I have received an emailed directive from Megan:

stop what you are doing and blog something right now.

So, here goes:

I’ve been busy as hell. I got the job I was trying to get, and you are now reading the words of the new part-time Telecommunications Operator for a suburban Chicago town, the town in which I went to high school.

Yep, that’s right. When a bunch of teenagers are falling all over themselves, drunk, peeing on lawns, tossing recyclables around in the street, beating each other up in parks, etc., and someone calls up to report it to the police, I’m the one who answers the phone and sends out the officers.

I am a dispatcher. I also take the 911 calls and reports of accidents and thefts and frauds and fires and all that stuff. It’s a little crazy. The job is perfect for me, although several times when I’ve told people about it, the get a quizzical look on their face and say, “Really?” But do you have any idea the kinds of material I’m accumulating? Not just about the people who call for help or assistance, but the officers? Police officers are insane! In a good way, of course.

So, I’m still in training and really enjoying it, but I’m still trying to figure out how to have a job and still do all the things I need to do in a day.

The other thing taking up all my time is Newsvine. I’m totally addicted. I love it. I spend entirely too much time there and need to back off. I keep telling myself to publish everything I write over there over here, too, but many times people here wouldn’t know what the hell I’m talking about, so I don’t.

That’ll change in the upcoming weeks, however, because my Lollapalooza coverage will appear both there and here. And I’m getting really excited for it. I’ve got interviews lined up with Ben Harper (Ben Harper!), G. Love and Special Sauce, Peter Himmelman, and a few others. I’m waiting for confirmation on interviews with a few other bands, and I’m hoping still to land some of the bigger acts like Pearl Jam, Iggy Pop, Patty Smith, Muse, My Morning Jacket, etc.

I’ll also be covering a few of the side-events. There’s some kind of acoustic brunch going on which I’ll be attending Saturday morning, and I’ve just sent off an application for press credentials to an after-party music lounge kind of thing as well. I’ll let you know how that works out.

I want to cover absolutely ever facet of Lollapalooza that I possibly can. Without going insane. Good luck to me, right?

Over at Newsvine, though, I’m spending a lot of my time trying to encourage people to write more, write better, and view themselves as journalists. I just started a group devoted to covering protests around the world, and I’m encouraging others to go to protests and get the story, and post them at Newsvine. So far so good.

So, I’ve stretched myself a little thin here, but it’s all such good stuff, I can’t complain, and I’m enjoying every minute of it.

I think when Megan requested that I stop what I’m doing and write on my blog, she was hoping for a babble. And while the above could certainly be called babbling, it’s not my standard offering. So. Hmmm. What can I babble about?

I know! People who call the police for really random and ridiculous things!

For instance, the woman who recently called the general number and said, “Yes, I have a problem.”

“What’s the problem, ma’am?” I asked.

“Well, you know that nail salon that just opened up in town?” she asked.

Now, here, I’m expecting her to say that she’d forgotten to take the money to pay out of her wallet before getting her nails done, and had asked the manicurist to get it out for her, and the manicurist then stole all her money, or maybe they injured her in some way, or there were rats running around, or something, anything, criminal.

“Yes?”

“Well, I don’t know the name of it, so I can’t get the phone number.”

I paused for a moment, slightly confused. “Well, how can I help you?”

“Can you get the number for me?”

Now, since I’m new on the job, and even if I weren’t, it would be inappropriate to do so, I did not say what I would have liked to say, which was “Are you SERIOUSLY calling the FUCKING police department to ask for the PHONE NUMBER of the new NAIL SALON IN TOWN? Lady? Seriously?”

Instead, I said, “Well, no…”

“I figured the police department would have a list of all the businesses in town,” she said.

“Well, we do, in a way, but I don’t know the name of the salon either, so…”

“Well, what should I do?” she asked, slightly distraught.

“You know what I suggest, ma’am? It’s a beautiful day. Why not take a walk into town and check it out? Last time I drove through, I don’t even think they had a sign up, so you might have to go in. Or, you could drive up.”

I said this very sweetly, without the slightest note of sarcasm in my voice. Really. I did.

