Category Archives: characters

Innuendo: don’t try this at home, kiddos, you’ll get a rash.

So, the other day, in my search terms, I had “full service lube filled with innuendo.” I was fairly sure that was there just for KenKen’s thing is euphemism, but he really does love a good innuendo. (That sentence, in itself? Is kind of an innuendo. Please don’t think I missed the irony inherent in that.) This led Ken to comment on the post with “Full service lube *and* innuendo? Together? Oh, wow. That’s now all I want. That’s it.” 

Now, listen. I’ve known Ken for, what. I don’t know. Six months? -ish? Something like that. I have the memory of an old person when it comes to nonsense like that. I mean, when you meet someone in real life, I suppose you can look back and say, “Hey, I met so-and-so at such-and-such an event, which was in July of ’09, so I’ve known them for three years!” or whatever. Because the place you met them jars your memory. (Like, SIDE NOTE! I remember when I first met my friend N., who reads this – hi, N.! – because I saw him in a play and thought, WHOA, this guy can ACT, and then I saw him walking around town – I’ve totally mentioned this before – and was totally going to go up to him and say “Hey, you don’t know me but you’re insanely talented, please come audition at my theater” but I chickened out, and THEN one day my theater called me and told me they needed a stage manager for a show and would I step in and I said yes and he was in the show! And I totally geeked out when we were introduced, all, “I ALREADY KNOW YOU um…but…not really…I’m kind of stalking you, talent-wise, because when you’re on stage, it’s like magic laser beams of awesome. I’m so glad you’re here.” So, I will always remember when I actually met N., in August of 2006, because it stands out as the culmination of me finally getting to meet someone I admired and also I remember what show we worked on together. And then we became friends, what are the odds of that? Slim. Slim to none. Holy hell, N., have we actually known each other six YEARS this August? Wow! And, SCENE.) But when you “meet” someone online, it’s not as easy of a task. I just checked, and Ken started commenting on my blog in late November of last year. Probably we started chatting on Twitter earlier than that? I don’t for the life of me recall. It’s not like someone starts following you on Twitter and you write it down in a little notebook just in CASE it’s going to be important later on. Or do you? Do you people do that? Wow, that’s…I don’t even know what that is. Impressive, I guess. Super-organized. And a little obsessive. 

Anyway, that got tangenty mega-fast. I can’t imagine anyone’s surprised. So let’s say I’ve known Ken for like six months or something. In that six months, Ken has become one of my most favorite people ever. There is not even a hint of sarcasm in that. Ken makes me laugh until I cry, and he’s not only funny, he’s probably one of the most intelligent people I know. Plus a million other wonderful things I won’t detail because he’ll get all embarrassed-like. And we’re pretty sure we’re somehow secretly related. We haven’t figured that out yet. Like the last act of a badly-written soap opera, I’m sure that will all be revealed SHOCKINGLY one of these days, with many tears and maybe also jazz hands. And someone will probably get amnesia. Someone always does.

So if Ken says all he wants is full service lube and innuendo, listen, Ken gets full service lube and innuendo. It’s all he wants. That’s really not asking much, is it? For making me laugh so hard that sometimes there are tears? For months? And putting up with my somewhat looney insanity without even a hint of complaint? Nope. Not at all. 

(SIDE NOTE! While researching this, I found two of my MOST FAVORITE INNUENDOS. Ready? One’s for all of you, and one’s for all of you but most especially Andreas. They’re both from my lady-love Dorothy Parker. First: “Ducking for apples — change one letter and it’s the story of my life.” And second – this one’s for Andreas, because it’s sciency- “What’s the difference between an enzyme and a hormone? You can’t hear an enzyme.”)

So, Ken, for you: a story. Filled with innuendo. And euphemism. I couldn’t leave out the euphemism. So much euphemism and innuendo, it’s probably going to be BANNED in some states. Probably the small square ones in the middle. Thank you for being Ken. I’m glad you’re not someone else. I don’t think I’d like that. It would be confusing and I’d have to relearn all the rules. 


(A Ding Dong Joe and Pervy Pete Adventure) 

Pervy Pete’s phone rang at 8am. He was not pleased about this development, because he’d stayed up much too late the night before. 

“Hello?” he said, in a very grumpy voice. 

“Pervy Pete! It’s me, your old pal Ding Dong Joe. What’s up?” 

“Why are you calling me so early, Ding Dong Joe? It’s 8am.” 

“Normal people are awake at 8am, Pervy Pete. Why are you so tired? Were you up late choking the chicken?” 

“Nope. I no longer raise and butcher my own fowl. I was pulling taffy.” 

“Pulling taffy?” 

“Yes. It’s this new thing I’ve discovered. I’ve been making candy. Taffy is my favorite. It needs a lot of kneading. And pulling. Over and over. It starts really hard, but then it gets soft, once you’re done with it. It’s exhausting – you really have to be persistent – but really fulfilling. If you want, I can give you some taffy of your own.” 

“Wow, that does sound fulfilling. I’d love to start pulling my own taffy. I suppose in the meantime I could pull your taffy, to see if I liked it, though. Before I made a commitment to it, you know? Anyway! Pervy Pete, I was wondering. Want to run an errand with me today?” 

“An errand? What kind of errand?” 

“Oh, you know. A little quick in and out. What do you say? I mean, I don’t mind doing it alone, but it’s always more fun with a partner.” 

Pervy Pete thought about it. He was very tired from pulling his taffy all night long, but it was always fun to hang out with Ding Dong Joe. Ding Dong Joe knew all the good spots to get down and dirty, and was always willing to drive when they went out.  

“Sure, Ding Dong Joe, let’s run some errands today. How long before you get here? Do I have time to pull my taffy one more time?” 

Ding Dong Joe laughed. “You’re going to get carpal tunnel if you pull your taffy that much, Pervy Pete! And I worry about your eyesight, because I’ve heard pulling your taffy too much can make you go blind! I’ll be there in about half an hour. I don’t know if that’s enough time to really pull your taffy properly, but I suppose you could try. I’ll see you soon. Make sure you’re all cleaned up before I get there. I don’t want you to be all sticky when you get into my car.” 

Pervy Pete had time to pull his taffy a little before Ding Dong Joe arrived, but it wasn’t as fulfilling as it usually was. He liked to have plenty of time to pull his taffy. When he was rushed, he just went too quickly, and that could cause chafing. 

HONK HONK! Ding Dong Joe pulled up in his Ford Probe.  

“So where are we off to today, Ding Dong Joe?” Pervy Pete asked. It was a hot day, and Pervy Pete was glad Ding Dong Joe had the air conditioning on. Otherwise they’d get sweaty together, and quickly, too. 

“Nothing special,” Ding Dong Joe said. “Just need to bring the Probe over for a full service lube. She’s getting a little worn-down and could use some special attention. How was the taffy? I’m glad you came!” 

The drive to the service station was a quick one. Ding Dong Joe was really a masterful driver. He knew when to accelerate, when to slow down, and he really hugged the curves. He also paid special attention to any slick and sensitive areas. 

“Hello, boys. My name is Richard, but my friends usually just call me by my nickname, Dick. Were you looking for a full service lube today?” the technician asked when they pulled in. 

“Well, I don’t know,” Ding Dong Joe said. “I don’t like to just toss off my money. Tell me, how would you lube my Probe, Dick?” 

“Well, first we drain your oil,” Dick said. “Your oil is usually really dirty. It needs to be released slowly, so it doesn’t splatter. No one wants dirty fluids splattered all over them.” 

“No, that would be an inconvenience,” Pervy Pete agreed. 

