Okay, everyone. Go here to see my temporary blogging space. This might be dead for good though, who knows. I can't get it fixed. But I'm as determined as any tenacious goat. In the meantime:

http://bitterer.blogspot.com/

(Assuming this fracking blog works...)

MOTHERFUCKINGCOCKSUCKINGDICKLICKINGCUNTEATINGPIECEOFSHITNOHAVINGUSELESSBLOGGERFUCKWADS!

AND THE FUCKING COMMENTS COMPANY, TOO!

Okay, now I hate blogger.

I fucked up my blog.

dammit.

The BM Tour - Chapter 2
"It was alarming!"

I don't remember what city I was in, but we were staying at this swanky high tower hotel. Most of us were on the 15th floor. I was exhausted and went to bed pretty early, around 11:30. We had a really early bus call so I set my alarm for 6:30 a.m. (groan with me now!). I fell asleep as soon as I got into bed.

It seemed like I'd barely fallen asleep when that damn alarm went off. Damn, I thought, it feels like I just went to bed! So I rolled over and hit the snooze button, thinking that this was the loudest alarm clock I'd ever heard. It wouldn't turn off. I kept hitting the clock, smacking every button I could find, to no avail. I was in such a fog, I couldn't figure out how to make it stop, and it was SO FUCKING LOUD!

Then I heard the voice: "ATTENTION! ATTENTION! AN EMERGENCY HAS BEEN DECLARED. PROCEED TO THE NEAREST STAIRWAY EXIT! ATTENTION!...."

Thank god that broad started talking, because I had no idea it was an alarm. I was just getting ready to unplug the clock and pitch it in the toilet. So I threw on my shoes and a fleece, grabbed my cell phone and room key, and headed for the stairs.

I met many cast members in the hall leaving their rooms and we all began the long descent down 15 flights of stairs. Now, those friggin' dancers were all like breezing along, but we musician-types detest any prolonged movement, even if gravity is in our favor. Still, we had to get out before the flames engulfed us.

Out on the street after the long climb and standing in a not-so-balmy 40 degree breeze, I finally came to. And I realized that I'd grabbed my cell phone, but left my guitar. What the frig was I gonna do with my cell phone? Yet I left my guitar? And come to find out all the musicians had left their instruments. We were all appalled that we left our axes. What if there really was a fire? We wouldn't be able to replace our instruments in time for tomorrow's show. And what exactly did I think my dumb cell phone was gonna do for me?

It was almost an hour before we were able to get back into our rooms. Imagine a hotel with 16 floors, hundreds of guests, and only two elevators. And by the way, the fire? No fire. Our musical director had burned his popcorn in his microwave.

The BM Tour - Chapter One
"Ziggy"

His name was Ziggy, he was the sound guy...

And he was very strange. You all know I like weirdos, but he was....well, beyond weird. But I have to say I felt sorry for him. He was probably the fat kid who got beat up all the time in school. And he wasn't doing a great job with the sound, for some reasons which were out of his control. He is short and pudgy and he has really long, poker straight hair that kind of looked stringy and oily. And he just didn't fit in. But here's the rest of the story. He was a cross dresser. I don't mean a cross dresser in the Liza Minelli drag queen sense, nor in the transvestite J. Edgar Hoover sense. No, more like the Guinevere sense. He wore these renaissance-ish shirts and hats, and soft, flowy floral print skirts, or bloomers with tights. The bass player (fellow wise-ass Capricorn) once remarked about him "It's amazing that he inherited Mama Cass's wardrobe". Later, he was referred to as a Neo-Shakepearean, Mama Cass wannabe fuckwad". Which isn't nice, but at the time was true.

Now I'm all for people having different ways to express themselves. Whatever. But there's a fine line between expressing yourself and asking for a beating. Ziggy walked out of the hotel one day wearing his tights and bloomers in West Virginia, and as he walked out two rednecks walked in, laughing and saying "Did you see what the fuck he was wearing? 'Scuse my language" He directed that last comment toward me, believe it or not. If he only knew! Another day he walked off the tour bus dressed in full skirt regalia at a fucking TRUCK STOP in the South. The bus driver wanted to beat him himself.

We were all taking guesses on whether he was gay or straight, and I said he probably identifies himself as bisexual, but is probably asexual in reality. One day the 19-year-old assistant stage manager (ASM) outright asked him "Ziggy, are you bi?" And he replied "Isn't everybody?"

No.

One day the band was hanging out drinking beer, as usual, with the cute little girlie 19 y.o. ASM and she was telling us about this "gross catalogue" that they found among his possessions, and it had "all these videos and gross sex toys, and there was this one vibrating thing you put on your fingers..."

I raised my eyebrows. Could it be she was actually talking about the Fukouku 9000?

She said she was going to go get it. And she did. Ran to the tour bus and came back bearing the very catalogue I expected: Good Vibrations. She comes in waving it and the boys are laughing and they go, hey Leah, you're a lesbian you'll like this. And very calmly and matter-of-factly I said, "I already own it. I'm on their mailing list and get the catalogues regularly." So after the long pause, the bass player says "I don't have a problem with YOU owning that catalogue. I have a problem with HIM owning that catalogue!" So someone suggested that Ziggy probably wears a butt plug as part of his daily routine, and that was it. We were never again able to look at Ziggy without thinking there was a butt plug up his ass.

So this catalogue got passed around for about a week. One band guy would sneak it into another's suitcase or music or whatever, because men have such simple senses of humor. And one day I woke up to find someone had slipped it under my door. Ha Ha. So I stuck it in my bag, and later that night, during intermission when Ziggy was away from the sound board, I snuck it back in his knapsack. The next day the bass player says, hey did you find that catalogue? What did you do with it? I told him it was back to the mothership.

He told the band and they thought that was actually very daring and funny and I had brass balls, but that wasn't my intention. Maybe you'll think I'm like the big "Mom" who ruins all the fun, but I just didn't think that making fun of this guy was very nice. It wasn't nice that we took something that belonged to him, and it wasn't nice to show this to practically everyone in the cast to have a laugh at. He may be a freak, but he was still entitled to whatever dignity he has. So I returned it to stop all the nonsense.

At the closing night party the tech staff all exchanged gifts. They gave Ziggy a new skirt. I wasn't sure if they were being genuine about that, or if they were still taking pot shots at him. But, I guess he liked it.

MAKE IT STOP!!!

I can't get these cheesy Barry Manilow tunes out of my head!!!

*reaches for the drill to drill them out*

Home, Sweet Home!

Yo! I be home, aiight? I'm sitting at my computer checking about 200 emails. And my little Pisces-boy Farris is sitting on my lap a-purrin' away! And some birds made a nest in the dryer hose, which sits right above my computer so I can hear little birdies chirping and rustling around in there. And we can't use the dryer until they fly away!

I gained five pounds on the road, and by five I mean almost 10. I'm awash in mail and unanswered phone calls. I'm catching up on "24" and am about to go online to AIM and see who is there. I have to teach Thursday and reschedule students. Gotta return the rental car in the morning. Gads. I feel my blood pressure rising as I think about it all.

I don't have any souvenirs for anyone, sorry! But I did find one thing in...uh....let's see. I can see the town and the theater....OH YEAH! New London, CT. Anyway this one thing in a store that had Maria's name ALL OVER IT, so I bought that for her. And for Jessica I don't have any presents for you, but I did take alot of pictures of the very hot red-headed dance captain for Copa. Just for you. I wish I had the time to shop and the space to carry things so I could have bought you all presents.

Katie Miller WILL be at Mary's song circle on Thursday. I wish I had the time to advertise that, because that will SO ROCK! Just ask Maria. She witnessed it herself.

See you thursday!

Hello again!

Don't know who will see this, as "out of sight, out of mind" is as true an adage as any. But here I am nonetheless, for a quickie. Call it a blog nooner, if you will.

I'm in Buffalo tonight. Right now as a matter of fact. Got in last night, my bud Leslie came into town. She's also friends with the other pit chick of Copa, and the three of us went bar hopping. We started at the Anchor for wings, went to Nietzsche's and played darts, then hopped over to Roxy's. After Roxy's it was a quick meal at Pano's, then back to the hotel. Everything was dead, as you can imagine. Probably going to Roxy's again tonight after the show for a while. This is it, kids. The last three shows! I can't wait to get back home, see my kitties, get back to my CD, and figure out what I'm doing with my life. I guess I need angst. It inspires the muses.

I have soooooo many stories, I'll have to blog them in chapters. I miss everyone terribly. I needs me buds - Cancer moon needs her circle of loving goodness. And I need to get away from Divas. Really, they haven't been that bad. But that's because I've shut down my receptors, just to survive on that bus in such close proximity to so many people. So they've been bearable, but my spiritual mojo is crying for feeding and release. These people wouldn't know their third eye from their butthole. But to be fair, they could be on shutdown, too. Who knows.

Anyhoo, I'll be passing through Rochester tomorrow. Stand on the thruway and wave as we pass, okay????

Will write soon!

Another day, another blog...

I'm still in Brunswick, NJ. We have a show tonight, but I've been holed up in my hotel room for the last 2.5 days enjoying my solitude. Practiced 5 hours yesterday. All work and no play makes Leah a dull girl, but I prefer it that way. I think EVERYONE in the cast and band went to NYC to see shows last night. But I didn't want to spend a gazillion hours on a bus there and back, and walking walking walking, and spending a fortune on tickets, food, and cabs. So I was here by my lonesome, practicing, watching TV, blogging, sneaking food to the ferile kitties in the back, sewing my coat, and thinking dirty thoughts about you know who (*dreamy sigh*)...

My buddy Shawn called from Rochester yesterday. We talked for awhile. I knew her back in Buffalo as early as 1985, when we were all fresh, young, hot baby dykes hanging out at Comptons. I ran into her a couple of years ago and we both found at that we each had moved to Rochester! Anyway, when I get back into town, she's a'coming with us goils to an ice cream social, 'cause I am JONESING for some Abbotts. Anyway, we had a nice talk, and she's a Capricorn too, and you know how much we Capy's love each other.