Her response? “Oh. Thanks.” Irritated! She was mad that the police department couldn’t provide for her the name and phone number for a nail salon in town! WTF is that? I would have liked to have said, “Yes, ma’am, I have it right here on speed-dial. Would you like me to connect you? Or, would you like me to call up and set up an appointment for you? And then send an officer to pick you up and deliver you to the salon and rub your stupid, lazy feet while you get your goddamn nails painted? Because we are a SERVICE-ORIENTED department, ma’am, and there’s nothing we love more than to cater to the every whim of the spoiled, snotty asshats who live in this town, and I’ll tell you, if you’re not a prime example of a spoiled, snotty asshat, then I don’t know who is!”

But of course, I didn’t say that.

How’s that, Meggy?

Check it out. The comment thread got ugly, but that’s not entirely my fault.

The following was posted to Newsvine. I’ve cross-posted it here, because I will be cross-posting all of the articles/interviews I write as a result of this FUCKING AMAZING turn of events.

Holy hell, my friends.

Remember when Forest Browne challenged us all to go ahead and ask for press passes to events because he did for the America’s Cup, and got it?

Remember when Brian Ford talked about it in his article Information Regarding Press Passes ?

From the email I received today in response to my request for a press pass to cover Lollapalooza for Newsvine:

I am confirming 1 media pass to cover Lollapalooza for Newsvine.com
I will be in touch as the date gets closer! Let me know if you need anything else…

From the Lollapalooza site, in the Press section, where you apply for a press pass:

WEB ZINES AND BLOGGERS:
Web zine writers and bloggers MUST provide specific information about your site in the description section of the application. Please include accurate web traffic numbers. Let us know the audience your site reaches as well as what type of coverage you plan for Lollapalooza. Credentials for web zines and blogs are extremely limited and will be evaluated closely.

You know what that means? It means that this is important. It means that an extremely large event, covered world-wide, has approved Newsvine as a valid source of news.

Of course, I am freakin’ giddy beyond words to have received a free pass to Lollapalooza, which I have attended for the last two years. Of course, I’m having to explain to my kids that they can’t come because Mommy will be working (hee hee!)

But most importantly, I’m giddy because I do feel that this gives not only me some (badly needed) credibility, but Newsvine as a whole.

Yes, we have our Useless Articles. But we also have Celestina being interviewed on the radio and discussing Newsvine. We have Killfile providing us updates on the Virginia Tech shooting faster than the AP could do it (and please see killfile’s column for subsequent articles and discussions). We have Sandy Frost, the latest recipient of the Random Act of Vineness (see also), reporting about the Shriners.

So what does that all mean?

It means Newsvine is going to hit the big time. That’s what it means.

It also means I need your input.

What do you want to hear about? Who do you want to hear from? I am waiting for information about interviewing particular artists, and when/how that will happen. But…

Myk? I assume you’d like me to talk to Regina Spektor? I know I want to.

Eric? I know you’ll have a list. And I want it.

What about the rest of you?

Here’s the link to the Lollapalooza website. You can find the lineup there.

As I’m typing this article, I’ve received an email that I need to coordinate interviews ahead of time.

So, it’s up to you, folks. Who do you want to hear from?

So, I got inspired by this news article to dig out an envelope I have filled with letters that are twenty years old or more. I thought I’d share some of it with you all.

A little trip down memory lane…

The first little thing to fall in my lap when I pulled everything out was a bunch of chinese fortune cookie fortunes and a Bazooka Joe comic, paper-clipped together. I STILL refer to these things because I believe I was blessed by them.

Bazooka Joe foretold: You will never run out of money.

Fortune cookies:

You will inherit some money or a small piece of land.
Look! Good fortune is around you.
You will be showered with good luck.
You will inherit money and jewelry (I did, about three weeks after I got this fortune).
In God we trust; all others must pay cash (what the hell kind of fortune is that? I think I only kept it because it referred to money).

I’m glad I had faith in all those weird things, because I have NEVER run out of money. I’ve been close, but I’ve always managed to find some when it’s needed.

