Dorkiness Mitigated

...We went to the Phillie Pizza Company/ And ordered some hot tea/ The waitress said "Well no/ We only have it iced"/ So we jumped up on the table/ And shouted "anarchy"....

(Or, How To Go On Your First Date.)

1. Meet people of the gender you prefer.

2. Work on mutual projects once or twice.

She sits on the sofa, squashed between the arm and a cute blonde girl, who is squashed between a brunette and her own mother. He approaches, sits on the arm of the sofa.

3. Make sure your mother knows who you like.

4. Make sure your mother likes the other kid's mother.

She turns her face up to look at him, and says, "Hey! We should see a movie sometime!"

5. Casually say, "we should see a movie sometime," in the hearing of at least one of the mothers.

"TMNT?" he responds. "Totally!" she agrees, holding out a fist. He bumps it with his own fist in a gesture that Michael assures us is known as a "dap."

6. Hope that the mothers will take the hint.

I look at the brunette's mother and we waggle eyebrows at one another. We coordinate our calanders in the kitchen a short time later.

7. Rejoyce and have a fabulous time when they come through.



(Punk Rock Girl; Dead Milkmen)

Wet Dream

...rocket through the wilderness/ Around the world the trip begins with a kiss....


Sun pours into my open convertible, and music streams from the cassette deck. The gorgeous blonde beside me turns and squeezes my hand as she sings along, smiling. I smile and squeeze back.

I am dreaming. I close my eyes.

I open them again. Still dreaming. Life is wonderful.



(Roam; B52s)

Retro Bubblegum

...I like/ where we are/ when we drive/ in your car/ I like/ where we are/ here....



Enough with heavy stuff. Judging by the stultifying silence, this sort of post will happen again, oh, probably never.

Fortunately, I do have a stash of emergency fluff for occasions such as this.

Depeche Mode plus Soft Cell plus The Human League plus Cure plus Adam Ant and multiplier/reverb with a pinch of Queen and a dash of Styxx equals my favorite new album.

Excuse me, showing my years: of course I meant CD.

Those of you of a certain age will know what I'm talking about and if you have any idea what I'm talking about, well then, you'll know what I mean. I like that this band was initiated in 2001 as a recording project by a high school student creating synthesized power pop songs on his computer. Which means, ladies and gentlemen, that the PARENTS of said student were listening to the same things I liked during this kid's formative years.

Ahem.

Do NOT critique my happy upbeat danceable taste in retro-new-wave-punk-pop.

It has already been established that I am Primarily Decorative.



(Here (In Your Arms); HelloGoodbye)

Live version:

(before the stylist who floofed them up for Leno/Conan got ahold of them)



(Check out me, checking out the guns on that drummer.)

Wrong (funny) version:



In other news, DanTobinDanTobin is back in blog.

Michael's Answer

...Why do we never get an answer/ When we're knocking at the door?/ With a thousand million questions...



It seems as though it's Gift Week here in the Blogosphere: note that on Tuesday,Totsie posted some fabulouskittie porn for me. Tuesday night,Evil Science Chick(occasionally referred to as Bunsen, like the burner) revamped Random Aimee's blog AND posted pictures of a lovely pair of socks she made for Sloth, so I thought I'd create a post especially for Michael, who asked a question that doesn't have a flip and snappy answer.

Three nights. Three men. Three beverages.

Beers with the Prince were good. Margaritas with Genius were better. The Cosmos I made weren't that good, in my opinion, but I got laid that night, so maybe they were.

As you regulars know, I would ordinarily leave it at that and move on. However, because this is for Michael, and that isn't an answer, there's more.

"Look at you, sitting under that moon! You're trying to seduce me!" --Harlan Williams to Conan O'Brien on Late Night With Conan O'Brien


Hawk is an unusual specimen. Consider.

"Well, I don't know. Do you think there's some sexual tension between you?"

I stare at him a moment. This conversation should be wrong wronger and wrongest, but it's just normal for us. Lately I've begun to venture out among 'normal' people, attempting to fit in, but then I come home to what is normal for me, and everything's off kilter until I readjust.

I hadn't thought so, but anything's possible. Maybe.

"Well, how old is he?"

Oh, thirty-something, two, three, four....

"And so maybe sees you as a peer instead of falling comfortably into the role."

I shrug. My husband is asking whether there is sexual tension between me and another actor. I said that our scenes are going well, but that I think this guy is uncomfortable with me. I realize that I make people uncomfortable. It happens.