I wish I had some fun stories to tell you, but I'm saving those for a live telling. But also, with using so many public and borrowed computers, I don't want the "wrong" people to find this blog and read it, since most of my stories will involve my ever-colorful character representations of these people. And we all know that I tell it like it is. As Olympia Dukakis said in Steel Magnolias, "If you can't say anything nice, come sit next to me!"

I will tell you I got the raw tracks of my CD from the producer. I think this is gonna be a really really really good CD, folks. Not like that last disappointment, which was going to be a really really really good CD until the mixing engineer got his hands on it and butchered it. Yes, still bitter. But it's my first name.

We head out to Massachusetts tomorrow, then back to NYC (Bayside). Then we head South, where the hopefully unbearably sweltering hot weather awaits me, because that's how I like it. I wonder if the Klan awaits this busfull of prancing homos and freaks, as well? Gotta love theater!

See ya!

I'll have a Scotch and Scotch, please...

Can someone please remind me the next time we're all boozing that ONE Rusty Nail is PLENTY!!!! Holy cow, I've never seen a room spin so wildly. But the Rusty Nail is now my new fave drink.

I'm in New Brunswick, NJ. We had our Weds and Thurs shows cancel, so we're here with a couple days off until our show Friday. I'm at the Four Points Sheraton in Plainfield, if you feel like visiting....

SO GET THIS! We're on the Thruway heading east and we stop in Syracuse at the mall for lunch. When we get back on the bus to continue, the bus driver, whom we all call "Wrong-Way Coleman" drives through these back roads to get back to the thruway. And I'm looking and noticing the familiarity of said roads. My heart leaps, with fear I think, and I look to the left. There it is! DOC'S LITTLE GERM DINER!!!! AAAAHHHHHHH!!! Having told the boys in the band the story, I shout to them, guys, here's the porn diner where they spit in your food! Lordy.

Later we get into the hotel. Mind you, it's the FOUR POINTS SHERATON, and it's fancy and expensive. And they have ONE elevator on each side of the hotel, making for a total of two elevators in the whole damn place. And the elevator is big enough to hold one Lesbian and her huge suitcase and guitar. Whafuck up wit dat? Later I go to the bar and Angie is sitting there talking to an older gentlemen. I go and join them. I'm bitching because the guys in the band and I made plans to walk to the liquor store to stock up for those long bus rides (12 hours, yesterday), and I've discovered they all left without me, and I'm talking it personally now. And I'm bitching, and Bob, this nice older gentleman, tells Miguel the bartender to hold his sandwich for 15 minutes. He gets his keys and says, C'mon. I'll drive you to the liquor store. Can ya stand that? And he did! And we pass the band on the way and I flip them all the finger. Later, he and Angie and I chatted for hours at the bar, while I got snockered on Rusty Nails, which is what Bob was drinking. I gave him a CD for being so nice. He's Italian and he designs boxes. He designed the Cabbage Patch doll box. So in the world of box design, he is famous! Wow.

So we're talking and somehow astrology comes around, and Angie says to me, guess my sign. I'm thinking..thinking....and Bob goes "Aquarius". AND HE WAS RIGHT! 61 year old man, talking astro! Well, he's an Aquarius too, and they can smell each other, those Aquarians. And Angie's hubby is a Capy, making Four Capy's in the band. So there's five of us there now: Bob, me, Angie, a dude named Tim who was just there eating, and Ben, Angie's hubby. And thru conversation I start seeing a synchronicity among us. Here's how it goes. Bob and Angie are Aquarians. Bob and I are italian, and also both twins. Ben and I are Capys. Tim and Angie are from Wisconsin. Bob and Tim both do business with the same company down the road (which is why they're in town). It was so cool!

Later, Bob has to go to bed and be up really early, so the party kind of breaks up, and I go to my room. Across the hall is the band, drinking their booze and I'm all pissed at them. Brian comes out and sees me and says hey! And I'm like fuck you, and everyone in that room. Y'all took off without me like I ain't good enough, because you all got distracted by the sweet little pretty very young assistant stage manager (who they went to the store with who's too young to drink anyway). And Brian says, fuck you, get in here. So I go in and flop on the bed and I'm trying to talk and my words are slurring, and I can't even see straight. And I keep saying, I'm so fucking drunk. Not sure what anyone talked about or even what I said, but I'm very aware that I can't form words. And the costume designer is looking at me sideways, almost disgusted. Apparently she's a recovering alky. And the sight of me was probably a little too much for her buttons.

We in the band have a motto: "I'm not an alcoholic, I'm a drunk. Alcoholics go to meetings".

So I finally realized I just had to go to bed and left. Okay, so remind me. One rusty nail.

Easing in....

Hello there! Borrowing a computer and getting to blog. Love that! Things are going better here. I think I gave a really bad impression with my last post, being in such a hurry about it, but the last few days have been better because I'm finally accepted in the fold, so to speak. I wanted to really take my time easing in with these people, and feel everything out. Glad I did, too. But I've been able to chat more with people one on one little by little, and they've all finally taken to the idea of a newbie. So I can relaz a little bit, and also be more of myself - no, not the satan-worshipping pederast! The freak with the agressive speech! I've gotten a better sense of these people, too, and have figured out that they really don't say Hi to anyone. It's weird. They'll all walk past each other and ignore each other, unless you're in their little clique. So all this time I thought people were ignoring me, I finally noticed that it's not JUST me being ignored. I always say hi to everyone when I see them, or at least smile and acknowledge them. Maybe because they're all New Yorkers, and they're used to looking at the ground and not saying hi to anyone? I don't know. But I'm having more fun now. And I'm playing better, although this show has made me realize that my chops totally suck and I need to learn some new shit.

I'll be in Buffalo tomorrow night, overnight. Aahhh! HOME! I'll get to go to Dee's house and do laundry, and drop off one of my guitars that I'm not using. Pick up a couple more concert clothes and all that. Then we go to Kitchener for a show. That's where I'm recording my new CD, by the way, and my producer is coming to the show. He's bringing a CD of the raw tracks of all the songs for me to work with, so I can compose vocal harmonies and whatever else. And just keep close to the songs. Can't wait to hear it!

Right now I'm in New London, CT, and we're at this beautiful mansion-esqe, swanky Inn on the Long Island Sound. And do I care? NO! Wanna know why???? BECAUSE YOU CAN'T BUY ANY BEER HERE! We're in the middle of nowhere, not even walking distance to anything. The one day we have time, and there's nothing to do. And the food at the restaurant costs of fortune. Not for the musician's wallet. Speaking of beer...

Remember the NINE FUCKING DOLLAR Coronas at the casino? Well we were in.... uh....hmmmm...OH! New Jersey. Rutherford. And the lounge there had these 32 Oz. beer mugs! Woo hoo! And the band was hanging at the bar, as usual, ordering these mammoth beers. The boys are getting their beers and paying 6.50. So I'm ording up a Bass Ale, because I hate American beer, and she brings me my humongo beer and a bill for ELEVEN FUCKING DOLLARS!!!!! I'm like, what??? She says Bass Ale costs more. I'M SUPPOSED TO BE PENALIZED FOR HAVING BETTER TASTE??? Jebus! So there I was with my ELEVIN FUCKING DOLLAR beer, thinking I couldn't possibly be a bigger loser than when I overpaid for the Coronas, but apparently so! At least I can deduct it!

So, what else? OH! The bass player is from Rhode Island, so he has that New England accent, where they flatten out their "R's". So bar is "bah". Beer is "be-uh". So yesterday the bass player was talking to the lighting dude, and mentions a car crash. But is sounds like Cah Crash. And the lighting dude says What??? And the bass player says Cah Crash! And the lighting dude is thinking that he is saying "Cock rash"! HAHAHAHA!! Cah crash, cock rash! And light dude says did you say cock rash? and bass dude is saying, yeah, cah crash! We were pissing our pants laughing so hard. It was like "who's on first".

So I don't know what else to say. I could tell you all about the people - who's nice, who's a snotty bee-atch. Politics, nepotism. But that's boring. I'll tell you this: One guy has two sets of teeth, one behind the other. Freaky. One girl I don't trust. Underhanded and sneaky is the feeling I get. One girl has been so extremely nice to me. It's her computer I'm using. She's not the typical diva. Well, she ain't a diva. The company manager is married to the dance captain. She can barely hide her contempt for me, but I don't know what up with that. Maybe she doesn't like lesbians. Or maybe I made a bad first impression? Dunno. The lead male spits alot. The lead female thinks she's Britney Spears. Except she at least has talent. I can't say a whole lot. Who know's who'll do a search and find this blog, and I might piss people off if I say the wrong thing, or express an honest opinion. I'll save the dish for the next ice cream social. Until then, miss youse!

Save me from the Divas!

Actually, it ain't so bad, but I've been on the bus for a week with these people now, and let me say, they all tour-shocked. They've been on this bus since January, and they have a totally myopic view of the world, now. The bus is cramped and filled to the brim with shit, and each person has their own seat staked out. One person per a two-seat row. And that is basically their home. Except for me. Since I'm new and therefore low-dyke on the totem pole, I am a floater: meaning I have no seat. So far I've been able to sit in my own seat because every day someone hasn't been on the bus for one reason or the other. But sooner or later, I'll have to share a seat with someone, and I'm sure they won't be too happy about it. And it might make them pissy, not because they don't like me, but because they're all, well, tour-shocked. You don't get any space or privacy on this tour. And as for whether they like me or not, I haven't got a clue. Nobody has said much to me one way or the other about anything: Not even the music director had given me any notes until I finally asked him last night. I don't get the feeling I've made a good impression on these people because they haven't said anything one way of the other: you suck or you play great. Usually if you play well, people will tell you. If you suck they won't say a word. So I'm a little paranoid about it.

But nobody cares if I'm a singer or a guitarist, or where I'm from, or if I'm a satan-worshipping pederast. Nobody has really shown any interest at all. All these people do is congregate in their little survivor-esque alliances and talk about this show or about upcoming auditions, or everything theater. I figured I would have charmed all these people by now, but they are way beyond that. They've all lost their sense of humor, too. I know I've joined the tour late and have to figure out how to fit it. If I'd been with them from the start, I'd be just like them. But basically I don't fit it at all. They don't really know me, so they don't get my weird sense of humor or my agressive style of speech.

