Best idea for a remake ever...

Ok, so read this thing from the NY Daily News:

At least one fan thinks Clay Aiken is just divine in "Spamalot."

A source tells me that cast members have grown used to one woman who has seen the show more than 40 times. She often waits by the stage door for her former "American Idol" idol.

Finally, one of the other actors asked her why she was so devoted to the carrot-topped crooner.

"She said, 'He is the Savior,'" recounts the snitch.

Yes, as in Jesus Christ.

"She is at the stage door from 9:30 in the morning, waiting all day to talk to people as they come in," laughs the source. "She says talking to the other actors, she feels a step closer to Clay."

"I am not familiar with this devoted fan, but I know there are many of them," said a rep for the show.

Tell me that doesn't sound just a little bit like the beginning of All About Eve? You would not believe the things that are popping off in my head right now. All I can picture is Clay Aiken doing a Bette Davis impression, and it is rocking my world. Seriously.

New discovery!

You know how there are all those movies where John Cusack freaks out in the rain? I get it now. Totally. Getting caught in the rain makes everything appear 80,000 times more terrible than it really actually is. Because in addition to whatever minor thing that went wrong, you are also wet.

Case in point #1

Like, two weeks ago, I was running late for class so I took a cab. I get to the class, only to find that it's been canceled. When I go back outside, only to find that it is now pouring rain outside. So I called Jen to see if she could give me a ride home, because it just seemed like a waste to either spend 10 more dollars, or take an hour on public transportation. Jen suggests we go shopping. "Good idea!" I say... so I get on the red line for Monroe. At this point, I am rather disheveled looking. Some dude starts staring at me, so I give him a dirty look because I'm not in the most pleasant of moods. Then he points to my shirt. Which has somehow been arranged so that my right breast is popping out of it. Yay! So now I'm a subway flasher! Finally I get to the stop and start looking around the various stores. Unfortunately, there is like, truly, nothing I want, or like once I put it on. On the way home, it is still pouring rain, and the heel of my shoe gets caught in a subway grate, and I trip and fall and my shoes are filled with water and I have to stand in my stocking feet while Jen attempts to pry my shoe loose from said grate. Not the best time ever.

And seriously, like, since then, I have been in a constant state of hyper-irritation with life, the universe and everything in it. Which brings us to last night, when I finally had a nervous breakdown in the middle of Dominick's.

Case in point #2:

I had planned to meet some friends at the Darkroom for Panic. It was going to be a swell time. If there is any appropriate cure for being inordinately irritated by life, it is to get inordinately dressed up, go out, and dance and drink way too much. So I put on a cute dress, I do my hair and my make-up, and run downstairs. It's raining. So I go back upstairs to get an umbrella. Then I run across the street to use the ATM. The ATM tells me that my card was lost or stolen. Which was just not true- I had it in my hand! Then I go and try another ATM, and another, and another. No luck. I go back upstairs. I grab a huge ziplock bag o' change, with plans to go to Dominick's to use their Coinstar machine, and also attempt to try my card again in the check out aisle. As I walk over there, it starts pouring. The Coinstar machine, unfortunately, is closed down at 10:00. It is 10:30. I hate life. The manager will not start it back up for me. They will not cash my paycheck, and my card is still not working. Meanwhile, I figure that they probably think I'm a hooker. I am wearing a very short black dress with knee high boots and gold leggings- which is a totally cute outfit for like, going out to a bar, but generally inappropriate for the supermarket. This makes me hate them more, the stupid judgemental bastards. I am wet and I am angry. I say, and I quote:

"Oh my god! I can't have anything!"

I was that girl. I can't fucking believe it. I have never been that girl. My eyes started leaking. Leaking! And I was wearing a shitload of eye makeup, which I discovered later was not in fact waterproof. I walked home, reasonably sure that all passerby were assuming that I was a hooker who had just gotten into a fight with her pimp. So I went home, I cleaned the eye makeup off of my face, and watched Jane Eyre, and fell asleep on the couch with my shoes on.

