY Times.

If you've been following my tweets, you know that I am completely OCD about my kitchen window neighbor's shower habits. They shower 4-5 times a day. I keep wondering; if there are only two of them, what could they possibly be doing that requires such excessive showering. Are they rolling in mud? Peeing on themselves? Working out 24/7? Smoking meat? Then I wonder, wait, maybe people have increased their daily showering, maybe that's the norm, maybe it's the thing to do, and I'm just a skanky dirty whore for showering once a day.

I'm in a weird mood.
I have insomnia.

Oh, before I forget, thank you sooo much for the birthday wishes. My birthday was February 7th. Like the latetard that I am, I didn't get around to posting my GIFTIES until, oh the shame of it, April 5th. Do you believe?! I know, I'm such a cuntarell. Oy, forgive me gift givers.

On the 16th, which I believe is now, a certain someone from a certain Compound is coming to Los Angeles with his fangorialicious daughter, I can't wait to see them. We met at the Pilcrow Lit Fest last year in Chicago.

I'm trying to get my sister to consider doing an authentic expression for Three Dames With A Clue .

Does anyone know of any jewelry makers in the Los Angeles, Hollywood area looking for a venue to sell their jewels? I can't find anyone.


What kind of a schmuck do you have to be to dive into a polar bear enclosure at a zoo? How completely fucktardian are you?! I'm just grateful the PB's weren't injured.

Polar bear mauls woman at zoo, wouldn't you if some asshole came into your house?

Tuesday, April 14, 2009


Menses just commenced. It's 1:14 AM. I was asleep. That felt good. At 12:24, I popped up. I think I'm awake, maybe awakeish is more accurate.

I'm always surprised when those handy-soapy-foamy-bottles run out of soap. For some lame ass reason, it never occurs to me that they ever will. They feel so lifetime supply, even though the bottles aren't more than 8 inches tall. Similarly, when I flip on a light switch and the light flickers to its death, I think "Now what?" Duh, schmuckette, you change the fucking light bulb. Intellectually, I know this, yet for some odd reason, it never comes to mind.

In fact, a few years ago, my mother walked into my house and said, "Why aren't the lights working?" I said "I don't know, I flick the switch and they don't work." After a fit of uproarious laughter, she said, "Would it kill you to change the light bulb?” Hmmm. "No", I shamefully responded. I wonder why... it is that I have a block against certain tasks. I can be absentminded, but not about the big stuff, I don't think.

It's 4:30 AM. I started writing this post 3 hours ago. I ran to the store. One of the stock daddies had beautiful tattoos covering the length of his arms. I asked him, "Do your tattoos tell a story?" He winced, glaring at me as if I was from Fucktardville. Fuck me for thinking a labyrinth of gorgeous tattoos spun a yarn, what an assjockey I must be for not realizing that a man's arms covered in tatts could be so fucking random.

My stomach hurts something awful at the minee.

I walked away from my lappytoppy for 5-minutes and had a fabalicious idea that I completely forgot. Why? I didn’t write it down. These days if I don’t write things down, they are MIA like Stayin' Alive.

PS: I have been trying to get online to finish this post for almost an hour. Now, I’m irked.

My stomach hurts something awful at the minee.

I need to drink more H2o.

It's no longer 4 AM.

Saturday, April 11, 2009


Dwarfs just flashed in my brain for some bizarre reason. Oh, this post isn't dwarf driven. Wait, are we allowed to say dwarf or is that un-PC?

Speaking of dwarfs, abortion. No, silly, I'm not saying you should abort a dwarf baby if you find yourself knocked up with one, gosh no. I just couldn't find a decent segue into abortion after mentioning dwarfs.

Don't be offended, it's not like I said you should abort a Down Syndrome baby or a retarded baby, or are they one and the same? That I know is un-PC, to say retarded. In my defense, I don't actually come out and say "Retarded", I say "Rahtaardded". See the difference, it's subtle.

I am getting so fucking sidetracked right now.

I hope you're not offended. I haaate being offended, it's such a nauseatingish feeling. When I'm offended, I feel dirty from the inside out, overcome with a kind of helplessness and a boiling anger, akin to being felt up without my consent. Super unfestive. I'd say molested versus being felt up, but knowing as many vagina's as I do, I've come to learn that at some point in our lives we've had some kind of molestereeuation. It's a signature, a calling card, par the course of being a bird, I suppose.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaanyway, while Evangelical-blog-hopping this week, I happened upon a few blogs who posted about The Red Envelope Project, also coined, "The LIFE Envelope Project". Have you heard? You can see where I'm going with this, right? The REP project is a wildly offensive endeavor spearheaded by the fundies, of course. Not our beautiful, liberal Christian/Catholic sisters and brothers. No, no, no, they would never do such a thing, only insane zealie's pioneer such egregious and offensive acts as this one.

Here's the dish in a nutshell, pulled right from the whackjob's mouth. I've bolded my favorite parts:

"The e-mail letter below turned into a couple different websites supporting the project with hundreds of thousands of visitors. There was a day setup for Red Envelopes to be sent and we have received word from the White House mailroom that over 2 million envelopes were delivered after the March 31st Red Envelope Day!

In an effort to keep the movement alive and going we have transferred the website into the LIFE Envelope Project to avoid a potential trademark problem. We are also looking to expand the project to send not just red envelopes but also baby blue (to represent an aborted baby boy), pink (to represent an aborted baby girl), and traditional white with red, pink, or blue writing (for ease of getting an envelope). It's now easier than ever to send the message on to our president, senators, representatives, and judges!

The Founding Story:

Below is a letter that has been circulating with a great idea. The message began in silent prayer from a faithful follower who was spending quiet time with God.

Dear Friends and Intercessors:

This afternoon I was praying about a number of things, and my mind began to wander. I was deeply distressed at the symbolic actions that President Obama took as he began his presidency. Namely, that he signed executive orders releasing funds to pay for abortions, permission to fund embryonic stem cell research, and federal funding for contraception. I have been involved in the pro-life movement for nearly 20 years, and it pained my heart to see a man and a political party committed to the shedding of innocent blood. This man, and this party lead our country, but they do not represent me or the 54% of Americans who believe that abortion is wrong and should no longer be legal.

