I was a name. Now I'm a number.

Lords of the Highway and Slack Jawed Yokels have confirmed for Lisa's New Year's Eve Going Away Party hosted by yours truly at the Ol' Kentucky Shark Corral. I'm going to need a change of panties close by due to anticipating high levels of excitement and adrenaline.

My fist is going to pump itself to death.

And now another episode of "The Rollercoaster Goes Up, Up, Up and the Rollercoaster Goes Dooooooooooown". Phoebe pointed out that I've had a lot of headaches recently...darn tootin'! I've decided that the teeny weeny man that is sitting on my brain is actually sitting on a pile of mashed potatoes as that is what my gray matter has become. He's snacking away and it's causing me cranial discomfort.

I should walk away but I can't from "my sitch". I'll be totally honest, I know what is best and I know what is right but I'm choosing to put earmuffs on. It's like I have Big League Chew stuck to my shoe. Sure, I put it there but whatever. Of course I want a decision to be made but I don't want to be the one who makes it. Does this make any sense at all? I'm sure it doesn't. Just pretend you're watching "Donnie Darko" and be entertained but don't expect to understand one second of my jabber.

I was almost okay until tiny feet walked up and down my back. <---sucker

Planning for Rockabilly Holiday has been helping me keep my head attached to my neck. I'm really looking forward to it, aside form the fact that I have yet to pick an individual routine. I'm tossing around the idea of throwing on a grass skirt and a coconut bra and busting a hula-groove to "Rock-a-Hula Luau", my former theme song. It's actually the idea that's brought me the most joy thus far. My picture should be under "luau" in the dictionary. Hold the pineapple, yo!!

I want to have a grilled-cheese sandwich and Ring Noodle soup for dinner because I think I'm getting a sore throat/sniffles. I can't handle that right now. I can't have my body and my mind duking it out "Rumble In the Jungle" style.

We're gonna get it on cause we don't get along!

She's drying her jeans in separate machines.

I bought a pair of Go-Go boots and I'm not afraid to use them.

And I have just a few random thoughts for you: me, a married man, a busty young lady, a comfortable matress in my room, and some chicken wings. Do with it what you want.

I had a full afternoon. Full in a "I just ate 6 slices of pizza and a Colt 45 after I stole your jelly donut" sense, but it had nothing to do with food. I got emotionally fed. There is officially a flying saucer resting on my brain. I imagine that any minute...any SECOND...out with jump a TEENY WEENY MAN! He'll walk up to my brain and say, "Take me to your leader", but my brain won't understand!

You might as well do with THAT what you will, too, because God knows I have no CLUE what to do. The translation from "cheese sandwich" to "love" has been registered. And now my life got flipped turned upside down. Will Smith stole that from me.

Well I think I'm lame, too, but that's what I do.

Scabs are there for healing purposed. Do NOT remove scabs.

I made it through yet another holiday without my head detaching from my body. I rewarded myself by purchasing black patent leather go-go boots for the Super Vixen birthday party. Besides a glass of wine, it was Switchblade and my nieces and nephews that kept said head from rolling right into the mashed potatoes. They can feel free to borrow the go-go boots for being so cool.

The most ultimate Pussyfoot practice took place yesterday. I should mark it on my calendar. Rockabilly Holiday should end up being our crowning gem if we keep this preparation ball rollin' the way it is. We conquered the evening itinerary, PFG song selections, set lists, costume design and measurements, and even some mild choreography. I'm happy to report that Von Bondies' "No Sugar Mama" has made it onto the list as well as the song "Turkish Coffee" which will be stuck in your head for days on end! It got Switchblade's thumbs-up of approval. I plan on rockin' the most foolish facial expressions the entire show. I'm thinkin' circa 1960s beach party faces. Classic.

Today was our annual Cookie Day. I was so tired from work (did you know that they have a 5:00 in the MORNING too?!) that I barely helped. I am ashamed of myself. But my mom did give me a holiday Jones Soda set with flavors such as Turkey and Gravy, Brussle Sprouts, and Pumpkin Pie. You'll all be sampling them on New Year's Eve and if you have to puke, you're puking on a globe and that's that!

I was supposed to meet The Shoe-Lanes for dinner but missed out due to Cookie Day festivities. Now I fear that I'll be missing the post-dinner hang-out seesion because I pretty much have toothpicks holding my eyelids up. I'm lying. I know this because that imagery is terrifying. But I am dog tired. And I smell like a dog.

Miss Phoebe Bean has been MIA (which is a fancy term for "in Florida") but is returning tomorrow. I will be spending the day priming the basement, awaiting her "come get me from the mother-truckin' airport" call.