Now, like, had it not been raining (and also if I'd have had something to eat that day other than a cookie and lots of coffee), I'm quite sure I would not have really given a crap. But rain exacerbates everything.

Today, I find it all unbelievably hilarious, but I literally cannot tell you how stupidly agitated I was last night. I'm thinking I may need some emergency Valium.

Robyn's Rules of Order...

I have a magical secret for good livin'.

I do and say exactly as I please, and as I mean, all the time... and the ceiling never falls down upon me. Other people do this, of course- I just choose to be very frank about it. It's just less complicated that way.

I like people to be well aware that where I am is where I want to be, and otherwise I would not be there (work, of course, excluded). That what I am doing is exactly what I want to be doing, and otherwise I would not be doing it. Do you have any idea how much easier and more clear life would be if everyone operated this way?

I am weirded out by the concept of people who are friendly with people they don't like. It bothers me that they think they are so damned fantastic that they must shelter others from the harsh blow of their disapproval. Or that it's still important that the person they don't like likes them and thinks they are a nice person. I do not care either way.

It just seems like a lot of work. It exhausts me to think about it.

-------------

My mom always said that we do not have a family in which we keep the crazy ones up in the attic and slide their food through the door. We sit them right down at the damn dinner table and introduce them to the neighbors. That is our way. I throw my crazy on the table. I will gladly give you a divers schedule of my personal faults and imperfections. I am of the opinion that saying things out loud takes away their power over you.

----------

On the plus side, my unusual behavior and philosophy basically guarantees that I will never cheat on anyone. Why? Because I wouldn't be in a relationship in the first place if I didn't want to be. I am not such horrible company that I am bothered by being alone, and I don't think that anyone thinks I am so fantastic and so desperate for my personal company that I would feel I had to placate them in that way. Really, like, why bother? Once again, way too much effort. I also expect the same in return. Like, I sincerely couldn't give a shit less if someone wants to date other people. I really couldn't. If you want to go, go and be well. The idea of being coddled or placated makes me feel stabby.

I don't want to leave my apartment right now

Even though I have to.

My skin hurts and I am annoyed at life. I would much prefer wasting time reading a bunch of crap about celebutantes and going through the Craigslist Missed Connections, which are always hilarious. I have not been able to write anything today.

I thought it might be fun to not straighten my hair today, which was not the best idea ever, and now I kind of look like Alla Nazimova:



Except, of course, with more normal eyebrows.

I have not ingested anything today other than coffee and Andes mints. Perhaps this explains my vile mood. But there isn't anything in particular that I feel like eating at the moment. Oh well.

I totally just cried over a Law and Order episode.

Tonight was Jesse L. Martin's last episode! So sad! And now it's going to be just like, Elton from Clueless and that douchebag guy who was Stabler's partner for one episode to teach him a lesson about being a hothead or whatever, and Stabler punched him in the face. Who the hell cares about them? They should have recruited Richard Belzer. He doesn't get nearly enough camera time on SVU.

Also- I still miss Lennie Briscoe. A lot. I loved him, I really did.

Also- Jesse L. Martin is producing and starring in a biopic about Marvin Gaye. Which makes him super awesome, and makes me love him even moreso. I would totally marry Jesse L. Martin in like, two seconds flat.

Now I have only Jack McCoy. Sigh.

I am going to go to bed now. I am going to watch my taped version of Madame Butterfly and it will be a fantastic time.

Dorothy Parker is my homegirl.

Song Of One Of The Girls

Here in my heart I am Helen;
I'm Aspasia and Hero, at least.
I'm Judith, and Jael, and Madame de Stael;
I'm Salome, moon of the East.

Here in my soul I am Sappho;
Lady Hamilton am I, as well.
In me Recamier vies with Kitty O'Shea,
With Dido, and Eve, and poor Nell.

I'm one of the glamorous ladies
At whose beckoning history shook.
But you are a man, and see only my pan,
So I stay at home with a book.

I might still be drunk.

1. Star Jones! Getting divorced! Not that I really care, but they mentioned that her real name is "Starlet" and I find that especially hilarious.