As I was praying, I believe that God gave me an interesting idea. Out in the garage I have a box of red envelopes. Like the powerful image of the red LIFE tape, an empty red envelope will send a message to Barack Obama that there is moral outrage in this country over this issue. It will be quiet, but clear.

Here is what I would like you to do:

Get a red envelope. You can buy them at Kinkos, or at party supply stores. On the front, address it to:

We have reason to believe the return address is important, please include it.

President Barack Obama
The White House
1600 Pennsylvania Ave.
N.W.Washington , D.C. 20500

On the back, write the following message.

This envelope represents one child who died in abortion. It is empty because that life was unable to offer anything to the world. LIFE begins at conception.

Put it in the mail and send it. Then send this website to every one of your friends who you think would send one too. I wish we could send 50 million red envelopes, one for every child who died before having a a chance to live. Maybe it will change the heart of the president, our senators, and/or our representatives.

Warmly, Christ Otto

Let's Send 50 Million red envelopes (and Counting) for all of the children killed in the US by abortion!"

I, of course, was and remain deeply offended by this movement. In the spirit of free speech, I think those of us who unequivocally support a woman's right to choose abortion, and protect funding for abortion, education about birth control and stem cell research, should send an envelope to President Obama, too.

In a silver envelope, place a little plastic egg inside with a note that reads:

My name is Fertileena, I was aborted by a wonderful woman. If you haven't met her, you should. She's a vibrant, happy, healthy dame with a full and rich life. She got pregnant, it happens. Although, deciding to abort me wasn't an easy choice, we talked about it at length and we are sooo grateful that she had the choice to abort me. We're still friends and catch up from to time. Oh, don't worry, I won't bore you with the details. I just wanted to thank you for keeping abortion safe and legal. I wanted to be aborted as much as she wanted to abort me, it was very much a mutual decision. I LOVE my life and value my life as an aborted fetus.

Fertileena, aborted feteye

Any questions?

Sunday, April 05, 2009


FreakyJewelry sent me these gorgeous earrings for my birthday and I am wild about them. THANK YOU, FJ. I LOVE MY B-DAY PREZZIE.

I took a picture of these beauties. Unfortunately the blur factor was so high, it hardly did them justice, see:

FJ makes the coolest gem earrings, necklaces and quirky/dark jewels I've seen in ages. She's such a talent. You must check out her jewels and treat yourself to one of her pieces.

Darryle Pollack, the brains behind Cluttercast, formerly known as Click for Clutter, I've blogged about it plenty, you're up to speed, yes? Yes, sent me three FABULOUS scarves as a birthday gift!

They are the kitschiest of kitsch, and the colors are so vibrant and stunning. Love at first sight, I tell ya. I started tying these beautiful babies to my pocketbook like my grandmother used to do, ah the memories, such bliss. THANK YOU SO MUCH, DARRYLE, FOR MY SCARVES.

And, from Diva B. Coffey, I got an awesome gift card to tarjhay. I'd post the pic, but I used that baby faster than you can say spend, and this hilarsquared card:

Is this a KatieCard or what?!


Saturday, April 04, 2009


This week had a theme, a pretty straightforward one too: "Katie, Wilma Fingerdo", laced with syphilis, oozing herpes sores, attached to a gnome wearing a trollee-esq mask when you least expect it, EVERY FUCKING DAY?!

I met with optadaddy on Monday to discuss my lady balls. While I appreciate his enthusiasm for Graves' ophthalmology because really, if a doctor has a raging hard on for something that's ailing you, s/he's the DR you want. Right? Right.

I'm in the chair. Between us is the peeper machine that scopes your balls. While he's fondling mine with said machine, he's going on and on and on about his latest study with rabbits and rats and their peepers popping. Again, I appreciate his enthusiasm, but do I really need the deets?

I said, "My sister had a rabbit named Clovis", thinking this would ignite the, oh-I've-said-too-much-gene, and make him stop. On the contrary, he didn't. After the fondlefest, I said, "Ya know, DRB, I really don't want to break-up with you because you are the Graves' Optha daddy of doom. However, the image of sacrificed animals is nauseating, depressing and way more than I can handle. You've crossed a boundary."

Do you know what he said? "I'm authoring a paper for (I can't remember the name) medical journal all about it."

Seriously?! I have NOTHING to say and EVERYTHING to talk.

Everyone was so far up my ass this week, did I ask for a free colonoscopy? No, I did not. No matter what I said or did, it was wrong. A ginormy week of misunderstandings. Don't you love when people say, "I'm listening."? Really? You are? Than why the fuck can't you hear me?!


The upside is that my surname isn't Humpdick. I'm healthy and the week will be officially over tomorrow.

PS: Wilma Fingerdo is a dragalicious diva.

Saturday, March 28, 2009


The dish, rapid fire... Shall we bullet point this baby or what? Okay, here we go.

  1. My youngest brother, Nick is a social media God. He Twittered with Mc Hammer from 33,000 feet. Isn't he a honey?!
  2. In honor of Ada Lovelace Day, one of my Twitter dishing buddies, BitDepth, has written a lovely post about women in New Media and he GENEROUSLY included me. To be in the company of the women he wrote about is quite an honor. If you haven't read his blog, check it out. He is a photographer and a filmmaker. His work is rich and luscious, like his personality.
  3. Tuesday was suuuuhhhhrrrrrrreal.
  4. Wednesday I had to re-pee in a bucket, but failed miserably. The whole thing was entirely too nauseating. Let's just say I jeopardized the specimen.
  5. Thursday morning I had a date with Urarella (Nephroqueen). He's so dramatic, my God. Only 8 viles of blood on the wall, 8 viles of blood, if one should happen to fall... Anyway, he wanted me to have an MRI. However, as of Friday, I have decided not to. If he thinks squeezing me into a tube of toothpaste for an hour and a half is going to happen, he's grossly mistaken. He saw my kidneys on the big screen (ultrasound), that's enough for him. Geez Louise, what's his plan? To jerk off with a new set of MRI'd kidneys, my kidneys?! He's going to have to find a new pair. "Gee, Katie, that's not overly dramatic at all."
  6. I know this is super old, but I'm still in shock that in this recession somebody bought a car for 4.4 MM. To be fair, it's truly a spectacular automobile. Still. Who has 4 mil to play with, especially after record job losses, Madoff, Wall Street and the housing crisis?!
  7. Do not forget to vote for Miss Nora O’Sullivan, she’s in 3rd place. If anyone can get her into 1st, we can. Click here now.