"I drop my drawers for pompadours".

You know we couldn't live without you!

If you're not listening to "No Sugar Mama" by Von Bondies, you should be. I'm making it a future Pussyfoot Girls song. It's sexy. This is off the subject though.

CAN you teach an old dog new tricks?

I'll be honest. I freaked yesterday. You shouldn't ask questions you don't want to know the answers to unless you're REALLY prepared for the truth (I should at least be happy that I got that, right?).

Yesterday, I was not prepared...especially when things were walking a very fine line. The person I was walking away from did NOT want me to walk away...which made it that much harder. I tried to take the high road and do what was the RIGHT thing to do. The noble and moral and right thing to do, no matter how much it was destroying me...I ended up heartbroken and bawling. This is cryptic, I know. Consider this my version of Hieroglyphics.

Let's just say that I had a rather lengthy cocktail hour after work. And let's also say that I have a rather nasty gash on my forehead.

But we don't have to say that the two are related.

But when I started my day this morning, I abandoned that lame ass high road. If I didn't know how I felt before today, well..I know now without the tiniest doubt. I'm hooked. It's like heroin, but probably worse for me. But I compare yesterday and how I barely felt alive with today and how I blissfully happy I was...and he was, telling me he'd never let me go...and I'm choosing to hold on to hope that my day will come.

After all, we're like psychotic magnets.

On a less mushy note, it looks like I won't be going to Niagara Falls for Thanksgiving. I was planning to run away but it looks like the weather had other plans for me (unlike SOME PEOPLE, I don't get to be in sunny Florida...you're missed already, by the way...Dr. Nightmare's been crying outside your door, annoying bitch). I guess it won't be me, a blueberry pie, and a hotel on Fun Street.

The stupid weather also ruined my plans to go to the Jigsaw to see Lords of the Highway tonight. The way I was holding my breath (I'm BAD in the snow...like, terrified) for the few turns I did take in my 'hood, I would have passed out before even getting close to Parma. I don't want to die with only seventy-some days until my birthday.

My dad took me out for really good steak. Between that and everything being "back on", I feel round and happy. Really happy.

My heart's been broken from too long a wait.

What a show. I mean, cross a drunk dinosaur with an Epileptic performance artist and shower it all in fake blood and feed the audience acid-laced candy. That about sums it up.

THERE WERE SHOTS! LOTS OF SHOTS!

I kissed many boys and slapped Sasquatch across the face per his request.

Potsie and I nailed our dance for the Sick-a-Billy crew and I think they were more than pleased. And man-oh-man, the mother-truckin' flag dance?? It made me sweaty with feverish excitement!! There were some "OOPS!" moments but nothing we won't recover from. The CD was bound to skip at one show or another. I'm almost glad we got it out of the way now. And rumor has it there are some pretty sick (the good kind of sick not the puking your cookies on your mother's lap sick) photos out there. I'm jazzed beyond belief. And post-show, well...I love being a Pussyfoot Girl.

Lisa "Mamacita" Marie has retired. That's her choice. I don't like backing-up that choice since she had one more show to go but it's not up to me. She has to do what's right for her. She'll be missed but that's all I'm going to say about that.

I'm excited for Rockabilly Holiday. I'm going to bust my butt...we all are. That's all I can focus on right now...new routines, costumes, practice, and perfection. This is our chance to be fancy. I'm not going to let it pass me by. Sho 'nuff.

Got some interesting news today. Someone I love (and I mean LOVE...no "cheese sandwich" business here) is growing a human being in her uterus. While I have awildly different outlook on the situation than her, I back her up. That's what I'm here for. To support the ones I love and I have a feeling that for the next 8 months, she's going to need some helping hands and loving arms. She's got 'em here!

I'm missing Brian Setzer tonight. I have too much on my mind to give him the attention he needs.

The "we're going to rock 2006 in in my rock-n-roll basement" project got goin' yesterday and I've gotta admit, I'm getting mroe and more excited about the New Year's festivities. If you're not here, you're a moron. I'll be wearing a new dress and having more fun than you.

Carol "The Shoe" Schulien made me some mashed potaters than I plan on devouring. Teh destruction begins in 30 minutes.

I'M VIAGRAVATED...and I'm not going to take it.

I saw her today. I saw her face.

My head is pounding. THROBBING! I'm waiting for an alien to emerge any second. Or maybe a monster. Either way, my brain hurts as does the skull surrounding it. I'm praying the rush hour just doesn't exist today because I don't think I'll be able to give "focusing on the road" my all. They should take my license away.

Regardless.

