Princess Chunk

So the purpose of today's post is twofold. Both purposes are to inform you, my public, of the things you need to know.

The first thing you need to know is that in a haze of loving mushiness and that weird feeling you get when you like somebody that you want to share everything with them, I granted Joe access to this blog. So he has read all my "mean" (he politely called me "snarky") posts AND all of my damn lovey-dovey posts about him, which thrilled him to no end. You, my public and loyal readers, should know this because he also read all of your snarky comments. Hahahaha. He knows we all suspect him of wanting to Mandalorian-marry me and that we've been plotting to get rid of his goatee for months. Anyway, I am not censoring myself for him and neither should you all. Hi Joe. Unfortunately, there's nothing to really write about on that front, so I'm back to commenting on pop culture crap.

Hence purpose number two, to educate in the ways of the pop culture feline. Anyone who has been to my house has met my cat Smokey, whom I describe to those to who haven't met him as being a "mutant," "pony," or "badger" because of his size. Smokey is a big dude. My coworker used to have a t-shirt that said "Big Dude" on it and I so wanted it to come in a feline size, but alas. Smokey is a fat cat, no doubt, but he also just has really big bones and a big build. He's exactly the way I like 'em: big, dumb and sweet (hi Joe!). Smokey weighs 16 pounds.

So on that note, please meet "Princess Chunk" (that's her above), a cat found wandering the streets of Southern New Jersey, and who is now in a shelter and in need of a home. Princess Chunk weighs 44 pounds. 44 pounds!! I'm not a mother or one of those women all into babies, but I'm pretty sure that's the size of like, what, a 2-year-old or some shit? People, this cat is huge. So huge, in fact, that she's the subject of even an Associated Press article. Apparently, the Guiness Book of World Records had the largest cat ever on record at 46 pounds, so Princess isn't doing too bad for herself.

I would also like to comment on the state of New Jersey, and how it is possible that a homeless cat could nonetheless inflate herself to 44 pounds eating your garbage. Your garbage, New Jersey! Your garbage, and, no doubt, your oversized pigeons and squirrels and maybe even small children. Who weigh less than this cat, or just don't have any fightin' skills yet. Which they get early in NJ. Especially Camden. Princess doesn't look like a Camden cat, though.

Lesson of the Day: I generally don't have anything against New Jersey per se, but I find it really amusing that this cat would be from there. Am I right? Would it be as funny if Princess was from New Mexico or something? I guess if she hailed from Alabama I would absolutely make fried chicken and Red State obesity jokes . . . but I'll take what I can get.

Say It Ain't So

What, you ask, would possess me to write two news-related blogs within an hour? Well the first was to illicit sympathetic comments to ease my overactive imagination. This, however, is pure rant:

Kyle MacLachlan is an actor known for many things, but he will always and forever remain in my head as FBI Special Agent Dale Cooper from Twin Peaks, and with whom I was madly in love.

So what news is it that prompts my rage? This little nugget of gold (excerpted from an article on Kyle's new baby): "The former Twin Peaks player returns to the big screen next month in The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2".

Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2?? Oh Kyle, for shame. That's worse than anything Nicholas Cage sold out for. Was there really no alternative? You've progressed from the minds of the small group of Peakers into those of the general public with your stints on "Sex and the City" and "Desperate Housewives," and even those transgressions I had trouble forgiving you for. Were no other directors knocking on your door? Was no other script appealing? Are you really just not getting hired for anything else despite your turn on exceedlingly popular and yet mind-numbing primetime TV? Agent Cooper would be ashamed. If, you know, he was real and all.

Lesson of the Day: Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2???????

Is this my future??

Recent posts of mine have revealed (a) my boyfriend is/was/likes to talk about being a Dungeon Master (oh, it hurts even to write it); and (b) my lifelong self-concept of myself as a nerd has been bashed away by said stupid DM, who put the idea into my brain that I'm actually a geek, an idea reinforced by others who know me. I'm still coming to terms with this, as I can see the argument for my geekdom but am still stuck in a zone of denial and my own logic about the issue.

Alas, with such a confused state of mind, can you blame me for seeing the below "Odd News" story and having my first thought be that this could be in my future? Only far, far worse, as I like Star Wars. And of course this couple had to meet online. But my Comic-Con wedding would be Dungeons and Dragons-themed. Or Joe's other love, Robotech, some weird cartoon from the 80s that I don't even remember but contains the word "robot" in it, so is already pretty scary (for matrimonial purposes). I would appreciate it if my loyal audience would comment on this post, and if all comments had a format of something like, "No, don't worry, you're not that much of a geek and anyway you could beat up any guy who tried to force you into an comic-book/geek-themed wedding". Thank you for your compliance.

