In Bed With Muskrat, In The Bath With Bossy

As I was saying, I crashed Blogher and slept with a complete stranger named Vodka Mom.  

But really, she wasn't a complete stranger. We know each other in the bloggy world. The thing folks outside the blogosphere don't get is that we bloggers have the benefits of a real community, and we never have to help anyone move.

Once I figured out who all the bloggers were...and as I said previously it's not that easy...Black Hockey Jesus, for example, is not black.  Anyway, once I figured out who's who, I could talk to them like old pals.

To Nanny Goats: Are you still commuting between the two cities?

To Junk Drawer Kathy:  How was your visit to the Blog Family Robinson?

To JD:  Is your bunion any better?

Yep.  We know all kinds of things about one another.  Which is the real reason for crashing the conference.  

And if one is brave enough to crash a conference, what's to prevent one from crashing a dinner party?

Here I am with some of the Mick Jaggers and Susan Boyles of the bloggy world: Maggie, Sprite, Anymommy, Amy, Sandi, Jessica, Ann, and Anna (Vodka Mom was behind the camera).  On the phone with us was the biggest rock star of all--think Beatles meet the Maharaja kind of status--Braja. 

And if one can crash a dinner, why not a session?  I didn't want to take advantage of conference, so I brought my own pretzels and micro-brews.  I did, however, go to the humor session to support my sistahs.  

Plus I thought I could learn a thing or do.  Which I did.

Jessica of Bern This and Anna of Life Just Keeps Getting Weirder gave some great writing advice:

--Use specific detail.  For example, instead of writing, the man is tall.  You'd write, the man is very tall.  

--Don't use too many unnecessary or useless or redundant words to say what you can say in a paired-down, short, concise, straight to the point manner. 

--Don't use cliches.   I personally thought this tip was worth its weight in gold.

Besides the food and the advice, there were parties.  I had the pleasure of crashing a few of them with Carolyn Online and Ms. Picket (who both look 29) btw. And truly, we did end up in the bathroom with Bossy. Singing I Will Survive.  

And yes, I did end up in bed with Father Muskrat.  I believe he was wearing a paper McDonald's hat on his head and holding a doll in his lap.  We aren't that familiar with one another, but Muskrat knows I collect dolls. My suspicion is that Father Muskrat had the doll because he was trying to impress me and get into my...ah...my... header.  Sorry dude, I don't allow Brats to mingle with Bonos.

But seriously, Blogher was blast (even though there were no Cusack sightings).  It's true that you really can connect to people in the virtual world.  Here's a book by two bloggers who did.  Ms. Pickett and Carolyn formed the type of friendship where you can ask your pal to help you move.  Check it out HERE.

posted at humor-blogs

I'm Trying Not To Be Upset About Diesel

linking to Bossy instead of me. I mean, Bossy and I are virtually blogosphere twins. We both blog about John Cusack, which sounds more kinky than it is, really. We both blog about our hair. So help me understand. Is it my Lloyd Dobler finger puppet you don’t like?



Is it my bangs you’re afraid of?



Seriously Diesel, the only difference between us is that Bossy blogs about construction workers eating lunch on her lawn, and I blog about my French exchange student who diets. Do you have something against the French? Or diets?

Or is it me? My blogging about beer? My not blogging about beer? My couchsurfing? My Hamell stalking? My Jeff Tweedy? My Cher doll?

Dude, is it Ringo?

Or maybe it’s because JD does things for me, which sounds more kinky than it is, really.

Or maybe it’s because I keep posting this photo, which seems more kinky than it is, really.



Is it because I gave that award to Brent and not to you? Cause dude, I’ve got something even better in store for you. And by in store here, I mean in my Etsy shop.

That’s right. In order to get into your good graces I have named a pair of earrings after you: Diesel Dangly Earrings. They’re fun and flirty just like me, just like Bossy. But you won’t find them on Bossy’s site. They are a Meg exclusive.



And wait…there’s more:

I’ll also be hosting my first caption contest soon with the prize being your book, Antisocial Commentary. That is, after I win the book from you first--which means I’ll have to actually enter your caption contests, which I will--once I finish my video, Meg Loves Diesel.