Pussyfoot dress rehearsal tonight for the big show with Slack Jawed Yokels, Sasquatch and the Sick-a-Billes (HECK YES!) and Lords of the Highway tomorrow at the Beachland Tavern.

Potsie and I really need to bust out butts so we don't royally shmootz our new routine that we're debuting. I don't want to look like more of an ass than I already do shakin' my can in my skimpy attire. I wonder if my jugs have the power to hypnotize the audience. Where did that even COME FROM!? I'm looking forward to hanging with the Sasquatch crew (me, Dave, drinking contest...bring it!) and preventing them from ever returning to Rhode Island. The night is going to be a blast and I cherish that since I haven't looked forward ot much recently. AND I PLAN ON HAVING ONE HELL OF A HANGOVER!!! As long as we can get our kitty shit together, that is.

Not much else to report. Nothing I can openly discuss any way. Just know that I'm still eating cheese sandwiches.

Got a heart beat. Got a pulse.

I have NOT been drinking. I'm surly. And imbalanced.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck blah blah blah blah blah blah blather blather blather blather blather blather blather blather blah blah blah blah kill kill kill kill kill kill kill killlllllllllll rot rot rot rot rot rot fuck fuck fuckity fuck shit.

And blather.

I need to get a human heart. I have a lot of blood I have to pump out of my basement.

Snarl.

Speaking of my basement, does anyone want to come help wreck some shit in my basement on Sunday? And speaking of wrecking shit, I mean does anyone want to help me carry shit up the stairs and wash walls and the floor and shit to get it ready to be painted pink and green and black like a watermelon so that Lords of the Highway can rock the fruity shit out of it on New Year's Eve? You'll be my friend forever if you help. I need help.

And if you don't want to help than SCREW YOU! The vice preseident of my company is an Ol' Kentucky Shark which makes him cooler than you. In fact, you're fired!

And speaking of work, I cried there today.

Thank you and go skeet shoot yourself in the chest in your ex-girlfriend's drive-way. But while you're doing that, do NOT ruin Phoebe's date. I need someone in the house to have a normal relationship because Switchblade and I are dating disasters.

I've got something new for you.

My jugs are sore. I find this both annoying and painful.

So I decided to roll up my jeans, throw on my new grey t-shirt and go with Switchblade to the final day of Horrible Fest. I didn't want to spend my day being a wet mop and regretting my absence later. I'm sick of regrets.

The matinee show was a total bust and I was pretty much miserable. Kids throwing chairs and beer everywhere, screaming "MOTHERFUCKER" like it was going out of style, sporting sunglasses indoors (according to Switch only blind people and assholes do that), irritating me left and right. While Kill the Hippies were good, River City Tanlines only played 5 songs! And one of them was NOT "Gimme Whatever". Hmph! I was glad to blow that pop stand.

Headed over to the Beachland which was a fairly entertaining time and here are my one-line band reviews that no one will care about or agree with but me: The Jeffs were a sturdy opener. The Krunchies ROCKED per usual (I just adore that gal). Functional Blackouts, while not at all frightening, were probably my favorite act of the evening. King Louie was a welcome surprize. Cunt Puppet was damn funny, in my opinion. Upstab pretty much scarred me for life and that singer needs a tranquilizer. The Feelers were great but caught me late in the evening, close to sleepy time. And Catholic Boys were fan-fucking-tastic but it was no Horizontal Action Blackout of 2004.

It was good to hang with my crew, especially T-n-C Dynomite who I really wasn't expecting (sure, they told me they were coming...I guess it was THAT I wasn't expecting) but it wasn't as mind-blowing as I had imagined. I'm not too fond of the kids in that "scene". I hate scene debates so I'll just leave it at that...they're not the friendliest bunch.

And that is pretty much all I have to say about Horrible Fest.

Except that I tossed my cookies the second I walked in the door. I knew I was going to on the way home...I was pre-warning Switch who really didn't want me to throw up (why would anyone WANT someone else to throw up??). I wasn't drunk or buzzed or anything. It was just the second night in the row that I felt sort of seasick. I came in and sat on the bathroom floor, filling Phoebe in on the evening until I had to interject and say, "It's time for me to throw up now". I'm two and a half pounds lighter than I was Friday morning. No joke.

Today, Phoebe and I ran errands and everytime I got back into the car, I felt my stomach churning. I don't know what the deal is. She says it's morning sickness. I say. "EAT IT!". I'm guessing it's some left over reminents from my flu bug.

We almost came home with a dog. An Italian Greyhound...they can wear hats! I would have named her Santo because she looked like she had a mask on. Thank GOD she was $899. I really don't need a dog. I don't NEED a dog but that really means nothing.