Wednesday, March 25, 2009


From Joe:

Hi everybody!

I'm tied up at work and won't have a chance to get this up on Sprawling Ramshackle Compound for a while, so I need your help. Our daughter Nora is a semi-finalist in the Fangoria Spooksmodel contest. Right now she's kind of bummed out because she's getting her ass kicked in the voting--she's competing against a more than a few softcore porn actresses and pro models. Please click on the link (here it is again: Fangoria Spooksmodel) and scroll down until you see Nora O'Sullivan in her evil nurse costume.

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD VOTE FOR THIS GIRL. Nobody loves horror more than Nora, and she needs to place in the top 13 to go to the finals in L.A. Vote early and often, it's easy, and forward this to any gorehounds you know, or anyone who just loves to vote in internet contests.

I really appreciate it. She'd love to see her numbers climb. Take care, and thanks for reading!


Run. Go. Vote.


Our beloved blogging buddy, Beth Coffey is having a SUPER DUPER BIRTHDAY TODAY. Click over and wish that dame a very happy birthday.

Bethy, the world is a better place because you're in it. I celebrate you every day, today is extra special because you were born. You are loved and adored by many. You're a good friend, a great person and you have a heart of gold.

I wish you the world, my dear. My this year bring you everything your lovely soul desires.


Tuesday, March 24, 2009


A few weeks ago, I joined two incredible women, Joy Hurwitz and Belle Zwerdling, to form Three Dames With A Clue, a women's collective that produces live, filmed, interactive theatre coined My Authentic Expression.

Each month, a new topic is tabled and guided by 3-4 panelists, paired with an online series of interviews featuring some of the web's most prolific women writers and artists. Some you might even know, FranIAm and KarenZipdrive. As you can see, we've got some really kick ass dames coming out for this. Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday, we'll be posting new interviews.

Our first show is slated for May 11th in Los Angeles. Location TBA. I will keep youse posted. If you're in LA, please e-stalk me for reservations. Tickets are FREE. Parking is 5 bucks. Free appetizers. Cocktails and beverages are totally doable. Nothing crazy price wise. After all, we are in a recession.

Friday, March 20, 2009


Oh, how I love and appreciate a blog award, especially this one, the Sisterhood Award, from a dame I adore, Liberality Liberal. LL has bestowed this award on some bloggers I am looking forward to reading because their blogs sound way up my alley. One of the bloggers, Mauigirl, I adore sooo much. Thanks Libbylib, I'm a lucky dame.

What I love most about the Sisterhood Award is what it means to me: camaraderie, mutual respect, appreciation for other women, elevating and uplifting, not degrading or disrespecting, and feeling connected, not because all women are going to like each other cause'ns we're of the Vsuasion. Though, it would be great if we could, at the very least be there for each other in some small way. Maybe even help each other achieve our goals, instead of trying to take a sistah' down. That just ain't right. I see a lot of that, as I'm sure we all have, and experienced it, too. Most unfestive, donchya think? Yeah... I know.

The origin of sisterhood, according to Webster's 1350–1400; ME sosterhode. Sisterhood is as vintage an expression as they come. The meanings of sisterhood that resonate the most for me is #1 and #5

1. the state of being a sister.
5.Usually, the sisterhood. the community or network of women who participate in or support feminism.

Are we screaming, Jewgirl, or what? I think so.

Now it's my turn to impart this award to 10 other dames. I will try my best to keep it at 10, but that's gonna be tough. There are so many sisterhood hearted dames who deserve this award.

Fran I Am - Frannylish is unique, she's as religious as she is irreverent. The two live side-by-side so beautifully. I love her for that and everything in between. I've also had coffee with this delightful dame, a day I'll never forget.

I would've chosen Maugirl, but Liberality has already done so. Mauigirl is political, personal and has a series I truly dig, the talking-through-her-cat-series -- hilar.

Next up is Lisa Golden. This broad takes my breath away. You might know her from Unplugged or Politits, her former blogs. Now, she's blogging under her name. I swear to God, I think she writes from her womb. Her Adventures in Parenting series, and blogging about relationship mishigas are pretty deep, she's truly authentic.

How could I possibly leave out a dame I'm just starting to dish with on Facebook and hopefully email soon. We've been reading each other for a year now, I think. I've been crushing on her since I discovered her blog. She goes by Helen Wheels and her blog is Just Ain't Right. Her lady balls are MASSIVE. When it comes to politics, she ladles it from the left, hard. I dare anyone to cross her. Ga'head, try.

This next broad, PulpFriction, kicks ass. The day she was born, God said, "I'm thinking irreverent. No, that's not it. I know, irreverent squared. No, no, no. Hmmm... What should we give her? Oh, I know, a heaping fucking crazy ass dose of IRREVERENCE." She's brilliant!

Anyone who can speak in pirate tongue, regardless of the topic, be it politics, personal, life, whatever, wins my heart. Not only is the Lesbian Pirate Queen a great read, she strikes me as a fascinating dame.

Snackiepoo and I are kinda neighbors. We live in the same part of the stateish. I've been crushing on her since I started reading her blog. She's blunt, brave, beautiful, talented and has a heart of gold. Mind you, she'll probably whack me for saying as much, but I don't care. She is, Blanche, she is.

I think the first comment Teeny left on my blog was "Crushing you with my love". I clicked over to find out more about this broad and I fell hard. Teeny is one of those dames who vomits onto her blog with a dash of daintiness and a heaping dose effervescence.

UtahSavage. Please. A dame who considers herself savage was born with moxie a girl like me only dreams of one day achieving. US is a fantastic writer, dark and soulful.

BorderExplorer is a no nonsense, straight-from-the-hip-one-of-a-kind, broads with that oompha thing going. You know what I mean? She's fulla grit and soul, this gal.

TellingSecrets. Without even realizing it, she's restored my faith in ways I feel, but need not express. The intersection, something I will never forget and always treasure.

Jintrinsique, I owe her an email. That said, what I adore about this dame is that she puts herself, her sexuality, her passion for baking (she's a pro, donchya know), and for life, right there for the world to see, without giving a shit about what anyone thinks about her. She's fearless.