I gotta go, my time is up on the computer!

Bye!

My last blog post for a while...

So I'm home again overnight, then I head to Canada again to record on Tuesday and Wednesday, spend Thursday doing whatever last minute things I have to do, then I ship out on Friday! I finally got the score to Copacabana on Saturday, like I have much time to practice...I practiced after Chorus Line on Friday night, from 10:30 pm til 12:30 am. Then I woke up and practiced some more.

And can I just say that Chorus Line was one of the worst pits I ever played in? The Musical Director hired some bad musicians, including this 16-year-old idiot boy drummer who couldn't keep time. He was cocky and arrogant, with nothing to back it up, and had no business having that attitude. He weighs about 350 pounds, and put his full weight behind each drum hit, even in the quiet sections. We never knew who the hell to follow. Then the bass player sucked, too. And he was ALSO an arrogant dickhead. He played upright, and a fretless electric bass, and HAD SHITTY INTONATION! He got all on his high horse about how fretted instruments suck and why the tempered scale sucks, and I wanted to say, well, you could use a fret or two, because YOU'RE NEVER IN TUNE! And your tone sucks, too. Another jerk who had nothing to back up his ego.

And I had to sit in between them. And I wanted to kill myself.

My drummer, Nicky, played percussion, and he rocks, as always. He was playing about 20 different instruments, PLUS cueing little drummer jerk the whole time. AND Nick brought in his drum set for this kid to use. So today we're striking, and Nick says to Baby Huey "So, you're going to stay and help me tear down, right?" And thank god I wasn't there to hear him say this because I would have torn him a new big asshole...he said to Nick, "Nope. That's why you're getting paid more!"

YOU STUPID FAT FUCKING IDIOT MORON! YOU DUMBASS 16 YEAR-OLD RUDE LITTLE SHIT!!!!!!!! Nick is being paid MORE because he's a PROFESSIONAL with a MUSIC DEGREE who has played professionally for TWENTY YEARS AND HAS PAID HIS DUES (literally and figuratively), and YOU are a pipsqeak little high-school kid who should be THANKFUL for the opportunity to play with the musicians you lucked into working with, AND INSTEAD YOU MADE US ALL LOOK BAD!

This little schmuck doesn't realize that people have long memories, and even if he does go to music school and learn to play well, we'll all remember his lack of character, his arrogance, his impoliteness, his failure to know his place, and his refusal to simply be a decent person and help out.

So Nick and I tore down his whole two rigs - took us almost two hours. BUT ON THE BRIGHT SIDE...

While we were tearing down, who's in the concert hall for a gig that night? Bela Fleck and the Flecktones! So I hung out with Victor Wooten, Bela himself, and the horn player, Jeff and chatted with them for awhile! And me without my CD's. Dumbass. And the night before, I got to meet Jay Leno, also there for a gig, and I gave him a CD, which I autographed for him! HAHAHAHAHA! So I'm feeling pretty important, right now.

Don't think I have much more to say. Didn't I say enough? Jesus.

Will miss all your blogs! Be cool and be warm! I know I'll be warm, in the South! Ciao, bellas!

In town overnight...

Hi there! Came into town to do a million things and to teach lessons tomorrow. Then I go to Canada to record for two days, and back to Buffalo for the closing weekend of A Chorus Line which is going well for the cast, and sucky for the orchestra. What can ya do? Aside from me, the percussionist, and a couple of horn players, he got hacks to play for free. Ya get whatcha pay fer.

So Maria was in town on Wednesday, but we went so late with dress rehearsal that I didn't get to Roxy's until almost midnight, and she and her buddies already left. So I just headed home, but realized that I didn't remember what I did with my score! It wasn't in my car and I truly couldn't remember, and had the feeling that I'd put it on the roof of my car to unlock the door, and drove off leaving it there. I didn't know! So I drove AAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLL the way back to the theater to see if they were open still, and they weren't. I looked all over the parking lot and retraced my route home, but didn't find it. So I headed back home praying to the goodlordjesus.

At 2:00 a.m. on the way home I was just about to turn onto my street when I saw this thing in the road. It was dark and it looked like roadkill, so I avoided it, but as I passed it, it moved! Flapping a wing up at me saying "Leah! You'll take pity on me! You're famous for all your animal rescues! Here I am!" It was a pigeon, all discombobulated because he couldn't fly. He'd just flap a wing and fall backwards and twirl in a circle. Poor thing. So I got out of my car and put him on the floor and drove around the corner home. I took him in the basement and set him up in a box with a rag on the bottom and gave him water and bread. Maria called while I was doing this to say "YO, sorry we had to leave early". So poor scared birdie finally calmed down a little and I gave him a little blessing that basically said "I hope you live through the night". I didn't know if he had internal injuries, but what could I do at that point? Leave it up to god and nature, that's what. I turned off the light and went to bed.

The next morning I went down to check on him and he was sleeping. I didn't know that pigeons sleep standing up, and they curl their head down. So he woke up and got all scared again, and I took him to the SPCA wildlife rehab center. They said it was a good sign that he lived through the night, and that his injuries were probably not internal.

While I was there, there were three people surrendering cats. One found a cat left on his porch in a crate that morning. The other was this young dude surrendering...oh hell, why don't I use the proper word? ...abandoning his two adult cats, a male and female. The female was beyond pissed. She was growling and hissing and spitting. He told the SPCA clerk that she's kind of always like that, not too friendly. And he says to the cat "Yeah I know I did this to you", and I wanted to throttle this idiot! It took all my strength not to say to him "You do realize that they are going to kill this cat, as she is unadoptable with this attitude? Do you REALIZE THAT? And why are you dumping them? Your girlfriend doesn't like them? You're moving to a place that doesn't take animals? Will YOU DO THIS TO YOUR CHILDREN SOMEDAY???"

And then some old man was dumping his beautiful tortoise-shell kitten, about 7 months old. The kitty had a collar and name tag on her, and definitely belonged to the old man. I don't get it. I just don't get how people can take responsibility for a life and then just dump that responsibility when it becomes difficult for whatever reason.

So I left there all happy and sad at the same time. Happy that I save a smelly, common, overpopulated bird, and sad that these kitties were getting their hearts broken. The tortoise-shell kitty stands a chance of adoption, since she's still little and very sweet. But I don't know about the other three. I know I'll be a cat lady someday, a house with 137 abandoned cats, and it'll be my life mission to get them over their abandonment issues.

Well, I left the SPCA and headed to the theater since I was nearby. And sure enough, I'd left my music on my chair. WHEW! It was opening night that evening, and if I lost that music I was fucked. It's not the kind of score you memorize very easily. It's one of the trickier shows I've done.

So that's my story. Maybe I'll get a chance to write another one next week, before I go for good. Oh, and that day, I found a feather in my car, left behind as a thank you from the pigeon. Pray for the birdy and the kitties.

Dial up Hell...

I figured I'd drop a quick line. The basic news:

I just got called to play guitar in the pit for the National Tour of Copacabana, so I won't be back until May 19! Woo hoo!!!

I'll blog ya when I can. Or I'll send word and have someone else do it....

Bye!!!

Tomorrow I leave for Buffalo to do A Chorus Line for two weeks. And in between shows I'm heading to Canada to record some more. (I better practice...) So after tomorrow it'll be like 2 weeks before I can blog again!! Unless I manage to find 1) time, and 2) a high-speed computer.

Maybe I'll be inspired to blog before I leave, but if not, y'all rock on!

Celine Dion is the Anti-Christ

So I'm doing this show (Joseph and the ATD) and none of us knew about this but the geek emcee who introduces the show says, "Before we get started we want to remember what's going on on the other side of the world. So we ask everyone to stand up". And I'm thinking, what, a moment of silence? Is someone going to sing the Star Spangled Banner? Suddenly a music track is heard over the speakers, and .... it's......Celine Dion's version of God Bless America. Okay, notwithstanding the detail that SHE'S A CANADIAN ("God bless America, my home sweet home?"), there's the issue that she's schlock X10. So we all had to endure that over-produced maudlin version of that tune. This later causes my buddy Maria, who HATES Celine, to have the

QUOTE OF THE DAY:

God is a woman, and she hates me.

Quote of the day

These damn sheets are fucking up my suave!!!
- Lisa (*dreamy sigh*)

Moody Moody

When the hell is IMood gonna add "premenstrual" as a mood choice?

Mmmmmmmm........beeeeeer....

I just sucked down a Heineken in about 2.5 minutes. Is that bad?

And it was my last one, too.

Dang.

Quote of the Day

Yesterday my mom, aunt and I were at a memorial service, followed by memorial dinner at a cheesy Italian restaurant. Mom and Auntie had to leave right after eating because they had tickets for 36 Views, a play at the Geva Theater here in town. Mom, Auntie and apparently most of the audience thought is was really boring and hard to follow. Which caused my mother to say:

"For this we gave up a funeral?"

The two things in life that are certain

That was my week. One wake, one funeral, one memorial service and finishing my taxes.

As Lisa says, at least there's something in my life that's certain.

Priorities

I spent $1030.00 on my cats last year, and $535.00 on groceries.

It's official. I have become a cat lady.

Hell has frozen over!

No, I didn't sleep with a man... geeeeezzz!

Ladies and Gentlemen, I, your not-so-humble correspondent, Bitter, actually slept through the entire night without waking up once!

There's this commercial....

I heard it on the radio, and it's to raise awareness about the warning signs of a heart attack. And the announcer says, menacingly...

"Do you know what to do if you feel a crushing pressure in your chest?"

Well, sure I do. I lift Puddy up and move her lower!

HAHAHAHAHAHA!

More Annoyance.

When are they going to make the telephone number pad and the calculator pad go in the same direction???

I know they did this purposely in the 30's, when mechanical punch machines were invented and all to cut down on errors, but for heaven's sake, it's a new world now. There ain't no more addressograph machines.