"Oh, are you kidding?" the Prince said once. "Cybbie scared the SHIT out of me when I first met her."

I find this disturbing, but let it go. Mostly. I'd like to make the other actors comfortable, but there are limits to my control. And my husband asks if there's sexual tension.

I mention the Prince.

"Oh, yeah, at first, sure there was. A LOT."

Oh. Really?

It is Hawk's turn to shrug.

"You should ask him if he feels comfortable, and if he doesn't, ask him what he thinks you should do about it."

I've been accused of putting out "signals", but since I have only the barest concept of "normal" behavior, I rarely notice. Also, I have trouble receiving these signals. A man once apologized for having made moves on me.

Ah. Had you? I hadn't noticed. When was this?

So when a man stays a little later than strictly necessary, picks lint or strings from my clothes, is this an indication of sexual interest? When I pick lint from someone's clothes, I'm just picking lint. I regularly put hands on my pals, and vice versa, with zero ambiguity. My friends cuddle me a bit, because they know I like it, and if I don't dispense hugs when I leave them, they wonder what's wrong. I lean against people I know, and occasionally kiss strangers because they've worn a T-shirt with that directive. I've been Mimi a long time. It bleeds over. My gauge is skewed. My Gaydar works great, but I can't even calibrate my Seduct-O-Meter.

I guess there could be. I hadn't thought about it. I suppose I felt that he was reserved, not demonstrative, sort of thing?

"Right, but it could be, because, you're, well, you know, you're not, I mean, you're still fairly hot."

He's sweet. He's been looking at me so long, I don't think he even sees me anymore. I do try to be something other than his old ball-and-chain of mmmlllpphffrgr years, though I hardly qualify as a trophy wife. He teases me about my "boyfriends," the Prince, BuddaPat, Genius, BirthdayBoy, Frisco, Young Evan, the Apostle, OddRob, the Animal, Martin, Hilby, and whoever Hilby brings along with him- last time, it was Karl. The time before, it was Keith the Leaf. Hawk barely bats an eye anymore when I tell him some man is staying at the house.

I forget that this is not normal.

Because it is normal at our house.

I guess I never think about that, that anybody... well. I mean, playing, sure, goofing off, but not, you know, seriously.

He smiles gently and pats my cheek. "I know you don't, honey. It just never occurs to you." He shakes his head.

As far as my posts go, their content, tone, color, style....well, he knows what my blog is for.

I think that was an answer.

Wasn't it?

(Question Song; The Moody Blues)

Serves Steve

...searchin' for my lost shaker of salt/ Some people claim that there's a woman to blame/ But I know, it's my own damn fault....


I

2 cups ice
1 cup limeade
1 cup tequila
1/2 cup triple sec
1/2 cup lime juice

*blend*


II

1 cup lime juice
1 cup tequila
1 cup triple sec
1 cup water
1 teaspoon sugar

*over ice*




(Margaritaville; Jimmy Buffett)

Hello, Geek?

...if you don't rate, just overcompensate/ At least you'll know you can always go on Ricki Lake ....


I turn from the phone to my gaggle of friends. The Animal seems the likeliest candidate.

From which season was 'I, Mudd'?

"What?"

Star Trek. 'I, Mudd.' Which season?

"Honey, I don't even know how many seasons Star Trek ran. I'm not that much of a geek."

Three seasons. DUH. Seventy-two episodes. DU-UH.

"Geek," he replies.

"What?" asks DesdemonaOne from the other end of the table.

"Why are you asking this, anyway?" the Animal wants to know.

My son just called, and he said "Hey, you know that episode where Spock says, 'I love you' to one girl and then 'but I hate you' to the other and the other says 'but I'm exactly like Whoeveritwas' and Spock says 'that's why I hate you' and the two girls go 'blelbeeeeblalbella'? What episode was that, and do we have it?" and of course that's 'I, Mudd,' and what we've got is Season One, with 'Mudd's Women', so I know it's got to be one of the other seasons, but which? I thought you'd know.

I take a breath and a sip of the Animal's beer. Mine has disappeared.

BuddaPat has gone home to rest, in order be better prepared in the morning to make the world safe for craneocracy, protecting it from the evils of forkliftism. BuddaPat would know. He's geekier than I am, at least StarTrekly.

None of the geeks at the table with me know.

"Riiight, Harry Mudd, he was on 'The Trouble With Tribbles', I remember him," says DesdemonaOne.

"Okay, I'm geeky enough to not only know the title 'The Trouble With Tribbles', but to also know who wrote it," says the Animal.

