n. infantile pattern of suckle-swallow movement in which the tongue is placed between incisor teeth or between alveolar ridges during initial stage of swallowing (if persistent can lead to various dental abnormalities) v. [content removed due to Bush campaign to clean up the internet] n. act of nyah-nyah v. pursuing with relentless abandon the need to masticate and thrust the world into every bodily incarnation in order to transform it, via the act of salivation, into nutritive agency

Tuesday, December 20, 2005


me, well, before the fightwell, it’s been a long time since I’ve gotten caught being a bad girl.

Seven things I’ve done recently I shouldn’t write on this blog because I’m ashamed of having done them:

1) Admitted to virtual strangers that I once sang to seals. [I didn’t mention I used to sing to geese too.] They asked me what type of music I sang to the seals, what the particular genre the seals were attracted to, and I had the sensation I was setting myself up perfectly as the hick-sealsinger dipshit drunk at a party.

2) Flipped someone off (in genuine anger) under my leg. There is absolutely nothing, in my opinion, unsexy about a simply mini-flip off. And by unsexy, I mean: it can convey love, anger, fury, a compliment, etc. That’s sexy… sort of like a butt slap. But flipping someone off in a non-simple (in particular, an under the leg) style is just too much.

3) Rolled my eyes at a blond mother who told me after I had accidentally waited for five minutes, that I “would need to go to the end of the line… way down there.” It would have been better to have thanked-her politely for setting me straight.

4) Showed up home at 4am the night before flying home (at 6:30am) … when my roomate had told me she’d wait up for me and I assured her I would be home by 2am to go over any last minute items. I fell asleep on the subway I was so tired.

5) Told someone that I like to be the center of attention. It’s close enough to the truth to embarress me. But I think a more accurate version would be like “I like to be within the hub of attention.” For some reason, accuracy seems important on that one.

6) Responded to an ex who was bound to make me feel shitty about whatever I wrote.

7) Came home with no gifts, an empty checkbook, and less writing than I meant to have done.

***You might notice that being 86’d is not on this list.

Just a question: how many people have I told how excited I was to go home and shoot pool and play air hockey with my sister and brolaw? The answer is definitely within the twenties, but in the first week, nay, the first three days, I’ve managed to cause an excess of trouble (which did include the underleg flipoff, but that seemed the only whoops part of the evening).

The long and the short is that I got kicked out of my favorite local club, boring and banal though it is, but part of what feels a rich history for something approaching ten years now. Yes, it was the club I snuck into when I was still underage and danced and flirted with all the hot chicks before it turned from Gay Bar to Gay-in-Name Bar.

How did this happen? Well, the bouncer said “because I bounced into the snow globe even after he had asked me not too.”

This snow globe was a 10-foot tall, 5-foot in diameter plastic blown up snow globe with three snowmen inside with the irresistable sign “Let it Snow.” Totally hot. Ali says there are bunches in the yards of yuppies everywhere these days, and apparently they are plugged in - the interior blows snow all over the place. My mistake - I thought you were supposed to bounce against the exterior in order to shake it up a little.

So yes, I bounced against, Chicago hoodlum that I am, but not really hard because I didn’t want to bust it or anything, but just get a little bounce. And instead of saying any of the following rhetorically acceptable approximations--

Hey, don’t bounce against the snow globe. It’s not very strong.

Please don’t bounce against that; it’s fragile.

Hey, chill out girl, that snow globe is likely to burst at its cheap Walmartian seams and spew styrafoam kernels out into the air, which would get the health inspecters totally down our throats.

--the bouncer instead decided to cop a little Oh, I wish I was a Bouncer in a Much Bigger City Attitude, and said something along the lines of:

Don’t do that or I’ll kick you out!

But he used an obnoxiously mean, muscleflexing voice, and if anyone knows me…

(anyone really, ask my friggin kindegarten friends)

…they know that nothing chaps my chafe faster than a little patronising demand that involves some mixture of imperitive/threat.

So, I rolled my eyes. Interestingly enough… my friend, sp, took the picture above somewhere around that very moment.

Well, to make short the evening—drinks, pitchers of beer, brolaw won one game of air hockey and I won one against him, one against sp. Pool, raffle tickets for a tattoo, flirting, dancing, s/m funny cheap bondage stuff on the stage. Etc.

Except I bounced against the snowglobe. Well, bounced wouldn’t really be fair to say… I bumped against the snow globe. Maybe two times, and the second time, I was heading outside with sp for a breather. And as I passed the front desk, the bouncer waved us over and said, not calmly, but prickily like someone had shoved a stick of sanctimony up his ass,

“I already warned you about the snow globe, and now I think I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

So, the truth about why I got kicked out of Rumors, which used to be my joint, used to be my digs before it turned into a testosterone fratboy partyhouse with buffoons. I leaned over the desk at this point and inquired very politely:

“Does having that marine hair cut, all nice and neat around the edges, make you feel you have to be an incredible dick?”

I’ve never seen anyone take a few minutes to register something, and then say in true umpire fashion,


Not only that, but he tried to kick me out in my t-shirt without my coat or anything, and when I said fuck that, and went to get my coat, he followed me back and started yelling at me as I was telling ali and brolaw what happened. “Get the fuck out of here.”

Ali told me that at this point I got right up in his face and started really shouting. I remember this of course, I mean I was drunk, but I remember it – it just seems to weird to be true.

I only got detention once from jr. high to high school – and it was for passing someone else’s notes.

And then the bouncer got all pussy scared and went to whine and tattle to the bartender and shit, and before too long, we were out of there. Not before I did number #2 on the list, which I do feel embaressed about, of anything about the evening.

I’m sure I could go back, but hell, I was waiting to have fun with my friends and family and I plunked down money, and I’ve always been a responsible driver and been polite and never dropped a glass and tipped moderately well and so forth. And why should I have to suck up to some prick who identifies one of his appendages with a


Anyhow. a kinda funny fitting welcome to the Big City
Joanna! You are such a BAD girl. I was laughing the entire read. miss you tons.
ah w, i live to make you all laugh. hugs and kisses.
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