Cup-of-Coffey has a birthday coming up next week! Do not forget to wish this dame a very, very, very happy birthday, a big sexy day. I celebrate Coffey every day, she's a doll, a genuine, kind, good soul. Her love and knowledge of music, especially REM, is unprecedented. She's a good friend, a kick ass blogger and a flawless dame.

If I've left any of my girls out, forgive me, you know you're in the sisterhood!

Tuesday, March 17, 2009



There are a million reasons we love Bubbsie. He's dark:

and funny as hell:

We love his writing, the child can spin a yarn like nobody's business. A few of Bubbsie's treasured topics are Clowns, Alligators, and of course, who could live without his FREAK OF THE WEEK series.

GUESS WHAT, our Bubsielicious has spun a disturbingly sick and funny non-fiction story, running in the spring edition of Farmhouse Magazine. This might be Bubbsie's first stop, that we know of, but one thing we are most certain about is that it's just the beginning -- This kid's got mad writing skills. Click on over and read about his Day With Antonia.

Sunday, March 15, 2009


This song bugs the mother fucking shit out of me for reasons I really don't know. It could be the nasally-stuck-in-his-throat harmony of Time Passages, though I'm not certain.

How mizzy does the broad look in this picture? To me, she screams: "Dress, stuff and roast you're own fucking turkey." I agree with her completely. Living in 2009, I have the privilege and luck of saying as much.

I'm irritated with nephroqueen's new medication. I think it's giving me headaches and making me tired. I'd call him Monday, but I'm seeing him on Tuesday. Gee, I can't fucking wait. I'm so excited. My nicknames for my nephrologist are: Obviously, nephroqueen, nephroboy, nephrologyboy, nephroasspain, kidneyologist, urinequeen, urarella, blood-and-urine-sucking-vampire, and I think that's pretty much it. Got any new ones for me?

I'm addicted to
Twitter, much more so than Facebook, not sure how I feel about Facebook or if I really want to assign an emotion to it.

My weekend has been great. Yesterday, was long, festive and kept me busy, running, doing, seeing, you know the drill.

Today, I'm getting myself a cheap-ass-massage-NO-release (they do rub and tugs for dames, did you know that? I didn't. What you would you call it anyway? A rub and rub? Lame).

I think I hate Wordpress, but I really want to like it.

I'm in a kvetchy, weird, don't know where to throw myself, mood. Fab. Fortunately, I'm extricating myself from my house in about an hour for the day, yay. That should turn my mood around.

I think it's odd when my shrinktail wears sweaters instead of a shirt. It's so, I'm a psychiatrist and you're not. He's just missing those Tweed elbow pads. Whatever the fuck they're called. I'm not breaking up with him. Shrinkdating him is great. However, I still have no fucking self-esteem. Eh, I'm hoping some of it will crawl up my ass and make its way to my brain. Wouldn't that be nice?

Have a great Sunday.

Friday, March 13, 2009


If you haven't figured it out yet, I love Vanessa Hidary's spoken word and I'm not much of a spoken wordian. This broad is off the mothah fuckin' hook. Watch!

Oh, and when you're done, a gift from my friend Crionaberry, a personal ad with a TABLE OF CONTENTS. Oh yes, a TOC, beautiful babies.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009


So, on Twitter today, I discovered some kick ass dish from some folks I'm following.

From @Rex7, what does a trillion dollars look like? Click it, the visual will take your wig off!

From @dcagle, Tattoo Barbie. Ha.

Liberality, I got your comment, I'm on it, babycakes. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.


Bubbsielicious of the Sprawling Ramshackle sent me a gift this week via email that is truly flawless. Behold the sagiest of sage words dripping from the below Craigslistian ad posting.

Don't Shave That Hair!!!

I have recently made a mistake in my life, and I offer my story to you, that you may learn from my error.

It all started, as many things do, with me having trouble shitting. No, I was not constipated; this was not a regularity problem but a matter of technique. It seems my ass-hair had grown to such a length that tiny grogans were constantly getting tied up in the matted jungle between my asscheeks.

It led to much frustration, with me KNOWING that I still had something to drop, but unable to shake the tenacious turd loose from its butthair dwelling. Eventually I would have to do two things: either reach down with some paper and try to pinch off the lingering loaf (which required careful precision to avoid smearing the creature all over my rear, especially since I had no way of seeing what I was doing) or just go for broke, start wiping, and hope that I could remove all the leftover fecal matter before the toilet paper reached its Can't-Be-Flushed threshold.

I was contemplating this problem, when I had what seemed at the time to be a bright idea.

"Hey! This is my butt and my butt-hair, right? So why don't I just eliminate all the hair, and then my grogans will flow out like beer from a keg!" I said to myself.

It is a statement that will go down in history with a lot of other regretted statements.

"How many Indians could there be?" said by General Custer. "Looks like a good day for a drive!" by JFK. "There! America On-Line now has complete Usenet access!" by some idiot system tech.

Such was my anal shaving idea. I performed the operation that night, with a cheap disposable razor and a towel to sit on. Starting from the bottom, and shaving from the crack to the cheeks, I began the arduous process of ridding my ass of hair.

Occassionally, I would have to clean the razor of accumulated hair and miscellaneous slime, which I did by wiping it on the towel. Slowly, my twin mounds and the between-ravine began to resemble the hairless cheeks of a newborn baby.

Finally, I wiped the razor one last time, and surveyed my work. The towel was covered with a pile of hair. My ass was smooth as ivory. I smiled, satisfied, thinking my troubles were over.

Little did I know. I now have a great respect for anal-hair. Like everything in this world God created, it has its mighty purpose in existence. It was only after I had removed it that I started to learn how much I had been taking it for granted. For one, it provides friction. I learned this the next day, when I walked out into the sun heading for class. After climbing two flights of stairs and starting to sweat, I started to notice something unpleasant. The sweat was accumulating in my crack, and was causing the unpleasant sensation of my two asscheeks sliding past each other with every step.

I thought about going to the bathroom and wiping it off, but had to get to class. Eventually, I thought, it would dry. Unfortunately, it did dry, but only after mingling with the microscopic shit- molecules lingering around my brown starfish. When I stood up after class, my cheeks were stuck together with a slimy sticky shit/sweat combination.