Another fun thing in the envelope was a spiral notebook–some crappy free thing given out at the beginning of the school year. In it is a note I wrote to my friend Susan:

Susie–where are you? You haven’t been in school for 2 days! We got this gay notebook in homeroom today. Guess who was in here (in my homeroom) helping the teacher? Ms. Markun. She left a while ago but now she’s back! She’s wearing this velour green dress with little elastic decoration on the sleeves (which are short) and the neck. Her bra is working a little better today but not good enough! I have a scummy homeroom, except for [name redacted, haven't seen this girl in 20 years, don't want to see her again via her attorney]. Melina has the best one. Carol, Steve, Matt, and lots of others are in it. Marie [don't even remember ever knowing a Marie, but it may have been Melina's sister] has a suspension tomorrow for ditching isn’t that funny. Dawn, Christy, and Joyce got drunk before school today in a little field by El Marquis. There is five more long minutes left of this boring homeroom. How do you like this note. We are all going to your house after school today whether you like it or not. My parents are being gay about my grades now (esp. my dad, of course). He wants to take me and my mom out to lunch next week to discuss my grades. My dad is such a damn homosexual [I'm guessing we thought of that as an insult, but of course, I no longer do, now that I know a lot of really awesome homosexuals]. I can’t stand him at all. Must go for now.

High! I’m back and I’m in etymology, which is extremely boring because we are supposed to be studying for tomorrow’s test but I’m not. Too bad, eh? Can you babysit at my house tonight for a couple hours? I certainly hope so! I have to babysit at 6, and my mom is leaving at 5:30 and Dad and John won’t be home until about 7:00 so can you please? Mamajul lulee [this is one of the pet names we had for my mother. I have no idea what the fuck it means] would really appreciate it. I have to babysit at Bell’s tonight please spare me. The woman makes me want to throw up if you know what I mean. She’s so damn annoying. Jane won’t stop bugging me about Steve [Jane, I remember, but Steve? No idea]. I wish they would both go crawl in a hole and leave me alone. I feel like a fool writing in this gay little notebook. Take a look at the front cover. Ain’t it nice? 19 more long boring minutes left what do I have to say nothing but oh my god!

NEWS BULLETIN

ON HERMAN & WYATT [don't ask]

Herman is living in sin with his sister Elvira, who just had their son Edgar. Now Edgar is a mighty disgusting looking little fellow. he is very short, about 5 inches long from head to toe and his skin is dark and lumpy, but not black. All his body parts are fat and lumpy, strangely resembling large pieces of shit! He is disgusting! His face is a large round lump of shit and he is completely bald. What an ugly deformity. The doctor informed Herman and Elvira that he discovered a terrible thing during an examination of the baby’s body. His brain was a large turd. The baby would probably not live for more than a few months. If he did, then he’d live for a long time. One very bad thing about him was that he always smelled like dogshit. GROSS! So Herman and Elvira accepted this disgusting baby, and started to live a life of happiness. Elvira’s stomach had swelled again, however, and upon examination it was found she was pregnant again, but it was due in a few weeks! She had fucked around a few weeks after having become pg with Edgar, and now she was the highlight of the science world, first having a piece of shit for a baby, and then having another baby 3 weeks after the first one! Strange! She soon had the baby, and it was BLACK! Tell what Herman’s reactions were…

That’s your job. I’m sick of writing but I have nothing else to do so I will! How are we all gonna get to your house, I wonder? Take the bus, would be logical. How are we gonna organize this I am so confused! Jeeze louise I have to find everybody and figure it out! Why didn’t you come to school today? You are such an ugly wimp. I dislike your babiness. How gay, not coming to school. Guess what I wore today. A skirt. Yes, I AM a dumbshit. I wore a skirt on a half day! Exactly five more minutes of this gay class! Bogus boringness! Poopak [that's really someone's name, but I have to use it because it was really her name and I can't believe I knew someone who's name was Poopak. Come to think of it, that bitch stabbed me in the back the year after this note was written] would’ve given me a ride to school, but I forgot to call her and ask her I am so silly. Maybe she’ll give me a ride home but she has 7th free so maybe she went home. Do you like this note? This note is about 6 pages long maybe 5 but I have problems. Yesterday my dad said I could learn how to drive the Triumph [a TR6, I forget the year] but you have to know how to count to drive a stick. Must go now.

Love,
Viki

Okay, so I continued this note for another 6 pages or so, but this post is already ridiculous, so I’ll continue it tomorrow.

