Friday, May 21, 2010


I have been having trouble sleeping again, more nightmares… This time instead of demons or werewolves, my dreams are being invaded by something far more sinister…
Sharon Stone.

Sharon Stone Pictures, Images and Photos

I know, pretty awful right? But this past night I had two separate dreams, both involving the horror, that is, Sharon Stone…

The first one involved me being trapped in a space ship or submarine type vehicle with her. She was crazy and killing off the crew with these stiff and sticky tiny blue strings she had coming out of the palms of her hands… They were coated with poison and barbed and she would sneak up behind people and touch them and one would pull off and stick into their skin and they would die…

Now to get around she was popping off the front of all the heating and air vents and sliding into the duct work like a snake… She would pop her face out and look around and come out and kill people…

So we installed these sweeping lasers to try to find her and when they went off we all had to hold perfectly still while they searched for the menace that is, Sharon Stone… At one point in my dream I was near a row of cat boxes and had to lay down on the floor for the laser to go over me, and while I lay there with my face near a box of doodie I thought, "That fucking Sharon Stone is going to pay for this. I am going to kill that bitch."

So I went to a room and lay on the floor to play dead, and I saw her starting to come out of the air vent and she looked at me and said, "Are you dead?" I sat up and said, "Yes I am, come on in." And of course being that it is Sharon Stone, she totally believed me and came slithering in…

At that point Malichai and the kittens woke me up so they could attack my face.


Yeah, they look all little and sweet and innocent there, but in five weeks from the time of this photo, they were little hellions that liked to attack my eyes during my REM sleep which was always a treat.

Anyhow, I moved them nicely away from my face with their razor claws still attached to my lip and forehead… Well, 8 am and me are just not buddies… So I went back to sleep only to be taunted by more horrid images of her…

This time I was running a strip club, and Sharon showed up there to dance to help promote her newest porno, oh I mean movie, Basic Instinct 2… She wore red hot pants and she talked very loud, like a drunken grandmother… Shrieking every thing she said and insisting I go buy her cheeseburgers... but I had no car and I was not willing to walk to buy her any.

Then I told her how my dad was really looking forward to seeing her new movie, because he is 55 and that is the same age as her tits.

Mercifully, I woke up at that point, before my father could show up to oogle Sharon's boobies…

But really people, I dare you to look into the face of Sharon Stone and not have nightmares about her… I double dare you… Go ahead, Google her…

Sweet dreams…

Oh and in case you think I am being a little rough on poor old Sharon, here are a few words of wisdom from her concerning sex, teens and date rape:

"Young people talk to me about what to do if they're being pressed for sex? I tell them what I believe. Oral sex is a hundred times safer than vaginal or anal sex. If you're in a situation where you cannot get out of sex, offer a blow job. I'm not embarrassed to tell them."

Thursday, May 20, 2010

I went for a breast exam once...

I went for a breast exam once. I was young and paranoid. I was not in Rhode Island, which means that it was no surprise when the technician walked in and I thought that she could just as well have been serving me hot wings at Hooters. When I untied my gown, and revealed myself from the waste up; she clapped.


"I'm so psyched!" she squealed. "You're breasts are nice and small! You're going to be so easy! The last woman I had -" she cupped her hands and let them sway and dangle around her waist, "- was, like, huge. It was a nightmare. And the woman before her was at least a C, if not a D - but yours are so nice! You made my day!"


I wondered if she said this because she really meant it, or because she felt bad in some sort of way and thought that these words would make me feel better. She obviously was not aware that I thought that I had breast cancer.

After she was finished and told me I was fine with a ridiculous smile as though she had saved the world, she sat down with a sigh.

"What's wrong?" I asked, although I really did not care.

"All of my friends are getting married…" and she trailed off and shook her head.

"Well, um… how old are you?"

"Twenty-eight! I mean! Well, how old are you?!"

"I'm nineteen. It's on my sheet… that's in your hand." I replied wondering how the HELL this woman was in charge of examining me and coming up with a diagnosis.

"Nineteen! And you're in here and, like, wanting someone to look for breast lumps?!?"

I tried to ignore her improper English.

"C'mon girl! You have your whole life ahead of you. I'm just, this old wives maid…"

I hate it when people fish for compliments. It makes me feel like a Magic 8 Ball - shake me enough, and maybe I'll give you the right answer, phrase, you are looking for.

"Nooooo, you're not an old wives maid! You're beautiful." I can't believe that I am saying this. What I wanted to say is 'no, you're not. But you are an amazing moron that has no idea what to say in a professional situation and I cant IMAGINE what you are like in public.

"You're just saying that…" as she looked away, wishing for more compliments.

"I have to go. I am sorry. Thanks for… um… checking me out."

I decided to get away. More away. It wasn't going to be the romantic getaway that I had previously wanted: a tour of the French vineyards, where a young Frenchmen says, "we enjoy ze wine now, and zen later, time for love, no?" But it was something. Something much better. A backpacking trip through Thailand, Laos, and Cambodia. For many people, this would be nightmare. For me, this would be an adventure.

On the plane, I sat next to a woman in a Mandarin collared business suit with pale, chubby hands she couldn't keep still. She fiddled with several different ways to roll her blanket into a bolster that may support her back. She went through a dozen sticks of sugarless gum. She fluffed and poked at the manic, dark curls of hair that rose out of her head like flames.

The pilot introduced himself as "Capt'n Dave", He said that we should consider the crew our family in the sky. Then, what was clearly an effort to put everyone on board at ease, he launched into a rousing rendition of "Oh, Suzanna" on the harmonica.

Smiling, I said to the woman, "That was so great, wasn't it?"

She shrugged, "Yeah, I guess so. I just hope he's not drunk. You know, a lot of pilots are alcoholics."

I wanted to strangle her for saying that. Like she knew what would piss me off at that moment. Like she knew that my dad is a pilot… and that he is an alcoholic… Like she wanted to take her jagged fingernails and rip a hole in my stomach and pour salt in it and grind it with a mortar.

She must have notice my pupils shrink and eyes narrow.

"Usually, I, ah, really don't like flying. I was on a plane the day 9-11 happened."

Oh. That makes you special. It's almost like YOU WERE ON THE PLANE, right? How many people were on a plane that day? Thousands. You are pathetic, I though.

"Oh, that must have been tough." and I could tell she could sense my agitation.

"Could I have your blanket? I just can't get comfortable." She said as her eyes darted back and forth.

"Sure." and I tried to make kind eye contact as I realized that she was just an idiot and I didn't want to be mean to a stranger.

She went on to describe her many health problems she had endured over the years. They were minor things; a tipped uterus, high cholesterol, an allergy to pigeons. This was when I realized that as bad as it is to sit next to someone who wants to chat the whole flight, it's even worse to sit next to someone who, it seems, wants a hug. This poor woman, I thought, that is until she said: "Are you traveling alone too?"

And there it was: the word "too". As in "also", as in "look at what we have in common!". I wanted to say, "no no no no no, please don't try and lump us together. My compassion for you is based on pity, not on camaraderie."

"Sort of," I explained that I was beginning a backpacking trip in southeast Asia.

"You didn't want to bring a friend?" she asked, sharply.

"I wanted to go now, and I didn't want to wait."

She fluttered her eyes, "I'm sure you get this all the time too, but everyone tells me they can't understand it. They say "what is wrong with this world? How can you be single? You're a beautiful, intelligent, vivacious, sensual woman." and I say, "it's not me, it's the men out there." "Do you get that all the time too?"

At that moment, had the cockpit door not been so tightly locked, I'm sure I would have jumped.

I got to Thailand fine. I didn't jump.