“Then we insert a funnel, and fill your car with clean oil, until it’s full to bursting. Nice, clean oil. Nothing better. Nothing a car likes better than getting all filled up with viscous fluids.” 

“Great, what else?” Ding Dong Joe asked. 

“We then check the air filter. Sometimes it’s clogged.” 

“How do you know?” Pervy Pete asked. 

“We blow on it,” Dick said. “I had to remind one of my techs last week not to suck! He almost got a mouthful of filth! If your filter is clogged, we replace it with a new one. Sometimes it’s a tight fit, but we work it around and ease it in there. It always fits, eventually. The hole’s a lot bigger than most people think. And it’s not like it’s going to permanently hurt the car. I always tell my clients, it only hurts for a minute! Ha ha!” 

“These are all really good things,” Ding Dong Joe said. “I like my car to be well taken care of. What else?” 

“We also have to lubricate the chassis,” Dick said. “That’s one of my specialties. I’m known as Ol’ Lubey Dick around here! I know just how much lube to give a chassis so it’s just lubed enough. You know, if you lube a chassis too much, it just gets too slippery to handle, and then that’s an accident waiting to happen.” 

Pervy Pete nodded sagely. He knew about overlubing chassis. He’d made that mistake before. It had cost him dearly. 

“We also check the pressure of your tires,” Dick continued. “If a tire is too full, it can burst. You have to make sure to release some air out of your tires once and a while. For the good of your tires. If you don’t, it can be disastrous. It also makes you cranky, and frustrated.” 

Ding Dong Joe agreed. “Anything else, Dick?” 

“Well, we like to check that your hoses are all coupled. Nothing sadder than a hose that’s not coupled properly. Sometimes you have to really push that hose into the port over and over, to make sure the coupling is working. Sometimes it’s successful after only a few minutes, but I have to be honest, sometimes it takes us hours. Those types of couplings always leave us really dirty, and sweaty, and kind of exhausted.” 

“You go ahead and give my Probe the full service lube, Dick,” Ding Dong Joe said. “She’s worth it. She’s a good girl, and she deserves to be taken care of.” 

“Don’t worry,” Dick said. “I’ll make sure you’re fully satisfied. None of my customers have ever complained about their full service lubes! They always breathe a sigh of relief when I’m finished working them over and get out from under them. They know I’ve done a good job. I notice they leave relaxed. Some of them even tell me they feel a little sleepy!” 

Ding Dong Joe knew he had brought his car to the right repair shop. What personal one-on-one attention!  

While Ding Dong Joe and Pervy Pete waited, they watched a program on the waiting area television  about drilling for oil. They were fascinated by how deep the drill had to penetrate to get to the oil, and how high the oil would gush, once it had been reached. It really was fascinating, watching the probe move in and out of the earth so masterfully!

Pervy Pete was a little hungry, so he bought a HoHo from the lobby vending machine. The cream went everywhere when he bit into it. Oh, how Ding Dong Joe laughed, watching Pervy Pete lick the cream from his face and hands! What a mess! 

Once the car was done, Ding Dong Joe paid Dick for all of his time and effort. Dick seemed satisfied by the hard day’s work he’d done with the Probe and the lubing. “Wow, Dick, it really seems like you enjoy your job here!” Pervy Pete said. 

Dick laughed. “It really is the perfect job for me. Where else could I do such dirty yet satisfying work and get paid for it?” He looked around in a confused manner. “Now, my lunch was right here. Where could it be? Oh, man,” he chuckled. “Willie! Did you take my sausage and pepper sub again?” 

One of the techs from the back laughed. “Yes, you caught me. You know how much ol’ Willie likes to play hide the sausage with Dick!” 

The men had a good laugh about this very funny joke, and then Pervy Pete and Ding Dong Joe hit the road. Time for Pervy Pete to get home! His taffy was not going to pull itself! 

When they got there, Ding Dong Joe sighed. “Pervy Pete, this has been so much fun. We should go on a road trip someday. What about that new amusement park that just opened in Kentucky?” 

Pervy Pete thought for a minute. “Oh, the one in that little town between those two mountains? What’s that called, I saw a commercial for it the other day?” 

“Hmm, the town’s called Beaver Lick,” Ding Dong Joe said. “Oh, that’s right. The park is called Beaver Lick’s Pleasure Valley!” 

“We should totally go!” Pervy Pete enthused. “There were a lot of things to do on the commercial I saw. Mini-golf! I love getting the balls in the hole!” 

“And tug of war! I love pulling and yanking on that firm rope,” Ding Dong Joe mused aloud. 

“I think there’s baseball, too! Oh, it’s been way too long since I handled a ball, then got dirty stealing third, and sliding into home,” Pervy Pete said, his eyes shining with memories. 

“There’s also a waterslide! There are these tubes, and they’re so warm and wet and slippery. You just squirt right out the other end! We’ve got to do it,” Ding Dong Joe said, a little breathlessly. “It’s not one of those things you just talk about. We’ve just got to do it, Pervy Pete. Just take a deep breath and dive right in. Let’s say next week.” 

“We’ll have to bring protection!” Pervy Pete said, suddenly. “I mean, it’s summer, Ding Dong Joe. We could get burned!”

“Good idea, old friend. I’ll see you next week! Many adventures await!” 

As Pervy Pete exited the Probe, one of his neighbors ran by. She was wearing very short shorts and a tight jogging bra. Her breasts were bouncing as she ran. She was breathing heavily, her mouth parted a bit. She was coated in a light dew of sweat and glistened as she ran. She saw Pervy Pete and Ding Dong Joe looking at her and smiled, somewhat seductively, as she passed. 

“Ding Dong Joe?” Pervy Pete said. 

“Yes, Pervy Pete?” 

“Some people just don’t have any class, you know? So suggestive. So lewd.” Pervy Pete closed his eyes and shook his head sadly.

“Agreed, my friend. Agreed. There’s a lot to be said for subtlety. I’m really appalled right now. You look upset. You should probably go inside and calm down. Pull your taffy. That should help.”

Pervy Pete smiled. His friend knew him so well. “Do you want to come in and help me pull my taffy? It might help you calm down, too. And like you said earlier today, it’s always more fun with a partner!”

Ding Dong Joe laughed. “No. I think I’ll go home. I have some candy there. I think I’ll go home and suck on my sour balls.”

Pervy Pete was surprised. “You can do that? I always thought the logistics of it…people say it’s impossible!”

Ding Dong Joe smiled a sphinx-like smile. “Anything’s possible if you try hard enough, Pervy Pete. I’ve gotten to the point where I can suck on my sour balls all night long, if I have the notion to. You just have to build up the endurance. It’s great! I know people are judgemental, but there’s really nothing like it. Just a man and his own sour balls, you know?”

“You’re the best, Ding Dong Joe,” Pervy Pete said. “I know with you, you mean exactly what you say. There’s no reading between the lines! I feel a lot calmer after that vulgar display of sexuality.” He shuddered. 

They laughed and waved as they parted ways, knowing that in a week’s time, they’d be pitching and catching (and of course squirting) happily together at Beaver Lick’s Pleasure Valley. 


In the Realm of the Fisher King (or Queen, let’s not be sexist about awesome fishers, sheesh)

Whoo! Saturday again? So soon? This is impressive, right?

It’s random crap day. I have lots of things that are not long enough for a whole blog post. I know, I could totally write a short blog post. HA HA HA. Who are we kidding, really? Why would I do something like that? That would be utter lunacy. SHEER MADNESS I TELL YOU. Next I suppose you’ll be telling me it’s time to stop using caps lock! What is the world COMING TO?