First off, I love that last line, don’t you? I cannot WAIT to remind my father that he once said something like that to me. Although, I think I was failing Geometry at the time, so I probably deserved it.

Secondly, this note isn’t really all that amusing, but it’s a funny little peek inside the brain of a 15 year old girl in 1984-85.

Thirdly, I have a weird vague memory of this Ms. Markun person. She was some kind of roving helper lady, occasional substitute, and Susan and I hated her with some serious venom.

Okay, I posted. Happy now?

Tomorrow, the continuation of the note.

Heh!

And, my CHILDREN and their FRIENDS (hello Doogie!) showed this to me:

Shoes

And here’s another, which may or may not be all that funny, but is totally hilarious when you’re sitting at your computer, surrounded by 9-11 year-olds, being told what to watch.:  Muffins!

I used to write some good shit.

Some of it was serious: A well-written previous entry from last November that nobody ever commented on until someone tried to comment spam it so I went back and read it.

Some of it is funny as hell, but really a meta-post because it’s all about blogging. And there’s nothing I hate more than bloggers blogging about blogging. That’s like cleaning ladies talking about cleaning while they’re cleaning. Or writers sitting around, talking about writing with their journals in their hands. It’s slightly annoying. But funny anyway: A post nobody read about my search strings.

Here’s an entry that got a crapton of comments: Drunken political blogging after a few too many, inspired by Pink, of all people. Although, I do adore her. For my own reasons. Although, does anyone else find it slightly ironic that she had that song/video lampooning the skinny, slutty starlets, and she frequently appears in her own videos in slinky, slutty garb?

Here’s a link to a Pink video. I like the song. I may have to go get this album. Or download it. Or something. Who knew? Don’t Let Me Get Me There’s another one, I saw the video for it yesterday morning when I was downtown and couldn’t sleep for the lightning and the thunder and all that, up at 3 a.m. watching fucking MTV, but I can’t find it, don’t know the name of it, yadda yadda, that’ll have to do.
OH. MY. GOD. I just realized I am doing a very blog-whorish thing, and that is to point out some of my older posts in place of actually writing a new post. How fucking pathetic is that? If you weren’t lucky enough, or smart enough, or paying enough attention, to see these posts the first time, why should I send you to them now? Because I’m lazy? Because I have nothing to write about? Because I’m pissed off that writing these damn posts used to come so easy and now it feels like work, and I look back and see how good some of them are and no one read them and oh, blah.

Blah.

Blah.

So I’m standing at my kitchen sink not ten minutes ago, washing the pan I used to make my scrambled eggs this morning, and I see a group of teenagers coming down the sidewalk towards my house. Initially, I didn’t take too much notice of them. The high school just let out, so they’re on their way home, although I did wonder why I couldn’t remember ever having seen this particular crew before. I’m sure I would have remembered, especially the girls in their heavy black eyeliner and dyed, straight black hair and black clothes and heavy boots (that goth look that always makes me want to yell “Wash your face!” and “Try pink! It would look great with your pasty white skin!”). Anyway, I look back down at my crusty pan and start scrubbing away but look up again when I realize my dogs had not started barking. They bark at EVERYBODY who walks by my house as if Satan had just materialized in front of them. I live on a corner, so they run along the fence, following the passer-by, barking their fucking heads off. They weren’t doing that because the kids had stopped at the corner of my fence, right by my driveway. “Hmm,” I thought. “I wonder what they’re up to?” But before that thought could completely run through my head, I see one of the girls lift a bowl to her lips and hold a lighter to it, while saying something to her friend.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me!” I said. Out loud. To myself. Then I went to the back door and opened it quietly and that’s when the dogs started barking. One kid said something to the girl with the bowl and she lowered it.
“You might want to try being a little more sly with that,” I said. “What are you thinkin’?”
One of the boys says, “It’s just tobacco!”
“Sure it is,” I said. “You think you kids invented that stuff? Doesn’t it occur to you that some adults might be around who know what you’re doing? You’re standing on a sidewalk in broad daylight!”
“It’s tobacco, ma’am!” (Argh. I hate being called ma’am. Especially by someone I’m busting for smoking pot on the sidewalk outside my house at 3:15 in the fucking afternoon.)
Meanwhile, they’ve resumed walking and now they are about even with me where I stand on my back porch. “Do yourself a favor,” I say. “Get your head out of your ass and smoke that at home, okay?”
“Okay! Bye!” they call, giggling.