I NEED a shower before the folks come over. Now THAT means something. I have "Close Yer Tab" written on my hand.

OK, go off and wander. I'm guilty just the same.

10 minutes ago, I had boatloads of things to say and now...poof! Nothing.

I have a lot on my mind but I can't really sort it out in a reasonable enough fashion to make it able to be discussed. It's like I have a head full of Goldfish crackers that keep getting eaten by some random mouth that's hanging out in my head. God, even my explaination of why I can't explain doesn't make much sense. I guess I can handle that. I don't have much of a choice.

I'm going to Horrible Fest today. I had planned on going to all three days but completely lost interest, contracted the plague, and was warned that I wouldn't have a good time. No big thing. I'm just not excited about much these days...not because I'm being all emo and drab and boring. There just hasn't been anything that's jumped up and bit me in the ass with a flashing neon sign saying, 'YOU CAN'T WAIT TO DO THIS'. Brian Setzer is in two weeks and the prospect of going to that alone is even decreasing it's value.

I'm pretty jazzed about seeing the Sasquatch crew next week. I'm secretly hoping that they DO hit me over the head and take me back to Rhode Island with them. They claim I'll like it there and a new scene might do me good.

But my current "whatevs" attitude isn't the only thing clogging up my skull these days. In fact, that's really pretty trivial stuff. I've got a flapjack sized stack of work issues, living issues, the ever-present boy issues, money issues...and on and on. My crowded cranium makes me want to spend yet another day wrapped up like a burrito in my bed, ignoring that life actually exists outside my frozen home.

There's also an issue involved a LOT of cookie tossing. Tossing my cookies all over Cleveland to be exact. But I'll save that for another day because my stomach is acting pretty angry right now.

Put your arms around me child. Lay with me tonight.

Why is it that getting a cold makes you want a boyfriend?

The some-what sympathetic and non-intentional germ-spreading Miss Phoebe Bean sent me home from work since I have officially contracted my first cold of the season. Blast! Last night was utter misery...I missed OKGO (I pray you didn't dance, fellas...in fact, I hope you sucked for my own sake) and was pretty much in a whimpering agony. Tried to tough it out and go to work but who was I kidding?

I've stocked up on Ring Noodle soup, OJ, tissues with lotion, and some fancy shmancy Tylenol cold junk with some "cool burst" action that makes me think I could freeze enemies with my breath! Or knock them over because it is some mighty special breath I'm sporting right now. Kittne breath and then some! Regardless, I am destined to be a burrito in my bed once the soup's on. Don't expect much word from me until I am back on top again.

Sound dirty? I sure hope so.

I'm afraid to mention my anguish.

There's nothing like spooning on the couch against a boy you really, truly like who is rubbing your head, talking to you about celebrity gossip, and telling you how gigantic your ribs really are to make you say, "Damn...I miss having a fella of my own".

Tonight I am supposed to see OKGO at the Grog Shop but I feel one helluva cold coming on (I call it the Phoebe-Virus). All day, I've been sniffling, sneezing, and coughing my blasted head off...and it's barely attached these days. My insides are itchy...like I wish I had a brush I could stick down my throat to sort of pumice myself from the inside out. Supposedly I'm the only one who ever feels like this.

Phoebe thinks I have pleurisy.

At work, I have been repeating over and over "I am not sick...I am not sick", because even though the symptoms are there, I haven't begun to drag. My muscles aren't sore yet and my head isn't totally full of fog and weight. Like Bad Brains says,I've got that PMA! But believe me, I am an illness pro and I know it's coming. So the smart thing to do would be to get into my pajamas, eat soup, drink juice, and just veg so that I don't miss any work and my strength is saved for Pussyfoot (rumor has it that Sasquatch and the Sick-a-Billies are taking me home with them...supposedly I'll love it in Providence). Phoebe has been sick for over a week...I can't hack that.

But she's pretty dern excited about the show (and hasn't been too jazzed about things recently as she was existing under some heinous black cloud of sorts) and I don't want to wake up tomorrow kicking myself in the arse because I didn't go and missed "So Damn Hot" and "Don't Ask Me" live. Plus, this is a prime opportunity for Phoeberalla and I to expand my photo booth picture collection.

But I know I'm sick. I know what I SHOULD do. I just don't know what I WILL do. Whatever decision I make, it will be rough. If I go, I may be miserable and may extend my sickness and by extension, my misery and the misery of those around me. If I don't go, I may be miserable because I didn't go to Dick Dale, didn't go to Hank III, am not going to the Blasters, and have decided on only 1 out of 3 nights of Horrible Fest. What's happening to the rocker I once was? Not even green/yellow phlegm and barking would have stopped me.