The Fisher King (or possibly queen, it’s not like anyone got close enough to look)

So my dad has a wood lot. Because he lives in the boonies, and they need wood so they can have a fire so they can heat the house. And he has a little garden up there. But something is EATING his garden. So he puts out a trap all year-round and sometimes catches things like skunks and one time he swears he caught a forty-pound raccoon but I think I didn’t get my penchant for exaggeration from the neighbors, you know? Also sometimes woodchucks.

So the other night I talked to him and he was all, “I HAVE A STORY” and that’s exciting, you know? I do so love stories.

Dad: So I was going up to the wood lot and I had to check the trap because maybe there was another forty pound raccoon in it. Only I couldn’t find the chicken I left in the truck yesterday that I wanted to put in the trap as bait.

Me: Wait, you left chicken in the truck? And it disappeared? That’s strange. Where did it go?

Dad: That’s not what the story’s about. I think your brother ate the chicken.

Me: He ate old truck-chicken? That seems like it would give him worms or something.

Dad: Again, not the point of the story.

Me: Also, are you sure that forty-pound thing was a raccoon? Maybe it was a wolverine.

Dad: Those things are FEROCIOUS. No, it wasn’t a wolverine. This isn’t a comic book.

Me: No, not HUGH JACKMAN. A REAL wolverine.

Dad: It was a raccoon. You’re really not going to let me tell this story.


Dad: So I called your brother and told him I was going up to the wood lot and he wanted to go, too.

Me: Did you ask him if he ate that wormy chicken?


Me: Every story really has a story within the story; it’s just about getting the person to tell it to you.

Dad: You are infuriating.

Me: Yes.

Dad: So we went up to the wood lot and there was something in the trap, but it didn’t look like a raccoon or a skunk.

Me: Or a wolverine?

Dad: Or a wolverine. Guess what it was?

Me: A penguin.

Dad: Yes. It was a penguin, because we live at the Arctic Circle. NO. It was NOT A PENGUIN. It was a FISHER.


Me: *squealing too high for anything but dogs to hear* A FISHER? They are AWESOME. Oh wait. Oh, no. Tell me you didn’t kill the fisher. This story doesn’t end with you killing the fisher, does it?

Dad: Please let me tell the story.

Me: If that’s how it ends, we need to change the subject now or I’m totally going to get upset and start singing that Sarah McLachlan dead animal song.

Dad: SO THEN, your brother got close to it, and it was actually pretty calm, until he put his face next to the cage. Then it hissed and showed its teeth. But then when we moved away, it sounded like it was purring.


See how it would be the best pet? I mean, before it ate your face off?

Dad: I told your brother, “Your sister is going to say, ‘Why don’t you adopt this fisher, it would be the best pet.’”

Me: Well? Why didn’t you? I want a fisher.

Dad: Your brother said, “Yes, it would be a great pet, until it ate your face off.”

Me: Yeah, you always run the risk of face-eating with pet fishers. That’s a fact.

Dad: So then I decided, this is one pretty animal. I have to let this go. Even though once it was in the trap, it ate all the chicken in there. I could have re-used that chicken, since I couldn’t find my other chicken.

Me: I AM SO GLAD THIS STORY DIDN’T END THE WAY I THOUGHT IT MIGHT. Wait, are you mad it ate the chicken? Of course it ate the chicken! It was like stress-eating. The poor fisher was all, “I am trapped! Might as well eat this delicious cage-chicken. IT MIGHT BE MY LAST MEAL ON EARTH. Nom nom.”

Dad: I like that you think you know how the fisher thinks. Anyway, the cage is really hard to open. And, as mentioned, there’s the face-eating to worry about. So I cut a stick and with some maneuvering, we got the cage open and that fisher ran and ran and ran. I think it’s still running. Like Forrest Gump.

Me: You realize that because you saved that fisher’s life, it owes you a favor now.

Dad: What? Only you would think of something like that.

Me: IT IS A PROVEN FACT. It’s like an Aesop’s Fable. Like the lion and the mouse, and the mouse pulled the thorn from the lion’s paw.

Dad: I don’t want to talk about that story. It sounds stupid. Lions and mice are not friends.

Me: Fine, we never finished discussing the disappearing chicken.

Dad: FINE. What kind of favor does that fisher owe me?

Me: So someday, you’ll be out walking in the woods, and you’ll fall and break your leg where no one will hear you calling for help. And the fisher will appear!

Dad: And let me kill it and eat it so I don’t starve to death?

Me: THAT IS NOT HOW FABLES WORK. Fables are for CHILDREN. Children would be HORRIFIED at that kind of fable.

Dad: Well, how else would a fisher save me?

Me: It would go run for help.

Dad: Oh. And how would it get help?

Me: It would flag down a passing car with its long tail and lead them to you.

Dad: That is one talented fisher.

Me: I know. You’re probably feeling pretty stupid you didn’t adopt it as the most awesome pet ever right now. Because, PURRING.

Dad: No. Because, FACE-EATING.

As you can see by this story, I am not adopted, and come by my rambling storytelling technique genetically. THROUGH SCIENCE.

Either a crazy or a dope-fiend. Either way, totally both racist and homophobic. Yet oddly cheerful.

So I went to get my car fixed this week, THANK YOU ASSHAT CAR VANDAL, and while waiting at the garage and playing with my phone and reading and such, a man came in. He was probably my age. Somewhat attractive, in a bro sort of way.


Bro talked LOUDLY. Like, if Bro was writing, it would be all-caps, all the time. And RAPIDLY. And looking at Bro, I realized, he was really twitchy. And his eyes were WILD. So I decided that probably Bro was on some sort of speedy drug. Or possibly a lot of Red Bull.

Bro discovered that there WAS, INDEED, wi-fi in the garage (“YES! WI-FI! THIS IS AWESOME!!!!”), and he then sat down RIGHT NEXT TO ME, even though there were about seven other chairs that were NOT right next to me.


Me: Um. No?


Me: I don’t. I can’t swim.


He then pulled up Ebay Motors and I was regaled with a story about how this BOAT was TOTALLY AWESOME and he was going to PURCHASE IT from OHIO and he was pretty sure he could get it for only $16,000, which was a VERY GOOD PRICE FOR A BOAT.

Now, listen. As a rule, I totally don’t talk to people who are so hell-bent on talking to me in public places because STRANGER DANGER and also I hate people. But this guy was SO EFFING ENTERTAINING. At first. At FIRST he was entertaining. Until he started being a looney. Also, you all know I love all-caps, and this guy TALKED IN ALL-CAPS. I’m pretty sure he was about one toot away from a heart attack, and he was entertaining himself so, so thoroughly with the loud-talking. So I totally talked to him, even though he punctuated every sentence he said with a slap on my leg or arm, for emphasis. I mean, not HARD. But totally a slap. Not a sexy slap. Just a “HA HA HA” slap. He was a hot mess. It was kind of like watching a slow-motion car wreck. You know you SHOULDN’T want to watch. But you do anyway. OH! Also he had a lot of very white teeth. Like, TOO white. And too even. They looked like PROP teeth.

Then he started getting both racist AND homophobic. But in a weirdly jolly way. I’m not sure what to make of that.


Me: Um. I guess?

(Bro closes Ebay Motors, sadly, and then opens a photo of some teenagers in cheerleading uniforms. I did not like the very pervy direction this conversation was heading.)

Bro: THIS IS MY DAUGHTER! (points to one of the girls.)

Me: (inner “whew”) Oh! She’s lovely!