As I made my way back to my dorm, it started to itch. God-DAMN, did it itch! Felt like a swarm of ants was making its way up and down my crack. Fighting to keep from jamming my hand down there and scratching away, I rushed back to the dorm. Unfortunately again, this exertion caused me to sweat, and when I finally reached my room, my cheeks were sliding back and forth against each other like a pair of horny cane-toads.

I quickly dropped my pants, and attempted to dry my ass off by sticking it in front of a fan and spreading my cheeks. As I pulled the two mounds of flesh apart, a horrible stench burst free and filled the room. Every dog within a 4 block radius started to howl. I had it worst of all, as the ripe aroma of festering shit/sweat went into the fan and blew back into my face. I fought to keep from heaving. And as I sat there, fighting vomit, my ass cheeks spread and dripping, with the concentrated aroma of my body odor mixed with the tangy smell of my own shit blowing right into my face, I had only one thought: "It will be like this until the hair grows back.

Weeks. Later on, trying to deal as best I could, wiping my ass at every opportunity, I discovered another wonderful use for ass-hair - ventilation.

I attempted to launch a fart, only to have it get stuck between my asscheeks. Apparently, with no hair, the two pink twins can get vacuum sealed together, and the result was a frustrating fart that slid up and down between my cheeks like a lost gerbil.

As if that wasn't enough, I am now enduring further torture. As anyone who has ever shaved anything knows, when hair is first growing in, it comes in as stubble. Imagine your ass having the texture of a brillo pad. Well, that is what I am dealing with now. It is a hellish torture, and there are many times when I just look out the window and contemplate why I shouldn't just jump out and get it all over with in one fleshy splat, rather than endure this constant agony.


Saturday, March 07, 2009


"The Hebrew Mamita" Vanessa Hidary (Def Poetry)

Thursday, March 05, 2009


Two of my good friends are dispensing much needed pearls of wisdom.

Al Sensu of Hard and Fast (I adore this man). He dishes up in-your-face sex advice and answers every taboo question you can't think of, yes, it's true. With a smile, a dash of wit and a lot of heart, he responds to at least 50 + queries a month. Being the doll baby he is, he never publishes email addy's, so you can e-stalk him knowing he will vigorously protect your privacy.

SinJin Merriweather of AskSinJin (I adore this man, too. Does that make me slutty?). From the inane, to the bizarre, whatever you want to know, SinJin can toss a pearl your way. He's sharp as a whip, funny and very insightful. Like Al, he also believes in protecting your identity.

Check em' out and e-stalk them Q's. They're great dishy blokes.

Wednesday, March 04, 2009


This morning, my good friends at Echelon Magazine (if you haven't perused this read, click on over and check it out, it's wonderful. PS: Their weekly newsletter kicks ass. You can also follow them on Twitter if you're Twittering, that is. @Echelon_mag.

Back to my yarn... When I clicked on the link Michael sent me and saw this headline Soy is making kids 'gay', I thought, no. No way is this schmuck that stupid. Turns out, he is! Though vintage, circa 2006, the original yarn was posted here. I've bolded my favorite parts.

Soy is making kids 'gay'

There's a slow poison out there that's severely damaging our children and threatening to tear apart our culture. The ironic part is, it's a "health food," one of our most popular.

Now, I'm a health-food guy, a fanatic who seldom allows anything into his kitchen unless it's organic. I state my bias here just so you'll know I'm not anti-health food. (Good to know, I was worried. Stating your fanaticism versus saying you're a fan of, or passionate about, gives me more insight into you, even if it is just about "food". Or is that the your beard?)

The dangerous food I'm speaking of is soy. Soybean products are feminizing, and they're all over the place. You can hardly escape them anymore. I have nothing against an occasional soy snack. Soy is nutritious and contains lots of good things. Unfortunately, when you eat or drink a lot of soy stuff, you're also getting substantial quantities of estrogens. Estrogens are female hormones. If you're a woman, you're flooding your system with a substance it can't handle in surplus. If you're a man, you're suppressing your masculinity and stimulating your "female side," physically and mentally. (You hear that boys, you're being emasculated by soy.)

In fetal development, the default is being female. All humans (even in old age) tend toward femininity. (Try telling that to my grandfather, Abe Schwartz, the scotch drinker who's balls were so big, he wore them as anklets in his polyester pants, 70's short boots and always a Hollywood t-shirt with a vintage dame on his chest in shorty-shorts and sporting ginormous boobies. Wait, was that his beard? Hmmm.)

The main thing that keeps men from diverging into the female pattern is testosterone, and testosterone is suppressed by an excess of estrogen. If you're a grownup, you're already developed, and you're able to fight off some of the damaging effects of soy. Babies aren't so fortunate. Research is now showing that when you feed your baby soy formula, you're giving him or her the equivalent of five birth control pills a day. A baby's endocrine system just can't cope with that kind of massive assault, so some damage is inevitable. At the extreme, the damage can be fatal. Soy is feminizing, and commonly leads to a decrease in the size of the penis, sexual confusion and homosexuality. That's why most of the medical (not socio-spiritual) blame for today's rise in homosexuality must fall upon the rise in soy formula and other soy products. (Most babies are bottle-fed during some part of their infancy, and one-fourth of them are getting soy milk!)

Homosexuals often argue that their homosexuality is inborn because "I can't remember a time when I wasn't homosexual." No, homosexuality is always deviant. (You knew that, right?) But now many of them can truthfully say that they can't remember a time when excess estrogen wasn't influencing them.

Doctors used to hope soy would reduce hot flashes, prevent cancer and heart disease, and save millions in the Third World from starvation. That was before they knew much about long-term soy use. Now we know it's a classic example of a cure that's worse than the disease.

For example, if your baby gets colic from cow's milk, do you switch him to soy milk? Don't even think about it. His phytoestrogen level will jump to 20 times normal. If he is a she, brace yourself for watching her reach menarche as young as seven, robbing her of years of childhood. If he is a boy, it's far worse: He may not reach puberty till much later than normal.

Research in 2000 showed that a soy-based diet at any age can lead to a weak thyroid, which commonly produces heart problems and excess fat. Could this explain the dramatic increase in obesity today?

Recent research on rats shows testicular atrophy, infertility and uterus hypertrophy (enlargement). This helps explain the infertility epidemic and the sudden growth in fertility clinics.