2. Dudes in Congo are freaking out because black magicians are stealing their dicks. No, really. Which is probably traumatic for them. But like, if you could have a magical power.... that might be kind of amusing one to have. I'm just saying.

3. Bush quote of the day, via Slate: "Oftentimes people ask me, 'Why is it that you're so focused on helping the hungry and diseased in strange parts of the world?' "—Washington, D.C., April 18, 2008.

4. Wow! Ok, so this is this website... that harasses your exes for you to find out why they dumped you. No, really! I don't see why it's necessary, as I would imagine that it's because, well, you are the sort of person that would enlist the services of a website to help you harass someone to find out why they dumped you. That's your damned answer. You're creepy. Then again, what do I know? That could be a totally attractive quality to some people- I've often noted that my personal insistance on things like having dignity has been troublesome in my personal life. But I'd rather stick things in my eyes. Repeatedly. I can't understand why someone would not find doing such a thing to be abjectly humiliating! Also, honestly can't imagine what I would do were I to someday receive a number of email surveys asking me why I ditched some dude. I would probably file a restraining order.

Oh Cosmo!

Man, I have to tell you- not nearly as much hilarity as expected in the "Sexy" issue! I was a bit disappointed- 'cause mostly it was like, "Hey! I'm a 31 year old chick who has invented this amazing new move which is exactly like a hand job!" and "Surprise! Guys want to do you in the ass! Did you know?" and "Act pleasantly surprised when you see his junk! Say 'Oooh!' and 'Aaaah!'" and also lots of toungue swirling and also the word panties came up like 85 times (I have a thing against that word. It really bothers me. I prefer "knickers."). Not so much fun. Until, of course, I came upon this glorious gem:

"Sprinkle a little pepper under his nose right before he climaxes. Sneezing can feel similar to an orgasm and amplify the feel-good effects."

Yup. Now, first of all- just in case you don't think these things through as deeply as I do...

WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU GETTING THE PEPPER FROM?

I mean, what? Do you keep a pepper grinder handy on the bedside table for just this occasion? Or must you secretly palm the pepper inside your fist the whole time? Because I imagine that would make everything else fairly awkward. I can't figure a smooth transition either way. Like what? "Hold on! Let me lean over and grab this pepper grinder!" And really, what is one to think when confronted with someone wielding a pepper grinder in their face? And what if it got in the dude's eye and then you'd have to go to the hospital and explain that you were grinding pepper on him so he'd sneeze while you were doing it! How embarassing! What if he went blind? Also, who wants to be sneezed on? Not me, not ever. Sneezing is not sexy. Nor is being covered in snot. It is why we have Kleenex.

Oh, also! Cosmo's Man Manual has informed me that all you dudes are totally psyched for the Counting Crows comeback! Who knew?

I feel pretty, oh so pretty!

Just as I was starting to look practically transluscent, just as I was about to set my wardrobe aflame... the universe dropped this in my lap.

www.mugshotdujour.com

I am hot! And so are you! At least comparitively! I didn't even know a face could be arranged in such a manner!


(Arrested for domestic violence... think about that! Someone married this guy! And it's not even as though he has a good personality- you know, wife beatin' and all... hope for everyone?)

And even if you're thinking right now "God, Robyn is a horrible and shallow bitch"- you will have to find some amusement in this:


(arrested for cocaine)

Varied and Sundry.