How fucking stupid can you be? I remember doing some pretty stupid things when I was a teenager. Maybe. Okay, we did things like stop in the middle of the street, and then we’d all get out of the car and cop a squat on someone’s front lawn. There’d be six or seven girls scattered, squatting and peeing and giggling, our car radio blaring. It’s like we didn’t think anything existed but us. And we were always so shocked to get busted for stuff. We honestly thought that, what? Adults wouldn’t notice? Wouldn’t do anything? Didn’t know what a drunk or stoned person looked like? Didn’t know what pot smelled like? Couldn’t recognize that particular way you have to hold a lighter on it’s side in order to put spark to fragrant weed? What the hell?

Now, I could have been a real bitch and called the police and really confronted them and made them wait there for the police and made a big old scene and all that, but then I’d get rocks thrown through my window. It IS occurring to me now that I could have simply CONFISCATED their “tobacco.” But that probably would have brought me a little more trouble than it’s worth. Plus, teenagers smoke schwag. I just wanted to let them know they were seen. That they are not invisible. And to let them know they are incredibly STUPID.

So, what would you have done? Would you have called the police? Would you have said anything different than I did? Would you have invited them up on your porch and asked for a hit and offered them a beer? Would you have followed them in your car to see where they live? Would you have bothered to say anything to them at all?

And I hope you’ve got something better to do than surf blogs.

Once in a while, I take a look at my stats and see what kinds of things people are searching for that leads them to my site. It is always an enlightening experience for me, and I love to enlighten the minds of my readers, so I’m going to, once again, share some of this information with you.

I find it very amusing that lots of people search for either beach ass, ass beach, or florida ass, and find their way here. I think it is because I posted a picture that I took while sitting on the beach, of the ocean, and it included my legs, which look fat and disgusting in the picture, but who the fuck cares.

One of the most searched for items was backstabbing sluts. WTF? It boggles my mind what people Google! What kind of information are they looking for? Do they want to meet a couple of backstabbing sluts? Did they just get stabbed in the back by a couple of backstabbing sluts and they’re all pissed off and checking their e-mail and they just can’t get those goddamn backstabbing sluts off their mind, so they pop onto Google and type in the phrase backstabbing sluts, just to see what will come up? Just to see, perhaps, if there are any other people out there in the internet world who have also been backstabbed by sluts? So that they can find some peace? Find someone they can identify with? Weird. I don’t know what to tell you, oh searcher for backstabbing sluts. They’re out there. Avoid them if you can.

I also got hits off of vikki blows and viki sneezed. What the hell are people trying to find with these phrases?

Another search phrase that landed people here was unhealthy friendship. I wrote about an unhealthy friendship that I ended over a year ago. It’s still over. Thank God! I’m thinking that unhealthy friendship and backstabbing sluts are totally related and I am pretty sure that now that I’ve put those two phrases right next to each other, I am soon going to get a hit off of the phrase unhealthy friendship with backstabbing slut.

Anonymous online confessions. You tell me.

26th and California jail picture was another one. First of all, I’d like to inform whoever was looking for a picture of the jail at 26th and California, it’s called GOOGLE IMAGES. Okay? And what do you need to know? What your future home is going to look like? Let me tell you, if you weren’t able to find a picture. It ain’t pretty. Best start running now.

One of my favorites is the phrase www.fucking sister in law. What the hell do you think is going on here? You think some guy is fantasizing about fucking his sister-in-law and wants to find a website that will tell him how to go about it? You think some guy IS fucking his sister-in-law and wants to find some other guys who are doing the same thing? He obviously (or she, I mean, I guess it’s possible some woman wants to fuck HER sister-in-law) is thinking there’s some website out there that talks about fucking your sister-in-law.

OR, he hates his sister-in-law, and this is of the “I hate my fucking sister-in-law” camp. Either way, I find it hilarious that someone was searching for this, and that they were led here. Don’t you? Because I’ll tell you right now, I love all my sisters-in-law, and I would never have the phrase fucking sister in law in my blog. Unless I was talking about someone else’s sister-in-law. Which, of course, is entirely possible.

