For those about to debate ...

At work today, I was listening to "The Best of The Monkees" on my iPod, and it took me back to a happy place in my childhood. I was probably about 4-5 years old, "The Monkees" were on TV a lot, so I watched that as well as listening to Shaun Cassidy (who I had a crush on). And I've never told anyone this before, but when I was a kid, I wondered if perhaps Shaun wore the same underwear as me - cotton floral briefs.

I don't remember anyone telling me that I couldn't do something because I was a girl. One day, I'd be using my dad's toolkit to play dentist with my stuffed animals; another day, I was playing grocery store with the shipping box my dad had gotten from his job at UPS. Sometimes I wanted to be a gymnast, doing my thing (tumbling, somersaults and the occasional cartwheel) alongside Nadia Comaneci and Cathy Rigby - or be an ice skater like Dorothy Hamill.


I had both the Fisher Price Medical Kit and the Fisher Price Tool Kit, put Barbie in Ken's clothes and occasionally gave Barbie mohawks or Sinead O'Connor do's. I did get some grief over the whole Barbie thing, but no reprimanding.

I wanted to be friends with Shirley Temple, because I watched her movies on TV every weekend and didn't realize that the movies were from the 1930s. I was seriously disappointed when I found out how old the films were!


And during this whole time, I was reading my dad's "National Lampoon" magazines (which he knew about), and his porno magazines (which he didn't know about).

Ever since it came out, I was enamored with this film:



I remembered reading about Ricki Lake having to eat constantly because all of the dancing had her losing weight; that she and Colleen Fitzpatrick (later to be known as the singer Vitamin C) had to have their hair bleached almost daily... and I also had a can of the re-named AquaNet: Caryl Richards 'Just Wonderful' Hairspray.

Anyways, this film has become sort of like our own "Rocky Horror Picture Show" - we know all the lines, all the songs ... just not quite all the dances.


And since I was able to get my hands on a copy of the soundtrack for the film (finally) - I've been playing the hell out of it, and enjoying it quite a lot. (John Waters called the soundtrack "...(a) known remedy today's 'Hit Parade of Hell'")




Speaking of, 'Hit Parade of Hell' is going to be the name of my next band:

This is after Aguilerica breaks up - Metallica/Aguilera mash-up idea loses its luster, band in-fighting.

Then, Condoms(!) At The Dollar Store goes kaput - half the band is more interested in a Big Star/Gin Blossoms/REM sort of thing, other half likes things as they are.

Hello piercing!



As you may remember, I'd gotten this one - a snug - last summer. I really like it, and wanted to get a possible companion to it on the other side (my right ear).

( don't mind the bad hair )


Since my right ear isn't cartilage-y enough to accommodate the snug, I had a conch done instead. Yep, someone put a needle in the middle of my ear, poked it through and then put jewelry in it. It is kind of swollen, but I find that I can wear my iPhone earbuds pretty easily (sometimes it's uncomfortable - but such is life).

( more bad hair here... )

There is some more to it, but it could be kind of triggering for some (talking about past self-injury) -- so it'll be under a separate entry. :-)

I have read some really really bad fan fiction in my time - and I've even read some really bad fiction in general.

Recently, I read something that I think puts Naomi Campbell and Pamela Anderson's literary masterpieces (Swan - A Story of Sex, Supermodels and Shopping and Star - A Novel, respectively) to shame.

Yes, I know... you're probably wondering how *anyone* could one-up poorly-written novels by a temperamental supermodel and a model-cum-actress-cum-human flotation device, or poorly-written fan fiction by this group of folks: Ten Seriously Disturbing Pieces of TV Fan Fiction. Well, it has been done - and it was so bad that our candidate for the 2012 Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest is being hidden behind a cut:

( How the *#&! did this get a publisher? )

Kellie and I were kind of talking about everything and nothing a few days ago, when the subject of an insurance blog came up.

Essentially something to explain general things about insurance - Do I really need a renter's policy? When my car was broken into, why didn't my auto policy cover the stuff stolen out of my car? What's a deductible? Stuff like that.

Of course, I'd have a disclaimer about being a licensed insurance broker in California only, that state-specific issues should be discussed with a local agent, etc. (Mainly to cover my ass, of course)


So - what I'm trying to figure out is this: would this be worthwhile? Would anyone even be remotely interested in this kind of thing - or am I just dreaming?

And if this would be feasible - what would you want to know about?

I posted this over at Facebook - but since there's family and a couple of co-workers on my friends list, I couldn't exactly mention the fact that this was another "Tits Up" day for me.





The dress and camisole are from Old Navy, who don't realize that the "built-in bra" thing for their camisoles is nonsense. Especially for someone like me, with a rack like April Flores. (site is seriously NSFW)

No matter, I wanted to feel pretty and colorful despite my allergies making me feel like death warmed over.

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My favorite toy was my Honey Doll - I called it "Davy Jones" (yes, as in Davy Jones of The Monkees).

The doll was passed along to my brother about 5 years later, and then I think my sister got it about 12 years after that. I don't know if the family still has it, but it was a well-loved doll!

The Honey Doll (brand new)

This afternoon, it just occurred to me that today is my dad's birthday - he would've been 68. Kellie reminded me that the first year is the hardest because it's the first 'everything' after someone passes away.


I remember that after years of what was essentially self-imposed estrangement, I reconnected with my dad at my stepdad's funeral. I put my arms around him, gave him a big hug and apologized for being such an ass, for being a bad daughter, for keeping away for so long, bawling my eyes out the entire time.

In response, he hugged me just as hard as I did him, and told me that he missed me and that he loved me very much. He could've just as easily told me to go away; who the hell do I think I am or whatever. Instead, he showed me that he loved and cared so much for me, that he was willing to focus more on the present than the past. The kind of love that I needed and got from my father.


Some days, I miss my dad more than other days. Today is definitely one of those days.

Dear Jonathan Knight -

I know you're not going to read this - or probably even give much of a damn - but I want to just say that I think you are really awesome.

Don't get me wrong, I've always thought you were awesome even back in the New Kids days (when I had the hots for your brother... yet I ended up queer. Go figure...).

But now, the awesome is coming from your willingness to be open and honest about who you are. And I really love and appreciate the fact that you don't feel the need to be on the cover of a magazine proclaiming that you're gay.

I think my only frustration, one that I've seen articulated by others, is that your coming out years sooner really could have been helpful to the GLBT kids of my generation. You said that you'd come out 20 years ago... but it obviously wasn't heard, since there were so many years of speculation until you finally admitted what a lot of us had already figured out (it's called wicked good Gaydar).

Anyways, hopefully this coming generation will benefit from you and so many others coming out, without major fanfare or controversy necessary. And thank you for working with The Trevor Project - I learned about the group from your Twitter feed!

So thanks again Jonathan, for being awesome - while being yourself.

Cheers,

Carly