Although, he didn’t say lesbian. He said an offensive TERM for lesbians. This was off-putting and I was kind of knocked for a loop and didn’t know how to respond. It was not so much “crackhead bro behavior” as “ignorant redneck behavior.”

Me: I don’t…I don’t think her sexual preference or weight will make you worry about her less, honestly.


Then we looked at his boat a little more.


Me: No. Because I can’t swim. So then I would fall out. And die.


Although he didn’t SAY African-Americans? He said the word that if you say it, it makes an entire ROOM go quiet because it is SO ABSOLUTELY NOT ALLOWED?

My coked-out friend was really getting to be a worry. And yes, before anyone gets all up-in-arms, probably I should have been all “teaching moment” and all “sir, that terminology really isn’t appropriate” but listen. THIS GUY WAS WIRED ON SOMETHING. And he was a STRANGER. If it makes you feel any better about the state of the world, after he started being a total weirdo who hated all the people for their sexual partners and skin colors, I kind of buried my nose in my book and just made a random “uh-huh” and “oh” here and there to his ongoing rant because it was very, very awkward.

Even the garage guy came in at one point, saw Bro there, and made a beeline back to the relative safety of grease guns and loud banging.

Bro then told me a story about how, at his last job, although they LOVED him, he’d done over $1.5 MILLION in damages, and so they’d had to let him go. But they didn’t WANT to let him go. It was just an insurance thing. YOU KNOW? *leg slap* YOU KNOW HOW THAT IS? *leg slap*

Finally, the car was repaired and I was SAFE and I could ESCAPE. Poor Bro. He looked sad. Who would he talk to now? Luckily, Project Runway was on the television. I can only imagine the things he was saying about my favorite mentor, Tim Gunn. I’m glad I left when I did.

So! Heads-up, people on Sacandaga Lake! Bro’s getting a BOAT! And does A LOT OF HIGH-PRICED DAMAGE! And seems to be CHEERILY RACIST AND HOMOPHOBIC! I’d probably stay out of the water, if I were you. Maybe stay safely on land. Have a nice party somewhere with walls, or something, I don’t know. Just a tip.

My favorite lovebirds, aw! Squish!

Happy first anniversary to R and A, two of my favorite lovebirds! I can’t wait to see you in 4 or 5 months and we will have all the adventures and I will goggle in awe over your LATEST COLLABORATION, who will totally be born by then, BABY GIRL AWESOMESAUCE! May every year after this one, up to a million billion more, plus one for luck, be filled with love and romance and laughter and fun! *smooch*


So remember last week I told you about how I laughed to tears about how I imagined that one of my actors was sitting at home making up a death-book for celebrities? In case you were wondering how awesome my actors are (I don’t think anyone’s sitting around wondering these things, but you never know, someone MIGHT be), the very next day, the same actor that I’d been imagining that about came in with his hands behind his back. “I have something for you, to thank you for all your hard work this week,” he said. And he pulled out A DEATH COLLAGE. He and his awesome wife, who told him about my giggle fit, complete with tears, about imagining him collaging celebrity deaths, made up a fake scrapbook page for Whitney Houston’s death. It’s totally not as morbid as it sounds. OK, yeah, it is. But ALSO AWESOME. It’s on pink paper and has the article from the paper and “our angel” and “we will always love you” and I laughed so hard I almost died. I would totally have tried to get a photo of it but it’s too big to take a photo of and also I think people might start getting the wrong idea that I like hated Whitney Houston or something, which I totally didn’t. WHITNEY HOUSTON IS NOT THE POINT. The point is, my giggle fit made death-coupaging a REALITY. This is why I love theater people: they get my insane and morbid sense of humor, and they do it one better. Because they are AMAZING. And their brains don’t work like regular people. Much like mine doesn’t. And this makes me so, so happy.

Happy Saturday, all! I hope your weekend is filled with Cheetos and also alcoholic beverages. I mean, everyone wants those things, right? If you live locally, COME SEE MY SHOW. If you do not, I WISH YOU DID. No, no. NOT YOU DING-DONG JOE. You can stay right where you are. Doing…whatever it is you’re doing there. Ew.

Besides, these boots aren’t made for runnin’.

Random crap today. I know, I’m totally about the random crap lately? Sorry. It’s that time of year. My brain’s going about a million miles an hour. Also, for some reason, half of the computers in the office are not working today, so I’m kind of petrified mine’s going to just shit the bed any minute now and then WHERE WILL WE BE.

Tonight I’m off to the theater to watch my first full run of Rumors before tech week next week. I’m very excited. It’s going to be awesome, and, well, “They’re YOUR friends, Jesus,” of course.

Also, do any of you work with the laziest person ever? Like, you’re working and working and working (yes, yes, I know at this EXACT MOMENT I’m not exactly working, I’m blogging, but let me assure you that I’ve BEEN working and I constantly keep stopping in ORDER to work) and you keep hearing the laziest person ever just walking all around the office having conversations about shit like what she watched on TV last night and how stamp prices are through the roof and then about an hour later she comes to you and she’s all “This is a TIME CRUNCH! I need this IMMEDIATELY! I’m ON DEADLINE!” and you’re thinking, “Hmm, maybe if you were a little better with the time management and the chatting, you wouldn’t be in this totally annoying pickle that I am not at all interested in helping you with at all?” Anyone else work with this person? If so, any idea how I can dispose of a body and not get caught? Awesome, thanks.

Listen, I’m pretty sure Dumbcat is plotting my demise. Last night I was all comfy-cozy in my bed and 99.9% asleep, and he was asleep next to me on my pillow, which he likes to do and I totally let him because I love his face, and then, out of NOWHERE, he got the heebie-jeebies and decided he had to get off the bed NOW NOW NOW, and he LEAPT off the pillow, used me as a launching pad, and hurtled into the dark of the bedroom, leaving huge claw marks across my throat. So that’s proof, right there, he’s attempting to murder me in my sleep, right? Like, today, I kind of look like I was assaulted in a dark alley by a madman. When I asked him what that was all about this morning (what, you don’t have human conversations with your cat? Well, you’re missing out, I’m telling you right now) he WOULD NOT ANSWER ME. Totally saucy, that hitman cat!


I’m pretty sure the FBI has a folder on me somewhere

So I found this article yesterday where the writers at The Mary Sue were upset because Google Analytics, based on their search histories, think they’re men.

I see both sides of that. Yes, it’s sexist, sure, and it needs to be fixed, because it’s 2012 and women like things that have been known as “traditionally male” until somewhat recently, thanks, Google, way to get with the future. But it’s also early stages for Google Analytics, so they’re still learning. I don’t think it MEANS to be sexist. It’s a computer. And it’s only there to target what ads we see, anyway. And who even LOOKS at the ads? I wasn’t even aware that Google was putting ads up anywhere that were targeted to me.

So then I clicked on the link in the article and it showed me what MY analytics were. TOTALLY INTERESTING. Because there’s nothing anyone likes more than knowing what Big Brother thinks of you!

On my home computer, Google thinks, based on my search history, I’m 35-44 years old, female, and I like animals, celebrities, and “home pest control.” Ha! That’s totally because of my intensive Rough on Rats research. So, in other words, if someone locally dies of arsenic poisoning, the FBI’s coming to get me, aren’t they. DAMMIT. I blame Jim for this, I totally do. JIM! If I get arrested for murdering someone with arsenic based on my totally in-depth Rough on Rats reporting, you’d better come bail me out.

Also, animals I get, but celebrities? I don’t do a lot of searching for celebrities. That’s kind of a fail, Google.

