Looking like a true survivor. Feeling like a little kid.

I had a memorable Memorial Day with my favorite married couple, The Murphys.

Wish I had the will to write about it. I'm still recovering to be quite honest. Went to the best Legendary Shack Shakers show I've ever seen where I decided to drink too much, smoke too much, dance too poorly, and take a nap at a rest stop while listening to Dead Milkmen. Fantastic.

My favorite part of the memorable Memorial Day occured minutes before I went into the "back room" with a certain extraordinary guitarist who shall remain nameless and no, it's not who you think...that would be far too obvious. I was armed with the intention of seeing a fancy shmancy guitar that made me weak in the knees...no other purpose or motive, I swear! I guess this fella has "a rep" and Pete Yorko got very protective (at least he seemed protective...in a little brother-ly way), and said, "I don't want you to do anything. I don't know if you're like that or anything but I don't want you to do anything. He's a slut". I thought it was really funny and cool. I like having protective friends who look out for me and keep me out of trouble. I salute you, Pete Yorko!

However, I'll never say what, if anything, went on in the "back room"...and I know that is just KILLING some people. A girl has to keep some secrets. I will say he called me "Cutie Pie" and I liked it!

Be at the Beachland Tavern this Friday @ 9:30 with $7 in your grubby little paws or be hunted down that like dogs you are by 5 fiesty Pussyfoot Girls! I'll be the one in the pink and white skirt, double-fisting PBRS, laughing psychotically, and pretending everything you say sounds brilliant.

You're breaking hearts and you're breaking guitars.

Pete Yorko did NOT write "Beer Bottle Mama". My whole world has been based on lies.

Friday, I was in a mood that closely resembled the rotting body of a dead whore stuffed in the spirngs of a hotel matress. Can't picture that? I'll just say that it was nasty and left a strange smell for miles and miles. I opted to skip seeing The Ponys as I wasn't in the mood for a 50/50 chance that I'd hear something rockin' (and since they didn't play "Chemical Inbalance" or "Fall Inn", I'd say I made the right choice) after I had spent the majority of my Friday crying and praising the melancholy brilliance of Blink 182. Instead, I took a mini-road trip to Stink City, USA (not to be confused with Spook City, USA) where beer, a movie, some laughs, and a good night sleep had set me right again. No hanky panky...just some good old fashioned compassion. Sometimes you DON'T want to go where everybody knows your name. Sometimes you just need to be somewhere where you know your ex-husband's name isn't going to come up and you know you won't get shit for being slightly hostile and selfish. It's what I needed. After that, I just felt like a regular old whore...the non-rotting kind.

Saturday, after a shopping trip which scored me a shirt reading "Trust Me...I'm An Alcoholic" and one reading "Cowboys Make Better Lovers", an intimate gathering for drinks and board games to cure boredom turned in to an Ol' Kentucky Sharks rock-n-roll-a-rama causing us to buy every 24 oz. PBR that the scariest grocery store in creation could offer. I love being in such a goofy, drunk mood that hiding in the bushes and then running down the street with my shirt pulled over my head with Pete seems like a good idea. This mood was most likely contagious as lots of graphic mooning took place, Switchblade passed out in a closet under 50 pairs of shoes (one of which made it's way up his butt) and Brodie woke up screaming, "Where am I!? What day is this!?" after smooshing Bean's jugs in his face and passing out. All in all, it was fucking fun as fuck (Pete even played "Beer Bottle Mama" for me l-i-v-e) but the fucking highlight was buying a book about ninjas that is beyond totally sweet. Now I officially believe that a ninja could stomp a pirate any day of the week.

Today was a total "Cleveland kind of day". Bean and I woke up and attended a family outting to the zoo...I got to see the Slow Loris and it's perefct, fuzzy, cupable butt! And my second favorite animal, the fossa, which is a cross between a skinny cat and a weasle and it has red eyes. Took a stroll down the perverse section of memory lane at the Shark Encounter, illegally rode the tram with an ice-cream cone, and bought a mega-sweet cowboy hat for Heavy Rebel. Managed to fit in a ten second nap before an awfully productive Pussyfoot practice. The show next Friday is going to be a hit, as they say in the business. What business is that? The business of blowing minds, y'all. Be there. No excuses. Closed out this day with a trip to the drive-in to see "House of Wax" for the second time. It was equally as k-rad and the killer was equally as flippin' hot, even with his dirty trucker hat on. And now I'm here...home sweet home...and ready to hit the sack before I make the most of my Memorial Day in my state's capital.

Thanks to everyone (and you know who you are) for making my horrible weekend flip-flop for the better.

So here I am. Are you ready?

I cried the entire way to work.

I've been here before a few times.
And I'm quite aware we're dying.
And your hands they shake with goodbyes.
And I'll take you back if you'd have me.

So here I am. I'm trying.
So here I am. Are you ready?

Come on let me hold you, touch you, feel you.
Always.
Kiss you, taste you, all night.
Always.

And I'll miss your laugh, your smile.
I'll admit I'm wrong if you'd tell me.
I'm so sick of fights. I hate them.
Lets start this again for real.

So here I am. I'm trying.
So here I am. Are you ready?
So here I am. I'm trying.
So here I am. Are you ready?

Come on let me hold you, touch you, feel you.
Always.
Kiss you, taste you, all night.
Always.

I've been here before a few times.
And I'm quite aware we're dying.

Come on let me hold you, touch you, feel you.
Always.
Kiss you, taste you, all night.
Always.

Always.
Always.

And I cried the entire way home.

With the two together we're bound to win!

I think that when Pete Yorko wrote "Beer Bottle Mama", he didn't know it, but he was writing about me. Or at least that's what I'll tell people.

I have no desire to do anything today outside of watching nudie movies and eating Snow Caps. I was in a damn good mood when I woke up this morning (despite the fact that I over worked my ribs and felt like a slab of beef), determined to flirt my pants off and sit in my cubicle sporting nothing but my britches. I stayed fully clothes all day (I didn't mind...I love my new "Love Dead...Hate Living" Frankenstein and Bride shirt I bought yesterday) and my mood just sort of went wooooooooo, SPLAT! It didn't help that when I went to the bank, the teller recognized me from having my divorce papers notarized...and felt the need to bring it up! Yes, after all, that was the highlight of that week...dick.

Top 10 Things That Should Make Me a Happy Panda but Seem to Have Significant Down Sides.

1. My wrench halter top that I ordered for Heavy Rebel (which is like 32 days away...a whole weekend with all my favorite people, great bands, fancy duds, foxy dudes/broads, and malted hops & barely). And KINGS OF NUTHIN' ARE PLAYING! Fuck yes!
-we still don't have a hotel booked, we can't leave work until 11:00 so we might miss something, and staying all three days to see the Kings means missing Reigning Sound in Cleveland yet again!

2. Pain killers sometimes ACTUALLY kill pain without forcing one to toss their cookies...and the first week of the 2-8 week broken rib healing process is nearly at a close.
-however, I still have 2 busted ribs and no fella to tend to them.

3. We can't be silent cause THEY MIGHT BE GIANTS and what are we gonna do unless they are? Back-to-back shows in Cleveland on July 15th and 16th. I want to wear a shirt with a robot on it.
-the tickets ain't cheap and the second show is at a children's festival. Screaming maniacs as far as they eye can see who do NOT appreciate John and John.

4.Classy Chassis and I cooked up a damn fine routin to "Love Me Like Crazy" by cave Catt Sammy for next week's Pussyfoot Girls show. I'm proud of us...and that show is gonna ROCK! AND our new colors are black, white, and PINK! Hooray!
-I can't find a good pink, black, and white outfit to wear without sacrificing the gotharina skirt! And I am way sore and concerned about how I'll feel by next Friday.

5. Saturday might be the last day of fix-it-up stuff here at the Kent house before it goes on the market and I'm Cleveland-bound!
-Lots of memories were made here...it's actually bittersweet: They'll need a crane. They'll need a crane...to take the house he built for her apart. To make it break, it's gonna take a metal ball hung from a chain. They'll need a crane. They'll need a crane...to pick the broken ruins up again. To mend her heart, to help him start to see a world apart from pain.

6. I have a crush who flirts with me and helps me pass time.
-he has a girlfriend, a family (offspring), a life, and lots of problems. I don't feel guilty though...yet.

7. 10 days until my divorce is finalized and I don't have to carry this burden around on my shoulders. The waiting will be done, the work will be done, and I'll be free of his last name and his issues. And a little birdie that I love is making June 6th the best day ever for me, doing her best to make sure my eyes and heart aren't sad and that my girly parts and liver are happy!
-standing next to the man I loved and saying I WANT to be divorced...rots....but not half as much as being with someone who doesn't love you or respect you and treats you like dirt. Fuck.

8. I have my picture with Deke Dickerson!!!
-I was drunk, covered in champagne, and wearing cat ears. This leads me to believe that I didn't make intelligent conversation with Deke.

9. Going to the Grog Shop tomorrow night with my dude Johnny Switchblade whom I haven't seen in over a WEEK to see The Ponys. Grog Shop has the mega-tall beers, a photo booth, AND Ms. Pac-Man which I rule supreme at! And The Ponys rockin' songs ROCK...
-...but their non-rockin' songs put me in a coma. And I'm sure kids I don't like will be there.

10. One week until I rock out to the Hucklebucks and stare at Ted (that's his name, right?) with Queen La Tata and the rest of my girls!!
-NO DOWN SIDE TO THAT, YO!

Oh how you hit me! Oh how you flip me!

But he doesn't get nervous. She's not really there.

Right now, if I were a cartoon, I'd be that sleazy wolf whose tongue rolls down the block and eyes pop out of his skull every time a busty blonde nurse walks by and this burst is accompanied by an "AHHH-OOOO-GA" sound. I am trying to hide my little, red, glittery devil horns and tail that keep slowly appearing (not literally...only in my cartoon world) so I don't give myself away. A bad case of Spring Fever has made me mischievious and after a pit stop at the local (Un)Planned Parenthood, I am armed, dangerous, and ready to make out (so that's what the kids are calling it these days).

Making it in to work today was rough and I was actually sporting more pain than yesterday but I was expecting gifts and there's no better reason to drag your broken bones out of bed than for presents! Miss Phoebe Bean not only bought me a necklace shaped like a bowling bag (I'd rather be bowling...it's true), but I also scored a spider necklace that says "Arana" and a book entitled The Action Heronine's Handbook: How to Win a Catfight, Drink Someone Under the Table, Choke a Man with Your Bare Thighs, and Dozens of Other TV and Movie Skills.

This book couldn't have come at a better time as my drinking contest with Kenny is fastly approaching. I don't know what the stakes are but I've lost enough this year. I am determined to score that blue ribbon...there had BETTER be a ribbon! However, I'm not sure I can really incorporate a shot of 151 into an evening routine of 3 shots (I guess this is my new routine) as the book suggests. It's going to be interesting. At least I know that the gauges of drunkenness are euphoria, excitement, confusion, stupor, coma, and death. I'd like to avoid coma and death. Looks like I better go buy a bottle of 151!!

Headin' down the highway. Sign has 3 inverted 9s.

I feel lousy for multiple reasons:

1. I didn't go to work because I was up most of the night wailing due to intense rib pain. It hurt so bad around 5:00am that I thought I was going a little batty. So the pain coupled with being unable to do my job makes me feel like a dick.

2. Pain killers make me sick. Not sure if the nausea or the rib pain is worse. It's really a tough call.

3. I missed my "husband" quite a bit this morning but I'd like to blame that on the spine-chillin' pain I was in. I will also blame the brief "I miss you" e-mail I sent on that as well. I was delirious and delusional. I am over the missing. Now I have moved on to embarrassment.

4. I will be divorced 2 weeks from today.

But on the flipside, I feel good for multiple reasons:

1. I might, at some point, get flown out to Vegas to visit with Sgt. Timothy Sullivan , my hero and one of my future husbands. I love Vegas and miss Tim so I can't really think of a better way to spend my time. We are as different as night and day yet seem to...click. Like legos. Maybe we'll fall in love. Or maybe we'll just have a great few days.

2. Sugar tipped me off to the Australian Cattle Dog/Blue Heeler rescue site when I mentioned possibly wanting to get a dog when I move to Cleveland. I am in love with one of the dogs and if I decide to get her (after thourough consideration), I will name her "Santo" or "Fever".

3. LOTS of good shows coming up including HEAVY REBEL with Phee-Bizzle! I bought new duds (including a wrench halter top I DESPERATELY WANTED) especially for the occassion and while I will be drunk to a silly degree, I will NOT miss Psychocharger this year! HECK NO! I love you Jimmy!And I love that all my pals will be there...Ben and Lisa, Sugar, Dennis, Pete, Karen, Tom and Carol...HELL YEAH! And KINGS OF NUTHIN' ARE PLAYING! HOORAY! I love you, Tommy Bellvue!

4. I got asked on a date which proves that I've still got it, ha ha.

All in all, I know that the physical and emotional pain will go away. The ribs will heel...so will my heart. I mean, when I broke up with my high school sweetheart (what a BONEHEAD I was...I hope you've forgiven me, Matt Walters), I thought I'd never recover...I was pretty sure my heart would explode in my chest and seep out my eyes. And I think I'm handling the fact that my husband fell out of love with me and treats me like an idiot while everyone in the world thinks he's just SWELL and kisses his ass pretty well, don't you? I've got my house, my car, my job, my fabulous fucking friends, my Pussyfoot Girls, and a pretty terrific family....I'd say I have my health but that's a total lie...so I guess I'm lucky. Things could be worse.

I COULD have a 4 broken ribs!

We're gonna rock 'til the night is through.

THE SPITS! July 22nd at the Beachland Tavern! 9:30PM. $10. Be there. I know I will.

Last night's Pussyfoot Girls' show was a rockin' good time and I am feelin' it today, head-to-toe. Bruises, pulled muscles, broken ribs (sure, they were broken before the show...), hangover, the works. I guess all great artists suffer for their work. It's easier to suffer when you get in for free and get your drinks half off. And my stage fright MUST be cured considering I crawled around on the floor, putting my butt in a chick's face and wrestling her while meowing loudly AND performed a number wearing very little else outside of pieces of foam core with "censored" written on them. The audience was anti-censorship.

Mamacita rode on a mop like a pony. Oh my word.

So thanks to all my girls for the fantastic jobs they did. The night seemed to be against us but we were successful in the end. And an additional thanks to everyone who came out and supported us, cheered for us, bought us drinks, gave us tips, gave us rides when we were abadoned (and by "us", I mean "ME"), danced with us, talked to us, etc. Please come out and see us again at the Beachland Tavern with Sasquatch and the Sick-a-Billies, Legendary Hucklebucks, and Lords of the Highway! 9:30pm, $7. We may not be the most professional and we may not be the most coordinated and we may not strip down to thongs and pasties (we're doing away with the term "burlesque" and are now officially "a slumber party gone bad") and we may not be the BEST in all girl intermission entertainment...but we are the most fun. Rubber chickens, whips and mops, female zombies? Come on now. Doesn't that sound like fun to you? You bet it does!

Did I mention I got to hit Sugarballs' gong? I did. Rad.

You know I flip, flip, flip for my radio!

I got about a gazillion text messages from the Horizontal Action Blackout last night, which made me feel perty darn special. I had to sacrifice the weekend in Chicago to parade around with my girls at the Pussyfoot Girls' show. Sometimes you have to make rough choices and just be content with the outcome. Switchblade and Bean flooded me with important information up to 2:15am: Gris Gris sucks, Jay Reatard is standing next to me, there were a lot of cute boys in line who got turned away, etc. I almost felt like I was there...especially the SIX times that Switchblade called me during Reigning Sound. I couldn't tell what songs they were playing but they must have been ones I liked...or he liked. It would be JUST like him to call me during a song that HE liked, ha ha. I hope the rest of the Blackout is a smashing success and we find out what kind of "hair down there" Alicja Trout has. We won't, but Switchblade can always dream.

As mentioned about, The Pussyfoot Girls' show with Deke Dickerson and the Ecco-Fonics and the Capgun Cowboys CD release is FINALLY upon us. Sad news is that my busted ribs are really showing me who's boss today. I'm not sure if I should lay around and relax until I have to leave here at three or if I should get up and do things so I can get used to the stabbing pain. I don't have a dime to my name so I'm going to have to rely on poor souls to buy me drinks or I'm not going to make it through the night (and not just because of my injury, for cryin' out loud...I have to wriggle and squiggle and wrestle a chick and put my butt in her face!!!...I love you Maggie!). Regardless, you should be there, whoever you are! I'll take all the pals I can get since my biggest supporters are in the windy city. In case you're mega-lame and have to miss out, here's what would have made your jaw drop:

SET 1
Introductions (I'm first)
"Little Demon" by Screamin' Jay Hawkins
"TV Set" by The Cramps (I'm a scrambled nudie channel)
"Hooker" by The Sharks

Set 2
"St. Christopher" by Tom Waites (being retired after this show)
"(I've Got An) Itchy Pussy" performed live by Queen La Tata
"Wrong Planet" by Los Straitjackets (Maggie Maalox performs solo)
"Orgy of the Dead" by Cult of the Psychic Fetus (big zombie finale)

Our only home is bone. Our only home is bone.

It sure is a slap in the face to discover that what you thought was a kidney infection or possibly a swollen liver is in fact 2 non-displaced, fractured ribs. It's a kick in the teeth to learn that there is nothing you can do about it outside of laying off the heavy lifting and eating a healthy diet, popping some Ibuprofin every few hours. And it's a foot straight up the ass that you're ribs broke for no reason at all...cause undetermined...a few short days before The Pussyfoot Girls' show with Deke Dickerson!!! Are you still going to be in the show eventhough it's been advised against? Heck yes! Are you still going to roll around on the floor, prolonging the healing process? You betcha! Is this all going to take place after several beers and shots of whiskey? Looks that way! Excellent. You make me proud. As Queen La Tata said, the 2-8 week healing time begings AFTER the show!

All pride aside, it's moments like these when I wish I had a boyfriend. I can't bend over to pick anything up, I have trouble with strairs, I can't over extend my arms...it's rough. I need help but live alone...not totally alone but while Dr. Nightmare attorney-at-law may have extra toes and the best intentions, I don't really see her cooking me dinner or helping me get dressed for work. And work was tough today and will be even tougher tomorrow with Bean being absent. If I drop a paper on the floor, it's staying there. If I need to get out of my chair to get something, it may take a little longer that usual. And for crying out loud, don't expect me to be overly chipper during this time of my "differently abled-ness". You may tell me to suck it up and I'll tell you to get ready for a quick sledge-hammer to the rib cage. Then we'll see who's sucking what.

At work today, a man walked past me and really gently touched my side, commenting on how for the past two days when he massaged my pain, he had actually been caressing 2 broken bones and noted how great that must have felt. Sure, it felt like the hounds of Hell were feasting on an eight year old girl with pigtails and the world's most sensitive nerves, but it was worth it. There's nothing better than a crush. But while a crush works wonders on "my girl parts", I really want to feel the weight of a man! I want hugging and spooning and making out and other cream-puff activities! I want to meet a guy that I am sooo into that is sooo into me who will rub my ribs and feed me ice-cream in bed. I want to be Travis Barker and Shanna Moakler for fuckin' fuck's sake!

However, I can not feel the weight of a man for the next 2-8 weeks.

I do have 2 broken ribs, you know.

See the hands of my offspring making windmills.

I had a very "Jesus laying his hands on the sick" moment today.

Still nursing my pain (on top of the annoying cold symptoms I've been sporting), I pulled my grubby body in to work when I really wanted stay buried under 2 feet of blankets...like a blanket tomb. It took me longer to walk down the stairs than it took the Titanic to sink. Damian and I determined that the cause of my pain is clearly flesh-eating robotic wolves. I had them once before. They are nibbling their way through fat, muscle, bone, and skin and will finally errupt, splashing blood and guts on the faces of those around me. It sounds way worse than it really is. It smells a lot like my car.

When I arrived at work, I was in no mood for anyone or anything, and it seems anyone and anything was in no mood for me either...it happens. It's behind me. I wanted to get in and get out and get to bed. I can't be sore for the Pussyfoot Girls' show on Saturday, egads! I won't be able to twist and turn, shake my hips, flash my can, or wriggle on the floor with Maggie if my lower quadrant is out of whack! I'll be on the disabled list!

Regardless.

