fupafighter

Holiday Highlight

The bird was abnormally savory.  The homemade stuffing (a la old, Hungarian family recipe) was so addictive that I suspected my Mom accidentally tipped her bottle of Vicadin into the prep bowl.  Her fresh cranberry dressing made with Grand Marnier added to my breezy buzz first initiated by the bottle of Moet.  The pecan pie was so *moist* and delectable...it almost took the cake.

In my opinion, however, the highlight of our Thanksgiving feast came somewhere in between the last dollop of cranberry sauce was doled out, and the ceremonious pie slicing commenced.  My Father, amidst conversations about politics, policy, and production of wine, lifted up his shirt and demanded everyone at the table to look at the youthful brunette color of his chest hairs, thanks to the Human Growth Hormone he's been squirting under his tongue with a hospital issue syringe for the past few months.  We were all invited to stroke the plush canopy of fur blanketing my Dad's mid-section, and then examined the few remaining gray hairs nestled in-between the healthy crop of new hair.  A magnifying glass was provided as a visual aid.

Now tell me, what Thanksgiving celebration would be complete without that?

What Are You Thankful For?

So Thanksgiving is one of those days that's "supposed" to be about something else (like Christmas is the birth of Christ or whatever, but we all know it's just about greed and eggnog).  However, similiar to the Christmas situation, everyone basically knows that Thanksgiving is just another holiday that justifies binge eating.  In an attempt to rectify this gluttonous end, I'm actually going to announce what I'm thankful for this moment, and I hope that others will follow this altruistic lead.

Today, especially, I'm thankful that my fupa is dormant.  I'm thankful for this now, b/c tomorrow I'm sure that even WMD's will be ineffective in the battle against the bulge.  So on this very day when redskins once dined with puritans, I'm quite thankful that my fupa is supa (slim upper pussy area). 

One Year Anniversary

Exactly a year ago today I let my Mom in on a little piece of information about myself that pretty much changed the course of our future, or at least the way that both of us once envisioned it.  Over a spicy tuna roll and scoop of green tea ice cream, I basically shattered her conservative, Aryan outlook on what our family life will be like ten years (well, now it's lookin' more like twenty) down the line.  And after some tear-welling, limb-numbing, hot-flash-inducing exchanges, my Mom asked but one thing of me.  And now, 365 days later, I hope that my friends, neighbors, and fellow members of the methadone clinic can attest to my keeping my Mom's request--I am more like Ellen, and less like Rosie, right?

Laying the Foundation For Failure

That's basically what I did tonight as I had my Sony, Hi-Def, widescreen TV finally installed. Not to mention getting myself hooked up with Time Warner's "Best" cable package, where I get 200 digital channels, hi-def channels, on demand, and to top it all off, TiVo. I have finally solidified my position in the couch-potato halls of fame. And there's nothing like Skinemax in high resolution...amen.

Six Bottles Of Wine Later

The hundred bucks that I dropped with CC and PT at our favorite little Italian hideaway in the W. Village, Ino, seems to pale in comparison to the pain that I'm feeling today.  I felt like an even bigger asshole when I called 'out sick' this morning from work, and even my boss ventured to ask, "Umm, are you feeling okay?"  I of course chalked it up to the 'flu,' which in some parts of the country is also called 'alcohol poisoning.' 

Mass consumption of wine leads to physical dangers as well--the bruises on my back this morning, I can only assume, are from when I fell into the shower last night.  Notice that I didn't say fall "in" the shower, meaning an accident suffered during the act of cleaning oneself.  No, no, I fell into the shower, collapsing curtain, bar, and all.

Seriously, though,  Ino is a great place to go if you're not a total douche-bag like myself and can actually exhibit a modicum of self-control, and they have a wonderful menu (Italian tuna salad highly recommended) and a vast selection of wines.  Try our downfall--the Tocai Friulana.  It's a light, slightly sweet white that's 25 bucks a pop.  I still have no idea whose idea #6 was...

5000 Flushes Later

The Titanic went under. The British steamship, Lusitania, lies in a watery grave. Even Germany's most feared battleship Bismarck now rests at the bottom of the sea. But the Tampon that my friend deposited into my bowl last night stayed afloat regardless of the funneling suction that eventually hurled it into an irrecoverable tail spin. Though tattered and adrift, this 'pon braved typhonic forces as mythic as white squalls, withstandng the pull into the collective of Upper Westsiders' waste. Only after gingerly placing several plys of Brawny paper towels atop it's shredding corpus, like some burial shroud, did this proud tampon finally succumb. In a performance worthy of "The Unflushables," I hope that all of us may take a moment and remember this irrepressible 'pon.

