Friday, December 30, 2005

Start Spreading the News!

Yeah, Baby... I'm leavin' today...

I want to be a part of it...

New York, New York.

I'm totally in a New York State of Mind.

I'm so fucking psyched.

This is the last Funky post of 2005.

I'll be back on Jan. 3, 2006.

Thank you for the many ways you have touched my life this past year. I wish you great blessings and joy in 2006. Be safe, be wild, be wide-eyed to the magic around you.

Any NYC bloggers want to grab a beer while I'm in town?

This is Funky, and that is all.

Thursday, December 29, 2005

HNT -- Andy Warhol Called -- He'd Like His Boobs Back


Our HNT orders are in; choose my favorite HNT from 2005 and post it, with a brand NEW story explaining why it's my favorite.

Well, after tossing around a few, I decided that this indeed is my favorite HNT of 2005. I actually don't have a lot of them to choose from (they're linked on my sidebar if you want to catch up), but this one was by far the most fun.

First of all, I got to play with photoshop.
Then I got to play with Flicker's collage toy.
My boobs look so fucking perky!

Yes, that's deep, I know, but it's the honest story of why Andy Warhol in Bad Drag is my favorite HNT of 2005.

Now, go off to see the Wizard, the wonderful Wizard of Os.

This is Funky, and that is all.

Wednesday, December 28, 2005

I'm NOT a Snob... I'm Not, I'm Not.

I am just determined to blog this week, regardless of the fact that the holiday season is still in full swing. I'm just doing a really terrible job at reciprocating your attentions. Please take it with a grain of salt, the fact that my comments are sparse this week. It's been mad-assed crazy time.

I had to put my Bugs on a plane for Indiana on Sunday. We spent all day in the frickin' Orlando airport waiting for a "slightly delayed" plane. I drove home, watched my step-daughter unwrap her gifts, then drove to Tampa to take a friend out for Christmas dinner.

Monday I made the worst mistake of the year; I suggested that we shop at the outlet malls for some after-Christmas lovin'.


Then I had to go BACK to work today, and yes I'm so pissy about that. All I wanted to do was stay in bed, then play Sims2 all day. LoveBug and LighteningBug got to stay home... why not me? Oh yeah... I work for Jeb Bush now.

LighteningBug and I -- still not "spent" from yesterday's spending, decided to do some power shopping at our local mall as soon as I got off of work. And guess what? Not one mother-fucking salesperson wished me a Happy Hanukkah. They were all "Happy New Year" with a big grin on their face, like they'd dodged a bullet and won the lottery all at the same time. Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't Hannukah closer than Jan. 1st? Like, NOW closer? Yeah, I thought so.

So I guess my excuse for not stopping by your place, is that I'm not done spending money. I have no good excuse for this rather lame post.

But I'm not a snob. I'm just a shopaholic. Really.

This is Funky, and that is all.

Tuesday, December 27, 2005

So That Was Christmas

Now that Christmas is over I'm wondering...

Is anyone offended that the salespeople aren't saying Happy Hanukkah? I'm thinking of writing a letter to the editor, and vowing not to shop in any store that is ignoring the holy days, choosing instead to say Happy Holidays.

Okay -- I'll take my tongue out of my cheek now and move on.

There's obviously so much to say about the last week. I won't, of course, because no one really has THAT great an attention span. But I have to share a wonderful moment that really helped kick in the Christmas Spirit for me (and literally not a moment too soon).

My family and I decided to attend Midnight Mass again this year, though we haven't been to service at our old church since they fired the youth minister and built a huge sanctuary with his salary. We picked a quaint little Episcopal church around the corner from our house and arrived strangers in a familiar land.

When the priest welcomed us all, he let everyone know that communion was open to everyone, be they Baptist, Buddist, or none of the above.

*in my previous life, no one was allowed to take communion unless they were totally sinless... we all took it anyway, because God forbid we be gossip fodder*

He said he still waits up until 3am for Santa to arrive.

*in my previous life, we were sinners if we lied to our kids and told them Santa was real. We were told this, of course, in the presence of our kids*

And I just needed to be reminded that there are practicing Christians in this country that don't live by the law of hate and bigotry. And yes, that brought Christmas to me this year.

That, and the presents.

This is Funky, and that is all.