"The bride wore dart launchers at Comic-Con wedding":

SAN DIEGO (Reuters) - The bride and groom grasped one another's dart launcher-clad wrists and stared into each other's starry eyes. Fifty armour-clad guests, including several "Jedis" and a white caped "Elvis" in a rhinestone-studded ammo belt, stood reverently at attention. A couple of superheroes showed up late.

What better place to hold a "Star Wars" themed wedding than a green patch of grass just outside the famed Comic-Con convention where thousands of fans have congregated this week to revel in all manner of superhero and sci-fi lore?

Friday's wedding ceremony, based on the language, costume and lore of a fictional Mandalorian race in the "Star Wars" movies, was the brain child of Tenille Kuhlman, 30, and Thomas Kuhlman, 39, avid fans who decided that the convention was a perfect place to gather far-flung members of their close-knit "Star Wars" fan club to celebrate their special day.

The couple met online two years ago, said Tenille Kuhlman, who said she was at first was hesitant to embrace the Mandalorian lifestyle. "When I met him I knew what every Joe Blow knows about 'Star Wars.' It just sort of turned into life for us."

The guests -- in full regalia including helmets, boots and jet packs -- formed two lines and created a light sabre arch leading toward the altar. "I don't have my fake gun!" somebody shouted. "That's OK," said another guest. "This is a wedding ceremony. I left mine in the car." The bride and groom held their helmets in their hands, a solemn sign of Mandalorian respect. As they grasped wrists, Tom Hutchens, a 30-year-old IT professional and erstwhile Mandalorian preacher, began the ceremony. "Vodas," he said, using the Mandalorian word for "friends," "Outsiders, Jedis, everybody, welcome. This is a contract between two Mandalorians who made a journey and future together and bled together and will continue to bleed together until their last day," he said.

After reciting their vows in both Mandalorian and English translation, the jubilant crowd shouted: "Oya!" which in Mandalorian language means "celebration." "I now pronounce you Mandalorian husband and wife," Hutchens said.

Lesson of the Day: By far my favorite line from this article (which I edited above) is "but according to clan creed, Mandalorians don't make threats, they make promises." Hahahaha. Now how to work that into everyday speech . . .

And then there were three.

In addition to my geeky-nerdy (the debate rages on) love of things like Twin Peaks and Harry Potter, I am obsessed with trashy TV. And I mean really trashy TV. There are those people who consider shows like "Project Runway" trashy just cause it's a reality show, and those people would have a heart attack if they saw my DVR line-up. For example, VH1 (the pinnacle of all things fabulous) has a new show called "I Love Money," which I will not/cannot explain, but suffice it to say I am hooked.

Along those lines are my old favorites, that don't quite attain trash-status but are equally embarrassing to admit I like. And still watch when available. Such as "Saved by the Bell" reruns and "SpongeBob SquarePants" (that show really isn't for children). Alas, yet another of my all-time favorites is "The Golden Girls." It is one of my many wishes in life to be Blanche one day. Not in an 'I want to be an aging Southern slut' way, just, um . . . yeah, I want to be an aging slut. I would like to bang the pizza boy when I'm 65. Is that wrong? OK, I'll re-phrase. I would at least like to be able to bang the pizza boy when I'm 65. So sue me.

And although it's hard for me to pick my favorite Golden Girl, Sophia was definitely top 2. As I'm sure you've all heard by now, Estelle Getty, who played Sophia (and won 2 Emmys! Who knew people other than me watched/liked that show?) died yesterday. So, a moment of silence for yet another female comedic genius gone. Although actually, I don't think I've ever even seen her act in anything other than GG, except for bit parts as Cher's mother in "Mask" and as the department store owner in "Mannequin," quite possibly one of the worst movies of recent history, and a favorite of my sister's and mine nonetheless.

So: RIP Sophia, you are my model for the type of snarky, sarcastic, wild and yet loving mother I hope to be. (FYI, for those of you in the NY area, "The Golden Girls" is on Lifetime at 9am, 930am, 4pm, and 430pm. Oooooooh yeah.)

Lesson of the day: Don't do things you might regret. Estelle, we will all try to forget this (um, the tagline is "She did the laundry and washed the dishes. Now she's cleaning up the streets"):

Meet the new man in my life.

No, not Joe! My other new man: Norman, my brand-new baby corn snake! Isn't he a doll? In 3 years he'll be about 4 feet long. But right now he's just a baby! The pic on the left is without flash, he still looks adorable but his colors come out more in the right one. . .

I forgot to mention . . .

The dreaded goatee: gone. Not gone gone, but shaved down to a respectable length. Allegedly, it was not due in any part to my repeated, but subtle, hints about my distaste for it. Frankly I don't give a shit why it's gone, let's just all be thankful that it's gone. Cause now I can bring him home to my mom. Huzzah!

The Laws of the Universe . . . Meet the Universe of the Law.

Doesn't have quite the same ring, does it?