We say the name 'David Gerrold' together.

"Geek," whispers Lifter, on my right, out for the first time with my gang of freaks.

The conversation drifts into which elderly Hollywood celebrities we'd sleep with, a conversation in which 'Shatner' is used as a verb to describe men who've gone all pinkish and puffy.

I arrive home later and realize I let DesdemonaOne's gaffe slip. That wasn't Harry Mudd in 'The Trouble With Tribbles', it was another character a lot like him, by the name of Cyrano Jones.

Go on, all together now:


Geek.


(Pretty Fly (For A White Guy); Offspring)

Promise Kept

...it was Mary, Mary/ Long before the fashions came/ And there is something there that sounds so square/ It's a grand old name....



I said I wouldn't read it. But there's no reason you shouldn't:

Mary Johnson's review of The Glass Menagerie at Chesapeake Arts Center's Studio Theater

Tickets still available at the Chesapeake Arts Center.

I am available to have beers both tonight and Saturday night, post-show, if you ask. No carnation necessary.


(Mary's A Grand Old Name; George M. Cohen, 1906)

Compensation, Anyone?

...He's the special god son in anybody's land/ hey, hey, hey, hey, hey....

Someone finally moved into the house at the top of my street, the one that stood vacant for a year and a half after the silent little crone moved away/died, then it burned, then stood vacant and untouched for another six months, then was gutted and rehabbed, then was put up for sale, then stood vacant for another nine months.

The yard no longer holds the red-and-white realtor's sign. It sports instead a large cage containing a Rottweiler and a Pit Bull. There is a Harley chained to the back porch, and a filthy Ford pickup out front.


I think I don't have to wonder about the gender of the inhabitant.


Or the size of his penis.


(Macho Man; The Village People)

Fluffy Speaks

...You are my sunshine, my only sunshine/ You make me happy when skies are gray....


Head cocked to one side, assessing: "I don't think purple underwear suits you."

Hmf. The man who bought it for me seemed to like it.

*

I finger a wool coat of which I have no real need: "You don't have to buy it just because it's Mimi-pink."

That's true. Also, I switched to leather because wool coats are such pet-hair magnets.

*

I grumble that when I asked a friend how he liked the show, he mentions technical difficulties of filming it rather than commenting on my performance.

"People aren't vending machines, Mom. You can't push a button and get what you want."

*

The kettle whistles: "Mama! I'm going to tea you!" Then suddenly he shouts,


"POUR!"



(You Are My Sunshine; Ray Charles)

Post-It (TM):

...Old Mother Hubbard went to the cupboard to get her poor dog a bone./When she got there, the cupboard was bare...


The night Daylight Savings Time begins is a particularly bad time to run out of dog food.


(Traditional Nursery Rhyme)

Full Retail?

...got lotsa style got my gold diamond rings/ I can go for miles if you know what I mean....


Hot pink pashmina wrap (gift from That Girl) over black leather trenchcoat (Burlington Coat Factory, 8+ years ago, astoundingly reasonable) atop black trousers (?) with pointy hot pink ankle boots (eBay) with hot pink Matt & Nat handbag (IBID, less than half retail) in the grocery, looking for Marischino cherries, nearly as difficult to find as to spell.

I find myself on the receiving end of a furtive but approving glance from a very stylish black lady.

My inner grin lasts the rest of the night.


(Get The Party Started; Pink)

Timely Edit

Apparantly, the correct time for the Sunday Matinee shows is 3:00 PM, rather than 2:00 PM.


My apologies for passing along inaccurate information, and I hope no one has been inconvinienced in any way.

Hell Week

...if you wanna know about the bishop and the actress/if you wanna know how to be a star/ if you wanna know about the stains on the mattress/you can read it....


Tennessee Williams' The Glass Menagerie opens this Friday March 9 at the Chesapeake Arts Center at 8 PM. It will run two weekends only, and close on the 19th. Shows on Friday and Saturday nights are at 8 PM, and the Sunday matinees are at 2 PM. Tickets may be purchased in advance or at the door, and are $12 for members and $15 for non-members.

The director told us not to read the review. As if we're going to get one. Nobody reviews a show that runs only two weeks. It's idiotic. And what a thing to say to an adult actor! "Don't read the review. It'll change the way you act."

Still, since I am partially in this for the experience of working with a new director, I'll do as she says, and if there is one, I won't read the review.



I'll get Coco to read it to me.

(Sunday Papers; Joe Jackson)