(Bra-fuckin-vo. Rhetoric 10 points)

But alas, by the time a soy-damaged infant has grown to adulthood and wants to marry, it's too late to get fixed by a fertility clinic.

Worse, there's now scientific evidence that estrogen ingredients in soy products may be boosting the rapidly rising incidence of leukemia in children. In the latest year we have numbers for, new cases in the U.S. jumped 27 percent. In one year! There's also a serious connection between soy and cancer in adults – especially breast cancer. That's why the governments of Israel, the UK, France and New Zealand are already cracking down hard on soy.

In sad contrast, 60 percent of the refined foods in U.S. supermarkets now contain soy. Worse, soy use may double in the next few years because (last I heard) the out-of-touch medicrats in the FDA hierarchy are considering allowing manufacturers of cereal, energy bars, fake milk, fake yogurt, etc., to claim that "soy prevents cancer." It doesn't.

P.S.: Soy sauce is fine. Unlike soy milk, it's perfectly safe because it's fermented, which changes its molecular structure. Miso, natto and tempeh are also OK, but avoid tofu. (Thanks, I'll be sure to tell all my straight-male friends)

Ah, fucktardaree done right is the breakfast of champions.

Monday, March 02, 2009

Plotzarella from the brilliance

T-Mobile Germany launched their new commercial. It was shot at Liverpool station in London . They used 400 dancers and 10 hidden cameras. No one but the station employees and dancers knew what was going on... it was aired on youtube and TV.


My cousin, Dorian is an artist based in the Bay Area. When she has her next opening, I will be sure to let my SF buds and readers know so youse can all meet this great dame and wildly talented artist.

BFF, Cormac, I hope you and the missus can make it (no guilt, I promise).

Dorian is tremendously talented, very unique and dark. Her work is soul food at its finest. See for yourselves right here and here. If you want, friend her on Facebook.

While I'm on the subject of fine art and San Francisco artists, have you seen Freaky Jewelry's blog? Her jewelry is as dark as it is whimsical and as distinctive as she is. You must run like a dawg. Each piece has a yarn. Check it out, yo! Love this broad's work and she is such a honey.

PS: Liberality and Border Explorer, thanks for the ya know's. I will be posting this week.

Saturday, February 28, 2009


WARNING: incoming non-sequiturs.

Since Lou died, I have this habit of sleeping with everything on my bed. My laptop, in case I wake up with an idea. A small bottle of ginger ale, should I wake up neesh in the middle of the night for any reason. A bottle of 365 (Whore Foods H20, the only affordable product on their shelves), if I don't wake up neesh. A pill crusher, it's a just in case (I can't swallow pills). Tissues for the sneeze fest that commences the moment I arise, without fail. Whatever book(s) I'm reading, and my remote control... for the television. A heavy sweatshirt at the foot of my bed. And finally, my blackberry. What bed would be complete without a crackinberry? Even more strange, if I do wake up in the middle of the night, I wake up with the song "More than a woman" by the Bee-Gees, stuck in my head. Weird, right?

It's been a surreal couple of weeks, hence my departure from blogging and such. I'm back now and in good spirits.

My brother and his wife flew in from Korea for a few days, which was awesome. I had the best time seeing him and meeting wifey. She's a doll.

My dad came in for a quick weekend, which was fabulous. We bought journals to pen something together. I'm looking forward to that. We dished hard.

At some point in my 30's I started to see my parents objectively. I became friends with my ma ages and ages, and aaaages ago. My dad and I really became friends during that quick weekend, and it's been great. I feel tremendously lucky. We share a love for dark humor. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

My middle brother got engaged. He video'd it and all. So sweet. He's 27, I think. I haven't met his bride-to-be, though I know she's a feminist and menschy squared.

My youngest brother (22) is much wiser than I gave him credit for. What a fabulous life lesson that was. When I didn't even know I needed him, there he was just being Nick.

I wasn't going to blog about this, but blogging is equal parts confessional and nonsense, right? Right. And writing is so cathartic. A proper essay is forthcoming on the matter (FYI). In short, two-weeks ago, my tale of two kidneys began. Thanks to a few very good friends (you know who you are), a tight family and a kick ass psychiatrist, I got through it and I am healthy, thank God.

Two weeks ago, I went to my endocrinologist (I really adore endogirl. If you need a referral in LA, e-stalk me. She's a gem. Thorough, brilliant and menschy). I'm not sure if this is routine or not, but she checked my creatinine levels and they elevated from 1 to 1.6. She asked me to come back the next day for a second blood test because it could've been a lab error. Unfortunately, it wasn't, my creatinine chose to fly up to 2.9.

Before I knew it, I was meeting my first nephrologist. Nephrology boy is so overly dramatic. Katie, you must take this very, very, very seriously. No shit, nephroqueen, now back-the-fuck-off. Worse, he wears wingtips, not even cool vinty wingtips. Thin Pierre Cardain belts in beige with the "P" and "C" buckle in gold, high waisted slacks and shark skin, shiny ass shirts. After keeping me waiting for two-fucking-hours, I was being examined, peeing in a cup and having more blood drawn. The next day, I learned my creatinine levels shot up to 3.9. Fab.

I was monumentally freaked out. As you know, I think, seeing doctors is a big issue for me. Trust is low. Fear is high. You know how I do.

My family was on kidney-donation-watch, each willing to sacrifice a kidney for my benefit if, if, if it got to that point. I had six-kidneys in waiting and one offer of a black market kidney from abroad if, if, if the meshpucha wasn't a match.

Now that I think about it, my family might be as dramatic as nephroqueen. Hmm... Anyway, moving the story along.

The next day my kidneys and bladder were on the big screen (ultrasound), courtesy of a delicious Ecuadorian fellow, I would've loved for lunch, but just wasn't feeling inspired. The soft lighting and crinkly papered bed I was horizontal on didn't get my juices flowing. My bladder and kidneys were quite hot according to my vegetarian empanada. Ah, a sigh of relief.

On Monday, 8 more viles of blood. After tallying up all of the viles I'd given (20), I realized I had supplied enough blood to feed any hungry vamp-clan. Of course, what nephro visit would be complete without peeing? By Friday, with more viles of blood under my belt, confident I looked like a heroin addict, an echocardiogram and EKG later, I learned my heart is in excellent shape, she's a butch Betty. My creatinine levels started coming down. Happy I was moving in Katie can keep her kidneys lane, by Monday 50 kidney-issue-causing-diseases I do NOT have seemed like cause for celebration.

