Archive for May, 2004

DSL Down, No Survivors

Figures with my luck, I launch a blog and the DSL goes down, so it might be a couple more days before I post again. I know all eight of you are clamoring for more Raised By Bees! And so I quickly “glog” (as my boyfriend says) on his computer.

So a few things:

Had weird dream that I was in a Rock Lotto band with Chuck Eddy and this Jennifer Lopez-esque woman on drums. I kept telling people that I had no musical talent whatsoever, but somehow, I ended up in this band. We played a salsa version of the Pinball song from Sesame Street. The one that goes “One two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven tweeeeeeeeeelve….Dooh doooh doooh doo…” And then there’s always a break-down right around the featured number of the day. “Eleven!!!! Woooooooooh.” Did we win? I have no idea.

Prom Trash was way raunchy. The three finalists were broken footed Cathy as Gimpy Crutchfuck, Slavid playing some dominitrix, and Trishy entering again as Trashy, complete with mop wig, outfit out of bags and condoms. Naturally, Trashy won again. Jimmi S. played a character called Toxica Shock, which was basically Divine with tampons on her hair. In an L7 moment she thew them into the audience and I told her to put lipstick on one to make it appear more, um, authentic.

May 21, 2004 at 2:26 am 10 comments


I just lost what I was writing. Let’s try again:

Today’s Call From the Public comes from Doofus, who wants to know where Keith Sweat is.

Thanks for your call, Doofus. You’ll find Keith Sweat in the Rock/Soul section (an awful name, I know), about two rows from the back of the store, in the S’s.

Where is it again?

In Rock/Soul. Five rows back, follow it to the S’s.

But he’s black.

May 18, 2004 at 10:53 pm 1 comment


Walking from room to room of dresses, CD’s records, magazines, what it is I’m looking for and why I can’t sleep. And when I’m awake I truly feel like I’m wasting my life if I have one idle moment to myself with no people, phone, TV, or computer. I’m like a shark, I have to keep moving. To where? For what?

May 18, 2004 at 1:53 am 1 comment

Why I Hate The Real World

Apparently after I left, they showed up to my friend Freddy’s birthday party at Fiso, which he knew might happen. But he wasn’t prepared for their crummy behavior. In the middle of his blowing out the candles on his cake, with nothing but his friends up on the deck at this point, the jerks stormed in and demanded that everyone stop taking pictures. And at that point, I have no doubt that Freddy gave them a bit of his own Real World.

May 17, 2004 at 11:23 pm 1 comment


Jonathan Ultra sent me an e-mail with some great suggestions for this baby blog. I’m sorry about the lack of cool links and pretty pictures to break up all the blabbing. I really don’t know how to do anything yet and if I get hung up on the small details, I won’t write a thing and sit around and wait for Maria to do everything, and she has enough to do. So when we have a tutoring session with Movable Type, expect a Raised By Bees makeover, but no Botox, I promise.

I apologize for typos, unique spellings, wreckless punctuation, and strange grammatical liberties. Again, I’m trying to get stuff down and I could obsess on this kind of stuff for hours. So please put away your red pens. I’ve got stacks of them right here.

I’m also sorry that I mistakenly credited the otherwise witty Alex Richmond for the name of Narcisassy instead of her partner in crime, the Mexican Joan Jett of Philadelphia, Camille Escobedo, the fearless leader of Beretta 76. I received erroneous information from the otherwise fabulous Jimi Mooney, who was probably having so much fun with these ladies that he was lucky enough to remember his own name the next day, much less anything else. Speaking of Jimi, the poor thing has knee surgery today (or this week) after having entirely too much fun onstage at the Rotunda a few weeks ago.

I’m sorry that I yelled at you on that message board or that mailing list or left that message on your machine that wasn’t supposed to sound so bitchy. I’m an excited loud talker. Why do we keep shreiking, when we mean soft things? We should be whispering all the time.

May 17, 2004 at 11:18 pm 1 comment

Calls Calls Calls From the Public

During the day I work as a receptionist for a struggling yet large record store chain on the corner of Stupid and Crazy. The best thing that happened to me today was watching a customer dance, James Brown/Temptations-style in front of one of the listening stations. We were wondering what choice made him get on the good foot. It was all soundtracks, and we were hoping it wasn’t The Passion of the Christ or Shrek 2. It turned out to be the deluxe edition of Standing in the Shadows of Motown. As soon as he was done, he coolly put down the headphones and strolled out the door, as if his video shoot had just ended.

As for the worst, here are some charming conversations I had today.

May 17, 2004 at 11:06 pm 6 comments


My Mom and my aunt came down to see me today because I missed Mother’s Day. I had them meet me at the Royal Tavern, my defacto living room and office. I guess it’s pretty loud in there, I never noticed because my hearing is accustomed to loud rock clubs. So our conversation devolved into the Dave Chappelle-Lil Jon routine. Who pointed this out? My Mom. Can she name one Lil Jon song? Not on her life. But she’s offcially the coolest about-to-retire art teacher at Poquessing Junior High, or perhaps ever.

Later I went to what I thought was a 30th birthday party for my friend Freddy at Fiso, but it was actually a half birthday. It didn’t matter to me. It gave me an excuse to buy someone a copy of “The Angry Black Woman’s Guide To Life.” Gay men complimented my dress. Ricky taught me about early ’90s house music. And then we crank-called Jimmi S on my cellphone and I’ll be honored to get some in return from him with my now-working voicemail. We also discussed the possibility of a future show where the Dumpstas overtake a hostage situation on a plane.

May 17, 2004 at 12:59 am Leave a comment

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