Another person was searching for meaning with the phrase kidneys ache beer. I’ve spoken before about my kidneys aching, but it’s from vodka, not beer. Or vodka AND beer. Whatever. What I’m thinking is that there are a lot of people out there that don’t know anything about the internet except for GOOGLE. So they sit in front of their computers (I’m thinking they have a couple cocktails or three in them at this point, and another one on a coaster next to their mouse pad), and they type in www.google.com, because, they think, “Hey, everybody’s doing it!” And they look at that empty search box with that blinking cursor, and they type in the first goddamn thing that comes into their heads. In this person’s case, they’d had MANY MANY beers. And their kidneys ached. And they were sitting there, at their desk, draining yet another beer, and they were thinking, “Man, my kidneys hurt. I wonder if it’s from all this beer?” So they type in kidneys ache beer into the search box, thinking that will give them some kind of answer. That’s what I’m thinking.

What do you think about the search phrase exhibitionism and cleaning lady? What I’m thinking is that I need another cocktail before I analyze that one. Exhibitionism and cleaning lady. Exhibitionism and cleaning lady. What comes to mind, people?

I’ll tell you what comes to mind. What comes to mind is some sick fuck who lost his job, and his wife still works, but everything’s okay because she made more money than he did anyway, and he sits around all day, drinking, because what the hell else is there to do all day when you’re not working? I mean, you’ve got a CLEANING LADY, for chrissakes! So he pounds a few beers or ten and gets it in his head that it might be nice to give his cleaning lady a tip, you know? Because she does such a good job? And what better tip than to show her what he’s got in his pants? Only, he’s not going to do this in an obvious way. He’s not going to be sitting at the computer, naked, surfing porn, when she walks in (although he’s clearly doing this at other times). He’s going to wait until she pulls up in her thirteen-year-old Toyota Corolla with 237,495 miles on it that she bought for $500 at the used car lot downtown right after she arrived here from Poland (I’m allowed to be un-PC about Polish people, as I am not only 1/4 Polish by birth, but I’m also, as they say, Polish-injected. We’ll see what kind of people find their way here off of THAT search string, no?). So anyway, the Polish cleaning lady with the nice rack, who brings her own vacuum, and only charges $60 for the whole damn house, pulls up, and this guy, who has been standing by the front window, half-hidden by the drapes, drinking a beer, and probably fondling himself, rushes up the stairs, into the bathroom, the door of which he leaves slightly open, as if he wasn’t expecting anyone to be in the house (who shuts the bathroom door when they shower while in the house alone? You have to be able to hear the phone, or the doorbell, or if some crazy, crack-addled nutjob is coming in to rob you, right?). Okay, sorry, lost my train of thought. I’m embarrassed. I’m usually able to sustain an unbelievably long sentence for miles before having to stop myself with a well-placed period. ANYWAY, the cleaning lady comes in, hears the shower, realizes that Mr. Lazy-Ass, Lost-His-Job, Living-Off-Better-Educated-Wife’s-Hard-Work fuckhole is home, yet cannot force herself to start downstairs. Because if you’ve ever been a professional cleaning lady, you know that it’s best to start upstairs, and just sweep and wipe all the dust and dirt down, until you’re done, and then wash yourself out the door as you wash the downstairs floor, no? Correct me if I’m wrong.) So, she heads up the stairs with her bucket of supplies and her vacuum, and who times it perfectly but Mr. Lazy-Ass? He saunters out of the bathroom, all wet, loosely holding a towel around his dampened body (because he only had time to jump into the shower for a quick second before he heard her heading up the stairs, so his hair is still pretty much dry, completely giving away his little plan), beer in the other hand, because who doesn’t bring their beer into the bathroom when they’re showering midday? He sees her, and in his “shock,” drops the towel! Thus, we have “exhibitionism and cleaning lady.” Well played, Mr. Lazy-Ass. And unless she likes what she sees, you are probably going to be hearing it from your wife when your cleaning lady quits on you. And you’re probably going to have to start cleaning the house yourself until she’s able to find some other young Polish girl with a nice rack.

Wow. I think I need to take a deep breath after that one.

