2004-04-10 @ 10:09 p.m.
|So what do you do when a big Eye-talian galoot shows up at your door mid-afternoon? Let him in of course, when he says he's the son of your landlord the Soprano's. He was, after all, holding this little packaged toilet device in his hand, which he said he had to put in my toilet to see if it was leaking. I guess if the water turned blue, it was, and if it didn't it wasn't.
Am not really thrilled when people show up with no appointments. Especially Guido types. Every weekend the driveway fills up with the Soprano relatives and it does indeed look like a casting call for "The Sopranos". I always half expect to see Tony Soprano carrying a dish of pasta up to Mrs. Soprano's side door, as he checks out the street for FBI agents.
Thankfully, after making the smallest of small talk with the Eye-talian, there was, in fact, NO BLUE WATER, so I guess, my toilet will be safe from "da plumba" for a while longer.
Married Guy, it seems has vanished. Wednesday, he had replied to my letter about all that had been going on and then asked if I was available for house sitting and pet sitting this weekend. I had not replied, since I have been going through alot emotionally lately, and have been pretty much just hiding out under the covers or blankly walking up and down the aisles at the Dollar Store the last couple of days. But I also figure, if he wants me to come to his house, he needs to call me at the appropriate time, and then I will pack up my toothbrush, medication and 12 bags of laundry, and head out to his house. But I have never heard from him.
He either took the dog with him to The City or he's repaying me for my delightful performance on Tuesday. Not sure which. Guess I deserve it though. I have been a flake lately.
And of course, there is the third scenario, which is that he read my diary and realized that I was onto his dastardly plot to have me whacked while I was housesitting, so he decided to nix that idea and just send that Eye-talian, disguised as my landlord's son to my house to put an incendiary device in my toilet. Yeah, that's it.
Isn't paranoia fun? The possibilities for my demise are so limitless.
Did I mention Married Guy's absolute favorite show IS "The Sopranos"?
Anyhoo, when I'm not worrying about getting whacked, I've been trying to find something to watch on TV this most Holiest of Weeks. There are just so many holy movies, like "Judas", "Jesus of Lazareth" and my personal favorite, "Moses".
Nothing better than watching the recent President of the NRA, Chuck Heston, stretch out his arm dramatically and say lines like "Be gone locust" and then seeing Edward G. Robinson in a short, skimpy toga.
And then what's up with all the "Egyptian" women looking strangely like 1950's Amana refrigerator models...with their bright red lipstick, and their perfectly coifed hair. Something just tells me, that if you went to MaxFactor.com, and went back through the history of red lipstick, the advent of carefully outlined red lips probably didn't precede the birth of Moses.
I really did try watching the movie for a while, and I actually remember watching it as a kid and thinking how awesome it was, but you know what? The acting totally sucks, and the only good part was salivating over Yul Brynner's fine physique and watching the Red Sea part.
So bored with television Holy Week, I naturally headed back to my beloved Internet. Home of the weird, wonderful and most informational.
I am actually on quite a few mailing list from About.com. Some I signed up for some I didn't. I actually know someone who runs one of the website, but hell if I'm going to tell you which one. But its a good site.
So anyways...wondering through About.com, I was looking at various subjects. Reprogramming your PDA...Frankly, I don't even know what a PDA is, except that I don't need one because I only do about 3 things a week, and even though I'm heavily medicated I do actually manage to remember to go to them without the aide of an electronic device.
And then there were a lot of other subjects. Traveling Abroad. Tracing your Irish roots. Canning Jelly. Straight Women's Erotica....whoops, how did I get there? Oh my.
And then naturally what followed was Female Sexuality.
I could always use a few pointers in that department, despite my advanced years, so the first thing I clicked on was a link about the clitoris. And I came upon a most amazing and startling quote:
first of all...
How to Find It (always good to know...road maps and all). And then...
You can easily locate your clitoris...tucked under the folds of skin where the top of your labia meet. Pull back the hood (what am I a Chevy?)...to reveal the clitoral glans. You may be surprised at how much it resembles a miniature penis—or how much a penis resembles a large clitoris.
WHAT? I HAVE SOMETHING THAT RESEMBLES A MINIATURE PENIS? Holy shit! Yeeps! How did that happen?
I wasn't entirely sure this was good news. I mean, I think the only possible advantage to having a penis would be to be able to pee in the woods.
So I decided to refer my questions to somebody who can only be described as an expert on virtually everything that is important...
Wittykitty:"So Jessica, did you realize that your clitoris, may actually be shaped somewhat like a penis?"
Jessica Simpson:"Is the camera on yet? Nick, baby, how's my make-up? Is the camera on yet?
Wittykitty:"Yes, I believe we are on Live and that there are about a half a billion people waiting to hear the definitive answer to the clitoris question. Did you realize that your clitoris is shaped like a miniature penis?"
Jessica Simpson: Is the camera on? I think this body mike is making my boob itch. Oh my golly...(giggling uncontrollably). Nick, did you hear what I just said. Boob. Do you think they'll edit that out? Is that camera on yet?
Wittykitty:'Scuse me Miss Simpson, I had a question for you...
Jessica Simpson: Huh? Oh really? I hope its not too hard. Oh, and I am in favor of world peace (looking around nervously)....right, Nick? Isn't that what I'm supposed to say? Oh, and our new show will be debuting this Sunday night on NBC. Its called the Nick and Jessica Variety Hour, and it'll be just like the Donnie and Marie Hour, except we have sex. (starts giggling uncontrollably again). Not ON the show, at least not during it (giggling some more)....Nick baby. I think I just made another mistake (giggling), like the chicken and tuna thing. Remember that?
Suddenly Jessica stops laughing momentarily, presses the ear piece in her ear and says:
Jessica Simpson: I should touch my boob again? But I do that EVERY time...its in my contract? Oh ok!
And then suddenly, just as I'm about the ask the clitoris question one last time, I realize that if she doesn't know the difference between chicken and tuna, she probably won't know what a clitoris is, so I decide to just let it go. Especially since Jessica probably needs to return to rehearsals for the old Donnie and Marie number "I'm a little bit country, and you're a little bit rock and roll" with her husband.
And in the meantime, I think they're re-running "Moses" again, and there's always the parting of the Red Sea part. And I can never get enough of those guys in short togas. Woohoo!
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty