Now we know...

...why Heather ended up marrying Tommy Lee instead of David Coverdale.

It's all about how you sell it, baby--and Tawny Kitaen she was not. Yikes!

Admittedly, all of it is cheese, but I have to say--despite fast-forwarding in time to learn of Tawny's slip into drug abuse vs. Heather's amazing longevity--at least at the beginning, TK had the upper hand.

Jeez. Back in the old days...

...they really knew how to take care of a gal's unpredictable emotions. All she had to do was visit her local doctor for some "water therapy" or "massage."

Nowadays, I have to call an escort for such premium services.

Sears and Roebuck, you have become SO square.

Better go, I feel my uterus floating around. It will soon be up to my neck, and I've got Marco's number on speed dial...


Female Hysteria

Awkward Family Photos...

Bedtime Stories
...the bizarre and sometimes disturbing, but always hilarious images on this site continually make me laugh until tears stream down my face. Pure brilliance.

L.A.

One of the things I miss about living in a big metropolitan city like Los Angeles is the random weird shit you would observe during the course of a day. Certainly, that happened when I was living in Seattle too, but the occurrences were usually more infrequent and significant enough that they garnered extensive attention...the incident in 1995 where a homeless guy stood on the corner of Pike (or Pine--they ran parallel and even after four years of living there, I never got them straight) downtown, holding up a sword for hours in a stand-off with police, comes to mind (my co-workers and I watched him off and on for hours from our safe high-rise office vantage point)...but in L.A., every day there was some bizarre piece of behavior or visual anomaly you could observe and note for sharing with your partner (or roommate, or cat) when you got home.

Anyway, one that came to mind today--that I still find particularly funny--was when I was walking into a Target in Culver City and this guy, who looked like he'd been up for about a week (and was probably doing a healthy amount of meth while depriving himself of sleep) was dragging along one of those rolling luggage bags behind him on the sidewalk that circled the strip mall. That in itself isn't really very weird, but he had a boom box resting inside of the luggage, and the zipper was pulled down so that he could blast the sounds of ABC's "Poison Arrow." It was an odd choice of music; even though it was a big hit in 1982-83, it was nearly 25 years old by the time everyone could hear it coming out of his suitcase.

At any rate, I've always been one who appreciates oddballs. Especially oddballs who are so demonstrative; who shake up the status quo of any situation, but do it without harming anyone. This guy fit the bill. Perhaps I was moved as well because the song reminded me of my childhood, and while a revisitation of music that wasn't that great in the big picture, it was nonetheless instrumental in the early formulation of my musical tastes (I still love New Wave). I'm sure my response was a culmination of all of the above, but whatever was creating the positive vibe, I felt the need to comment. "That's the coolest fucking thing ever," I said to him. He shot me an amused glance, as if to say, "Of course it is. And now, I'll be moving on."

He continued his trajectory around the corner of a Subway restaurant; to where he was headed, I don't know. But as I watched him drag away his moving piece of art/memory, I couldn't stop smiling.

Funny encounters.

Between classes and work today, I stopped into Jimmy John's, a local sandwich shop, to grab some food.  I first made a quick run to the restroom, and was irritated to find that there was nothing to wipe my hands on after washing them.

When I returned to the counter, I told the nearest guy, "There are no hand towels in the restroom."  He said, "Oh, okay, I'll get right on it."  While I was ordering, he lumbered back over my way and said, "What did you mean by hand towels?"

I recognize that perhaps most people say "paper towels," but somewhere along the line, I guess I picked up the other term.  Thinking he could have figured it out by inference, I decided to indulge him anyway and returned, "Um, you know, the paper things you dry your hands on when you're done washing your hands..."

He replied, "Well, she (pointing to a disinterested-looking employee) said it was full." 

"Hmm," I returned.

"Did you maybe reach into the thing beside the toilet?" he asked.

"Uh, no, that's where the toilet paper is."

"No," he said, lowering his voice.  "I mean the little can beside the toilet..."

"Dude, I am 36 years old," I retorted.  "I think I know the difference between where the hand towels go versus where girls put their used menstrual pads."

He said, "Well, come on back with me, I want to get this straight."

I laughed and replied, "No, it's cool.  My hands are dry now."