I always joke about copy room romance but today, the day I resembled a sickly junior high schooler in my camo hoodie and Vans, I got a little of what I needed. A guy walked in and I told him I was sick and in a lot of pain. He politely asked if I had gone to the doctor (to which I wigged about hating doctors and always having them want to slice or vacuum fragments out of me) and then he offered to feel "the spot". Much to my shock, he slipped his hand under the hoodie and proceeded to gently massage my side. Sorry if it sounds all mushy, but the feel of a man's hand on my skin was fan-fucking-tastic...and the fact that I knew he was NOT examing my pain but clearly wanted to feel his man hand on my soft girl skin made it that much better, especially since the massage actually hurt like Hell. Little does he know he was probably tenderly carressing my guts.

I'll never wash that skin again. I won't have to since the wolves are going to eat it.

We better get home, baby, before we run out of gas.

I WILL BE AT THESE EVENTS...you will be at home with yo mama.

Sat. May 21 * Deke Dickerson & the Ecco-Fonics, Capgun Cowboys CD release, The Pussyfoot Girls * Beachland Tavern * 9PM * $10

Sun. May 22 * Slim Cessna's Auto Club, Pete Yorko and the One Man Music Band * Beachland Tavern * 9PM * $8

Mon. May 23 * The Fatals, This Moment In Black History, Two Tears * Beachland Tavern * 9PM * $5

Fri. May 27 * Ponys, Machine Go Boom, Miss Alex White * Grog Shop * 9PM * $8

Mon. May 30 * Legendary Shack Shakers, Lords of the Highway * Little Brothers (Columbus, OH) * 8PM * $8ADV/$10DOS

Fri. June 3 * Lords of the Highway, Sasquatch and the Sickabillys, Legendary Hucklebucks, The Pussyfoot Girls * Beachland Tavern * 9:30PM * $7

Sat. June 4 * Koffin Kats, The Fightin' Hellfish, The Red Shift, Lords of the Highway, Cash O'Reily, Casket Gasket * The Belmont (Hamtramck, MI) * 8PM

Wed. June 8 * The Pixies * Scene Pavillion * 9PM * $35

Wed. June 16 * Wailin' Elroys, Honkeytonk Damnation * Beachland Tavern * 9PM * $5

Mon. June 20 * Nekromantix, The Henchmen * Agora Ballroom * 8PM

Tues. June 28 * Chicago * Tower City Ampitheater

Wed. June 29 * Cheater Slicks, The Hunches, This Moment In Black History * Beachland Tavern * 9:30PM * $7

Fri.to Sun. July 1-3 * HEAVY REBEL WEEKENDER!!! * Millenium Center (Winston-Salem, NC) * 3 day passes $50 or $20 a day

Sun. July 3 * Reigning Sound, Tough and Lovely, Vista Cuisers * Beachland Tavern * 9PM * $8

Mon. July 4 * Huey Lewis and the News 4th of July Celebration * Dublin Coffman High School (Dublin, OH)

Sat. July 9 * "Bike and Rockabilly Show" w/ Lords of the Highway, The Pussyfoot Girls * Leroy Thompson Choppers (Mentor, OH)

Tues. July 12 * Los Straitjackets Summer Twist Party, The Pontani Sisters, Kaiser George * 9PM * $15

Fri. July 15 * THEY MIGHT BE GIANTS!!!! * The Odeon * 9PM * $23.50

Sat. July 16 * THEY MIGHT BE GIANTS @ Kids Fest (children's show)* Tower City Ampitheater * 1:00 & 3:30PM

Wed. July 20 * Journey * Blossom Music Center * 8PM

Sat. Aug. 6 * Psychocharger * Twisted Nightmares Horror Convention (Quality Inn, Middleburg Hts., OH) * 9PM

Mon. Nov. 21 * Brian Setzer Orchestra * Cleveland House of Blues

They didn’t want it but he built it anyway.

It's official. It you share any of my genes, your body hates you and does it's best to turn on and destroy you bit by bit.

After waking up from a brief nap, I discovered that not only has my pain intensified and made that section of my abdomen rock hard, but I now have a weird rash on my stomach. Couple that with my headache and chest pain and, well, I'm pretty ticked off. I need to write a will. This body can't take much more abuse. I also need a Hepa-Filter. Let's make that happen, shall we?

And my nephew not only officially has a cataract...like an old man...but he has to have a lens transplant. I wigged at the thought of them pilfering a lens off a dead body but I guess it will be synthetic and last forever.

Still makes me cry though.

Now, not only am I very aware of the existance of my abdominal organs, but I'm very aware of my eyes and how they are leaking water down my cheeks.

Contrary to what Ice Cube said all those years ago, today is not a good day.

Without any money there goes our romance.

If I wasn't "in like" before, I am now. Let us marvel at the powers a very slight change in appearance have on making your woman parts tingle.

Last night at the Beachland, I was approached by a charming writer named Matt who is on a 25 city roadtrip in order to write a fictional story about real people and events. The main character, Theo, is fake. I, a possible character in chapter three, am real. But if Theo doesn't like me in chaper three, that is also fake because Matt liked me, and he is real. It's all very fascinating and you can and should check it out at http://www.onebrave.com, especially since The Pussyfoot Girls were given some mad props and free promotion. This is what our new friend Matt (whom I called Pat most of the evening) has to say about us:

The best part of the night, though, was meeting some of the "Pussyfoot Girls," a local Cleveland troupe of burlesque dancers. They are bringing back the lost art of silly faux-strip tease dancing. The whole project is more about having fun, than selling sex, but these are, incidentally, sexy girls. You have to understand that the "scene" that these girls love is all about Rock and Roll as it used to be, in the dirty underside of the 1950's and 60's -- tattoos, hot rods and boys in jeans with slicked back hair. Their act fits right in, because they are the girls that those boys would love, and do.