Monday, December 26, 2005

Me-Me #14 -- I Broke My Sister's Shawn Cassidy Album Because She Stole My Grape Bubblicious

Welcome to another installment of, "Come ON -- tell me the WHOLE story!" otherwise known as "I love to talk about myself", and in a pinch can be called Me-Me Monday. The object of the game is to refer to your 101 Things About Me list, pick one of your "things" and tell the whole sordid tale. If you're new and you want to grab this image for your post, see the instructions at the end of my post.

14. I broke [my sister's] Shawn Cassidy album against the wall because she stole my Grape Bubblicious.

If you've been following the saga of my normally disfunctional childhood, you'll recall that (a) my sister was the apple of my stepfather's eye, and (b) I was deathly afraid of my stepfather's wrath. Knowing this, you're probably wondering why on earth a stupid pack of gum would cause me to lose control of my senses and risk death or dismemberment?

It's kinda simple; it was MY damned gum.

The incident occurred two days after my sister's birthday. My stepfather had showered her with gifts as one does when the sun rises and sets on the birthday girl. Being unable to compete with his lavishness (as I was eleven and had no means of earning an honest living), I gave to her from the heart; I bestowed upon her my most cherished possession -- my Shawn Cassidy album.

Two days later, my gum disappeared. My mom was completely unconcerned with the hijacked item, forcing me to crawl through the house in a state of furious urgency, leaving no stone unturned. Meanwhile, my sister vaccumed. After several minutes of earnest detective work, it occurred to me that not only was my sister vaccuming the same spot in the hallway, but she had not VERBALLY answered my inquiry as to the whereabouts of my sugary goodness. I stood up and approached her and asked, "Have you seen my gum?" She shook her head from side to side, averted her eyes, and continued to wear a hole in the carpet. Yanking the electrical cord from the socket to silence the vrooming sound, I said, "I didn't HEAR you. Have you seen my gum?"

No response.

I took her seven-year-old porcelain cheeks in my hand and squeezed her mouth open. Then I put my nose into her mouth and inhaled. There was no mistaking that sickening grape aroma that accosted my nostrils when she screamed, "Mom!!!"

I stared at her. It was a showdown, and for whatever reason, Mom was not coming to save the day.

There was only one thing left to do. With my baby sister hot on my heels, I stormed into her room and grabbed the album. I help it up, eyes narrowed to a slit, and slipped the the disk from the cover. Then I frisbeed it across the room and into the wall. After slicing a three-inch slit in the drywall, the tip broke off and landed somewhere behind her bed.

I braced myself for what would surely come next. She would scream, "Daddy!!!!" and he would come running with Mom close on HIS heels to minimize the damage. I would most likely spend the evening in my room nursing various welts from belts, switches, or wooden spoons. I knew this, and I calmly decided that some things are worth their consequences.

I waited.

But she didn't call him. She looked up at me with those green eyes as pools of tears spilled over reddened cheeks. She never looked at the album. She never looked at the wall. She never even told on me. She just hung a picture over the dent and crawled into her bed.

That mark remained on that wall for another 25 years. When Mom put her house on the market, my sister and I took on the task of repainting the interior. When we got to her room we took the picture down and filled in the dent with spackle and Grape Bubbilicious. I hope the new owners don't mind, but this is how we repair things in my family. Love, spackle, and a sense of humor.

Sandy, I love you, and if you even need a piece of gum, I've got plenty. Just this time, maybe ask first, okay?

Let me know if you played so's I can give you that linky lovin!

Here's the instructions for scarfing up this image for your Me-Me Monday:
Make sure you replace the parenthesis with < > .

(a href="")
(img src="" border="0")(/a)

Remember... no "()", but "<>"

This is Funky, and that is all.

How to Play Me-Me Monday

Lots of bloggers have a 101 Things About Me List. If you look them over, you'll find a lot of interesting factoids that scratch the surface of a very interesting story. That's what Me-Me Monday is all about.

There are two ways to play:
If you already have your 101 Things List
Pick a number, any number. You can start at the top, start at the bottom, start in the middle, or go all random and shit. It's totally up to you.

Now -- tell us the story behind the factoid. See? Simple as stupid.

If you don't have your 101 Things List
Now you can start building it from scratch. Blog about something interesting that revolves around YOU. Because after all, Me-Me is all about the "Me" in you. Call it #1 the first week, #2 the second week, and so on.

Finally, let me know in the comments of my Me-Me post if you played. I encourage you to visit all the Me-Me players. That's why they're linked in my sidebar. If you play, let us all know! If it's your first time, let ME know so I can link you up.

Here's the image for your post. I've placed " ( ) " in the place of " < > " so you can easily copy the HTML code. But once you copy it, make sure you replace the parenthesis with the brackets, or your code won't translate into the image.