Today, my creatinine levels are 1. Yay. All that's left in my tale of two kidneys is the joy of peeing in a bucket on Sunday, a date with nephro boy on Monday and, you guessed it, more blood.

I AM HEALTHY and in great shape. At the end of the day that's all that really matters...

Thanks for not breaking up with me, loverdeedo's and for being such awesome blogging, facebook and twitter friends. You made my days brighter and made me laugh through uncertain tears. A MILLION THANK YOU'S.

From Pappa Schwartz

I really love this quote.

Saturday, February 21, 2009

i miss you

It isn't like me to dissapear without explanation for as long as I have.I will be back soon, next week, with lots of dish and such.

I want to thank everyone for checking in, for being a friend and for your wonderful birthday wishes, etc.

Don't break up with me.

Thanks for being such a caring, fabulous, warm community. One I am so lucky to be a part of -- it matters and it means a lot to me, more than you know.

Soon we will dish hard and I will be stalking your blogs.

I wanted to thank you and assure you that I do have a pulse, quite a good one.


Thursday, January 22, 2009

A Change is Gonna Come - okay, so it already has

Betty Lavette & Jon Bon Jovi

So beautiful... Took my breath away. I love, love, love Miss B-Lavette, such a goddess.

Monday, January 19, 2009


I wonder if there will ever be a day in my life when this performance doesn't bring me to tears, it's just so beautiful.

Sunday, January 18, 2009

I'm such a schmuck

One last thing, have I mentioned a few blogs I've recently started dating? I am finding great tchoch: Street Spotted and Click for Clutter.

Street Spotted dishes up fashion, but WAIT, she also posts links to what peeps are wearing. Wellllllllllllllll, I hit one of the shoe links and found a new shoe designer that I am plotzing from. These and these are dead 1930s fab. I'm hoping to find a vinty bag on her site.

Click for Clutter, Darryle's site, I adore this dame. We've been Twitterdating for a few months now, I think. Every day, she posts new tchoch. You can vote for her to keep it or post a comment about why she should send it to you and hello, it's free! In this economy, what's bad?! This week, Darryle's got gorgeous silk scarves and a cozy vintage quilt I've got my eye on.


Well, my pretties, Bushcunt is almost out of office, just 48ish hours to go. I cannot wait. When Obamalicious makes his inaugural speech, I'll be in tears. I'll be kvelling. I'll feel like hope and change are finally here.

I'm not fucktarded, I know we're in for one hell of a ride. Bushcunt ran our country into the ground. Recovery will be at a snail's pace. Still. He'll be gone, long gone. Hopefully in time, he'll be tried for war crimes and crimes against humanity -- a girl can dream, can't she?

Today is Sunday. I have so much to do, I could spit twice and die, or crawl into my bed and hide under the covers, or plow through the list. I think I'll plow through the list for a few hours. Why not?

Generally speaking, I'm having a surreal weekend, not sure why. I just feel out of sorts. I emailed a Rabbi, that was fun. I'm retaining water for reasons I can't explain. It's not like I was suckin' salt cubes all night.

I dished with my friends this AM, Steve, Bethy and FranIAm, again, that was fun.

The frozen yogurt guy last night was uncomfortably starey-chatty in that do-you-have-a-fat-person-Graves'-eye-disease-fetish kind of way, which freaked me out. I finally said, "Let's be done now, okay? You can stop staring and talking and I can walk away. Sound like a plan?" My sister, God love her, so patient, jumped in and said, "Don't mind her. She's jet lagged from a long flight." Anything to excuse creeparella's (my) behavior.

My neighbor keeps sliding her chairs along her ceramic kitchen floor -- I want to scream "LIFT, LIFT, LIFT." It's an unnerving sound, isn't it?

I really need to shower.

I love the new floss I got, it's thick, butch and minty, just how I like it.

I'm thinking of breaking up with coffee for a spell to give green tea a whirl. I can't imagine myself not percolating coffee every day, though. The smell alone brings me unbridled joy.

I'm off like a prom dress to finish my list. First, I'll shower. Ahhhh, yes.

Tuesday, January 13, 2009


For some reason when I saw this book on Sunday, it felt like a sign. Of what, I do not know. Care to venture a guess? Hit me.

Sunday, January 11, 2009

Dish and That

Keywords All the Way from Oy to Vey came up on this week: Famous Pussy, Vintage Pussy, Vintagepussy, Vaginas and Big Vaginas. First and foremost, what happened to Cunt? My blog is no longer cunt worthy? Is this a new trend I should worry about? Secondly, and I realize how irrational this is, but my blog is much more than the vagina I dish up. I'm just sayin'.

I'd like another Sunday. I'm not ready for Monday. I'd like two Sunday's a week, wouldn't that be dandyrific? I think so.

I can't stop listening to Flo Rida's song "Low". Great song to walk to.

I schlepped to the cooking store today for cookware and the shtunk was so vile, heavy-duty-nostril-killing-eyes-burning-chemicalsquared-floor wax. You know when a scent is so heavy, it gets lodged in your throat for the day? This was that. Oy vey. Worse, no matter where I was in the store, mop daddy of doom magically appeared, screaming at me for walking over his freshly mopped floors. After a half dozen encounters, I got so frustrated, I screamed, "HEY, if you want to make a sale today, ya might wanna re-think your mopping strategy, like oh, I don't know, mopping BEFORE the store opens or AFTER it closes." I threw my would-be-purchases down and bailed. Fuck that. They can keep their fuckin' pots and pans.

This weekend, I became obsessed with my Twitter friend, DarryleP's new blog Click for Clutter. I can't stop clicking. Here's the dish, you can vote for Darryle to keep an item, or tell her why she should give it to you, or let her know why she should keep it. Miss D has kick ass tchoch and you know what a tchoch queen I am. Her bloggy feeds both my ebay and blog addictions. Fab.

Cormac Brown has spun two yarns that you absolutely must read, I'm not kidding. You know how Cormac does his stories: dark, noiree and vintylicious. Retribution on Page 54 in Crooked Magazine, Eastern Standard Crime and Think Inside the Box.