Speaking of those sexy, silly gals that I know and love, the kinks were all ironed out, as they say, at practice last night and our routine for Saturday's show at the Beachland should be a smashing success in every aspect. Goodbye "Human Fly" and hello "TV Set"! Be there or be square and despite what Huey Lewis said, that is not a hip way to be.

Rockin' a pretty nasty pain in my lower right side, front and back, sort of wrapping around, like a one-sided chastity belt of agony. I was top notch when I crashed after the Throw Rag show last night but I woke up feeling like an eighteen wheeler had a polka party on me. Sore muscles, headache, sneezing, coughing...rotten all around. Then there's this massive pain that has made me very aware of the size and shape of my organs. And it's swollen and squishy in that region...I pinch some fat that wasn't there before and I'm fairly certain it isn't fat at ALL but a hand full of pancrease, kidney, or liver. It's repugnant...and painfull! I'm having problems going from sitting to standing and my mouth taste like I've been using a metal bar as a lollipop. It's uncomfortable and irritating. I decided against going to the emergency room unless I feel like an organ is trying to escape out my side tomorrow. Then I'll be left with few options.

It didn't help my guts that things seemed awfully weird with Bean at work. Maybe she poisoned my Pepsi.

Don't fuss. Don't fight. Just have a good time.

Last night, after many tall boys and a shot of Tullamore Dew with the beautiful Queen La Tata, Bert, the singer for the Screamin' Demons, taught me how to take the plastic rings from a six pack and wriggle them all the way around my body without letting go. Anyone can do it but it looks like you're all gross and circus freaky to a person clueless to the technique. This, along with a Slayer-inspired pentagram yo-yo trick, made Bert a smashing success in Cleveland. Switchblade came to the conclusion that in order to get the chicks, you have to yo-yo since Bert had several female eyes fixed on him while he worked his magic...even when he "walked the dog". I'm sure Switch will become a yo-yo fiend the same day he learns the remaining notes to "Eye of the Tiger". I used Bert to help get Lords of the Highway to play "County Fair" and they dedicated it to us (actually, Sugar at one point said, "It's your night, Lacey" because they played everything I wanted to hear...thanks guys!).

It had been suggested at a much earlier date that Bert is the male me and I am the female Bert. After verifying that he isn't a heinous swamp mutant, I accepted this statement as fact. I don't exactly remember why, but we were chasing each other down a Cleveland street, just laughing and trying to kick each other, after a night of some poorly coreographer ninja-style fighting at the Beachland. I want to date someone like thay...someone I can goof off with. THAT is what I miss about "you know who".

Tonight: The Pussyfoot Girls have to practice hardcore! This is our last night to work out the kinks before the dress rehearsal and I just don't think we're ready. We may have to make cuts and adjustments to our set and I don't think we want to do that but we may have no choice(it may be you, "Human Fly")! Due to a difficulty in getting everyone at practice for one million different reasons (we love you, Mamacita)...and we can toss in that we don't have our music made with the sound effects and what not to use for cues and timing...I'm shakin' in my little kitty boots that we may not pull it off this time around. Queen La Tata and I both agreed that we're certainly a little more skiddish and we've got some real work to do if we're going to entertain a packed house on Saturday. Sheeeeeeeeesh! And we only have two hours to work with since The Queen demands beauty sleep and I demand to see Throw Rag!! Egads! Cross your paws!

Now it's finally time to go out and play.

4:30am looks way different when you're waking up and starting the day than when you are just rolling in and finishing things up. If I don't schedule a nap and an oversized omelet, I won't be able to bring the Cleveland mosh tonight and that would just be a tragedy of epic proportions...much like that time when I indirectly looked into the eyes of Medusa and my tits turned to stone. No wonder I don't get as many hugs as I used to. I don't lie when I say a woman's chest is a dangerous tool.

I temporarily turned "puss" yesterday and began missing...someone. I should have been stabbed in the neck with a makeshift shiv or shank or other low-class jailhouse weaponry. I'm going to ignore those itchy, rash-like feelings that are infesting my brain like crabs (you know the ones I mean) and keep on truckin'. No good can come from me thinking that positive attributes existed in that doofus. Hearing that earlier last month he "felt bad" about the situation because he "cares about me" makes me get all riled up. He has a weird way of showing it by acting like a nimrod. All this foolishness makes me feel like a bad banana. Kim Kelly is a bad banana. I'm no Kim Kelly. I'm Daniel Desario, if anything.

I am slowly introducing whiskey back into my diet. One shot at a time, people. Whiskey used to be my boyfriend but we had a falling out when I couldn't say "enough is enough" and kicked my real-life boyfriend in the junk and punched him the head. I was, as they say, a whiskey monster. But that's what happens when you're 19 and dating Jack Daniels. I think this will go down smoothly as I am (lucky) 7 years older, wiser, and attracted to Knob Creek, thanks to Queen La Tata. Shots of whiskey is "our thing". Slowly, slowly.