(a href="")
(img src="" border="0")(/a)

Remember... no "()", but "<>"

Alrighty then? Coolness. Play on.
This is Funky, and that is all.

Friday, December 23, 2005

We Wish You A Merry Christmas

From Me

From Mine

To Yours

My Christmas Gift to You All. Peace be with you this holiday season.

Wisdom will return to it's regularly scheduled bitching on Monday.

Feliz Navidad, y'all.

This is Funky, and that is all.

Thursday, December 22, 2005

HNT -- Here's Looking at You, Kids.


SooooooooooooOSBASSO shook things up a bit this week, didn't he? Instead of our usual half-nekkid fodder, we are instructed by the bOSs to gift three fellow HNTers with something other than skin. Being the obedient little fuck that I am, I gift (in no particular order):

Robin a.k.a Binsk
Binsk, you're one of the first blogs I started reading when I started reading blogs. Because of your quirky sense of humor and your fantastic eye for photography (my GOD, I remember when you bought your camera), I gift you with a round-trip, all expenses paid trip to someplace warm. When you arrive, you're going to be happy to find out that of the four weeks you'll be staying there, you get to spend a week with a crack-photographer, going on one of those travelog photoshoots. Your pictures will, of course, be published in a very artsy magazine upon your return. The other three weeks will be spent in an all-inclusive, oh-so-exclusive resort, where you will be served cocktails by men without shirts. Oh yes, Honey -- I arranged with your boss for these four weeks to be time off with pay.

Roximoon over at Between a Rock and a Diamond
Roxi, I found you through HNT about a week or two before you were forced to take your blog down. I mourned! From the first time I read your blog I was hooked. You are forceful, sexy, and intelligent. You never cease to amaze me, how bold and unpredictable and confident you are. So to you, I gift a Mind Control Mirror. With this Mind Control Mirror, you will no longer have to worry if your boyfriend's parents really like you. You'll know it beyond a certainty. In addition, this Mind Control Mirror comes with a profanity filter, so you can say "fuck" all you want, without fear or trepidation.

Femi-Mommy at Random Thoughts and Confessions
Femi-Mommy, I also discovered you through HNT, and though I don't always get the chance to visit you daily (nor have I had the chance to visit you in your new digs), I always shoot straight over to your blog on Thursdays (well, actually Wednesday nights, truth be told). Your photography is more than that; it's art, and no, it's not bad art. Art should transcend the medium and evoke. Your portraits always do. You have set an example in that we never have to just point the camera at our collar bone and shoot -- we have the option of saying in print, "This is how I feel." So I gift you with good health for the rest of your days. Being in good health, you will have the stamina to take on the second prong of your gift. I have opened an art gallery in New York City, with an annex in LA and Miami. I'll be commissioning the work of both you and Freckle Boy, and all expenses of reproduction, travel, and accomodations have been taken care of. Your work will be heavily promoted, my muse, and I promise you two will have plenty of down-time to enjoy your penthouse apartments.

Here's looking at you, Kids. For your intellect, your confidence, and your passion, I wish you all the best of the holiday of your choosing.
This is Funky, and that is all.

Tuesday, December 20, 2005

I'm Sorry, I Didn't Mean to Screw You

Edited at 12:03pm -- Post Nip/Tuck

Fifteen minutes until show time. I'm sorry -- I'm totally sorry for not posting something Funky, but I gotta know, dammit... and I can't miss a single minute.

I put fifteen Hershey Kisses down on Bobole.
My daughter saw my fifteen Kisses, and raised five with Jude.
My son says we're all freaks.

In the meantime, I wanted to formally introduce you to my new comment thingy, Haloscan. My buddy PG has been on me for a LONG time to get on board, but it wasn't until my buddy Scotty got on board that I finally FINALLY saw the beauty of Haloscan: edit comments.

Oh yes -- I can click on the little pencil thing and reply to your comments within Haloscan, instead of slapping my forehead when I can't reply via Blogger's e-mail notification thingy.

So I hope you're checking back to see my little comments to your comments.

So -- the first 27 of you that commented to Monday's post -- I replied AND I visited you at your own bloggy home with a nice houseplant and a cheap bottle of vino.

The rest of you got screwed. I'm sorry -- but it's The Carver, dude. I just can't miss it.

This is Funky, and that is all.

-- or IS it? OMG -- Quentin. How predictable! I'm actually disappointed, BUT so surprised at how intense the ten minutes of unveiling (coupled with Matt's predicament) were! Okay -- you know where the comment thingy is -- talk amongs yourselves.