Hey, that was a small rant, wasn't it?

Such a deal!

Wegman's cat food...25 cents a can!

Whoa!

AAUUUUUUUUGGGGHHHHHHH!

So I typed this big long post and I was JUST about finished when my cat, Farris (who was lounging on the desk), stretched, causing his BIG HUGE FAT FUCKING PAW to hit the escape key!!!!!!

aaauuuuuuuuuugggggggggghhhhhhhh!!!!!!

Ice Cream Socials Rule

A bunch of us goils went out last night for an ice cream social! You can read about it here.

Quote of last night:

Jess: My mom likes you. She thinks you're wholesome.
Leah: I am wholesome. (Said as she was perusing sex toys at the local porn shop).

The IRS is the closest thing we have to a dictatorship in the USA

Yes, I'm doing my taxes. And I fucking hate it. I have two businesses going here, neither of which makes me any money, yet I have to prove to the damn government that I don't. AND I probably have to pay taxes anyway, at least sales tax on CD sales, which I will admit right here I FUDGED TOTALLY. The damn IRS has it all set up to encourage cheating on your taxes, if you want to keep something for yourself. Taxes are confiscatory, punitive, unconstitutional and annoying. To pay for what? Welfare cheats? Programs that don't do shit for the people they're supposed to help? Congresspeople's ever-increasing salaries? Lawsuit payoffs? Subsidies on farms and steel? Enron and Worldcom bailouts? "Humanitarian" aid to every nickel and dime little country in the world we have an interest in?

And then you spend your whole life getting taxed on income to pay for Social Security, and when it's your turn to collect, they tax you on that! They tax you on a tax! FUCKERS!

I SWEAR TO GOD I'M GONNA START A LESBIAN MILITIA!

Bitch HO Bitch HO!

Well, Maria has pointed out to me that I seem to be pimping Lisa out. And I suppose Cheryl's comment was right anyway...

Since you're all still asking!

The Mystery Woman is my friend Lisa from Colorado. She's coming to visit me in a couple of weeks. She's also a massage therapist. Anyone want to buy a massage while she's in town???

Got alot done this weekend!

Yes, I actually caught up on stuff that's been hounding me for more than 2 months, including the updating of my "kinder, gentler website". Anyone who wants to see breathtaking photos of Niagara Falls in the winter should click here. I also sent out a bunch of CD's to radio stations, went to the store to get new color makeup for my photo shoot on Wednesday, and it's only Saturday. Tomorrow, rehearsal for "Joseph...Dreamcoat". Wow.

Haloscan, my commenting company, was down today, and now I see that many comments are gone! All the comments you made about my mysterious singing hot mama friend, and the comments about Farris's birthday party, gone. Big zeros. Effers.

So it's waaaay past my bedtime now, though you wouldn't know it, because even though I set blogger for Eastern time, it keeps automatically changing itself back to Pacific time. What gives? Maybe it's a sign I should move west.

'Nighty...

Because I'm worse than any doting mother....

So here's to bore you with the details and photos of Farris's birthday. Farris loves chocolate, so I give him some for his birthday every year. The last few years I've given him pudding, because he decided he didn't like brownies anymore. So I make pudding (with skim milk, of course) and light the candle and sing happy birthday to him:

Then I say, "Okay Farris, make a wish and blow out the candle!"

Then I give him his pudding and his big fatty mama who has a compulsive eating disorder comes over and moves in on his territory!

And Farris is repectful to his mama and just sits there letting her eat, but secretly he's saying "But it's my birthday pudding!" So I have to get the cherry picker and lift Puddy out of the way so he can have his pudding (even though he didn't eat his meat!)

And he ate and it was good, and now he's an old man.

Guessing Game

Q#1: Guess who's 7th birthday is today?????

ALL SING HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO FARRIS!

Q#2: Guess who's coming to visit me soon?

ALL SAY *DREAMY SIGH*

My Blog has the Malocchio

Twice now I've tried to go to my blog and got someone else's blog under my name. Wha???? Then sometimes I log on and the page load indicator says "done", and it's a blank page. Then the comments don't work, and just now I couldn't even get to the page. I got that obnoxious "Can't find server" page. Must be satan.

Ice Cream it is!

Okay, I'm back. Say when, I'm there!


Boy, do I have alot of shit to tell!

Egad. Where do I start. Chronologically, I suppose. Warning: it's REALLY LONG!

Tuesday, March 4. Load the equipment and guitars into the car and I'm off to Buffalo. Go directly to rehearsal at Depew high School, where I get to play "Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat" for the 6th time. Woo hoo! I'm setting up and sizing up the actors and musicians. What a great pit - especially for high school people. Lots of really good talent there, except for the drummer, who was reaaaaaaaaaaaly baaaaaad. But I was happy to learn that my buddy Tim, a Buffalo musician, is playing bass in the pit with me. He's a sweetie.

Wednesday, March 5. I go to the hair salon to color my hair. I'm there 3.5 hours. My stylist , Kelly, tried a new line on me, and I was the first to use the violet color, and it didn't work at all. So we had to do the WHOLE THING again, using a different product line that came out great. But I had enough time to grab a quick bite and head to rehearsal. The sound system was working tonight, so I got to hear the singers. Let's just say the guy playing Joseph was not cast for his singing or acting. Can we say GORGEOUS??? I should have taken a picture of him in his little white loin cloth, with his V-shape torso and washboard abs. And this for Cheryl- he looked just like Jeff. I couldn't get over how built this little shit was. The female lead (The Narrator) was pretty good. I thought she sucked at first, but that was just tech week jitters. She actually saved the show on opening night, and saved a scene another day. More on that later.

Thursday, March 6. Animal lovers, please skip this paragraph. My friend Dee (who I stay with when in Buffalo) and I went with our dear, dear friends Katie and Char to have their dog put to sleep. Alice, the border collie, was a great dog, who was just diagnosed with a brain tumor and was having seizures and having a hard time standing up and the whole thing. Dee and I were her Aunts. Alice was 15, and has been with Katie since she was 15. Alice and Katie were inseparable and lived their whole lives together, doing everything together. Alice and I shared the couch together whenever I stayed over at Katie and Char's, and we'd gone out for more than a few ice creams together. That was Alice's last wish with me, to take her for an ice cream, which I did a couple of weeks ago. I have a photo.



So I'm not going into it except to say that it was my job to drive Katie and Char and Alice to the vet, where we met Dee, whose job it was to drive Katie and Char home. Dee and I were with them through it all. It was one of the saddest things I ever experienced, and we bawled our eyes out for god knows how long. Then I had to go right to rehearsal like that. After rehearsal I went to Katie and Char's to hang for awhile and drink beer and cry some more. Then in the middle of the night I woke up and bawled still more. And if I think about it, I still cry, so I'm gonna stop thinking about it now.

Friday, March 7. So I fell back to sleep, but when I woke up this morning my nose was all raw on one side, I thought from crying and blowing my nose so much. I ended up working that day, serving papers for the woman who bought her business from me. So I earned some money while I was there (besides what I got for doing the show), which is good because I spent alot while there. I also managed to sell seven CD's to various cast and crew members this week. After I worked, Friday was opening night. So I got into the shower and watched THE VIOLET DYE from my hair wash right out with the shampoo! Great. $65 bucks literally down the drain. But not having the time to BITCH about it, I dutifully continued my grooming, got into my tux and went to the show.

These shows are always dangerous, because the band room is always filled with tons of crap food. But I was sooooo good! I ate the fruits and veggies. My saving grace was that the only chocolate they had there was sponge candy, which I hate. I silently thanked god for her moment of kindness, also passing on the ranch dip since teenagers haven't yet learned about the gaucheness of double dipping.

So we start the show, and everything is going along nicely, until about 15 minutes into the show when the ENTIRE sound system gives out. Kaput, mort, tod. Real dead. I must admit though, I like when stuff like this happens. I call it "Kamikaze Theater", because you gotta do what you gotta do and hope it works, or you go down with the plane. And this is where the lead saved the show: The girl could project, and knew enough to get bigger on stage, and really throw her lines to the audience. Our beautiful Joseph, however, was completely inexperienced and couldn't hang (so to speak). Whatever part of the story the narrator isn't telling, Joseph is, and when he was singing, the storyline was lost because we couldn't hear him at all. The band had to compensate as well. We've got a piano, two keyboards, bass, guitar, drums, and various wind instruments. The horns put mutes in their bells. Keyboardists never stop playing because they believe themselves far too important to do so, even though the pianist could have gone home on dress rehearsal night and never be missed. The bass player sat out on tunes where one of the keyboard players was playing his bass part, why we didn't know, since there WAS in fact, a real bass player there. I also sat out for alot of the music, the parts that are doubled by the keyboards. I just played the guitar solos and "guitaristic" parts. I also played the rest of the show on my acoustic guitar, including the driving, distorted power chord parts! LOL. I called it "Joseph Unplugged".

Overall, it worked out okay, since it was a forgiving audience of moms and grandmas!

After the show, I headed out in my tux to Roxy's lesbo bar. Everytime I get my hair done I get lucky. So I figured I'd give it another shot. I walk to the bar for a beer, right next to this old school butch.

(Quick history lesson for straight folks and queers too young to know, since they don't teach this in school: In the lesbian world of the 40's and 50's you were either butch -the man- or femme - the woman. Butches didn't go with butches, and femmes didn't go with femmes. Butches looked as much like men as they could, and they never moved in on another butch's girl.)

So I walk up to the bar next to this old butch. Picture it: 5'0, about 60-65, black hair cut really really short and close to her head. Wearing jeans and a button up shirt with a vest. And I don't know whatever happened to charm, but this woman goes "WHOA HONEY WOW YOU LOOK GREAT IN THAT TUX ARE YOU ALONE ARE YOU SINGLE WOW WHAT'S THE OCCASION WOW ARE YOU HERE ALONE?!?!?!?!?!