Call me a whore, it wouldn't be the first time I've heard that. And “to get into your good graces” sounds kinky and is intended to.

You can vote for this post at Humor-Blogs where there is a lot more behind the scenes drama than you might think. Unless, of course, you hate my bangs too.

I Say, Let Them Be As Miserable As The Rest Of Us

Gays, that is. If they think being married is so special, I've got some land I'd like to sell them along the Mississippi. I mean, as far as I'm concerned everyone has the right to be stupid and miserable and married. But it seems a group of Republicans don't agree.

This week they re-introduced the Federal Marriage Amendment to the Constitution which essentially says that marriage is between a man and a woman, which essentially excludes marriage between those who pee the same way, which essentially means by prohibiting gays from marrying, Republicans are actually promoting premarital sex.

But that's not the odd thing.

Supporters of the bill include Senators David Vitter (R-LA) and Larry Craig (R-Idaho). Remember them? Vitter hired prostitutes and Craig was caught soliciting gay sex in an airport. Not actually poster boys for the sanctity of marriage between two people who pee differently.




I mean, this kind of stuff is why I Prefer My Fantasy Life folks. And why I prefer those Humor Blogs.

Couch Surfing, Chicago Style

Consider the context: Suburban Mom (sexy and mysterious with groupie-like tendencies) taps into kids’ community college fund for a bajillion dollar scalper’s ticket on eBay to see the band Wilco whom she’s seen twice already in the last six months and I mean, she has to cut back somehow. So she Couch Surfs.

Now the average Couch Surfer is closer in age to my kids and writes in their profiles stuff like “self discovered and discovering, ready to be inspired and inspire.”

I sought out someone a bit closer to my mother’s age.

And out of the 1,456 registered Couch Surfers in Chicago, yes people it is an organization, I found a married couple right in the middle.

As I read their profiles, I almost had a heart attack. OMG! She’s a published writer! And I'm a published writer! She’s reading the Egger’s book! And I'm reading the Egger's book! He organizes a film festival! And I go to film festivals! He loves Kieslowski movies! And I love Kieslowski! And they live near Lake Shore Drive! And (I'm guessing) they know the cool places to get coffee! And hear blues! And meet Jeff Tweedy after the show!

How cool is that?

I arrive in Chicago early and head to the Art Institute. To kill some time before meeting my new best friends, I take pictures of art.



And people looking at art.



And sculptures.




And the reflection of myself looking at sculptures.



I phone my new Best Friends and talk to Film Guy. “Just have the person at the desk ring us when you get here, and we'll come down to meet you.”

OMG! They have a person at the front desk! This is somehow more intriguing than a black lab at the front door.

I get off the El and walk to the hotel; it’s called the Chelsea Hotel—how cool is that? I enter and am followed in by a homeless guy. We walk up to the front desk. The clerks give him a granola bar. I look behind the desk and see boxes and boxes of granola bars. I look around. It's a casual place with people sitting in the lobby playing guitars.

I mean, really, how cool is that?

Writer Woman appears in the lobby and gives me a hug. She leads me through a large kitchen/dining area. Behind a counter drying dishes I spot a guy in dreadlocks and a leather pirate hat. He has the leather vest, the leather pants, the chains wrapped around his boots, and the tattoos. Near him I see a woman in a corseted dress. She, too, has the tattoos, but her hair is magenta.

How cool is ….wait a minute…

"Ah, are those real taxidermied rodents hanging from her hair?" I ask Writer Woman.

"Yes," she whispers. "She always wears them--gets them on eBay, I think."

“Interesting. Ah, just wondering...what kind of place is this exactly?" I say.

This is her exact straight-faced reply: “Oh, we’re a commune. But we’re not weird or anything.”

Writer Woman leads me up the steps to the fourth floor. We dodge the bicycles, strollers and Fisher Price toys that carpet the narrow hallways, as well as the exposed electrical wiring hanging from the ceiling.

Once in the apartment I am introduced to Film Guy. I sit down on a wooden bench and look around. There’s a chair, a desk, a hot plate and a small ladder leading to a loft. It takes a few moments to realize that this is it. That tonight I’ll be sleeping on a church pew in a dorm room.