OH! And, non-related, so SIDE NOTE, my mom was able to see the article about my great-grand-aunt, the ROUGH ON RATS MURDERESS, but she wasn’t able to scan it and PDF it to me because my great-grandmother super-glued it into an album totally angrily, according to my mom. But I did find out her name. I just did a search but Google doesn’t know anything about my relative, the murderess. That’s probably because the newspapers where I come from aren’t online yet. More to come, even if I have to hand-copy the damn article when I go home and retype it, or take a photo of it with my phone!

BACK ON TRACK. Then I clicked on the link on my work computer and it has NO IDEA how old I am here, but thinks I am female (well! I am glad Google is so sure of my gender!) and that I search mostly for things related to theater, shoes, makeup, and psychology. Theater and psychology, I get. Shoes? I don’t know the last time I BOUGHT shoes, let alone searched for them. Makeup makes me laugh because there’s this one website I check every day for what’s on television that night, and it talks about makeup a lot on it, but it’s not actually ABOUT makeup, so apparently Google thinks I’m big into eyeshadow. HERE IS WHAT I THINK ABOUT MAKEUP. Ready?

It confuses the shit out of me.

I understand the following: lip gloss, eye shadow, nail polish, eyeliner, and face powder.

I understand, but hate the hassle of: mascara and lipstick.

I do not understand, and do not even own: blush, that brown base shit you’re supposed to put on first before you put on makeup.

So! Google thinks I am a LADY who likes LADY-THINGS. Even though, I’m pretty sure I’ve shown, through my confusion by makeup above, that I am not good at this being a lady thing. It also totally got my age bracket right. That’s nice. Thanks, Google! That’s…kind of creeptastic! But I don’t care. I’m not reading your ads, anyway.

If you knew what I was thinking, you’d run away screaming

So I saw this today and thought, oh, crap, oh, no.

Then I thought, wait, it’s on Fox News, so it’s probably not true.

Then I found it ELSEWHERE. Oh, shit. And this article is FANCY. It’s like the HEINAKROON of articles. It has brain scans and EVERYTHING.

So apparently, scientists found a way to decode our thoughts and turn them back into the words they are using SCIENCE and BRAIN SCANS and BRAIN WAVES and THE FUTURE. I’m not even going to pretend I understand this. It’s totally confusing.

The only thing in this that sets my mind at ease is the sentence, “He played down fears it could lead to range of ‘mind reading’ devices as the technique can only, at the moment, be done on patients willing to have surgery.”

GOOD. I don’t want anyone reading my thoughts. Mostly because they are a MESS. All scattery and disorganized. My brain’s like the junk-drawer of thoughts. I don’t want anyone seeing that! That’s where I shove all the things I don’t want anyone KNOWING about when they come over to visit! You know, like when you have a last-minute visitor, and you’re all “DIRTY CLOTHES IN THE SHOWER NOW NOW NOW?” That’s my BRAIN. All dirty clothes in the shower and stacks of unread mail under the couch.

Yes, yes, I get that this is totally good news for stroke victims and Alzheimer’s patients. It’s also the freakiest. Gah. Keep out of my BRAIN, scientists.

And you thought a two-hour movie was bad

This is for @lgalaviz, mostly, but you all can benefit from the awesome.

So @lgalaviz doesn’t like musicals because they burst into song and this makes her suspicious because in real life, this doesn’t happen. I’d argue that real life would be SO MUCH MORE AWESOME if this did happen, but everyone has their opinions on how real life should or shouldn’t be a musical, so I’ll go with it.

SO, after I blogged about Breakfast at Tiffany’s and our Sarcastic Movie Night, one of my commenters (who I also know in real life and who knows everything about musicals – seriously, N. is the go-to guy if you have a musical question, I love that) asked if I knew it had been an ill-fated Broadway musical. When I told him I didn’t, he pointed me to the Wikipedia page.

Now, this is not too far out of the realm of possibility – think about it, it’s got all the hallmarks that would make a good musical, a romance, pretty sets, a light enough plot, etc. And worse mistakes have been made in the history of Broadway. I mean, they made Carrie into a musical in 1988 which closed after only 21 total performances. (I’d give my left BOOB to have seen Carrie the musical, seriously.)

Things that are awesomely horrible from this page:

It was written by Edward Albee, who also wrote, among many other things, Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf (and The Zoo Story, which I love, love, love.)

Mary Tyler Moore, Richard Chamberlain, and Sally Kellerman were some of the stars

It played four previews on Broadway in 1966 but never opened.

“On a daily basis, the cast was given new material hours before curtain time. Burrows’ departure (the original author) put a damper on the proceedings, resulting in low morale among cast members, and Moore was convinced Merrick planned to fire her soon after opening night.”

“It was not uncommon for the show to run nearly four hours.”

According to the producer, “he shut down the production ‘rather than subject the drama critics and the public to an excruciatingly boring evening.’”

“The show’s failure is legendary among theatre historians and buffs. It has been said that if as many people who have claimed to have seen Breakfast at Tiffany’s really had, it would have run forever.”

Here’s the listing for it on the Internet Broadway Database (YES, that’s really a thing, SHUT UP.) Look how fancy! Who are these characters? Who’s Jeff? Who’s Mags? This is confusing.

@lgalaviz! Can you even imagine? NOT ONLY based on something we kind of agree isn’t that great. NOT ONLY is Holly the only character left we recognize, other than her ex-husband, and Holly’s definitely the least sympathetic character in the show, other than racist Mickey Rooney. NOT ONLY a musical, which you hate. FOUR HOURS LONG! This is like all the things you hate most in the world, all rolled up into a ball! It would make you have an allergic reaction, with the hatred! AND, it was 1966, you couldn’t even use, say, your cell phone or something to distract you! THIS IS THE WORST.

I’m pretty sure hell for @lgalaviz would be having to watch this over and over and OVER.

OH SIDE NOTE. So I might not get Star Wars in time for our next Sarcastic Movie Night so we’re now trying to narrow it down to either St. Elmo’s Fire or The Blair Witch Project. STAY TUNED MY LITTLE JUJUBES.

OK! That was a lot of random crap, I am spent. OH. Are you all watching Justified? If you aren’t, you need to be. Get seasons one and two and catch up and then start watching season 3. Seriously, the performances on this show are amazing, and I’m not just saying that because Timothy Olyphant looks like this.

It's all about the hat. And the leaning. He does a lot of hat-wearing. And leaning. And shooting.

Honestly, as much as I love my Olyphant, this is who keeps me coming back every week.

He looks like a cartoon character, but he can act the face off most people on television. You'll see.

Just start watching. You’ll see. He’s HYPNOTIC, this guy.


Also, AW! Timothy Olyphant and Walt Goggins are FRIENDS! This is ADORABLE, you guys!

They’re YOUR friends, Jesus.

Oh golly! Gee, damn! (Or, how to watch a movie with Twitter and vodka)

So last night was Sarcastic Movie Night. Which you know, if you follow me on Twitter. You probably wanted to kick me in the head last night, actually, if you follow me on Twitter. SORRY. Sarcastic Movie Night! Only fun for people participating!

Here’s the genesis of Sarcastic Movie Night. I tweeted a while ago about whipped cream vodka, which I’d had in a mixed drink out one night with my friend C. The drink tasted like an alcoholic Dreamsicle, and was amazing. If I remember correctly, the food was not so amazing, but who cares! Alcoholic Dreamsicle! @lgalaviz and I started talking about whipped cream vodka, and she came up with the idea of how much fun it would be to watch a movie and make fun of it while drinking whipped cream vodka. WELL. I am never one to back down from a challenge. Well, no, that’s a lie, if the challenge is something like “I challenge you to climb a rope ladder” or something, I’ll back down. Effing moving-all-over scary rope ladders.