1. I have eaten too many grapes today.
2. This almost made me choke on one.
3. I am going to bed soon.
4. After reading about the stray cougar in Chicago (And by the way... can I just mention that at first I totally thought they were talking about one of those older women who date 18 year old boys)- which of course reminded me of "Bringing Up Baby"- I spent an inordinate amount of time today comparing and contrasting myself with Katherine Hepburn (we are both feministy ladies from New England with considerable skills in verbal sparring- however, she looks good in wide brim hats, whereas I prefer cloches and berets, and while I find Spencer Tracey quite dreamy, I cannot say that I would have gone for Howard Hughes- I'm big on shoes and I think the Kleenex boxes would have freaked me out). There's more, but I won't bore you with it.
5. You know what's weird? When women on TV say that they've been planning their wedding since they were little girls, and that this is something all women do. In case you were wondering... no. I have thought and planned and schemed many, many things in my time, but I have never, ever once in my life planned a wedding inside my head. I have never fantasized about a wedding gown. Not once. Ever. I do not personally know anyone who has done this. I imagine such people would not have many interesting things to say. Also- can you even begin to picture me screaming "THIS IS MY SPECIAL DAY!!" with a straight face?
6. Am number one hit on Google for Bavarian Sluts! Yeah!
7. Am like number 200 on Google Croatia for Older Vagina! (someone was on a quest! But why? Is that a thing?)
8. Hate all of my clothes. Hate all clothes in all stores visited recently. Look horrifying in everything. Got stuck in a subway grate in the rain the other day and fell- still bruisy. Would like some candy, have only grapes.
9. Recently discovered! While a package of unshelled pistachios may seem like the best thing ever, it is not, as all unshelled pistachios contained within package taste like death and poison! Will go back to breaking nails and possibly teeth on shells presently. To love is to suffer. Sigh.
10. Would it be bad if, for just a moment- just a moment, I thought to myself that I would totally volunteer to be Rob Lowe's new nanny? Because I kinda did. Damn you "The Outsiders!" I watched you too many times as a kid to think of Mr. Lowe as anything other than dreamy!

Here is a very long thingy that I wrote for my experimental theatre class.

It's supposed to be somewhat based on Gertrude Stein's writing techniques (a rose is a rose is a rose!), but as a fan of commas, I don't believe I succeeded completely in that effect. I am, however, quite fond of the result. I've written about this particular incident before, but this is a little bit different.

Airport

I am a failure at planes and also at airports. I am a failure at planes and airports because being at an airport encompasses every thing I am a failure at. I am a failure at punctuality, I am a failure at being calm in enclosed spaces, I am a failure at removing my shoes in a timely manner and without falling down, I am failure at being ok with not being able to smoke.


I get on the plane and a woman complains- she can’t sit up front because she’s sensitive. The woman is sensitive to another woman’s perfume. Because the woman is sensitive, the flight attendant asks if someone in the back will switch seats with her. I do not volunteer to switch seats with the sensitive woman, because I find sensitive people hilarious. I do not volunteer, because I always like to see what happens next. I do not volunteer, because I just finally got settled in my seat and am not eager to repeat the process, nor knock any other unsuspecting passengers in the head with my bags. But someone does volunteer, and that person is probably a better person than I.

The sensitive woman comes back down the aisle. The sensitive woman comes back down the aisle sporting a Christmas sweater and a face that ought not be left around dairy products. The sensitive woman comes down the aisle and sits in front and to the left of me. The sensitive woman tells her seatmate that she requires sole use of the middle armrest.

I laugh, and the sensitive woman does not notice, no, the sensitive woman takes out a book. The sensitive woman takes out a book called “Left Behind.” The book, “Left Behind,” is about people being vacuumed up into heaven, and is read solely by people who believe they are going to be vacuumed up into heaven. I am not surprised that the sensitive woman believes she will be vacuumed into heaven, since she is wearing a Christmas sweater. A Christmas sweater with reindeer and jingle bells and rhinestones and snowmen and everything else that might be on a Christmas sweater because she is just that festive and holy and that’s why she is going to be vacuumed up into heaven.

I have read about this rapture stuff- the being vacuumed up into heaven stuff- I read it in a comic-style pamphlet by a man named Jack T. Chick. Apparently, all the really holy people get vacuumed up into heaven, and then the people who are maybe not so completely holy have to stay down here with us totally non-holy people. And then, all of us non-holy people have to like, opress them, try to make them wear “the mark of the beast” and cut off their heads. Then, after they resist our forces of oppression, and sacrifice themselves, they get to go to heaven with the people who had been vacuumed up earlier. Like I’m ever going to get around to doing that. Like I’m ever going to get around to cutting anyone’s head off when I can hardly get around to picking up my dry cleaning! How can I cut anyone’s head off when I faint at the sight of blood and am no help in emergencies whatsoever? Frankly, I think they ought to have to do it themselves.