This is the time when I need a boyfriend to force me to stay home and rub my stuffy head. Someone with a big stomach I can fall asleep on. Boys with big stomachs tend to be warm and warmth induces naps. Man, I would give all my cinnomin donuts to fall asleep while a boy was rubbing my head. That would beat the pants of cold medicine, tissues, pajamas, orange juice, a good nights sleep and OKGO live combined!

But I digress.

Crawling like a dog!

I went to the Jigsaw Stage for the first time last night after cramming myself full of fondue with Mr. Bones, Mrs. High Hair, and Johnny Switchblade. The food was excellent, the company rocked, and Cult of the Psychic Fetus (that Ghastly is just as cute as a button...which probably doesn't sound very threatening OR manly) played "You Can Make It If You Run". What more could a girl ask for?

I predict today will be somewhat stressful and an ultimate pain in the ass but it must be done...the basement MUST be conquered! I'm having the ultimate New Year's Eve party (and going away party for my darling Mamacita...sniff...if I poke her eye out, will the Air Force still take her?) equipped with live bands. They need somewhere to play. They need to play in the basement...and I need to prepare it. Switchblade is helping in exchange for a mom and pop shop pizza and the season finale of Ultimate Fighter. I've got less than two months to make it cleaner, bigger (it can be done with a sledgehammer and some shelf removal), cooler, and HOT PINK! Besides, I've been dying to hang up my Spits poster for some time now.

So if you don't hear from me by Monday...just assume I died in the basement. Feel free to stop by and visit me so I don't go batty.

I hope there aren't bats in the basement.

If I could see her again, wouldn't be so tongue-tied.

My Darling Dear Daniela:

If I could explain to you what is going on in my head, heart or vagina (bet you didn't know we were such good and graphic pals), I would! HECK, I wish I knew myself! Fat AND bald...WHO KNEW!?!? Certainly not me! I was dead set that there would be some pretty fierce muttonchops in my future. Not with anyone I currently know, per se. I just expected, you know, the USUAL. For whatever reason, this bald beast of a man is stitching up my shredded heart muscle and while I WISH it was someone I had more in common with, it feels pretty gosh darn good and I'll take it! I really wish I had some way to explain it to you but I'm not usually lovely dovey, ya know? I'm TUFF! I crush people with my bare hands! I eat TEETH and NAILS for breakfest! *pounds on own chest and chugs a beer*. But this guy...I don't know. I'm starting to think Paula Abdul had it right all along. Not when she sang "Rush Rush" and made that video with Keanu Reeves, but when she did that whole "Opposites Attract" thing with that cartoon cat. Yep. It still makes no sense. I just want to sleep on his big, fat, mountain of a stomach. Besides, I'll look even thinner and prettier by comparison! Yeah, I'm shallow.

And in love.

Come visit me (and Phoebe, too, I guess) soooooon!

xoxoxoxoxoxo
You-Know-Who

I'm sitting here with a stupid grin slapped all over my mug. For cryin' out loud, I think I may even be blushing. I hate blushing. And I also hate the fact that in my car today, I noticed a smile line. Can you believe THAT?! A SMILE line! I wish I could go into graphic detail about my goofiness. I wish I could climb on some random roof top in a highly popluated area and shout a few specific tid bits to the world but alas, I have invisible tape over my mouth.

I had a great day today.

I am becoming a pro-misbehavor.

I love smooching. And the copy room.

Cause there's nothing like the real thing.

Eleven times a scapegoat.
It’s not a hug, but a choke.
And you’re not what I’ve been missin’.
I’ll be damned before I listen to you.

Everything you want.
And nothing that you need.
But somehow it all just fits in.
I’d climb your mind just to go wishing.

I guess there’s no use really cause.
Cause there’s nothing like a real thing.

Welling up in my throat.
I love you, you must know.
There’s not much that needs fixin’.
I can’t quit when I’m addicted.

I guess there’s no use really cause.
Cause there’s nothing like a real thing.

I'm not sure where any of this is going. I'm not sure when or if or how it's going to end. I have a stack of headaches building up. 6 months ago I swore up and down that there was no chance of me "crossing the line", not with this guy or with anyone. I'm so far over that line I'm not even sure where it is anymore or what it even stood for. Is that a good thing? Is my heart in trouble? I didn't think I was ever going to be capable of "cheese sandwich" again in my life...and here I am. He has sad blue eyes. He has headaches. He knows, really, he does. And he is speechless.

And because of him, I want to paint like I never have in my life!