Choosing a movie was not easy. When choosing a movie for Sarcastic Movie Night, you have to choose a movie that everyone can make fun of, that no one has extremely strong positive feelings about, and that is readily available to everyone. This is only really a problem for me, since I am the only human left alive without Netflix. (SIGH, FINE, I will explain my aversion to Netflix. I don’t have any gaming systems and my computer’s a piece of shit and I can’t afford one of the boxes you need for your TV, therefore the streaming option is out for me. And I don’t have enough time to watch all the series and movies, and the one time I signed up for the free trial, movies sat unwatched for weeks watching me with their accusing DVD-eyes and I felt HORRIBLE. So I didn’t pay for it when the end of my free trial happened and it POOF went AWAY. Also, if you’re totally patient – and I am – you can get anything you want, pretty much, free from the library. And LISTEN. I love free, more than I love penguins.)

So we discussed and discussed, and @lgalaviz said she thought Breakfast at Tiffany’s would be a good idea. Now, I blogged about this before, but I HATE Breakfast at Tiffany’s. I know! Everyone loves this movie. It’s like on everyone’s short list as the best thing since kitten unicorn rainbows or whatever. But all I remembered is that Audrey Hepburn threw her cat (that she refused to name, argh) into the rain, and that Mickey Rooney played an Asian stereotype.

So @lgalaviz won out (mostly because she promised I could make fun of it) and we chose Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Now, at this point, we had talked about it on Twitter, and both had blogged about it, so TWO OTHER PEOPLE were interested. I KNOW. We’re totally inspirational. I mean, that’s like double the people we’d started with. Since everyone else has Netflix they just added it to their queues, but I had to either get it from the library (and you only get them for five days, and who knows when we were going to be able to match schedules to watch it?) or I could go online to buy it. And since I was pre-ordering the Bloggess’s book anyway, (by the way? Get your asses over there and pre-order this book and let’s get Jenny’s pre-orders up to like astronomical numbers, because I love her just about as much as any of my imaginary internet people and she deserves all the good things, and also, it’s going to be HILARIOUS) and needed to fill up my cart to meet the free shipping total (yeah, I hate paying for Amazon shipping, as mentioned, I LOVE FREE SHIT) I found it for $9 and purchased it. A MOVIE THAT I HATE. I’m totally committed to Sarcastic Movie Night.

Then I had to buy the whipped cream vodka. At the store, there were many choices. One of which was Swedish Fish-flavored vodka. I am not kidding. It was scary. I believe this might have confused @heinakroon who thought it was actually fish-flavored. However, like a mighty hunter, I stalked and murdered my prey. Or, found it on the shelf and brought it home. LIKE A BOSS.


Then we had to wait for Amazon to get their shit together and ship it to me, which took forever and a day because I foolishly ordered it with my pre-ordered book, and they were GOING to wait to ship it all together – IN APRIL – but then I went nuts and ordered three more books (by the way, who has too many books? That’d be me, thanks. But they were on SALE!) and then Amazon was all “FINE WE WILL SHIP ALL YOUR SHIT TOGETHER because you are AN OBSESSIVE SHOPPER DAMN” and I got it yesterday.

I'm already Siskel and Eberting this movie, before we even had movie night.

Then we set a time. 8pm! Saturday night! I work until 6 on Saturdays, so that worked out FINE. They wanted me to work late but I was all NO WAY SUCKERS. Sarcastic MOVIE Night. And they were all, whatever, Amy, I think you’re making shit up right now, and I was all NO I AM NOT.

So first I made a nice glass of whipped cream vodka. What did I mix it with? NOTHING. Why? I DIDN’T PLAN THAT FAR AHEAD. I know. I suck. See, all I had for mixers were fruit punch and cherry limeade? Those would be HORRIBLE with whipped-cream vodka. Right? Totally.

Um…whipped cream vodka…tasted like burning. Like barely whipped-cream flavored burning. This wasn’t going well at all.


So! For our crew, we had @lgalaviz, @patrixmyth, @julierosesmk, and myself, and then @zippy219 (who didn’t have Breakfast at Tiffany’s but was watching Carrie and snarking at it WITH us, so she was participating IN SPIRIT, because she is AWESOME.) Then we had @lahikmajoe, who lives in Germany, and who was asleep. But we included him in EVERY SINGLE TWEET. Why did we do this? I have no idea. I don’t think he ever showed any interest in being involved in Sarcastic Movie Night. I think someone just started including him and he got swept away in the tide of tweets. So poor @lahikmajoe is waking up tomorrow to probably 200 or so tweets. SORRY, @lahikmajoe. WE MISS YOU WHEN YOU ARE SLEEPING.

(SIDE NOTE! @patrixmyth ALSO lives in Germany. However, he participated. I think this is because he is made of magic. Seriously, the man never seems to sleep. I’m in awe of him.)

Now, here was the first problem. Well, other than the fact that my father, who you KNOW thinks everyone online is a., imaginary, and b., a psychokiller, thought the whole plan was a trick to get me murdered. No, I’m not kidding. He said that the next thing my “imaginary friends” were going to ask me to do was to drink “Jim Jones Koolaid” and he hoped I didn’t do that. I told him I already had Koolaid in the cupboard so I was ready in case that plan was put into place and he didn’t think that was funny at ALL. So first I had to calm him down by explaining that watching a movie with people on Twitter while drinking whipped cream vodka was not, in fact, very dangerous, and it was more dangerous, probably, to go to a bar and pick up a stranger and have unprotected sex with them in a bathroom stall, and then he was all “WERE YOU PLANNING ON DOING THAT, TOO?” and I had to explain that no, I was NOT, actually, planning on doing that, it was just a COMPARISON, to show him that I could be doing things that were a lot scarier. This took a lot longer than I’d planned and almost caused me to miss Sarcastic Movie Night.

Back to the problem. Have you ever tried to coordinate four people starting a movie at the exact same time when you’re all in different places and times? It is not an easy thing to do. We were, on average, five minutes difference from each other all night. So one of us would be all “whoa, look at that hat” and the other one would be all “why is that person crying into a mirror” and no one was on the same scene in the movie, ever. I can’t imagine that any of us would be very good spies. You know how spies always have to synchronize their watches? We would not be good at that.

Also, it is VERY HARD to tweet and watch a movie at the same time. I think I missed important things. Like, at one point, everyone but me noticed that one person at a party was wearing a watch on her ankle. I didn’t notice this important plot point. I’m sure I was busy tweeting. The movie probably would have taken a very different turn for me if I had noticed an ankle-watch. Also, @patrixmyth noticed that at the end, Paul paid the cab driver, and I thought they just ran out of the cab without paying. It’s hard to pay attention to both a phone and a television at the same time.

Anyway. Sarcastic Movie Night was a grand success. Much hilarity was had; I would put tweets in here to show you how awesome it all was, but again, Twitter hates me and won’t allow me to put tweets into my posts yet, so you’ll just have to imagine how awesome it was. Because it WAS.

But here is what I learned, during Sarcastic Movie Night. YES, I learned something. I KNOW. It was like a Very Special Episode of Blossom, what with the learning.

Are you ready?

Breakfast at Tiffany’s isn’t as bad of a movie as I’d thought, the first time I watched it.


Are there horrible things? YES.

Mickey Rooney’s racist landlord character is still the worst thing ever.

It's worse than this. He also used an offensive accent, and ran into things with his head.

