Worse thing I ever said?

While listening to the Mel Gibson rant filled recordings, I wondered if any of my words would haunt me . . .
Thinking the worst thing I ever said was to the alcoholic ass boyfriend. During a particularly frustrating weekend of arguments, I told him I didn't understand how he could sleep with both eyes shut.

"What does that mean?" he slurred.

"I just don't understand how you shut both your eyes and sleep, knowing how much I hate you right now. And knowing there's an loaded gun in the house. Knowing those two things proves you're not as smart as you think you are."

I should probably feel ashamed but I don't. Besides, he probably didn't remember hearing it.

As my pastor once asked, what good is suffering? What can come from it?
For me, it is empathy.
I understand why folks can scream hateful words or fantasize about shooting their spouse in the face.

Louisiana, defined

Yesterday, my radio boyfriend Jay Thomas described the current events about the British Petroleum oil leak, the multitudes of lawyers soliciting along the Gulf Coast and payout deals being made here in Louisiana to fishermen and other related tradespeople by BP for lost but anticipated income. The problem is, more than a few of those folks were under reporting their income to IRS but over-estimating missed income to BP and will now be hit with higher income taxes on the compensation and perhaps an unwelcome audit.
To sum it up, Jay said, "Louisiana, it's just like Appalachia . . . but with crawfish."

Louisiana artwork by Stan Routh

A concert memory

Just read Louisiana Belle's Music Quiz blog entry and quite impressed by her roster of a dream musical festival and it jogged a memory for me.

Back in the day (1987), my then boyfriend wanted to see the upcoming David Bowie "Glass Spider Tour" concert stop in New Orleans so I purchased tickets for his birthday and we attended the Superdome performance.

I'm all about a pure music performance without all the distracting trappings of dancers and such so was a little disappointed that wasn't "just David Bowie" but oh well, my dude liked it.

At the end of the concert, the house lights were still off and the entire Dome was dimly lit by upraised cigarette lighters, indicating a desire for an encore. It was quite beautiful from the vantage point of our floor seats. My boyfriend was dazzled. A bit too much.

My jaded ass finally asked, "Have you not ever seen that before?"

"No, never."

"What?! They do it after every concert."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"I've never seen it before."

"Puh-lease! Wait, when is the last time you attended a concert?"

He scrunched his eyebrows together and looked at me with those blue eyes he was so proud of and finally said, "Jimi Hendrix".

Da-yumn!

(I was six years old when the fabulouso Jimi died.)

Christmas sweater puke fest

Long time followers of the Skitzo Leezra blog know I have an ever changing list of imaginary boyfriends. Well, not quite imaginary, they are real people after all but they are not my actual boyfriends or at least they don't know I've claimed them as my boyfriend. I have author boyfriends (Tyler Cowen), radio boyfriends (Jay Thomas), television boyfriends, movie boyfriends (Vince Vaughn) and super secret boyfriends at local retail establishments.
My chef boyfriend is a blast from the past, I kinda thought he was hot when I read his first book "Kitchen Confidential" back in 2001 and subsequently viewed a few of his food travel shows on the Travel Channel. While my palate is nowhere nearly as sophisticated as chef Anthony Bourdain's, I love his irreverent wit and smart ass attitude.

While watching his tongue-in-cheek "holiday special" replay, I couldn't help but to be intrigued by his choice of musical guests, the Queens of the Stone Age band but even more amusing was the wardrobe choices of said band.
Please to enjoy.


In an interview recap, Bourdain commented “Those Christmas sweaters were just the most terrifying things I’ve ever seen in my life. Beyond Sandra Lee on some really awful hallucinogen.”

Gotta love it. Grandmothers have never rocked a holiday sweater like these guys.

With you but thinking of someone else

everyone here
knows that everyone here

is thinking 'bout somebody else

"Back 2 Good" by Matchbox 20

The song is about being with someone you don't love and realizing the ramifications later but it also makes me think about how many times I've wished that I were with someone other than my present company.
When I was a teen, I imagined being on vacation, standing on a Colorado mountain with my boyfriend instead of my family.
The angst of my local boyfriends not being my New York crush of all time.
College beaus that weren't another guy I really wanted.
Vacations with friends that could be imagined with the missing part of my heart.
Christmas and New Year's celebrations in the right setting but with the wrong person.
Though I've lived alone for over 20 years, I never felt so lonely as the time I sat in a noisy French Quarter bar holding the hand of my boyfriend of 2 years while New Orleans Saints fans cheered and partied at the thought of finally going to the playoffs in the 1991 Wild Card game. He wasn't THE ONE and I had known for quite a while. At the time, I didn't even know WHO I wanted, I just knew it wasn't him.
Thinking about that today, perhaps feeling a bit hormonal, makes me sad.
If you are with the person that you would hope were there, you are blessed.
If not, change it.
For me, sometimes nobody is better than somebody.