The flight attendant comes by and asks if anyone needs a a drink. The flight attendant comes by and the sensitive woman asks for a mineral water. The flight attendant hands the sensitive woman a bottle of water, causing the sensitive woman to snarl through her teeth “I asked for mineral water. This is spring water! I can’t drink this!” She says it through her teeth, in a tone I would probably reserve for someone handing me a glass of bile, and then kicking my grandmother down the stairs and then eating a puppy. But she is sensitive and I am not and neither I nor the flight attendant are completely sure what the huge difference is between mineral water and spring water. The flight attendant tells the sensitive woman that all they have is spring water, and the sensitive woman says she will write a letter to complain about this injustice. She will write a letter and have the flight attendant fired, she says, because there should be mineral water and there is not. I have a ginger ale.

Important!!! I have seen cars with bumperstickers that say “In case of rapture this car will be unmanned.” And this sensitive woman is on a plane, believing that it is indeed possible that at any moment she will be vacuumed up into heaven. If the car were unmanned- couldn’t that cause an accident? And kill people? And if this very sensitive holy woman was suddenly vacuumed up into heaven, wouldn’t that cause the windows to break and wouldn’t that also kill a lot of people? If I were this woman, which I am not, and I am not sensitive and I am not holy- but if I really, truly believed that at any moment I could be vacuumed up into the sky, I would probably avoid doing anything such as driving and flying in planes, because I wouldn’t want to kill anyone. And maybe it’s not murder exactly, but it’s at least manslaughter. I watch a lot of Law and Order. I watch a lot of Law and Order and I’ve seen several episodes of Law and Order in which someone goes to jail for doing something that could forseeably lead to another person’s death or murder. I just saw one the other day where this guy, who was clearly supposed to be the guy from “Girls Gone Wild,” rapes this girl on a bus, and then sends his friend in, saying that the girl wants to do him next, and then the girl bashes the friends head in with a champagne bottle and kills him, and the guy who was supposed to be the guy from Girls Gone Wild went to jail for the other guys murder. And isn’t one of the major commandments “Thou shalt not kill?” So how is it ok if you kill a bunch of people in the process of being vacuumed up into heaven? Do you get sent back down to hell if that happens, or are they ok with that? Are they ok with being rude to a flight attendant over having the wrong sort of bottled water? I am not sensitive, or holy, but I have lovely manners.

One thing I have learned from the very few people who think they are going to be vacuumed up into heaven that are willing to speak to me, is that it is in fact basically fine with Jesus if you are a jerk. All you have to do to be ok with Jesus and be vacuumed up into heaven, is to accept him as your personal savior, and then you can go on about your business and be as unpleasant to as many flight attendants as you like. This, I hear, is the big difference between people who think they are going to be vacuumed up to heaven and Catholics, who do not believe such a thing will occur- which is why I never heard of people thinking such a thing until I was like, 20- because everyone where I grew up was either Catholic, Jewish or not-religious-but-would-be-a-Buddhist-if-they-were, and none of those people believe in the rapture. I have been informed by the few people who believe they are going to be vacuumed up into heaven that will talk to me that the Catholics are bad because they believe that “good works”- things like helping the poor and the diseased- will get them into heaven. The people who believe they will be vacuumed up into heaven say that Jesus would really prefer that you go ahead and be a jerk, but accept him as your personal savior, and be opposed to gay people and also abortions- and if you do that, you will be vacuumed up into heaven. It’s somewhat ironic, since, as a non-sensitive, non-holy person, the thing I actually like about the Catholics is that they do some pretty awesome things for the poor. It seems kind of icky to put someone down for that. I would think that the child molesting cover-ups, or the wars, or the crazy sexism, or the tithing might be more offensive. To me, that’s like saying “You know what the worst thing about Hitler was? The fact that he was a vegetarian! Damn him!”- but then again, I am not sensitive, or holy, and I do not believe I will be vacuumed up to the sky. And if I did, I just don’t think I’d have it in me to fly in a plane or drive a car or do anything really that would surely kill or maim other people. Which is another reason why I am not interested in beheading anyone. I also cannot picture myself going about demanding that people get “666” tattooed on their foreheads. I just don’t think that a tattoo on the forehead is an especially classy look for anyone. If anything, I’d just like to demand, or perhaps just suggest, that people not wear cargo pants, or Uggs, or those shirts with flames on them from Pacific Sunwear circa 1996, or bedazzled Christmas sweaters.