Next up, we have How to deal with someone who babbles. I don’t know whether to be insulted or proud. You know what? I’ll tell you how to deal with someone who babbles. Show her how to blog, okay? And everything will be okay.

The only one I’m worried about, and this will be the last one, because this is, I’m fairly certain, one hell of a long blog post that nobody surfing through via BlogMad is going to be able to read during their 25 seconds, and we all know no one is sticking around beyond that, right? If you do, leave me a comment. I’ll give you a prize. And I’ll know if you’re telling the truth, because you will have to have read all the way down to this part of the post! Anyway, the only one I’m worried about is writing teachers in the northern suburbs of chicago. Why am I worried about that? Because I’m trying to BE a writing teacher in ANY suburb of Chicago, or in Chicago itself. And I’m thinking that anyone looking to hire a writing teacher, say some lovely, wealthy, older gentleman who wants to write his life story but doesn’t think he knows how to write, who looks for a writing teacher by GOOGLING for one, might come across this blog and think, I would NEVER hire this woman to teach me how to write! She’s some kind of crazy, drunken lunatic! Let me assure you, dear lovely, wealthy older gentleman who wants to pay me $100,000 a year to teach him how to write his memoirs, that ALL of the writing on this blog is PURE FICTION. I am just taking on a persona, if you will. I am actually a completely sober, totally organized, fantastic writing teacher. So hire me. Okay?

I took all that other stuff as cover. All I really wanted was the rainbow pot holders.

NBC5.com – News – Thief Swipes $1,500 In Sex Toys From Hotel
JACKSONVILLE, Fla. — Someone’s swiped the vibrators.

Jacksonville police want to know how sex toys and romantic goods were stolen during a weekend convention.

Police are investigating the rip-off of more than $1,500 worth of sex toys during the Southeastern Erotic Cultural Conference.

The victims are three women who were selling the adult novelties at a convention at the Radisson Riverwalk Hotel.
Click here to find out more!

Three women who were vendors told police that someone took two pairs of leather and metal bondage suspension cuffs, a 28-inch-long leather whip, bath salts, rainbow pot holders and an electrical stimulation device.

Police said the theft happened between 6 p.m. Saturday and just after 2 a.m. Sunday.

The crime was discovered when a hotel security guard found a conference room open and a broken key in the lock. The weekend conference featured an erotic art show, classes and something called a leather pride party.

I stole the following from Charlie:

If you read this… if your eyes are passing over this right now, (even if we don’t speak often or don’t really know each other)….. Your job, your mission, nay – even your new goal in life is to post a comment with a COMPLETELY MADE UP AND FICTIONAL memory of you and me.

It can be anything you want – good or bad. It can be about that time when I spent the night with you in the South American jail because you got drunk and tried to pick up on a cop…. or it could be about that night that felt like that time half a forever ago when you and I hopped on railroad cars and rode clear across Kentucky… BUT IT HAS TO BE FAKE.

When you’re finished, post this little paragraph on your blog and be surprised (or mortified) about what people DON’T ACTUALLY remember about you!

Post away – and be creative!

I’ve amused myself by what I wrote in Charlie’s comments in response to this-you should go read it and stay and read his other posts. He’s very funny. Of course, I actually AM going to Austin in March (did I tell y’all that? I’m going to the AWP conference with the fiction writing department-hotel and airfare paid?), but I doubt I’ll be meeting up and picking up boys with Charlie, although I’m sure he and I would have a blast together.

Anyway, please do this. It’ll be funny. Go wild. Push your imagination. Exaggerate. Lie. Whatever.

I’ve seen this done before, maybe on the Queen of Ass, but I haven’t yet done it myself. And yes, it kind of gets me out of having to post something of substance today, doesn’t it? I’ve just handed the reigns over to you people.

Update: Oh, you? (You know who you are). It is definitely not a good idea to try to write about that thing (you know, that thing) that happened a couple of summers ago, okay? I’m pretty sure we’re still wanted in three states on that thing, and even though I know you’re dying to tell the story (as am I), it would decidedly NOT be a good idea to write about it here, pretending it’s made up, because it would be tantamount to admitting guilt, and frankly, I’ve had some problems with the, shall we say, burial thing in the back yard. Damn dogs.