Dear TIGI

YOU ARE THE MEAN GIRL OF HAIR PRODUCTS!

The fanciest beaver I've ever seen

Last weekend, my friend Jamie and I went to see The Book of Mormon (it. was. awesome.).

It was also a rare chance to put on a pretty dress and go to the theater on a Saturday afternoon (I can count the number of times Beau and I have done that on NO hands--not that Beau has ever worn a dress. As far as I know.).

Denver is a funny town. It wants to be a big, cosmopolitan city (and it does attract great art exhibits, national conventions, presidential debates, etc.), but deep down, it's always going to be a cow town (the grand champion steer from the stock show ambles down a red carpet graces the lobby of the Brown Palace Hotel during afternoon tea every January. Don't believe me?)

As such, this is a dress-down town.

So an afternoon at the theater, for some, means ironing your best Tommy Bahama shirt, wearing your nice jeans, and pulling your hair into an extra-neat ponytail.

I know, I know, I know. You don't care about all this. WHAT ABOUT THE BEAVER?

I'm getting to that.

While I was admiring the sartorial exploits of Mr. Bahama, I happened to glance over his shoulder at his wife (who was much more dressed up).

She was wearing a necklace in a shape that I couldn't quite make out. Is that a parrot? No.

I looked a little closer.

No, it can't be.

And then I made Jamie look.

And we came to the conclusion that she was, indeed, wearing a DIAMOND-ENCRUSTED BEAVER AROUND HER NECK.

Which, let's face it, is all kinds of awesome.

Oh yeah.

This is the best shot I could get without Tommy Bahama noticing and kicking my ass.

You know you want one.

Important rules for society safety

My pal Steve went to a Fetish Ball last week. We chatted about it the day before the festivities. He decided to wear neoprene from head to toe (sounds sweaty). His roommate, he said, was probably going to wear a jock strap and a harness (he'll be cool as a cucumber... so to speak).

Later that afternoon, he emailed me the rules for the ball:

Here are the rules (and these rules are often overlooked).
Exile Fetish Ball continues the tradition of featuring talents from Colorado kinksters, but takes it to the next level. This event will incorporate fetish demonstrations, dancing, and other darker artistry including live musicians, DJs, fashion & stylists, visual artists, as well as other designers and vendors. This will be a great opportunity to showcase your passions, gain exposure, and turn people on.

This is a 21+ event ($10 before 10pm, $15 10pm – 11pm, $20 after 11pm)

This is a great opportunity to push limits. FETISH GEAR STRONGLY ENCOURAGED. As per public decency laws, the only nudity limitations are male/female genital or female nipple exposure.
****************************************************

Yes, by all means, let's shield society from the dangers of the EXPOSED FEMALE NIPPLE!

Let us take shelter in the warm glow that comes from exposed, nurturing, life-giving male nipples.

To clarify, I'm not making a case for myself. I have no desire at all to show my own nipples to the world. I just think the nipple double standard is silly.

Now that I read what I've written, it sounds like I'm protesting too much.

And typing "nipple" too much.

NIPPLE! NIPPLE! NIPPLE!

Ok, whatever.

Forget it.

Sigh.

[Postscript: Steve told me afterward that a girl showed up at the ball with fish hooks in her back. She then proceeded to suspend herself from the ceiling using these hooks. Thank God her nipples were covered at the time or that might have been fucking disturbing.]

My folks' trip to the movies

Mom and Dad went to see the new Bourne movie over the weekend (they liked it, BTW).

Mom told me that they checked her purse for weapons on the way in and had guards stationed in the theater (given recent events in another Denver-area theater, that's not much of a surprise).

She was kind of irritated about it, but that was mainly because she was trying to sneak in a Diet Dr. Pepper and had to quickly pass it off and smuggle it in Dad's pants (how they failed to notice a soda can in a man's pocket is beyond me).

It's not like I'd have a gun in my purse, she huffed.

I nodded at her, thought about it, and realized that--wait a minute!--that's a TOTAL FUCKING LIE. (Really. Click the link if you don't believe me. Hell, click the link even if you DO believe me.)