Most amazing holiday ever.

And I missed celebrating it! I'm so sad! Aparently in South Korea, on April 14th, people who are not in love wear black and eat black food! I mean, that's pretty much every day for me- I look ridiculous in colors and I subsist primarily on black coffee- so, maybe I was celebrating and I didn't even realize it! Or something!

Meh. I don't know, I'm not one of those "blah, I'm going to mope around because I'm single!" types- and on the other hand, I'm not all Larry from Three's Company about it either- frankly, that's quite creepy. I seem to attract a lot of fellas like that- I think because I seem like the sort of person one is supposed to see whilst sowing oats and whatnot. I haven't been said person lately as I haven't had much inclination or energy lately to be whimsical- which is one of the required traits of the job. I have yet to be fairly compensated for my enlightenment and un-repression services and have thus grown tired of the arrangement. I have mental fantasies of saying this to most fellas I meet:

"Let's just fast forward through this whole thing, doll, because I don't have all day. What's going to happen here is that you're going to hang out with me for a few weeks, which will be a good time because I am indeed a good time. I will remind you of June Miller, or Marla Singer, or Lauren Bacall or whomever. But, then, you'll have some epiphany in which you realize that what you really want is that Nice Girl over there. She's a little bit homely, and not quite as fun, or as smart or as clever or as interesting- but she's sweet and she's stable, and that's what you really need after all!"

It would be so much easier that way. And I wouldn't have to bother with shaving my legs for the experience.

New obsession!

Ok, so Rock of Love is over (though can I just say that "Ambre" winning is such bullshit?), and Bindi Irwin hasn't done anything exciting/horrifying in a while...

Thank goodness for Khia!

Last night I watched "Miss Rap Supreme" on VH1... and it was all I'd hoped it would be, and more... except that the awesome chick rapping about Challah bread did not make it on the show (I so want to be her BFF). But Khia did! You may recall Khia as the chick who sang that song that made you never ever want to have sex again--- My Neck, My Back!

I'm sorry... nothing anyone can ever do or say will make the term "crack" sound sexy. It is just not. Also, may I just say... my favorite part of this video is the slip n slide?

AAAAAAAANYway. Bitch is hilarious. Just watch the show... but what's even more awesome is that she writes an advice column for Hood Magazine! Check it out, it will rock your face.

I am the number one Google search term for "Ayn Rand sucks ass"

And I'm proud of that. It's something. I'm bored at work. Catherine and I are listening to opera and being cultured! And fancy!

Oh, and I signed up for that Google Ads thing, because basically I like free money. And they have decided that you, the two or three people who occasionally read this- or who are led here by searching for "Ayn Rand sucks ass" (which I hope is meant as a character assessment and not a porn. Because that would give me nightmares), are in need of potty training help. It would not surprise me.

Did you know that the word gullible is not in the dictionary?

It's hard to be surprised these days by what people will believe. Especially teenagers. I mean, in 8th grade I convinced a bunch of dudes that they could get high by smelling opium incense. And they totally did it too, and then subsequently pretended that they were in fact high. It was rather amusing. I also sold them oregano! Ok but this is way more retarded than that.

These kids in Florida think that you can prevent HIV by doing a shot of... bleach. And that Mountain Dew prevents pregnancies! Really? Really? I mean, sure, this makes it pretty obvious that comprehensive sex ed is needed- duh... but also, I wonder: You know that saying "Well! If you believe that, I've got some land in Florida I'd like to sell you!"