When I see blood, I usually faint

But one time, the sight of blood made me laugh.
Hard.
So hard that I almost fainted.

Back in the early 1990's or so, Chrysanthemum (Lynn) came for a Mardi Gras weekend visit. After drinking all day and standing outside after the parades had ended, she and I got our eyes stuck on a New Orleans water meter cover.

For such a utilitarian object, it is quite beautiful. She and I pondered alternate uses for them, like really cool stepping stones or rugged kitchen counter trivets . . . before we could finish our 40 ouncers of beer, we were trying to pry it from the sidewalk. Nope, a kitchen spatula eventually did the trick. We did have the presence of mind to steal MY cover because it would shift any suspicion from me. Well, it made sense at the time. But even in our drunkenness, safety was key. The open hole in the ground was a hazard so we rolled up a 24 pack beer box and wiggled it into the now uncovered hole. The box nicely protruded from the hole and alerted others to the danger. We laughed and giggled as we carried the heavy cover to her car.

The following Monday I was relaxing in my apartment when my boyfriend entered with a pant leg rolled up, a nasty gash on his shin and blood tricking down to his socks.

"Some idiot stole your water meter cover!"

Laughter~~

"What are you laughing at? I parked and walked around the back of my truck and my foot went down the hole!"

More laughter~~

"I am lucky I didn't break my goddamned leg!"

Shrieks of laughter~~endless giggles.

Finally, I was able to sputter out, "Didn't you see the box?"

"WHAT box? What is wrong with you? I almost broke my leg and someone stole your cover!"

It took forever before I could tell him that Chrysanthemum absconded with the cover and I aided and abetted her with the theft and no, I couldn't help him bandage his leg because blood makes me woozy.

I still laugh every time I remember this story.

Must be nice

Never knew how to respond to folks that said, "must be nice" when you mentioned an upcoming vacation or such. Not a fan of braggarts myself so careful not to be one, thus, the "must be nice" thing takes me by surprise. Awkward in the beginning, now I just answer, "Yes, it is."
I am truly happy when my friends receive good news or cool rewards and I don't consider myself to be a jealous person but if I truly am envious, I own up to it. "I covet your brand new Super 2000 embroidery machine with 976 stitch options" but never would I say "must be nice".
And you shouldn't either. It makes you seem small.
Nor should you talk about the price of items. It is crass. LocalRichBitch stopped by her/my hair salon to show the gay hairstylist her chosen wallpaper for her new McMansion. Nevermind that she interrupted him doing MY hair. The paper was garish by my standards but he told her it was nice. Loudly she exclaimed, "Nice? Of course, it is nice. It should be nice at $400 a roll."
Oh my gosh, I almost fell out of chair. That behavior is so gross and reveals so much about her. Not good things.
Cut to my Book Boyfriend Tyler Cowen. He writes about "signals"in his book "Discover Your Inner Economist: Use Incentives to Fall in Love, Survive Your Next Meeting, and Motivate Your Dentist". We signal every time we incur a cost to send a message about ourselves to the outside world. Signaling is a kind of personal advertising. An example of counter-signaling is when the very rich dress like bums.
My Book Boyfriend goes on to say that reporting good news can make a person look bad. If we look anxious to reveal good news, our listeners assume that we don't often have good news. Tyler asks if Bill Gates goes home at night to tell his wife he earned a lot of money that day? Did Michael Jordan need to tell his friends every time he scored 30 points in a game? Sooner or later the good news will come out and even better if it is carried by a third party.

Hope all your news is good and your enemies hear it from someone else.

My new boyfriend

My friend Lynn and I refer to guys as our new boyfriends, usually with a specific sub-heading, as in my TV boyfriend, my RADIO boyfriend, my MOVIE boyfriend, etc. I have a new BOOK boyfriend. He is married but no matter. His name is Tyler Cowen and he is the author of "Discover Your Inner Economist: Use Incentives to Fall in Love, Survive Your Next Meeting, and Motivate Your Dentist"
He plays a version of my Sears Wish book game, selecting art for yourself and asking why. Tyler claims, when visiting a museum or art gallery, "that dealing with the scarcity of our attention is more important" than being so sophisticated that we think the Sears Wish book game to be crass or materialistic.
PLUS, my new book boyfriend wrote that putting the toilet seat down is a symbolic recognition of his honey's value. Awww, who couldn't love a romantic guy like that?