---Well, we̢۪re going to try and keep it short today. Have many plans
that require my presence outside of the house, and they begin shortly
so I must blog quickly (and we know how relative that statement is) and run.

--- He should be happy no
one̢۪s suing him for being a crappy lover and should leave it at that.
That said, however, he̢۪s got a decent case and he should be suing.
Now, the husband downloaded the Paris Hilton sex tape---for research
purposes (sha!), and we watched it the other night, expressions of eeeeeew
dominating our facial expressions. Honestly, if that̢۪s their
definition of what is erotic, well, it explains a whole hell of a lot
about Paris Hilton.
Ick. There was nothing erotic about that tape, and it was fairly
obvious that everything Paris knew about having sex (this was not
making love), she learned from watching porn. I mean, honestly, who
other than a porn star makes eye contact with the camera
while---ahem---performing fellatio? And this Rick guy was NOT
impressive---at all. I honestly do not know why the Hilton clan is so up in arms
about this whole deal. They̢۪re deluded about their baby girl̢۪s lack
of moral fortitude, methinks. If they̢۪d watched the tape, it was
pretty clear that Paris was a willing participant. She was free to walk
away at any point in time. She answered her cell phone during the
escapade. If she was really frightened and felt it was assault, why
didn̢۪t she ask the person on the other end of the call for help? I̢۪m not buying it---not one little bit. And honestly, if you̢۪ve ever watched Celebrities Uncensored on E!
(yeah, I know I should be above watching that sort of garbage, but
honestly, it̢۪s fascinating stuff---you̢۪d think all these
celebrities would beat back the cameras---most of the time, however,
they preen and strut like proud peacocks), you̢۪d know that Paris is
no Victorian virgin. So, Rick̢۪s got a point about the slander and
I̢۪m sure he̢۪ll get some money out of the Hiltons when all is said
and done. But next time, Rick, (and Paris, too) at least learn how to
make your sex erotic before you make another tape. (Interesting aside:
why, precisely, does a woman who does nothing but party all the time
have a frigging publicist?)
--- Oooh, I̢۪m gonna run right out and buy some.

--- Go over to A Small Victory sometime
today or over the weekend and weigh in on Michele̢۪s Top 25 albums of
the ‘90’s. --- So, my life today is typical Cake Eater stuff. I’m
going to have a massage. The Doctor and ML (oh yeah, if you didn̢۪t
figure it out when they posted---they̢۪re married) and Mr. H. (he
lives in their basement) very kindly purchased two massage gift
certificates for my birthday. Woohoo! The back̢۪s still bothering me
so I̢۪m going to go and do something about it---and it̢۪s SO great
that I will receive therapy for the problem and don̢۪t have to pay for it!
None of this will surprise them when they read this: they know I̢۪m a
cheap wench and will most likely cack one day as a result of my
stubborn refusal to go to the doctor. It̢۪ll clear up on its own
is generally my line whenever there̢۪s a problem. I wasn̢۪t a sickly
child, but I suspect being the last of the long line of children born
to my mother wasn̢۪t really great for my health, either. I spent a lot
of time in various doctor̢۪s offices when I was a kid, and as a
result, I hate going now. Let̢۪s see, there was the orthopedist for my
pigeon toed condition; the pediatrician for the anemia (once a week
blood pricks for a goodly amount of time) and all of the regular stuff
you take your kid to see a pediatrician for; the ear, nose and throat
guy; the dermatologist; and that̢۪s skipping the dentist, the
orthodontist and the oral surgeon. Suffice it to say, if I̢۪m not on
my deathbed, I̢۪d rather be doing something else than sitting in a
waiting room, listening to muzak, reading yet another copy of People
that proudly announces someone famous has gotten married, who, by the
time I finally get out of the office, will have gotten divorced. I̢۪ll
suffer through the plague before I go to the doctor and suffer yet
another waiting room. (And a note to any doctor who might be reading
this: if you only have one lousy copy of Highlights
in your waiting room, you can guarantee the kids will be fighting over
it and all of the puzzles will have already been filled in---stop being
a cheapskate and chip out for more than one copy.)
But I̢۪m looking forward to the massage: it̢۪s therapeutic in a
non-doctorly way. It will be good. Then I need to go to the Gap and buy
a new pair of jeans. I ripped through the knees on this one, so I look
like someone who has yet to get over Bon Jovi̢۪s hair loss. Why do you only have one pair?
you ask. Well, it̢۪s a remnant of the days when I wore a uniform all
day long. When I was growing up, there was for more than one pair: you
never wore jeans except for after-school and on weekends and Mom did
the laundry when you were at school: why would you need more than one
pair? I fell into this habit long ago and haven̢۪t broken it. It only
becomes inconvenient when I rip through, but provides a good impetus to
go and actually buy the damn jeans. After this afternoon, I should be
good for yet another year, unless there̢۪s a drastic shift in the size
of my ass. Which is completely possible: think bigger, not smaller,
though.
Jean Related Question of the Day: Why is it that jeans always and
forever rip out in the same place? It̢۪s a different place for
everyone: the husband̢۪s always rip out in his crotch; mine always go
at the knee, but why do they always
rip out in the same place, every time? Hmmmm. There̢۪s your
thought-provocation for the day. Then I will be slapping on copious
amounts of war paint and heading off to partake of boozy goodness at a
fashionable watering spot with an old friend. Now, I don̢۪t know
whether to look forward to this or not. It̢۪s a confusing situation: I
like this person, but I don̢۪t know if I like what they̢۪ve become.
I̢۪ve known this friend for years. And when I say that, I mean over
ten, which is a long time at my age, when everyone you know scatters
like roaches when the lights are turned on because of relationships or
work or whatever. The fact we̢۪re still friends after all this time
speaks of the loads of tolerance we have toward one another: she̢۪s
led an interesting life, as have I---and the fact we don̢۪t hate one
another with a distinct passion yet speaks volumes. Yet, she worries me
and it̢۪s because I̢۪m very fond of her that I̢۪m worried. I don̢۪t
think she̢۪s got her priorities in the right place: she values social
climbing, forever being with the “in crowd,” money, jewelry and is
very much a “what have you done for me lately?” type of person.
She̢۪s a Cake Eater; I am not. I get a walk---for the most part---on
all of these things because I knew her way back when; sentimentality
earns me a pass for not valuing the same things she values. If I met
her now, as opposed to when I did meet her, the chances she would want
to have nothing to do with me are very high.
The evening̢۪s going to be filled with lots of stories about what
she̢۪s doing for her career, her many men, what they̢۪ve bought for
her and all of this stuff
will be flavored with her quirky sense of humor that I enjoy very much.
It will be like eating canned tuna flavored with incredible, costly
spices that once upon a time explorers and merchants circumnavigated
the globe to obtain. Question is, can I stand the stink of the tuna to
get to the spices? I don̢۪t know. Will report back on Monday with the
gory details. Have a good, lazy, do-nothing but sit in front of the
fire, weekend.

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