“Moon River” is a very annoying song. “My huckleberry friend?” Give me a break. If someone called me their huckleberry friend, I’d poke them in the eye. Except for Doc Holliday in Tombstone. As previously stated, he can call me his huckleberry ANYTIME.

Holly Golightly’s character is flighty and doesn’t care much for others for most of the movie, and this is annoying. Characters who are so devil-may-care make me stabby. There are no CONSEQUENCES! Nothing matters but ME! Aren’t I CUTE! Look at my adorable WHIMS! Gag.

This is really a movie about two whores who fall in love, and I’ll fight you if you say otherwise. They might not be streetwalkers, but Paul and Holly are whores. They sleep with people in exchange for money. That’s whores.

“Sally Tomato” is a very stupid name for a gangster.

The scene where they pilfered from the five & dime was annoying, because I hate thievery. But then they wore these masks, which reminded me of that scene from The Shining that gives me nightmares, and THANKS A LOT BREAKFAST AT TIFFANY’S.

There is nothing cute about these masks. These are Manson-family-style masks.

Refusing to name a cat because you have issues with owning things because YOU are a wild thing that REFUSES TO BE TAMED and then throwing your cat into the rain isn’t cute, it’s animal abuse. You suck. Along the same lines, refusing to call someone by his given name, and calling him “Fred” throughout the movie, is not cute, it’s affected and annoying.

Paul telling Holly, “I love you! You belong to me!” was just about the worst admission of love, ever. I’m with her when she freaks out over this. Telling someone this is a lot like saying “I love you! I want to wear your skin like a cape!”

Their relationship is not doomed to end well. Neither of them has any money; she has very high-price tastes, and he seemed to have $50 to his name and be not-a-very-successful writer. I mean, love’s grand, but it doesn’t put tater tots in your belly at the end of the day.


The movie was gorgeous. Not just the costumes, or the actors (although they were) but the set design and dressing as well. And the city, of course. I love New York, and I can see how this movie made people want to visit it. New York is a character in this movie, for sure, and you fall in love with it (more than Hepburn or Peppard, actually – about as much as Cat – because it is blameless in the “I’m so CUTE!”-ness of the two of them.)

Audrey Hepburn was really, for a completely annoying character, just stunning. I mean, those costumes! And she’s just exquisitely beautiful. Look at her. I mean, just look. How can anyone, even me with my heart of stone, not be charmed by this?

I usually hate hats, but DAMN can she pull them off.

There aren’t a lot of photos where she doesn’t have that dumb cigarette holder that’s a mile and a half long that she kept setting shit on fire with and I refused to put a photo of her up here with that thing. Also, I like this hat.

Also, George Peppard. Can this guy ever wear a suit. Whoo!

Yes, I'm aware this scene wasn't in the movie. LOOK HOW HANDSOME. I couldn't resist.

If you only know Peppard from The A-Team, well, listen, he used to be Mad-Men handsome, I’m telling you right now. *swoon*

@lgalaviz was in love with the cars in the movie. I promised her I would make her a remixed version of the movie with only cars and card catalogs and dial phones and such. I don’t know how to do this, so it was an empty promise. The idea is sound, though. At one point, there was a red cab with fins. It made us happy. (Also, when they went to the library, there were card catalogs, which made me drool.)

For all the annoying pre-hipster hipsterism, there was some genuine emotion happening in the movie. I know. I even noticed it being all drunk on whipped cream vodka and making fun of it on Twitter.

I’m not sure what happened. I HATED this movie the first time around. This time, I actually didn’t mind it. I hated the things I listed above, but the beauty of the movie itself kind of won me over. Am I mellowing with age? Was it the vodka? Am I broken now? Was I broken the first time I watched it?

ANYWAY. Sarcastic Movie Night! A success!

Also, the whipped cream vodka progressively got less offensive. I mean, it never got GOOD. But I think it burned off the first layer of my tastebuds so it got less horrible to taste as the night progressed. I can’t say I went back for a second helping, though. (Oh, and by the way, who was the classy broad drinking it out of a commemorative theater coffee mug given to her by the cast of a show she’d worked on recently? That’d be ME. Yeah, I have no glasses appropriate for liquor-drinking. I thought it might eat through a plastic Tupperware tumbler. I KNOW, I AM THE CLASSIEST.)

This morning, @lahikmajoe wasn’t even mad he woke up to about 200 tweets (just another sign that he is my secret sibling) and I had the headache from hell for the first couple hours of being awake, THANK YOU WHIPPED CREAM VODKA. I’m sticking to magic wine from now on. Ugh.

We’ve chosen the next movie for Sarcastic Movie Night! Are you ready? I know you’ll want to join in, because it is sure to be MISS KITTY FANTASTICO. Ready?

Dun dun DUNNNN.

I haven’t seen this movie since 1996, and that was the first time (and only time) I saw it, and I was forced to watch it (along with the other two movies in the original trilogy) all in a row by the boy I was in love with at the time and I was SO TIRED and he kept saying “Come on, this is BRILLIANT” and I was all “I AM SO TIRED WHATEVER” and so I have this weird irrational hatred of all things Star Wars. But I have been assured I’m allowed to make fun of it if I want. Also, I suppose, if nothing else, I can drool over young Harrison Ford, right? RIGHT.

So this is how you watch a movie with Twitter and vodka and snarking. Aren’t you glad you know how? I know you are. You, too, can do this same thing with YOUR friends! Only, I’d avoid the whipped cream vodka. It seems like a good idea, until you’re actually drinking it. Trust me on this. I made that mistake so you don’t have to.

Upside: less likely to break your heart. Downside: so many papercuts, damn.

It’s come up a lot over the past few days who your top literary boyfriends are. First, Mandy blogged about it, and she and I have some similarities, because we are both awesome, of course. Then @nikkisticks and @thebooksluts both mentioned it on Twitter, and I’d link you to their tweets about it, but I STILL don’t have new Twitter (seriously, Twitter, I’m starting to feel like the last wallflower at the dance, here, what the hell? PICK ME DAMMIT I WORE MY PRETTIEST DRESS AND I’M TOTALLY SLUTTY) so they wouldn’t look right copy/pasted in. So I thought, you know what everyone loves? Literary boyfriends. They are HOT right now. They are the HOT THING.

Then Susie and I were talking about how we feel bad having literary crushes on characters who are in happy relationships. I’m in agreement with this. This is why when I go into a happy reverie about my literary boyfriends, I kill off their significant others. NICELY. I mean, I don’t have them PSYCHOKILLED or anything. Sheesh. Something nice. Like a nice cancer! Or whatever. Then they are free to be MY literary boyfriend, and we’re all happy. Well, probably the dead wife or girlfriend isn’t happy, but they’re dead, so their happiness is really inconsequential, now, isn’t it?

So, without further ado: my list of literary boyfriends. I looked online and a couple of these are, like, NO ONE’S literary boyfriends. So that means I get them all to myself, right? Right. Or it might mean I’m broken. Hard to say.

This is in reverse order. I’m saving the best for last. As you do.

Heathcliff – Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte

I know he's bad for me. But look at him. How can you resist that?

I’m allowed one abusive, emo boyfriend, right? Right.

Listen, I’ve had a crush on psychopath Heathcliff since I was 13. I can’t leave him off. Even though I KNOW he’s bad news. So dark! So broody! So single-minded in his love for Catherine! So proud! So…um, yeah, kind of an abusive ass. I get that. I do. BUT HE LOVED HER SO MUCH YOU GUYS.