A Major Oversight On My Part

I have to apologize to everyone for not bringing your attention to a momentous event that I, personally, have been looking forward to for many months now.  A mere two days ago, The L Word complete Season 1 DVD was made available for sale for the first time nationwide.  Now I know that many people have qualms with this show, and whether they are socially, politically, or cinematically driven, there is just one foundation which we all must agree upon--the women are undeniably hot.

Through Something No Short of a Miracle...

...my liver and kidneys still seem to be functioning well within normal levels. I know, I actually almost keeled over from shock when I visited my doctor today and received the results of my blood tests. In fact, not only are most of my vital organs unliquified, but my calcium levels are high and the essential vitamins and minerals have not yet been washed away by the booze deluge. So this leaves me with one question, why am I still made of peanut brittle? I think I need to revisit my earlier suspicion that I was probably sauced one night this summer and suffered a fall from some height without any recollection the following morning.

And a word about my blood test: of course the doctor calls me and leaves a cryptic message--on Friday afternoon no less (those doctors do love selling the drama)--about wanting to "speak with me" regarding the "results of my tests." Or as CC put it, "Nat, she's probably just going to tell you that you no longer have any blood, it's all saccharin and Crema Lita." So I of course can't get in touch with Dr. Rackoff that afternoon, and leave her a slightly panicked message in between the very calm and composed fact-checking calls that I was making all day Friday.

Monday morning I get a message from a Jackie at Kastenbaum's office (remember Dr. Kastenbaum is my orthopedist, Dr. Rackoff is my rheumatologist...see kids, this is what you have to look forward to in the next 40 years) saying that she got my message Friday afternoon and could be reached at so-and-so number. Anyway, I was a little confused why his office was calling me since they didn't do any blood tests, so I call this Jackie back and leave a long message on her machine, explaining that Dr. Rackoff's office had taken the blood tests, that I was concerned, blah blah blah. A few hours later, no word from Jackie. I'm perusing my fact-checking for the Auctions listings: heard back from Sotheby's, Christie's, Swann, but no word yet from the small auction house that's selling off an original Hebrew text from 1492...Kestenbaum & Company. Yup, are we putting two and two together? I basically poured out my infectious disease history on the answering machine of some uptight, British lady working publicity for the leading auction house of Judaica treasures in Manhattan. Although my internal organs are working properly (again, Hail Mary) it's quite obvious that my brain function is severely impaired.

Mindless Musings

Since my Euro-wrist crutch is now for the most part glued to my side, I've affectionately named her Carrie Weaver (a.k.a the Weaver 2000). I love that she has developed a squeak, making me even more pathetic now to the gaping public. I only wish that I could pick her up and have her double as a flame thrower, so I could toast any muthafuckas who got in my way on the subway platform. For the most part, though, people are suckers and I enjoy playing into their compassion. Give me your seat, please.

At the Chelsea Theaters I saw Birth (or as I was referring to it as "The" Birth until CC ever-so-politely corrected my cheesy mistake). Hands down, this is one of the worst movies I've seen recently. There were so many things fundamentally wrong with the plot, the characters, and the way that information was revealed, that I found myself mentally re-writing the script in my head. The one redeeming quality of this film was that Nicole Kidman, sporting newly sheared quaff, looked amazingly hot. Otherwise, stay away from this one...

Went to Trailer Park afterwards on 23rd & 8th. It's trashy, it's kitschy, but man do I love me some tater tots! And of course me and CC shared a "Lover's Paradise"--a giant pineapple decked with paper umbrellas, maraschino cherries, and two bendy straws coming out of each side. We did not, however, share a warm, passionate embrace afterwards :) That ridiculousness put me into acid reflux paradise...it's a good thing that Ketel One helps alleviate that. Or so it does for me...

Back From Hiatus

Now that I'm off the sugar high of Halloween, I realize that as fun as it all can be, it's a very dangerous holiday as well. Any day that contains such a high number of fupca (fat upper pussy causing agents) really can't be good for anyone. That being said, I will profess that the costume factor is a plus. Pictures of that TK...

Last night I went to a Le Tigre concert with CC, who, sticking to habit, busted out early leaving me surrounded by a sea of hipster chicks who I'm sure didn't think that the javelin through my cartilage is as controversial as I do. Le Tigre's new CD, This Island, just doesn't do it for me as much as their debut and even Feminist Sweepstakes. But then again, these days I don't seem to be siding with the 'norm.'

...Ahhh, bridge to ELECTION DAY. As I stepped up to vote (in a machine that seriously looked like it was out of the medieval period), the confounded thing died, all the lights going out, and me standing there with my voting finger trigger happy. I had to wait until the technical difficulties subsided. However, I'm highly suspect as to whether or not my 'vote' was registered. Oh well, I've been told anyway that here in the state of NY my vote in particular wouldn't count. You know what: FUCK ALL OF YOU. My vote counts as much as the next person's, and I voted my heart out in that tin can this morning.