Some days won’t end ever and some days pass on by.

My dance card is full so don't even ask if you can parade me around the floor this weekend. I'm going to have blisters on both feet, cool daddy, and I'll no doubt smell like smoke and sweat. Tonight, I have a hot date with the Gutter Twins...PBR, games gallore, and whatever other tricks we want to pull out of our hats or bags. How's tricks? I'll let you know. Tomorrow, a free show at the Beachland with all of my favorite Cleveland characters. And "free" means more cash for malted hops and barely PLUS, Jimmy Psycho will be there and he's the coolest dude to ever rock facial hair and parade around in not much else besides pantyhose PLUS, there will be a very special and very tall guest. Sunday, The Pussyfoot Girls have a MUCH NEEDED pratice since I'm starting to panic. I don't want to eff up royally in front of Deke! But I also don't want to lose "Human Fly". Decisions, decisions.

So if you don't hear from me for a few days, don't feel the need to call all the American consulates. Just assume I'm having the time of my life.

Like a cheap horror movie on the silver screen.

Think about music you would hear in a grocery store circa the early 1980s. Instrumental, upbeat, sort of non-hippie seventies easy listening style muzak. I fucking love it. I didn't appreciate it so much when I was being pushed around in the grocery cart...neither when I was teeny tiny up front with the metal part smacking me in my business when my mom would make a sudden stop due to a great deal on Rice-a-Roni NOR when I was slightly bigger and in the basket part WITH the groceries, full aware of the fact that I was most likely too big to be in the cart and perfectly capable of walking down the 10 aisles that lead to the ice-cream.

That music makes me want to bust out some of my moves. That muzak. Once, at the Agora Ballroom, they played a mix right before the Reverend Horton Heat came on of songs that sounded straight out of the grocery store of my Parma, OH youth, but somewhat cooler and Austin Powers-ish. Brodie Davis, Jr. and I danced to like three songs in a row as people cleared the floor either to make room for our awesome display or because they were horribly embarrassed by our lack of skill and/or pride. But we danced until our our ribs hurt and our lungs felt cold because we are so horribly out of shape due to a debauchery-filled, sloth-like, glutton-esque lifestyle. It was one of the best moments of my life.

The general concensus is that Phee-Bizzle will move out of The Maxi Pad after a month. This concerns me on multiple levels, some superficial and some reasonable. Why can't people put on their cheerleading uniforms instead of their gravedigger clothes? Quit burying our dreams!

For about ten miliseconds today, I thought I might like a boyfriend. Then I remembered what the beginning of a relationship is like. First, you're on your best behavior and you wear your mega-slutty knickers and tight pants, and it's all sex, sex, snacks, sex, and you keep all your bad habits hidden away so he thinks you must come from outer space because you're so damn rad. Then out comes reality...he feels comfortable enough to be gassy and you have your period and you poop and he finds out you like Huey Lewis and the News and you have to meet each other's insane families and you hate each other's friends and you wonder, "What the fudge happened to that sex we had where I called you Betty and you called me Ted and we had the ability to move the bed into the middle of the room?".

I don't think I'm ready for that kind of a let down. If I had that going on, then certain moments might not bring me so much joy...like when I walked backwards and put my ass right into a guys hand, prompting him to then touch my leg. The whole thing took about 2.3 seconds and sounds way sexier than it was, but it gave me a nice full body buzz. Those moments are gone when you start peeing with the door open. No thanks, Tom Hanks! I think I can deal with the swingin' bachelorette lifestyle for a bit longer.

Why do I keep hitting myself with a hammer?
Because it feels sooooo good when I stop.

All those eyes...it's an overload!

There are a lot of songs about eyeballs and eyes in general.
-20 Eyes by The Misfits
-Sad Eyes by The Ponys
-Your Baby Blue Eyes by The Johnny Burnette Trio (also covered by Stray Cats)
-Lights Out (Poke Yer Eyes Out) by Angry Samoans
-Brown Eyed Girl by Van Morrison
-Sad Eyes (Turn the Other Way) by Robert John
-Smoke Gets In Your Eyes by The Platters
-Private Eyes by my gods and yours, Hall and Oates
I could really go on and on all day but then you might be wondering why I'm all up the ass of eyeballs suddenly, especially when it's well documented that eyeballs make me nervous. A few weeks back, a guy on ER was coughing so hard, his eyeball jutted out. I screamed my flippin' wig off. They popped it back in with a paperclip, as if they had no sterile instruments in the HOSPITAL.

The whole "eyeball thing" has to do with my nephew. He's almost 16 and he rocks.

He was helping build a shed this weekend and got a nail stuck in his eye.

He pulled it out himself and insists it made a sickening pop noise. He said he could see the nail sticking right out of his cornea which prompted the plucking. They cleaned him up at the ER but it turned out his eyeball was losing fluid... he said it could have shriveled up like a grape to a raisin so I'll never be eating either of those fruits again.