Are these the children of the people who bought that land? Really, because how retarded do you have to be to buy that one? I mean- I am not all that swift, and I can't imagine I would have believed that at age 10, nevermind as a teenager. And may I just say... at age 10, when my fifth grade english class "adopted" a manatee... I totally thought it was going to show up and that I'd get to take it home for the weekend. That's how much of a genius I am.

A Personal Dream

My favorite soap opera, "Passions" is officially over. I haven't seen it in a year or so, since it moved to Direct TV- but it still holds a special place in my heart. Especially Timmy.



Anyway, it reminds me of something I've always wanted... a magical booze cart. You see, on soap operas, whenever you are in a room with a magical booze cart, and you want to talk about someone else in the room without them hearing you, you go over to the booze cart, pour yourself a brandy from a tacky piece of crystal. Then, you begin some random soliloquy about how they must never know you are doing their husband/plotting to kill them/secretly your own evil twin and they will not be able to hear you. It's true.

So if you really love me, go here and get me one.

Just get on the floor and do the New Kids dance!

Oh man...



Yes, it's the New Kids. NKOTB, if you will. Except they're not "new" these days so much as they are "old." Especially the one who was always old.

It seems like just yesterday (or not really) that I was sitting in my friend Heather's living room swooning over their cartoon (which totally existed in case you were wondering) and taking turns hugging her New Kids pillow with all their faces emblazoned upon it. Seriously. Guess who was my favorite?




Oh yes. Jordan. Hey, at least it wasn't the monkey faced one, or the old one. I had this doll, which actually came complete with the rattail hanging off the back of his head. I slept with this doll at night. And to this day, I'm not actually sure if I did in fact like the New Kids or if I was just trying to fit in and have something in common with the other kids. Because at that age I mostly listened to the Oldies station. Anyway, regardless of the music, I did think Jordan was kind of a sex machine.

Fun fact: He was totally wearing a Bauhaus shirt in the video for "The Right Stuff." (See?) I actually still own the "Hangin' Tough" video collection. It's comedy gold- mostly due to the Bergman-esque documentary interludes.

I also have The NKOTB coffee table book, which I credit as being the first piece of erotica I ever owned (it totally predates my first reading of Delta of Venus). No, really- it was creepily overtly sexual for something intended to be owned by an 8 year old girl. There was this one picture of Jordan with some presumably naked chick (although you only saw her stomach and I think some sideboob) and there's this quote above it where he talks about how he has dreams where he's soaring through the air, and then he's (and I quote, it's burned into my memory) "having sex with the flyest girl." Yes, the flyest one of all! I think the old one or the monkey face one talked about doing it too, but that was just gross. Anyway, I was not so surprised later when Jordan turned out to be a total perv.



Carnival sex? Kinky! And also... eew.

Oh, and here's something you probably don't remember! The New Kids have actually tried to reinvent themselves before. Yeah, when Gangsta Rap got popular. Check this shit out, dawg. Clearly, they are rebels who will never be any good.



You know they were all like "Whatevs Snoop Dogg. We can dress up like halloween pimps and make weirdly misogynistic allusions to bestiality too, you know." You know, I don't care what kind of SuperChristian Joey is now (he's made Jesus albums, you know). Those New Kids were into some weird ass shit.

Told you I was just friendly.

Apparently (gasp!) men have a tendency to interpret "friendly" body language as "sexual interest" body language.

No, really? You must be kidding!

I have a tendency to do the opposite. I have been on more dates that I didn't know were dates than I could possibly tell you. I am oblivious. It's kind of funny, because sometimes I'll run into these dudes and they'll be all drunk and telling me about how I totally dissed them on that date I wasn't aware that we had. Then I'll feel kind of like a jerk for a minute because I had assumed it was a platonic thing... but not really, because frankly- you should TELL someone if they are on a date, not just figure they caught on somehow. Especially if said person is anything like me. I also tend to get a lot of fella's who think I am trying to seduce them in some saucy film noir type manner, which I'm not. I just kind of sound like Lauren Bacall. Or um, whatsherface... Kathleen Turner. Or Barry White. Fact is, I'm very immature. If I actually like someone, I will usually express this by throwing something at their head or picking fights. I have not progressed much since junior high.