"Oh, you won’t be staying here," Writer Woman says, noticing my look of concern. "Emily down the hall has a softer couch. But she lives with a white rabbit who watches Dawson’s Creek. Is that OK?"

"Ah, sure. Gotta love that Katie Holmes." I turn to Film Guy, "So, what kind of film festival do you organize?"

"It’s a part of a large Christian Music Festival we hold in the summer."

"Oh." Christian. Swallow. Music. Hard.

I take out the CD mixes I brought as gifts and scan the titles. Christian Music. Hmm. The first song is ‘Godless’ by the Dandy Warhols. And then there’s a song by the Brian Jonestown Massacre called 'Prozac Vs. Heroin'. Then there’s a song by Steve Earle written from the perspective of the American Tailban member, that says something like Jesus is the infidel.

"Ah..." Swallow. Hard. Again. "I’m not sure these CDs qualify as Christian music."

"Oh, don’t judge us," says Film Guy. "We’re versatile. Our ministry has all kinds of people in it."

"Your ministry?"

"Yes," Writer Woman answers. "We’re The Jesus People. We formed in 1972 out of the hippie movement. In fact, there are 450 of us in this building. We’re the largest commune in the US."

And then I heard a loud pop. It was my fantasy--these folks would not know where Jeff Tweedy hangs after the show.

But they were great. And we had a great conversation and great goulash in the communal dining area with more dreadlocks then I’d seen at a recent ska festival.

And the concert venue was a three-minute walk from their apartment. Although they didn’t know any place to get a micro-brewed beer, they told me that the Green Mill Lounge was one block up from the theatre.

The Green Mill Lounge. That sounds familiar. OMG! Wait a minute! Isn’t that where….yes, that’s where John Cusack has a drink in High Fidelity!!

Of course, Wilco was great. I was standing in a crowd six feet from My Jeff Tweedy and I loved every minute of it (except when he dedicated a song to his wife).



Afterwards, I went to the Green Mill and had a drink. But alas, another failed stalking attempt. No Johns anywhere (inside the bar, that is).

But hey, I was in Chicago. And returning to a soft couch and a white rabbit. I mean, how friggin' cool is that?

For songs by My Jeff Tweedy, scroll down two posts. For more dreadlocks, check out Humor-Blogs.

For a Woman, I Do Gross Pretty Well

Like that short story passage by Chuck Palahniuk (the Fight Club author) about a guy ur, pleasuring himself in front of the filter in a swimming pool, you know and where stuff happens and his intestines end up floating in the chlorinated water.

That didn't bother me at all.

Having had 3 natural childbirths, and cleaning up more snot, poo and puke than I can count, I find very little to be gross. But being the feminist and human rights activist I occasionally am, there are other things I find gross. Or maybe obscene is the correct word. Anyway, here's my Thursday 13:


1) With all the starving people in China, ur, well, somewhere anyway, the amount of money we spend in this country on recreation and other luxury items.

2) Like the $460.00 for an overnight trip to an indoor water park with the kids.

3) And the extra $34.90 for Movies on Demand in the room.

4) Moms who watch John Cusack Movie Marathons on demand instead of watching their children play in the wave pool.

5) Overpriced, overcooked chicken tenders in the themed restaurant in said water park.

6) The massive amounts of alcohol needed to wash down said ‘food.’

7) The $90.00 massage needed due to the hangover.

8) The additional $90.00 massage needed to relieve tension of doling out $5 bills for the game arcade because the pool closed at 10 pm and Grosse Pointe Blank wasn’t’ over yet.

9) The $120.00 facial after the massage because if I go COUCH SURFING again in Chicago this summer and happen to run into John Cusack at the Taste Fest, he’d at least look me over.

10) The $42.00 facial waxing because by God, what if he looks me over That Closely!

11) The $292.36 worth of beauty products on the display in spa because natural mineral makeup is also a must have for being ‘looked over' That Closely.

12) Aging women who still have the need to be ‘looked over.’

13) Aging men who apparently don't.



Stay tuned for my Couch Surfing in Chicago story in which I did not see John Cusack.

Visit other Thursday Thirteeners. Visit me at Humor-Blogs.