This debackle wins you a few stitches in the cornea and he had to be AWAKE because he had eaten that day and they won't put you under in case you puke, choke and die during surgery. Then they'd have a law suit on their hands. Awake while they sewed up the bullseye portion of his...eye. ::shutter::

He'll be "rockin' the pirate patch" for at least a month and there may be surgery on Monday to repair a tear in his lens. This sort of puts an axe on the travelling baseball team or utilizing his temps. However, it has made room for all sorts of eyeball jokes. Yesterday, we were sitting around a table and I said, "Don't worry about the sun. It's not blinding me", to which he said, "Can we not use that word so loosely?". I also enjoyed when he offered my father help lifting a lawnmover and said, "You need a hand, Grandpa? 'Cause I can't give you an eye". I never know if he's winking at me.

His vision may wind up being 20/40 and he may some day get a cataract but for now, he's pretty much a-ok...cracking jokes, being waited on hand and foot, and most importantly, no pain or serious vision loss!! His favorite aunt will be cursed with constant nightmares about eyes being replaced with raddishes (when heavily sedated on Valium, he claimed this happened to him).

Today, he is annoyed that he can feel the stitches touching his eyelid.

Lesson learned? WEAR YOUR SAFETY GOGGLES!

Gimme gimme gimme whatever you got!!!

As an avid blogger and multimillionaire, I apologize for missing in action and totally neglecting the beautiful and Spring Fevery month of May. Not only have I been a particularly busy bee for the past week but I fell behind on my cable bill due to some unforeseen medical costs. Sure, that may sound irresponsible but I'm back in internet action and shall never neglect it again. All hail cyber space!

And now, to those of you who haven't abandon me during this drought, WELCOME to The Cleveland A!! If you are in with the in crowd, you know what that is and I salute you! Now I will try and catch you up on the goings on in my life via the "What I Did On My Summer Vacation" format. It won't be terribly interesting as there is relatively little nudity, horror, or that sex, drugs, and rock-n-roll business. There is cleavage, whiskey, and "Mature Woman with Younger Girls 5". So grab yourself an umbrella drink, kick back in your favorite chair, and let's roll!

First, and most importantly, I h8 (which is code for "I don't really HATE but I currently LOATHE") my "husband" with the power or Seven Deadly Samurai. The kid breaks my heart into one million unglueable fragments because he has a distorted view of what relationships are really like behind closed doors and didn't even give our reconciliation a fighting chance and THEN tries to control what I can and can not do! I have been forbidden by him to go into my local tattoo shop (the shop that I've been tattooed and pierced at for the past 3 years...the shop that fired him twice and treated him like a bitch yet he still went back to yet again).

I went in when he wasn't there with a friend who wanted to get pierced after asking the piercer if this was a-ok and got ripped apart for it. HE left ME and threw our marriage in the TRASH yet I am the bad guy. EFF THAT! He flew off the handle so I popped my top. I couldn't stand being treated like rotting fruit by him for one more second and now the power is in my hands. He had no regard for my feelings when he ripped my heart out Indiana Jones style. The sad thing is...I really loved him and it still stings. I'm glad we didn't breed...he should be sterilized.

Trying to pass a lighter back to it's owner and having him hold on to your hand for approximately 3 seconds is enough to make you "goop your bloomers", to quote the wisest woman I know. By the way, I miss you, wise woman.

Now that I got all of the hostile and gross stuff off my chest, moving day is quickly approaching and I can't wait to get out of this dead end town. There is nothing here worth saving (except Tootsie Pop) so they might as well just burn the whole mother down. Nothing and no one would be missed. The big move will make way for the big housewarming and the Summer of Lacey. Nothing but good can come of this. I already have a drinking contest scheduled and I am gonna win that blue ribbon! I may be little but I'm tough!

Went and saw "House of Wax" and was actually pretty scared! I was also strangely attracted to the killer. I baffle myself.

Plans for the second Pussyfoot Girls show are movin' right along, footloose and fancy free! We're really out doing ourselves in the "let's see how utterly ridiculous we can be while wearing minimal clothes" category. We've added songs by The Cramps, Hillbilly Varmints, Los Straitjackets, and Cult of the Psychic Fetus to our sets and the silly string and confetti poppers will be raining down on the crowd in abundance.

As far as my part goes...if Maggie Maalox and I can make it through "Itchy Pussy" in one piece, my stage fright will HAVE to be cured. Either that or I'll never be able to show my face in Cleveland again. One of the two. Either way, the website is in the production phase (http://www.thepussyfootgirls.com), stickers and pins are being planned, and hot DOG, there's going to be a spanking booth. Come get Pussy Whipped at the Beachland Tavern on Saturday May 21st. But don't expect thongs and pasties. We're more silly than slutty.

I got a letter from my soldier in Baghdad. I forgot how sexy getting a letter can be. I am going to save every one he sends me between now and next summer when his time has been served, tie them up with a velvet ribbon and stash them in this old box with the island of Manhattan on it. I can show them to my grandchildren some day. It's all very "black-n-white movie" like. We have plans to slow dance when he returns. I hope it's to "Sleepwalk" by Santo & Johnny. Hot-cha!

Tons of good shows coming up including a few with The Pussyfoot Girls (Deke Dickerson, Legendary Hucklebucks, a motorcycle show...???). It's going to be a busy summer. I'm going to have to switch back to Miller Lite so I don't get a PBR-belly at the height of burlesque season!

I miss all y'all. Believe that. Not as much as I miss a second season of "Freaks and Geeks". VIVA!