Can we say desperate? She's gonna mash me and not even offer to buy my drink? Knowing it would get her off my back, I lied. Totally. No, I'm not single, sorry. WOW THAT'S OKAY HONEY WHAT A SHAME YOU LOOK GREAT! So, I took my beer and moved far away. And that, ladies and gentlemen, was my only hit of the night. A hot babe in a tux with a bagful of latex gloves in the car and that was the best I could do. Is there something wrong with me?

Saturday, March 8. Two shows today. And I wake up with my rashy nose now looking like the flesh eating virus has attacked me. Herpes, says one person. I don't HAVE herpes! Shingles, says another. And still another "Looks like a chemical burn". Look, I ain't been eating pussy or snorting cocaine, so whafuck? I slather makeup on it and go to my shows. A new sound system saves the day and the shows are great. The kids did an amazing job. I pack up my gear and go back to Dee's. I put hot towels and ointment on my nose, which now has about 6 little disgusting, pussed up blisters. I drink beer.

Sunday, March 9. Dee, Katie, Char and I and another friend Deb (a/k/a G.O.D.) go to breakfast. My flesh eating virus makes me feel like I have a nose like Jimmy Durante or W.C. Fields. Or maybe like that kid in the movie "Mask". But what am I gonna do? Pretend it ain't there and pretend nobody is noticing it? Forget it. I go to breakfast and I announce "I have the flesh eating virus on my nose, or maybe shingles, so if you haven't had chicken pox tell me now so I can leave, and look at it now and get it over with". I have an extra-garlicky breakfast, then we all decide to be girly and go back to Dee's and highlight Katie and Char's hair. Dee does Char, I do Katie, Deb is the supply girl, handing us our foils and dye brush. And darn it if we didn't do a damn good job on those girls! I muse that this was the girliest thing I've ever done in my whole life, which it is.

Later, I go to hang with some old pit band pals I haven't seen in a year, celebrating the 21st birthday of one of them, Alan, whom I'd marry if I liked boys and was 20 years younger. We had dinner then headed over to the new Casino. And there's a whole blog story in itself!

Alan and I drove together, while Bridget and her boyfriend had to stop first then meet up with us there. Alan and are I waiting and waiting, listening to the jazz band. I offer to buy him a beer. Two Coronas. NINE FUCKING DOLLARS! I coulda bought the whole six pack for that, for Christ's sake. So we're still waiting for them by the door, then Alan says, there's a front door too. Maybe they came in there? We laugh our asses off and go looking for them. We couldn't find them anywhere. Alan figures they're having a "Happy Ending", so we said fuck it and started playing. I played "wheel of fortune" and got to spin the wheel. It's going round and round and coming up on the 1000 mark. It lands on the 1000 mark........ AND...........click ONE past. AAAAAUGH! I get 25. Quarters, mind you. I'm cheap.

We finally find Bridget and beau and we wander around to different machines. We lose and lose. I've already spent 20 bucks, including the NINE FUCKING DOLLARS the beer cost me. I sit at a poker slot game to spend that last five bucks I have. Alan says, "sit at the end machine, they payoff more". So I do. I put in my first quarter and get dealt a straigh, ace high. I win........ 25 bucks! I cash out immediately and keep my money, happy to have broken even.

But then I discover that if you're gambling, you can get ALL DRINKS FOR FREE! I tell my friends I paid NINE FUCKING DOLLARS for two beers, dammit. So I tell them I want something out of this damn casino. I devise a plan to chase down a cocktail waitress and get a free drink, which we do, literally walking the casino until we found a cocktail waitress. We tell her we're sitting here (at the random slots we were in front of) and we all ordered drinks. I ordered a rum and coke, screw the beer. And we sat there not gambling until she came with our drinks. And let me say, they didn't skimp on the rum! Woo hoo!

I woulda had more, but we all had to go. I drove Alan home, then went back to Dee's and watched Silence of the Lambs.

And that, my friends, was my week. The highs and the lows of it, flesh eating virus and all. My nose is still kind of gross, but healing. It's all scabby now. And I'm supposed to have my photo shoot for my CD cover on Thursday, but it ain't looking so good for that. Hmmm...

The blog stops here! Smooches!!!

Blog Blog Blog!

I've been blogging extra hard these past few days to make up for the impending dearth of entries this coming week. I'll be in Buffalo all week for a show, with only dial-up computers around me. And as every knows, I DON"T have the patience for that.

Goodbye! Miss Me! I'll miss you...

I LOVE YOU GUYS!

You all crack me up with your comments on the last posting! EMMA PEEL!!! God, she's hot, I so loved her as a kid! HAHAHAHA! I liked April Dancer, too (The Girl From U.N.C.L.E, played by Stephanie Powers.) Guess I had a thing for red-heads back then. Anyway, no sweat. God knows I AIN'T going back to that shit-uation, I'm just not looking forward to the games and the bullshit, if that's what in the making. Who knows, I may not hear from her at all. But I don't need any shit, that's for sure. I have a low patience threshold for drama and crap. But I will tell you this: IF for some reason, after nearly three years, she suddenly decides she wants to "visit" the cats, I'm inviting ALL OF YOU to be here at my house at that time. I'll provide the beer and pizza. You provide the intimidation!


Do I Look Like a Criminal/Freak/Pervert/Mugger?

Tonight I went to SPoT Coffee to hear Greg Paul play. Who knew the weather was like Siberia out there? I didn't, but I went anyway. And when I got downtown, there was this ancient, hunched-over, old lady in a dress WAITING FOR THE BUS! Do the busses even run after 9:00 on a Sunday in downtown Rochester? They don't in Buffalo, unless there's a friggin' hockey game. So I turned my car around, making two U-Turns to get back to where she was standing, pulled over and got out of my car. Keeping a respectable distance I said, "May I offer you a ride, ma'am?" And she says "NOOOOOOOO!", in this big huge booming voice! Here I was expecting this decrepit, mousy, quavering little voice, and instead I got Drew Bledsoe calling audibles to a full house in Miami. "NOOOO!" I said "Are you sure?" and she just kept saying in this firm and certain voice "NO! NO! NO!" So I got back in my car and drove off. I mean, she doesn't know me from whomever, and she doesn't know that I'm not some old-lady serial killer, but I know! And it was so upsetting because I just assume every stranger in the world should know I'm a stand-up woman, even though I would have reacted the same way she did, and probably worse. It was just really bizarre to be perceived as a threat. And I gave up a good parking space, besides.

Something is afoot....

So two weeks ago I get a voice message from my ex's sister (whom I love), saying "just checking in, how are ya, been thinking about ya, blah blah blah". Immediately I'm thinking there's an ulterior motive, because that's how that family is. So I wait about 10 days, then call her on a day I know nobody is home, so she doesn't think I'm totally blowing her off, because I don't want to do that, and I don't want her thinking that. But at the same time, I'm protecting myself and trusting my instincts. I leave a short and friendly message. Then a couple days later I see on my phone that she called again (while I was inside a building serving a subpoena), but she didn't leave a message this time. No biggie.

But yesterday I get an e-mail from the ex herself. No hello, not even a proper salutation at the top of the letter. Just a polite request asking if maybe I still have a copy of her resume on disk somewhere, because she really needs it and can't find it.

(Aside: when she betrayed me and unceremoniously dumped me, and I prepared to depart our home, I took all the files that belonged to her off my computer and put everything on disks for her and put them all together in a nice bin with all necessary papers for the house and everything she needed that pertained to her life, work and business. Then I moved back with mom and set up my computer and new home. Then I cried for months. Then I got a new computer. Everything that remotely pertained to her that was on my old computer was deleted and purged. Forever.)

So I told her I would look at all my old disks. Which I did, but of course I found nothing. Then she writes me back, this time the e-mail at least addresses my name. She says thanks, says she found some old crystal of mine that she'll get to me, then asks about the cats. A whole different, warmer tone.

Coincidence? I think not. Those two are up to something. I haven't heard from her in almost a year, maybe more. I use to send photos of the cats to her, but didn't get so much as a thank you, so I stopped. Suddenly she needs something?

The radar is up. Man the battlements. Secure the fort. Lock and load.

Loogie-free entry

I just came back from seeing Sam Shaber in concert (again!) in Syracuse at Happy Endings. I so LOVE Sam. She is so endearing on stage, and I love her writing. I bought her new CD, 80 Numbered Streets, and the title track from that CD, Solitaire, is totally devastatingly sad. I nearly bawl my eyes out whenever I hear it. Tori Amos was playing LITERALLY down the street a block, and it was a madhouse in the streets later on. But Sam still had a good turnout, thank the goddess. The opening act was really milktoast, but he wasn't bad.

Went with Maria and Mary Rose and boy we had a grand ol' time. Rabid girl talk, girl-watching and all that. We compared our muscles, of which mine are pathetic (as everyone knows). Mary Rose's arms are like steel. She quipped that it's from masturbating, but if that's the case, I should be built like the hulk.

Where did that come from?

So here I am, innocuously writing a check, and there's a big loogie on the back of my hand. When did I sneeze? Looks like it's been there awhile, too...

By the Way

Regarding my site meter, can anyone tell me the difference between a "visit" and a "page view"? How can you visit a site and not view it's page?

Back from Canada.

The studio sessions went very well. Got the acoustic guitar tracks AND vocals down for four songs. Decided to put the BRAND NEW song on the CD and scratch "Bridge You Burned", a song that really should quietly die. Like putting down an old, decrepit dog. You just gotta do it, sometimes. Learned quite a bit while recording the vocals. The producer's techniques are so good, and also required me to revisit the lyrics of my songs and look at some of them in a new light. Very cool, because when you've sung the same song for so long, you get comfortable and into a habit with it, kind of like a boring marriage. AND because I had practiced and prepared, I finished HOURS early and didn't have to stay a second night. Finished the session at 5:00 and headed back to the states. That saved me LOTS of money.

I met a very interesting man at the hotel. Now get yer minds outta the gutter, I'm talking about the manager there, a 65 y.o. Pakistani man born in India who has lived in 13 countries. He was a poet and a writer, and wrote mostly political satire, which is why he can't go back to his native country. We had a very interesting chat about art and culture in society and it's effect on society, and the responsibility artists have, and a little bit about God, mostly about spirituality vs. religion. Very nice man.

Of course while there I got to drink some decent BEER, which Canada has tons of. I so hate American beer, except for Rolling Rock. That's it. This time I drank Grolsch, which isn't Canadian, but has the higher alcohol content allowed in Canada. My all time favorite beer is Alexander Keith's India Pale Ale, made right there in Nova Scotia!! YUMMMMMMMM! It's great to live so close to the Border because I can cross over anytime, head to the beer store and grab a case in under an hour. The custom agents always let me through without paying duty, since it's only one case. So, Hail Canada for making great beer, which is my only vice left.

So what else to tell? Nothing, I guess. Not even a rant.

And more snow.

Yuck. Lotso snow. I'm over it.

Had a fun weekend of gigs and my diehard fans and pals showed up. I love them for that forever and ever: Maria, Jess, Mary Rose. Played at a cafe on Friday night and got nearly 100 bucks in tips. Toldja that nun get up would work! Then opened up for Sam Shaber in Ithaca the next night. I love Sam. She's actually nice. Don't meet too many nice people in this biz. Go check out her website. That photo on the main page is HOT HOT HOT! Too bad she's a straight girl. What a waste.

I'm heading to Canada now. See ya.

Criminy, is it Friday already?

Well, as I always have opinions and rants, I don't always have time to write them. Suffice to say I've had a headache for three days because I'm in withdrawal from chocolate and grease.

That being said, I hope that, when I've fried my liver from drinking too much, I can get a free and immediate organ transplant like that illegal immigrant girl. God bless her good Karma, I hope she makes it. At the same time I wonder when America will start giving such good treatment to it's own citizens who've paid taxes all their lives.

PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEZE don't make me have to give up chocolate and happy meals!

Yes. I read the doctor's letter correctly. High Cholesterol.

fuck.

At least I can still drink.

On the subject of my blog pals...

Maria and Jess, thanks for coming to Buffalo for the gig! :-)

Marc has a new website and a fancy new logo designed by my buddy Cheryl. See the link to the left. Marc once posted a link to my CD and webpage on his blog and I got over 500 hits from it.

I've gotten over 1000 hits from Jessica and Maria's blog, and also from the Sarah McLachlan fansite (see link).

Smooches to you all!

On the subject of the Northeast blizzard...

20" my ass. Boo hoo. News reports everywhere are lamenting the storm, talking about the amount of snow, accidents, deaths, airport closings, and what a thing it is and we're all supposed to be compassionate and mortified about it. But if this was happening in Buffalo, first of all, 20" don't mean shit in Buffalo, but if Buffalo was having a blizzard the news stories around the country would be along the lines of "Well, the armpit of America is having snow AGAIN, and what d'ya expect from BUFFALO, and how can anyone stand living there?" But guess which city lets all the other cities borrow their snow equipment and salt when they get enough to make a snowball?

Lots of planes got rerouted and had to land in Buffalo today because they couldn't get to their intended destinations. So they have a quote from some stranded dude on the radio saying "It's ironic that we have to land in Buffalo to avoid the snow". Well, dipshit, FYI, Rochester and Syracuse get more snow on average than Buffalo, for 15 years running. THEN the dude says "We're from Syracuse and we have to figure out where we're staying tonight, yuck yuck." To which I SCREAM at the radio, "RENT A CAR YOU MORON! YOU'LL BE HOME IN 3 HOURS! I drove from Buffalo to Rochester today, then drove all over Rochester's western towns serving summonses. People are pussies in the snow. Now, I know many states don't have snow plans or equipment because they just don't get snow. That's different. But this freak lives in SYRACUSE!

Save me from the stupid people.

Fond Buffalo blizzard memories:

1) 1983 - waking up and hearing that everything, and I mean everything was closed. Looking outside and seeing nothing but white past the front porch. Having to shovel OVER my head to begin clearing a path from the house to the sidewalk, which was already plowed. My buddy Virginia and I walking to the store through tunnels of snow because the snow piles were about 10 feet high.

2) 1986 - Walking out of my house with a shovel, crossing the street to the opposite curb, climbing a 6 foot mountain of snow, and shoveling UNDER my feet, because that's where my car was. At least, I think it was there. After all, I was guessing based on my recollection that I had parked it in that general vicinity. Finally seeing red metal, and knowing that it was, in fact, my car.

3) 1993 - Waking up with my new girlfriend to a shut down city and a snow day. I made the best sauce ever, made lasagna and garlic bread, and had some of the best sex ever.

4) 1998 - January. Climbing ladders with a hatchet everyday to break up the ice damns in the gutters of my brand new house. It snowed non-stop for two weeks. But before the snow had started it had sleeted first. There was a 5-inch thick layer of ice, covered with snow, and I didn't know if the roof was going to withstand the weight. Water trickled down from the roof in between the walls of the house all the way to the basement, causing 5K worth of damage. We (previously mentioned girlfriend) had somehow managed to purchase the last snow-rake in the entire county from Home Depot, making us an instant hit with all our new neighbors, who borrowed it to clear their laden roofs, too. What a great way to make friends with the neighbors!

5) 2000 - Leaving Buffalo Nov 4 after a devastating betrayal and break up of previously mentioned girlfriend. Three days later a huge storm hit that caused people to have to abandon their cars right in the lanes of traffic and seek shelter. The entire city comes to a complete standstill for more than a week because snow removal equipment cannot traverse the streets until all the cars are towed. I hear about the entire thing from the news and friends, sitting in Rochester, which hasn't yet seen a snowflake.

On the subject of bad performers with big huge attitudes and nothing to back it up...

The quote of the night was....

"...(her music) kind of sounds like Spongebob."

Don't be my Valentine

Alrighty, here it is. My anti-Valentine poem. I promise not to go on a rant about "hallmark holidays" and such, since I've already visited that. But I will say that I despise what's become of this holiday, and the rabid manipulation of emotions and obligation placed on spouses and significant others (especially men) in the name of this holiday. It's much the same as Christmas: Show your love - give me a present. Guys, I'm on your side.

And now....

High Coup
© 2003 Leah Zicari

Dumb hetero girls
Pussywhip their nice boyfriends
On Valentine’s Day

Buy me some flowers
Or I’ll hold it against you
The rest of the year

What if he’s decent
Two-four-seven, three-six-five?
It doesn’t matter

Get used to it, boys
This is the way it will be
The rest of your lives.

I'm Maura Tierney!! Woo Hoo! Well, I want her, at the very least. She's so hot.

You're Maura Tierney!


Are you Maura Tierney?
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Huh?

I don't know what "twitterpated" means, but it's a great word I had to go with.

Let's look at the etymology of the word...Twitter (has many meanings, but this is the most known) = A slight trembling or agitation of the nerves. Pated = head/mind.

Well, I'm not really a nervous wreck or confused (today), but I just loved the word.

Oh, Yeah...

When are you and I (and I know of others...) gonna take you-know-who out behind the woodshed and beat the living tar out of her?

Then we'll grab the other one and smack some sense into her.

Just say when...

Live!

Yo! My new website is up and running. So far so good. See it here!

Where indeed?

Jessica wants to know where have all the comments gone? Well, my last post had three comments, and they're gone! Totally gone! What gives? And I ain't even using that crappy YACCS commenting service. Hmmmmm...must be a conspiracy. All blog comments across the USA are currently being diverted to Sodomite Hussein's recon system to scramble it. You know I'm right.

He's a kid, but he made me laugh my ass off

We began watching the news coverage of the Columbia disaster on and off beginning at 10:00 a.m. At about 12:45, while I was still waiting for these sugar-infested boys to GO HOME, my nephew Clayton was eating lunch in front of the TV. When his cartoon ended I switched back to the news to hear the latest. The same video of the falling pieces of shuttle was STILL being shown on the TV, hours later, thus causing Clayton to have the

Quote of the day, yesterday:

"Is that stupid thing still falling?"
-Clayton, 7 years old.

**Grooooooooannnnnnn**

Ugh. I'm so sick. I got a code in by dose. And a throat infection of some horrible sort that I must treat with saltwater, whiskey, garlic and colloidal silver, since my damn doctor doesn't have office hours on Fridays, so I have to wait until Monday. So I told him sure I'll be there on Monday, unless I'm already in the hospital with a raging uncontrolled infection. So dramatic.

But I did my gig on Thursday anyway, hanging around smokers and drinking beer, as if that's good for a singer's throat. And it was all fun anyway. I debuted my "nun" character. Ya see, I get really sick and motherfucking tired of people expecting music for free. And people come in to a club without paying a cover charge and listen to singers for a couple of hours, spend untold amounts of money on booze, then leave without buying a single CD. Like I shouldn't be compensated for my work.

(Look out! She's on a rant!)

So I made this nun's veil and a little collection bag like they have at Catholic churches. After my 3rd song I put on the veil, grabbed the collection plate and went through the crowd shaking down the patrons for money. One lousy friggin buck is all I'm asking, right? And I got 40 bucks! In the past whenever I asked people to put money in the jar, all I got were blank stares. So I decided to try this character simply as a mind fuck, knowing 1) that if I actually get in their faces, they can't say no, and 2) the nun get-up subliminally plays into their guilt. And it worked! Now, it's a good thing I'm a good witch, because what if I actually used this knowledge and power for evil? Muahahahaha....

Children

My sister's bratty children are over. I have so little patience for children in general, and girl children are too whiney and boy children are too hyper. My two cats and I are hiding in the basement right now, because the three of us are totally neurotic around kids. The two boys slept over and it is TIME FOR THEM TO GO HOME! It's fucking noon already.

I Love Bush

Double entendre notwithstanding, here is the quote of the speech:

"Let's put it this way: They no longer pose a threat to the United States..."

I nearly fell out of my chair when he said that, referring to Al-Qaeda terrorists who had "met another fate" (other than being arrested). I thought, well, that's a nice euphemism for "bombing them to oblivion". I thought he was dancing around the whole idea and trying to be clean about it. I was thinking, just say it, George: We killed them. But then he came out with that statement, and I said "Rock on, George!"