Alas: "Joe" and I had "the talk" and we are now officially boyfriend and girlfriend. Aaaaaw. The talk was really cute. It basically consisted of him asking me to be his girlfriend on Saturday and me telling him no. Just cause I wanted to. For the rest of the night he teased me by telling me that whatever I wanted to do at that moment, he only did with girlfriends. I accused him of blackmailing me into it and he said "not blackmail, just pressure." Ha! I love a persistent man.

He finally won the prize that is me by using my own argument against me: he accused me of being afraid of labels (as in the 'label' of girlfriend). I said I'm not afraid because labels don't mean anything. It's like marriage: the people getting married don't need a marriage certificate to show each other how they feel. It's really for the rest of the world. Marriage is a social contract: it's useful so that everyone else knows you're taken and by whom and what your level of commitment is to each other. He said, "Exactly . . . it's the same thing with the boyfriend/girlfriend labels." Damn! He's smart. I love a smart man. So I acquiesced and now I'm all happy.

Here comes the good news for some of you: do you all recall a couple of posts ago when I said "If any of you ever see me with that glazed-over dopey look in my eyes, please punch me in the face"? Well, for those of you who have dreamed of nothing but punching me in the face, your moment has come. I'm glazed, I'm dopey, I smile to myself at random moments during the day. I'm so disgusted with my own mushiness I might punch myself in the face.

And, we both took down our Match profiles. Big steps, people, biiiiiig steps.

So, assuming all goes well, I think the laws of dating met their match (ha!) with me. I will continue to blog because I really like it. But I'll focus on other matters. Besides, my Harry Potter post got more comments than any of my dating posts, so I must give my audience what they want. I'll take suggestions for what you want to hear me rant about (and it better be Daniel Radcliffe's body .. . ha, no I jest. Sort of.)

Lesson of the day: If I end up marrying someone I met online, can I make up a story about how we met? And can it involve unicorns?

Realization of my own nerdiness.

As predicted, things with Joe have been going well enough that I (a) haven't been going on other dates and (b) am protecting the baby, with the combined result of no blogging. One of my loyal readers emailed me after my last post (where I suggested different blog titles) and said, "I love your general commentary on life," which is a pretty awesome compliment. Moreover, I can only assume that the rest of you feel the same way, so here I go.

I was trying to not disclose this to you all because it's just embarrassing, but Joe is also-- sigh-- a former D&D "master." Like everything else, he has an awesome sense of humor about it and while he harbors some deep mystical love for the game, he also recognizes why I laugh at him. He does try the whole "it's a thinking game, an analytical game" thing, and professes to have never played the live action part of it (thank god). He also alleges that "only smart people play D&D," and while I'm sure that's true, I reminded him that 98% of the time, "only white male teenagers with no other social outlets play D&D."

I would have won that conversation, but he turned the tables on me!! He retorted with, "at least I can't name all the spells in Harry Potter." Now, I can't name all the spells, but the point was made. I was speechless. Was I really in the same category of nerds as he is because of my love and devotion-- dare I say obsession-- with Harry Potter? Of course I would never think so, because everyone knows that HP is awesome and D&D is not. Don't they? Or are there people out there who turn up their noses at me when I wear my "PostPotter Depression" t-shirt to the gym? I had never even considered this before. But I had to admit to myself that perhaps the dungeon master had a point.

He went even further. Even more than HP, I was once obsessed with David Lynch films, so much so that I went to David Lynch conventions every year for about 4 years. Yes, as an adult. One year I even won the trivia contest-- do you know what it means to win a trivia contest in a competition of rabid, obsessive fans? It's sort of like tattooing "Rabid Obsessive Fan #1" on my forehead. At any rate, there you go. And Joe had the nerve to imply that this went even beyond nerdiness-- going to conventions pushed me over the barrier into the world of geekdom.

I'm a geek?? Holy fuck. My whole 30-years worth of self-actualization was just tossed out the window. I always knew I was a bit of a nerd, but I really and truly thought that was due to simple facts like I like to learn, love to read, studied in college in lieu of going out, etc. I recognized my tendency to get . . . er, caught up with certain things that I like . . . and that I tend to like, um, more intellectual pursuits. But that it equated me with the poor saps who sit around a table and collectively dream of wars and dragons and dungeons and shit? My lord.

In other, slightly related news, we all know that Daniel Radcliffe, who plays Harry Potter in the films, is doing nekkid scenes on Broadway. Since this blog is sort of about HP and more about my general outlook on life, I just want to say that I find nekkid Radcliffe to be sexy and I really like ogling his body. And that this realization makes me feel soooooo dirty and confused. I know there are others of you out there and you just don't have the cojones I do to admit it. And if I'm the only one, then just add 'pedophile' to my growing list of newly-realized characteristics. Although for the record, he's 18.

Lesson of the day: mmmm . . . . harry potter pecs . . .abs and shoulders . . . put a spell on me daniel . . . uuuuh