I know. I’m not overly proud of this one. All I can say is, I met Heathcliff at a very impressionable age when I thought “dark and twisty” equaled “good boyfriend material” and it’s warped me forevermore. Let’s just move on, shall we?

Steve Finn – Lost Souls by Poppy Z. Brite

They never made a movie. I know. It's one of my great regrets of the '90s. Here's the book cover.

Steve Finn is real in a book full of unreality. He’s messed up and he’s a little broken and he tries really, really hard to do the right thing, and he fails, sometimes, but he’s honest, and he’s proud, and he’s loyal to a fault. I’ve read this book more than a dozen times since I bought it before a long bus trip, spur of the moment, and every time, it’s like coming home to Steve. I want things to go well for him, just once. I want him to get the girl, to live a nice, if somewhat unremarkable life in the South, singing in bars, coming home to Ann. If he can’t have that, well, I’ll take him in. Hell, I like musicians.

Inigo Montoya – The Princess Bride by William Golding

I do like a saucy Spaniard who's good with his...sword. WHAT. What did you think I was going to say? You have a dirty mind.

I like how single-minded in his revenge plot Inigo is. I like how driven and loyal he is. I like how scrappy and serious he is. I like how courtly and regal he is. And, YES, it doesn’t hurt at ALL that he’s played by Mandy Patinkin in the movie. But he’s my BOOK boyfriend. And if you haven’t read the book, do yourself a favor and pick it up? You’ll be surprised, but it’s EVEN BETTER THAN THE MOVIE. And the movie’s fantastic. Go, go. But hands off Inigo. He’s mine.

Richie Tozier – It by Stephen King

Best TV movie casting ever. Total crush on both of these guys.

This isn’t creepy because I read this book for the first time when I was thirteen. So it’s totally not creepy pedophile time at all.

Listen, I have always been in love with the class clown. There is nothing, nothing, NOTHING sexier than the smart guy who can make me laugh. NOTHING. Seriously. First guy I ever had a crush on in the history of me? Class clown. Most disastrous relationships I’ve been in? The guy wasn’t funny, but I thought, “eh, maybe it’s not as important as I thought it was.” NO. It is TOTALLY important.

It also doesn’t hurt that Richie’s a ginger. Add ginger into class clown and intelligent? Total swoon-fest, sincerely.

SIDE NOTE: Mandy picked Bill from the same book, so we’ve decided we’re going to go on book double dates to the soda fountain. Awesome!

Gilbert Blythe – Anne of Green Gables series by Lucy Maud Montgomery

Remember when he called Anne "carrots?" Aw.

This is one of the book-boyfriends I feel badly about stealing from his lady. Because Anne and Gilbert were so damn perfect together! But Gilbert Blythe! One of my first book boyfriends! He was so in love with Anne! And he respected her BRAIN, you guys! He never wanted her to be a stupid, simpering idiot! He LIKED that she was intelligent, even back in the day when women weren’t encouraged to be intelligent!

A couple of years ago, I got to see Jonathan Crombie in a musical? And seriously, I almost DIED. I was in the same ROOM. As the guy who played GILBERT BLYTHE. I mean, I was pretty far away, so I could barely see him, but he totally sounded like Gilbert. Little pre-teen crushing Amy would have been SO PROUD of her adult-self!

Jaime Lannister – A Song of Ice and Fire series by George R. R. Martin


Very few people had Jaime Lannister on their lists when I was scouring lists online. I assume this is because (spoiler alert, kind of, but if you haven’t read the first book or seen the miniseries yet, you probably should get on that, April first is coming quickly) he slept with his sister? Listen, I’m going to give you ANOTHER spoiler alert, but it’s sort of minor. You will, I guarantee you, see Jaime in a different light by the third book. Now, with the way Martin treats his characters, I can’t guarantee you that by the fourth book Jaime’s not eating puppy brains, or something, but I don’t know if it’ll matter. I am HEAD OVER HEELS for Jaime right now, damn. Also, the casting in the miniseries did not hurt one teeny tiny bit. Gulp.

Nick Andros – The Stand by Stephen King

I am...not in love with this casting choice. You take what you can get, I guess.

Nick, and his tortuously lonely backstory and his pride and his intelligence and his bravery and his delight at finally being accepted into a group and then his inevitable sacrifice – ugh. KILLED ME. Mostly because he was totally my book boyfriend pretty much from the get-go. Sure, there are some excellent characters in the book, don’t get me wrong. But it’s all about Nick and his black curls and his laughing eyes and his quick hands. None of which the miniseries got right, dammit.

Tyrion Lannister – A Song of Ice and Fire series by George R. R. Martin

I like this one because he looks HAPPY. I could make Tyrion happy.

You know he won me over when he said “I have a tender spot in my heart for cripples, bastards, and broken things,” right? Because I love all of those things? And then he sealed it with his “A mind needs books as a sword needs a whetstone, if it is to keep its edge.”

I love that Tyrion keeps his head about him, even though everyone has counted him out and are, for the most part, laughing at him. I love his intelligence and his humor and his curiosity and the fact that he’s usually one step ahead of everyone else in the room and no one even has a guess. I love how bawdy and ribald he is. I love how deeply emotional he is. Also, it doesn’t hurt that he’s played by Peter Dinklage, who is just a handsome, handsome man. I can’t wait to see what he does with Season Two.

Aloysius Pendergast – The Pendergast novels by Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child

You have to use your IMAGINATION, yahoos.

OK, so after all my blathering and blah-blah-blah on and on and ON about it, you’ve all watched the BBC’s Sherlock and you’re in love, right?

Pendergast is the American BBC Sherlock.

He’s quiet and he’s brilliant and he’s kind of a recluse and no one really knows him and he solves these crimes no 0ne else can solve and he has this one great love, and one best friend, and oh, also, he’s SOUTHERN. And TALL. And BLONDE. And well-read, and intelligent, and…oh, sorry, think I might have been drooling a little. Sorry about that.

One of these books was made into a movie. THEY CUT HIS CHARACTER OUT. Yeah, I don’t know, either. Tom Sizemore was in the movie. I think it was pre-Celebrity Rehab. Probably best they left my man out.

Jamie Fraser – The Outlander series by Diana Gabaldon

Sorry. I want a movie, too. SO BADLY. You have NO IDEA.

So I hate romances? Like, with a fiery passion? I mean, I don’t mind some romance in a book I’m reading. But I won’t read a straight romance novel, because they make me itchy and bitter and are usually written so badly it makes me want to scream.

Nope. Read this series, please. Because, Jamie Fraser. Who is my #1 of all time book boyfriend. Scottish. Tall. Ginger. Gentlemanly. Multi-lingual. Intelligent. Protective. Funny. Loving. Hard-working. Proud. TOTALLY THE SEXIEST YO.

Also, the sex scenes are so steamy and well-written you will totally blush WHILE YOU ARE IN YOUR LUNCHROOM, WITH OTHERS and that’s not at all awkward and weird AT ALL NOPE. Seriously. SO GOOD.

And yeah, I feel a little bad stealing Jamie from his wife, who he’s spent all this TIME and EFFORT getting back together with considering she’s from the future and all. But LISTEN. He is MY Scottish Highlander. I’ll totally fight Claire for him, no joke. WHEN AND WHERE, CLAIRE.

Happy Saturday! May your book-boyfriends (and/or girlfriends – I have three of these, too – Lyra Silvertongue from the His Dark Materials trilogy, Lisbeth Salander from The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo and the sequels, and Hermione Granger from Harry Potter, only I don’t so much want to make out with them but be their BFF and kick all the ass with them) treat you well!

%d bloggers like this: