Tag Archives: strip clubs

Have Your Cake and Have Your Way With It, Too.

I’m gearing up for a joint birthday party tomorrow night.  Mine and my arborist friend’s, to be specific.  It’s not really a party.  It’s just me at the bar I always go to joined by more people I know than usual. 

Today I visited the 99 Cent store next to the strip club in my neighborhood.  Stocked up on balloons and streamers.  Now I just need an embarrassing cake.  Ideally I would like this one:

That thing is pimp, right?  Hershey Kisses on the bottom.  Ivy made out of GUMMIES?  Genius.

Speaking of genius:

Yes. Yes, I would like a piece of that.

This one, though, takes the figurative and literal cake:

TOM SELLECK!!!!!

TOM SELLECK!!!!!

And this would be the last resort:

And so this is Christmas…

Faith Hill’s new Christmas song is on the radio every time I go to the laundromat.  It’s called “A Baby Changes Everything,” and it’s all about Mary and the Immaculate Conception and her and Joseph’s trek to the manger. 

Teenage girl, much too young
Unprepared for what’s to come
A baby changes everything

The man she loves she’s never touched
How will she keep his trust?
A baby changes everything

My original intention was to criticize “A Baby Changes Everything.”  Okay, that’s still the intent, but just for the record, I do feel a little guilty about it.  This is, after all, the Biblical event that serves as the excuse for us to have drunken holiday parties, buy stuff we can’t afford, receive stuff other people couldn’t afford, drink limited time festive lattes at Starbuck’s, etc, etc.  Blatant Christian messages are just jarring for the ears, even for my ears that were raised on the stuff. 

Anyway, while Faith’s song doesn’t particularly put me in the holiday spirit in the same way that, say, Wham!’s “Last Christmas” (Faith Hill is almost as beautiful as George Michael), and it doesn’t get stuck in my head while at the same time making me terribly sad like John Lennon’s “Happy Christmas (War Is Over)”…it might convince teenage girls to practice abstinence.  Or, they might just think (especially if they’ve received an abstinence-only “education”), fuck it…Joe the future Plumber (or carpenter, whatever) is going to think I’m a whore if I don’t let him touch me and just my luck something immaculate goes and happens. 

The whole nativity thing really is a nice story, though.  I love those Three Wise Men.  I went as one of them to a Halloween party this year along with two friends and I taped a sign that said “I went to Bethlehem and all I got was this stupid t-shirt” to my t-shirt.  That was my favorite part.  Along with the fake beards and the blow-up camels pinned to our crotches.  Actually, we couldn’t find camels so we used blow-up giraffes from the 99 cent store next to the strip club. 

But I really am in the holiday spirit this year.  Or maybe not the holiday spirit, per se.  I’m happy and it happens to be the holidays, so yeah.  And a snowstorm is hitting here at 9am, which is almost as exciting as being impregnated by God.  (Even if I’m sleeping until 3pm these days and will miss the first round of it.)

Googling God is fun! (The blog I got this from might not appreciate my using it.  But, hey, its Christmas!)

Googling God is fun! (The blog I got this from might not appreciate my using it. But, hey, it's Christmas!)

The Neurotic Little Puppy

I read this New Age-y book recently that presented a pretty thought-provoking theory.  The author was talking about fairy tales and children’s stories and how one in particular usually strikes a chord with us when we’re young and the reason it strikes a chord is because it reminds us of one of our neuroses that will continue to be a neurosis when we grow up.  The author said for her that story was the tale of the patchwork dress girl who shows up to a ball with a dress stitched out of lots of rags unlike the other girls who are wearing beautiful gowns.  The girl hides in a closet because she’s ashamed of her dress…then a handsome prince finds her and appreciates her handiwork or something stupid.

Clearly I don’t really remember the details, but the author boiled it down to something like–she’s interested in lots of things, not just one thing, so instead of becoming an expert at one thing she’s just mediocre at lots of things.  I guess that’s her neurosis.

This got me thinking about my childhood (because who doesn’t like to analyze their neuroses?).  The only book I could think of that struck a chord was one from The Poky Little Puppy series.  This one was scratch and sniff.  The Poky Little Puppy goes off with his puppy siblings to find birthday presents for their mom.  Poky’s siblings get lemonade or cotton candy or a bucket of apples and call it a day (the lemonade was my favorite thing to scratch).  But Poky has a hell of a time finding the perfect present.  It’s really sad.  He’s the ultimate people pleaser.  So maybe that’s my neurosis?  Yeah, I think so.  It especially rears its ugly neurotic head around these gift-giving times of the year. 

I used to be really good about making gift lists and crossing off names and putting a lot of thought into the whole process.  Now it’s December 17th and I’m like WTF?  How did this happen.  My urge to procrastinate has outweighed my people pleasing urge!  But I had an idea after I woke up, while I was still in bed.  It involves gingerbread and frosting and candy.  Or maybe I’ll just walk across the street to the 99 cent store next to the strip club and call it a day. 

 

Speaking of puppies, I have my own theory.  I bet police officers who work with police dogs live longer than non-K-9 unit police officers.  Because animals make you happy.  And happiness keeps you healthy.  And healthy, happy people live longer!

Serving Edina, Minnesota where the city slogan goes, "...for living, learning, raising families & doing business." Don't mess with those American values.

Further research will need to be conducted to see if the theory applies to Tom Hanks.

Further research will need to be conducted to see if the theory applies to Tom Hanks.

Single White Female In Search Of Hippie Beau With RV, Beer Koozie, and Semi-Groomed Moustache

My neighborhood’s soundtrack is amazing.  There’s Latin music when I get off the subway at 3am, pouring out of this bizarre nightclub that I’m pretty sure became a strip club, but I haven’t been in there since they changed their name to something more risque than the former name, so I can’t be sure.   All I know is that any establishment that puts a sign like this on its door can’t be bad:

Three words that guarantee a good night.

Three words that guarantee a good night.

I thanked my lucky stars that night that I had enough Spanish vocabulary left in my brain to translate that sign.

As much as I love my neighborhood and my infested apartment (no really, I don’t mind the company), at some point in my life, I really want to live on the road.  Whether as an author on a book tour with no one to read to, or as a female Eddie Vedder (the ideal option), or most likely, trekkin’ it in an RV with my hippie beau like Catherine Keener in Into the Wild (which put me in a deep depression for at least a week).

Dont forget your koozie!

Don't forget your koozie!

Yeah, I could live like that.