Don't forget to make reservations for THREE DAMES MAKE A QUEEN.

There's a new letter posted at Dear Thyroid called Thyroidlicious, a must read, it's funny, clever and touching.


Thursday, January 08, 2009


Shalom loverdeedo's! I have dish, good dish, not shit dish, kick ass dish. All of you New and Jew Yawkahs are gonna love this.

Last year, thanks to a wonderful event, the Pilcrow Lit Fest and the divine dame Amy Guth, I met Angela Gant, playwright and goddess. I absolutely love this dame soooo much. Ang spoke on many panels at Pilcrow. She and her writing partner, an equally fabulous and talented writer, Bill Bryan, held a staged reading at Pilcrow of their play, "The Body of Eva Peron". Ah-fucking-mazing, took my wig off.

This weekend, in New York City, one of Angela's plays is OPENING. Are you plotzarella? So am I! To find out more about Ms. Gant and her hilarsquared play "Three Dames Make a Queen", scroll down and read the dish. Oh, and, we get discounts! I'm kvellarelling.

Tell me about you, dahlink.
I usually write socio-political absurdest comedies. I'd like to think I can change people while I make them laugh…when I say change I mean take that stick out of their ass and turn it sideways.

What is your play about?
Three Dames Make a Queen is the only four person one-man musical comedy in NYC. As Charles turns 30 his Inner Latina, Inner Jewish Mother, and Inner Naïve Girl manifest for the first time since childhood to "help" him with his crisis. Even the best intentions may not be best for Charles. Trouble ensues and complications arise, including a relationship that forces him to come to terms with himself.

What do you love most about this play?
Think of this as a gay Nunsense or Forever Plaid type of show. Commercial but fun as hell, but it's got poignancy and a heart. This is something you're never going to hear from a writer…I love this production!!! The cast has been a dream, the director, Merri Milwe, is beyond fab, and this is my third collaboration with Meryl Leppard the composer/lyracist, who is brilliant.

Do you have a favorite character?
Since the three women, La Latina, Jewish Mother, and Naïve Girl are all Manifestations of Charles…I'll go with Charles…which is a cheat since it's technically all of them.

What do you think audiences will appreciate the most?
What we all do baby, a good time, and a heart-felt story. You get to tap your toe, laugh a lot, and be touched in all the right places at the right time.

Where is your play debuting? How many nights?
Don't Tell Mama in NYC (46th between 7th and 8th Ave) 8 performances on weekends in January 9-11, 16-18, 23 and 25. You can go to the website, 3 Dames Make a Queen to check out the cast and bios.

How much are tickets? Any special discounts for Vey readers?
If they come on preview weekend…Jan 9-11 tickets are free for your readers (but the two drink minimum applies). Which in my opinion all shows should have a two drink minimum. LOL. Tickets are regularly $12, but drop me a Vey on the reservation line, and you get in for ten (with a two drink minimum) for the rest of the dates.

Who do I call to make reservations? Do I need reservations?
For reservations call Harlem MAC Productions (212) 283-4860. It's always better to have one, then get turned away at the door if we're full. But it you're a dice roller go for it and be risky…but we prefer reservations;-)

Favorite curse word?
Fucktopia- the no place state in which we all live.

The word "cunt" is used quite generously on this blog. Being a feminist, how do you feel about cunt?
I believe cunt, like fuck, cannot be used too much in casual conversation. I have a tendency to use it sparingly in my work…but in life you must own the word cunt to survive in the word…i.e. you can never take my CUNT away from me. It's both figurative and literal.

Angiegots, ya da best. Thanks for stopping by and spilling all the dish about your new play. Everyone, you know what to do. Run like a dawg and make reservations. Tell everyone you know to go and see THREE DAMES MAKE A QUEEN.

Sunday, January 04, 2009


Before I rant and vent myself into a God damned frenzy, let me begin by saying HAPPY NEW YEAR to everyone! I hope that 09' brings you everything your hearts desire. Quite honestly, I'm pleased that 08' is behind me. I turned the corner I needed to turn towards the end of the year, so that's good.

IRKED: Yesterday and today, I am mood swing Mary and her evil twin cuntarella. It feels thyroidee. The new dose of Synthroid was working beautifully. Now, once again, I'm, well, off. This week looks like I'll be endodating my endodiva for a lovely round of blood tests. Argh.

PISSED: I haven't slept in three nights, I'm tired.

I keep getting emails from this chick who thinks she's e-stalking her gyno. "Am I due for my pap smear?" Okay, point blank, what gyno's email would be similar to

I've emailed her and said, "Hey There, Happy New Year to you. FYI: I'm not your gyno and this sure seems like an important email, so you might want to call her and ask her if you're due for a pap smear instead of emailing. Just a thought."

She emailed me three more times today and asked the same mother fucking cock sucking question, "Am I due for my pap smear", after ripping me a new asshole for being rude, after accusing me of breaking into her gyno's emails. EXCUSE ME, SNATCHPIE?! I'm not your gyny. I didn't bust into vadgegirl's emails. I thought it was really fuckin' nice on my part to tell you as much.

Her plan is to report me to vadgeola. Can't wait for that response. Sounds like psycho Cindy is off her lithium and needs a psych eval, not a pap smear. I'm just sayin'.

PUSHED: I'm starting a new diet that I'm really excited about. I put the program together after researching myself into a frenzy about my thyroid condition and how to balance my thyroid, hormones, etc. through diet. Because I'm a newbie at this, I'm a little overwhelmed. I am implementing it assssapy. Tuesday, to be exact. I'm looking forward to it. I've learned so much about goitrogenic and cruciferous veggies and how damaging to your thyroid they can be, etc. I'll keep ya's posted.

I have so much to do in the next 30-days, and so many deadlines I have to hit, I'm having mini-full-scales. It's good, though.

I'm retaining an insane amount of water and I'm post menstrual, not sure what that's about.

Today was quite productive. Cleaned, ran a slew of errands, grocery shopped at the Farmer's Market. Whole Foods can suck my ovaries. Their prices were insane and seemed higher than usual. What part of a recession / depression are they unaware the US is in?!

Neighbor snatch has calmed, which is great, though for some reason it feels like the quiet before the storm. Know what I mean?

That's my vent. I feel better. Thanks for letting me bend your eyes off...


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