The whole State of the Union speech is nothing more than a feel-good exercise for America, and a chance for the President to use his bully pulpit to push his agenda. It never really talks about the actual "state of the union". If I was writing Dubya's speech, it would've gone something like this:

"The economy sucks, but housing starts broke the all-time record last month. Stocks are in the dumper, but interest rates are at an all time low. And while we're in this crappy economy, many of you will be laid off. That's just a fact of a free-market economy and you'll have have to deal with it. You should have money in the bank as a precaution because that's your responsibility, not the government's. You squeamish amateur idiots who sell a stock whenever the moon goes full should pull your money out the stock market, put it in a bank, and stop fucking up the stock market economy with your emotionalism. Here is the exact evidence we have on Sadaam and why I want to nuke his pussy little country. We passed all sorts of education reform measures but our idiot children still can't read, and it's your fault, mom and dad. Get the little bastards away from the gameboys and playstations and take them to a library. And by the way, we're spending the most we ever have on education, but you taxpayers are absolutely not getting your money's worth. And finally, I know I want to reduce taxing Americans as much as possible, but that will be impossible with all these programs I just said I'm starting. Thank you, my fellow Americans, and goodnight."

Just a little honesty, please.

Chat anyone?

I'm hosting a chat session on my Yahoo Group tomorrow night - music related, of course. Anyone wanna join in? We're talking about music: your favorite Indie artists, any singer you want to share with the group, people can ask questions about my music and songs, etc. etc. You have to join the group to join the chat: Join here

See ya there?

Bloody Fucking Freezing Weather!

I'm wearing two pairs of socks (the hiking kind), two layers of shirts with a fleece thingy over it zipped up to my friggin chin, and I have the furnace running, the gas space heater turned up to five, and the little electric heater blowing right at my feet. And I'm still chilly.

I think I really need to move somewhere sweltering, because that's the only time I ever feel warm. You'll never, ever, ever, never see me wearing shorts in the summer in NY.

My blog buddy Marc lives in one of the maritime provinces of Canada and it's -14C below there today. That's a damn bloody heatwave compared to last night here - it was -14 FARENHEIT.

Disharmonic Convergence

Once in a while the weirdest planetary shit goes on as to create a series of events so surreal that Phillip Glass music should play behind them.

Last night I was playing at Happy Endings in Syracuse again, this time opening for Holly Figueroa. Maria and Jessica came again with Maria's sister Alicia. Thus it began. Muahahahaha....

First I lost a shoe, about 4 hours before the girls showed up. I went looking for it and I couldn't find it. So when the girls came I asked them to help, because I have rotten "looking" skills. I don't really look, I glance then say "Fuck it". None of us could find it. So we're getting back to the cafe and are in front of the door. We make way for a bum carrying two garbage bags full of cans he's collecting for the deposit when I say something along the order of "Fucking shoe, how can I lose a fucking shoe?" The bum turns and says "You lost a shoe? I put it over there on the windowsill!", turns away and continues on his can-collecting journey. We look at the building across the street and sure enough, there's my shoe sitting on the window ledge.

Then, we went back in for the show. I played 4 songs, then Holly started her set. She played about 8 songs and finished. I thought she was just ending the first set, but then she said "good night". Whoa! So short! Holly is so amazing and I really wanted to hear more more more! But that was it. So that was a little weird.

As usual I was hungry, so we decided to go eat somewhere, having no clue about anything in Syracuse. We talked about going to Doc's diner, a seedy, disgusting looking place just down the road from Club 950, the dyke bar I've played at a few times. But we couldn't do it. It seems just too gross. So we asked a local about diners, and he tells us to go to the Little Gem Diner. He gives us directions and we're on our way. We see the diner's neon lights and come closer, and IT'S DOC'S!!!! Officially, it's called "Doc's Little Gem" Diner. We are laughing our asses off and decide it's an omen, we must eat there. And may I just say Ew.

Seedy is a nice characterization. Don't get me wrong! I love dive diners, but there's good dive and bad dive. This was beyond bad dive. Let me count the ways:

Architecture: The art-deco metallic kind.
Decor: Lots of mirrors and curtains that haven't been washed since Nixon's resignation.
Clientele: Seedy trashy types named Bubba and Jim, with wives named Tammy who look like old butch lesbians, and child molestor/rapist types smoking cigarettes at the counter, leering at the four attractive women who just walked in.
Waitresses: One woman about 75, with big poofy grey hair, tall and skinnier than a pencil, and a voice roughened by years of cigarettes. Another who looks like a drag queen, but is a legit female, with a gap between her front teeth that could put out a fire if she spit through it. Then there was our waitress. A bitter late-30's lesbian filled with self-loathing, looking much older than her years, who wouldn't even look us in the eye when she came over with her order pad and contempt and said "Ready?"
Food: Don't make me talk about it again. Let's just say "undercooked French Fries".
Serviceware: Glasses with crusty lipstick on the rim and dried food bits on the inside, touching your coke.


When the bitter lesbian waitress said "Ready?" in her contemptuous tone, we were too afraid of her to say "no" and thought it best to just order whatever and not request any substitutions. Keep in mind we were all silly and laughing at the whole irony of the situation, referring to the restaurant as the "Little Germ Diner", thankful none us of had to use the bathroom. So we're laughing as we're ordering and I'm seeing that she thinks we are laughing right at her. We would never laugh at her! We'd at least wait until she left the room. When she left to place our order, she walked away with a "seething" vibe to her, and I was absolutely sure she was going to spit in our food. A few seconds later Chester the Molestor went into the kitchen. He was so filthy he didn't belong in a kitchen, but I'm sure he went to spit in our food, too. Then later she came out to give me my lipstick-less new glass of water (I asked for bottled ANYthing, but they didn't have it), and I saw her talking to the drag-queen waitress, glancing furtively our way. I knew we were done for.

The old-lady waitress with the Tom Waits voice brought us our food, and I wasn't even gonna return the Fries to be properly cooked! I opened my grilled cheese sandwich to look for loogies, but who can tell with melted cheese? Everyone else checked their food, we silently said prayers (I said one for my little atheist pal...), and ate. When we were done, Alicia got all scheved out and said "We have ...to go....NOW!!!" So we quickly threw our money on the table and gathered our shit. Maria and Alicia started speaking in Spanish, and I gently suggested "Uh...they probably never had Puerto Ricans in here, so you probably don't want to do that..." thinking Chester would call his KKK friends to meet our Puerto Rican/Lesbian asses in the parking lot. We laughed our way out the door, agreeing that on the ride back to Rochester we'd flash our lights if someone had to pull over to vomit.

On the way home Maria decided, as always, we had to have ice cream! We stopped at the next rest stop when we saw the "Ben & Jerry's" sign. But at midnight, they were closed. Bastards. So we had McD's ice cream, instead. We laughed at the stupid sculpture caricature of a skiier, with his ski pole place such that it looked like an extension of his penis. Then we continued on.

Maria and Alicia hopped back on the Thruway and Jessica and I stopped at the pump for gas. It was probably -10 degrees with the wind chill, so I pulled up to the Full Service side. The dope inside totally ignored me, but kept looking up. Not a wave of the finger to hold on, no quick run outside to say "I'll be right with ya". He just ignored me. So I got outta the car and went inside and I'm like, "Uh......you ARE open, aren't you?" And he's counting his drawer and gives me this story about how he's changing shifts and he's all alone and the other dude is late and he can't come out there and they're cashing out the receipts, blah blah blah. I can't even pump my own gas, because of whatever the fuck he's doing, the pumps are off. So I keep saying, "I understand what you're saying, but what I'm trying to say is that you HAVE A SIGN HERE THAT SAYS YOU ARE OPEN 24 HOURS AND I NEED GAS!!! And there's no sign that says pumps are currently down, sorry for the inconvenience, and you just let me sit out there for 5 minutes ignoring me!" And he says and I swear I ain't making this up "We don't have a sign that says that". And instead of saying "YOU HAVE A MARKER, DON'T YOU?" like I wanted to, I just left. Suddenly I couldn't even be mad at him because he was so pathetically stupid, so egregiously moronic, that for a split second, somewhere down in the depths of my icey, bitter heart, I actually felt sorry for the poor schmuck. So I just got in the car and hoped I had enough gas to get home, which I did, but barely.

So that was our road trip! Doncha love life on the road with a rockstar?

Monday?

Criminy, it's Monday all ready! Well, I'll do a nutshell. Or not.

Friday: No clue. It's all a blur. I don't remember what I did. Could have met Gillian Anderson for all I know.

Saturday: I had a gig at Happy Endings in Syracuse and it went really well. This is one of the most sought out venues in the Indie world. Owner was pleased with my turnout for a first time gig, and kept in mind the hideous weather, aware that many people probably stayed home in their igloos to keep warm. Didn't sell as many CD's as I would have liked, but the plus side is that many people who were there already own it. Maria and Jess, my stalwart missionaries, were there. We love them. Then I got asked back to open for Holly Figueroa this Friday. Woo hoo!

Sunday: My uncle came over to install a big ol' heating unit for the basement, where my office is. I think this will cost me about a million bucks a month to run. But it's better than being cold. Then later the family went to my grammy's house to celebrate mine and my nephew's birthdays. They celebrated my twin bro's birthday while I was in Canada. So I got a dress, a little money, and my aunt, who apparently has way too much time on her hands, gave me this really cool guitar-shaped CD holder. It was festooned with trinkets and candy and "40" novelties and about a dozen or more lottery tickets. I scratched one off and it was a $10,000.00 WINNER! I couldn't believe it! I wouldn't believe it! "I swear to fucking god, I think it's a winner", I yelled, to which everyone said "HEY, watchyer mouth in front of the kids!" Kids, schmids. So we're all looking at it and everyone is acting all weird, then I turn it around and read it. "To redeem the $10,000 prize, give ticket to the Easter Bunny or mail it to the planet Mars". AAAAAAAAAAUGHHHH! It was a joke. You can get them at Spencers. And though I laughed at the good joke, I am personally thinking this is the cruelist joke ever played upon me, because I was immediately thinking I had the rest of the funds I needed for my new CD. I had a huge sudden sense of relief for a brief second. Bastages! So after angel food cake, cheese cake, white cake, jello, and two flavors of ice cream (we ARE Italian...), everyone went home, except for my mom and me. We hung out and three generations of the Clementi clan played cards, in true Italian fashion.