And then I realized that they searched my mom's purse and totally ignored my dad, who has a concealed carry license and is packing all of the time (but, as he says, It's just a little gun. Plus, he's sane. Sane enough).

And then I realized that other people probably don't have these kinds of conversations with/thoughts about their parents.

My one chance to impress a new neighbor...

And I'm pretty sure he just heard me screech FUCK YOU! at my garage door when it refused to go all the way down.

Well, shit.

I suppose hollering I'M A NICE GIRL! I'M A NICE GIRL! I'M A NICE GIRL! Wouldn't help now.

Or would it?

My latest phobia

The toilets on the floor where I work flush... violently. 

Really violently. So violently, in fact, that if, during the act of flushing, your shoe fell off (because there's no woman alive who flushes public toilets with her hands), it would be GONE in an instant.

And if, by reflex, you tried to catch the shoe before it went down and you slipped, you'd lose the arm too. Amputation by toilet. Nobody talks about the toll it takes on us as a nation.

No toilet needs to flush so hard that there are, uh, splashes. 

Who needs that kind of stress?

I guess maybe I just have weird potty phobias. Not germ phobias, really; that's what Purell is for. But between the "Please Keep Door Closed to Prevent BEAR ENTRY" sign in Lake Tahoe and the fact that I live in Colorado, where shit like this happens much more often than you'd think, I'm sprouting new phobias every day.

And it all just brings me one step closer to being the housebound crazy cat lady whose house gets egged every Halloween.

One of my personal heroes

I have a sweet friend at work who had a not-so-sweet husband. Luckily, she's a smart cookie and unloaded him once she found out he was a dud.

One of the most wonderful things about her is that even though she's had a rough time of it this year, she's stayed very upbeat and positive, finding little things to love about each day.

But here's what makes her all the more awesome in my book. Last week, she went down to the courthouse to file her divorce papers... WEARING. HER. WEDDING. DRESS.

I'm so lucky to know so many amazing, funny, bold, kick-ass women.

Dad and Siri

I was in the car with my dad a couple of weeks ago when he told me that we had to make a stop before he dropped me off at home. He was donating blood the next morning (he's one of those nice, blood-donating dads), and he wanted to find the place so he wouldn't get lost in the morning.

We had the cross streets, but no specific address. While we looked, Dad thought to grab his phone and ask Siri.

Siri told us that she found a donation center, but it was pretty far away. We asked her in several different ways. No dice.

Finally, we found the place on our own. As we sat in front of it, Dad asked Siri one last time and got the same wrong answer.

And then Dad hit the button and said "Siri, I'm disappointed in you."

*INSTANT FLASHBACK* to what I heard after every stupid thing I pulled when I was a kid, including the time when, impatient with the "normal" way to use puff paint (in the oven), I decided to expedite the process (in the microwave), filling the house with acrid smoke while I was alone in the house. 

And, much like my own reaction in those days, Siri responded with shamed silence.

Dad Disappointment cuts to the bone. :)

Beau walked in my door on Saturday

And the first thing I told him was that he had the perfect cover for a serial killer.

"What???"

"I mean it. You're friendly. You're an artist. You were raised by a peace-loving hippie family. You have 700+ Facebook friends and a nice girlfriend who never suspected that you had such a dark side. It really is the perfect cover."

[insert audible sigh--EXACTLY the way a serial killer would react, don't you think?]

"Well, I'm not a serial killer, so there goes your theory."

"That's what a serial killer would say. Look at how huge the trunk of your car is. How many dudes do you think would fit in there?"

"Right, like I'd kill a bunch of men and stuff them in my trunk."

"Oh. So you'd kill women? You've thought about it, have you?"

"Are we done with this? Aren't you hungry for lunch?"

So we left it at that. BUT if I suddenly disappear, all of the tv newsmagazines will pull this blog entry and say how tragically prophetic it was. And then they'll show a photo of my smiling face and you'll hear "Somehow, deep down, she KNEW."

And you'll have read it here first.

Or not.

Lunch was good, anyway.

If you buy school supplies...

At Whole Foods, congratulations! You've just been inducted into the Douchebag Hall of Fame!