This is Funky, and that is (really) all.

Tis The Season To Be... oh Fa-la-la THIS

You know, I have to say that getting into the Christmas spirit has not been seamless this year. Shopping is, as is always the case this time of year, a nightmare.

I hit the antique district only to find that "district" really means store, as in individual store, as in "dammit, I can't find the right crystal pattern for my sister-in-law." I'd buy her that lovely Clinique scent she adores, but I'm sick as shit of hearing that perfumes have three notes: "a top note, a middle note, and a..." yeah, I get it... a bottom note. Hey Spray Bitch! This ain't a fucking symphony. You HEAR notes, you SMELL shit. So if I tell you that your perfume SMELLS like a pig's ass, it doesn't mean I'm tone deaf? Got it?

Before I make it through the first toy aisle at K-Bee, I'm bruising like I've been bitten by a thousand recluse spiders.

I try to hum along to the cheerful music, but all around me, screaming kids are making the "christmas face".

Yes, that's the one. It says, "I don't care if Santa is going to bring it in a week, I want it NOW!" Why the FUCK to parents take their toddlers Christmas shopping? What neo-torture devise IS this? And who are they trying to torture, their offspring, or me?

Then -- OH THEN -- there's the overly anxious, neurotic, people-pleasing sales clerk that acosts me with her Christmas cheer. "Merry CHRISTmas," she says, as she takes my face in her hands and breathes stale pretzel bites into my nostrils. "Merry CHRISTMAS". Yes, you Christmas Warrior Freak of Nature, I smelled you the first time. Yes, you and Bill O'Reilly put the Fa-la in falafel, I get it. Now give me my fucking $9.00 t-shirt and leave me be!

And don't you just love those poor, commission-hungry sales associates who are forced with cattle prods into begging you to open a charge account and save 10%? You tell them no, and they look as if you've sentenced them to death by water torture.

What about the kiosk nazis? No, my nails have a natural un-sheen I am quite fine with. No, I'm very happy with my cell phone service. Why yes, I DO think I could stand to lose 15lbs, but I'm NOT trying your Wonder Girdle on over my pants in an establishment brimming with 15,000 angry shoppers.

You know what? How's about you all just make room for me at the front of the Barney's line and nobody gets hurt? That's right, Barista, pour me some of that Santa's White Christmas, leave room for cream and sugar, and MAYBE I'll hum a few bars to Silent Night. I've got five more days to get my Christmas Groove on, so you might want to drop a shot of espresso in there, honey.

This is Funky, and that is all.

Monday, December 19, 2005

Me-Me #13 -- I Secretly Hate My Sister

Welcome to another installment of, "Come ON -- tell me the WHOLE story!" otherwise known as "I love to talk about myself", and in a pinch can be called Me-Me Monday. The object of the game is to refer to your 101 Things About Me list, pick one of your "things" and tell the whole sordid tale. If you're new and you want to grab this image for your post, see the instructions at the end of my post.

#13 -- I secretly hate my sister.

Here's something I haven't mentioned -- The Wisdom of Funky Bugs recently celebrated it's 1-year anniversary, as well as her 300th post. I say that to say this; I have no idea what was going on in my life a year ago that would prompt me to say that I hate my sister.


No, really.

I've been thinking about it all afternoon; why did I write that?

Was I trying to be funny?

Oh-- oh -- was I drinking?

Or is there some part of me, some stinkin' spoiled brat that still hates my sister for getting all the love and acceptance from our dad that I so desperately needed?

Is that inner brat still jealous that my sister got Channel No. 5 from our dad on the same year he gave me Haltson?

Is Little-Miss-Rebel still tanked because my sister was allowed to get a car at sixteen, while I had to wait until I was damned near 21 in order to afford that $300.00 piece of shit I call My First Car?

Maybe that poor, whiney matyr is still stinging from the time my sister got to go to Italy for a week with her Latin class (though she was flunking it) but I never got to go to Peru with my Spanish class (though I aced it).

I really have no idea why I wrote #13 last year. No clue at all. Weird, huh?

Let me know if you played! Technorati found a few of you that I didn't know about, and if you play I want to know so's I can give you that linky lovin!

Here's the instructions for scarfing up this image for your Me-Me Monday:
Make sure you replace the parenthesis with < > .

(a href="")
(img src="" border="0")(/a)

Remember... no "()", but "<>"

This is Funky, and that is all.