Speaking of being Italian, as you can see it's amazing how much food the women prepare for family events. They cook for 50. But this was a small event, so for dinner we ONLY had Bragiole, Ravioli, Spaghetti, stuffed green peppers, salad, and bread. You already read about the desserts.

Here's a typical holiday dinner at my house. First we have Strachitelli (Italian Wedding) Soup. Then we have stuffed artichokes. Then we have Salad. And then we eat.

I'm not kidding. Then we have turkey, ham, chicken cutlets and pasta for the main course. For veggies we have carrots in brown sugar and honey, corn, and squash. Then we have stuffing (the absolute worst you'll ever taste), sweet potatoes and mashed potatoes. With gravy. There's always a plate of meatballs and sausage on the table, from the sauce (which also sucks) and 2-3 loaves of garlic bread. It doesn't matter if there are 8 of us or all 17 of us, it's always the same amount of food - enough to feed us all and for each to take home leftovers. It's pure gluttony. Does everyone wonder why I obsess about my weight? Except for me, nobody in my family goes under 225 (and we are all short Sicilians), so I'm fighting the inevitable here: genetics and heredity. My dad was humongo, too.

So if you ever wonder why there are starving people in the world, just blame it on the Leone family. We have all the food!

Follies of youth.

Jesus, I'm laughing myfatass off. I ran across my old journals and dragged them out to read. What a fucking drama queen. I was totally in love with Bette Midler, so every time I wrote something, I wrote it in a Bette tone, or used her words, or whatever. And at least at the point I'm reading (summer 1982) I'm still a virgin, and talk talk talking constantly about needing to get laid and needing a man. HAHAHAHAHAHA! But at the same time I'm writing endlessly about my friend Melissa for whom I clearly had a big wet-on. I was practically stalking the woman.

There are alot of entries about this guy I went on three dates with who said he was in love with me on the second date, and I'm all over his shit! It's hysterical. I'm like, is he for real? How can you be in love with someone on two dates? He totally creeped me out, this dude. Even then my Capricorn-ness ran rampant. Oh, apparently I went on a date with some guy named "Pasquale". I have absolutely zero recollection of that. In fact, there are alot of people mentioned in there who I can't remember at all. Apparently I despised some woman named Andrea Nissen.

I have alot of entries about music: contests I was doing, songs I was writing, gigs I had, getting ready to audition for college, and an already forming bitterness about the music biz. Many of the things I wrote are things I STILL say! Here's one:

Am I wasting my time? Will all this music I write and arrange ever be heard? Is it all useless?

And this on Rock music:
I hate rock. It lacks imagination. it's all the same: screaming voices, distorted guitars, no bass lines (then I notated a static bass line), same boring back beat on drums, drooling macho, egotistical people. BO-ring!

A general entry: "I am itching to be on stage".

Biggest Musical influences at the time: Bette Midler, Heart, Teena Marie
Biggest rants: My father's shit, my brother being a jerk, my sister being self-centered and rude, needing to get laid, my pregnant friend smoking pot and drinking.
Biggest Moment: Getting a phone call from Danielle Alexander, a wannabe singer hopeful for a record deal. This would be tantamount to Jessica getting a call from Melissa Ferrick.
Boys I wanted to have sex with: Ralph, Michael (now the DA for Denver, CO), Harry (whoever the fuck he was...)
Boys I HAD sex with:
Dreams: Lots of fucked up ones about being axed and stabbed and chased and someone trying to kill me, and cages, and bombs...
Drugs of choice: Pot and cocaine. Yes, coke. I don't even know where or how I got it.
Favorite insult word: "Gizmonger"
Health issues: Saw a speech pathologist for my vocal raspiness, saw a shrink, and was on antibiotics for something.
Favorite Hang Out: Big Apple Cafe. Have no recollection of it.

Oh, and here's an interesting quote: "If I die a virgin, I'll commit suicide!"

Back again.

Whew! Back from Canada! The boys and I went up to Kitchener to record the bed tracks for the new CD. 10 songs in 3 days. It was so cool. The guys worked really hard, the producer knows exactly what I'm trying to do with this thing, and we got the beds ready for editing. Don't know when I'm going up there again, but I can't wait.

It was quite cold up there, not any different than these parts, really. We ate crap all weekend, and now I'm a total heiffer. You know you're in trouble as a white woman when black boys take a second look at your ass and say "lookin' good, mama!" So now I gotta buy a treadmill.

Had a blast on my birthday - Maria and Jess came to Buffalo and hung out. We wuz havin' dinner, then ceegars and brandy afterward. Then those of us still able to be awake past 11:00 went to Roxy's, the local lesbo hangout, for Karaoke. Is that the geekiest birthday ever? My singing buddy Katie and I KICKED ass, but really, not like we had real competition. Except for the bartender, Leah Russo, WHO SINGS THE SHIT OUT OF ANY SONG! And looks sooo good doing it. I'll upload a picture, when I figure out how to do that. Anway, Jess got picked up in 2.4 seconds flat, as soon as we walked in the door. And poor Jess has all these women around her aged 30-40 who are all mother hens and have their moons in cancer, and we're all trying to figure out how to handle this. I said stay out of it, unless she does something stupid, which I don't think she will because she knows better. But impulse control is soooooo hard as a teen. But she was great. She had a little fun, and didn't get into any trouble. We love that. Katie and Char, who don't know Jess but are both psychics, are asking me and Maria, should we intervene? We're not sure about the vibe we're getting here. And Maria just doesn't want to see Jess get hurt again so soon, so she's in wicked Mother Bear mode.

Then Amanda comes over and says "I think I should tell you guys I'm really a nice person, blah blah". And I just say "It's none of my business." And she keeps trying to talk to me and tell me she's okay, and I keep saying, it's NONE OF MY BUSINESS! Go ahead and kiss Jessica, for god's sake! It'll become my business if bad shit happens. Poor Amanda, like she was in a fishbowl! Little Jess and her four mother hens, all looking sideways at them. LOL.

And MARIA, got all manner of women fawning all over her, and she can't even be bothered! I'm like, uhhh, it's my birthday, and I'm supposed to get laid, and nobody can give me the time of day. And ol' Maria is swatting them down like flies in a horse barn.

So, presents. Money for the new CD, chocolate by the bagsful, a rewritten bible featuring the creation of the Rockstar, namely me, and a glass handblown (no pun) sex toy, the "Magic Wand", from my buddy Marty, who knows my inner self. Or at least somehow knew I wouldn't be getting laid this year.

So I got home and had all sorts of wonderful birthday cards and love letters/e-mails from people, as well as gig offers. We love that, too. Alright, so I'll update as I remember stuff. It's all a big blur right now.

Okay, NOW!

On the East Coast, too! Thanks for the bday song, Marc!

On my way to Canada, so I won't be around for almost a week. Miss me?

IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(At least, it is on the east coast...)

Getting ready for the studio. The band rehearsed tonight and it's a total mindfuck thinking about these songs in a new way. Whenever we rehearse we think as a three-piece. We're three people who need to sound like 10 on stage. So the drummer plays 3 parts combined, and I play very active strumming parts, and the bass player wails away, and musically it's called "overplaying", but in a bar, ya just gotta. But now that we're going into the studio, we can overdub to our hearts content, and there will be more guitar parts and percussion parts and sound efx, so now we have to change everything we've been playing, especially all my guitar parts, and lay back alot. Whoa! It's freakin' me out, maaaaaaaaaan!!!!

More Porn Names!

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! So I'm rehearsing with the band tonight, and I decide to play the Porn Name Game and it's too friggin' funny! My drummer's Porn name is Blackie Dearborn, and my new personal favorite belongs to my bass player, whose porn name is Steak Sherbrooke! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!

I am feeling totally ambitious, but am using all this energy for screwing around! Blogging, chatting online, playing computer games. And with this office looking like Hiroshima. Gads!

Hello again.

Alrighty, then! It's official. I am back. I totally go underground for the holidays. There's just too much to do and by the time the holidays are here, all I want to do it lie on the couch and veg. Did everyone have a lovely holiday? What didja get? I got a very cool car emergency kit in this great leather bag. I'm such a practical Capricorn. Don't ever give me jewelry, okay? I'm the only woman in the world who won't like it. Give me something I can use! I also got Joni Mitchell's new CD. A little money. And that's about it. My mom and I chipped in for a new fax machine for the house in lieu of gifts. We need a fax machine, what can I say! Then Jessica gave me a "Goddess" candle, and Maria gave me a scarf with my logo on it, which she made! She never ceases to astound me, with her clever artistic abilities.

The three of us hung out last night - had some chow then headed over to Friendly's for ice cream. (Thanks for the ice cream, Maria!). She loves ice cream like little kids do - gets all excited at the mere mention of it. lol.

Jessica and I were playing this game - the "Porn Star Name" game. Your first name is the name of your first pet, and your last name is the name of the street you grew up on. So my porn name is "Fuzzy Wuzzy Durnan"! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Please list your porn star name in the comments! I want to know. So anyway, I forgot Jessica's name already. 'Cause I'm a duh. Anyway, we made this plot to secretly ask Maria, through normal conversation, the name of her pet and street, then just laugh at her without knowing why! Because we're so infantile. So her pet was named, and I have to spell it phoenetically because it's spanish, "Creekee", with a nice roll of the "r". Then we tried to get the street name, and she doesn't remember it. Then she started telling us this story of growing up in Puerto Rico, and these sad stories. That's all I'll say. Sad stories and experiences for a little girl. So Jess and I didn't even talk about it, but I'm sure she felt as crappy as I did while Maria was telling her story. Still, Creekee is a great porn name, even without a last name. Me siento, Maria.

So what's your porn name?