Liza Does Beyonce

Take a listen to this fabulousness.

 

What would that nutbag ex-husband David Gest have to say about nutbag Liza's ultimatium?

Sing it with me! You know the tune...


I put a ring on your finger, dear Liza, dear Liza.
I put a ring on your finger, dear Liza.
A ring.

But you're a tranny, dear David, dear David.
You're a tranny, dear David.
A tranny.

How will we fix it, dear Liza, dear Liza.
How will we fix it, dear Liza.
Fix it?

I will imbibe wine and beat you, dear David, dear David.
Imbibe wine and beat you, dear David.
Beat you.

With what will you beat me, dear Liza, dear Liza.
With what will beat me, dear Liza.
Beat me?

With a lamp about the head, dear David, dear David.
With a lamp about the head, dear David.
A lamp!

Misunderstood

Graduation season is upon us! Let's take a look back...

This photo is from my 8th grade graduation and my brother's kindergarten graduation. Michael looks cute as a freakin' button, and Marilyn looks mad as all get-out. Why so glum? Because those bastards at Immaculate Heart bestowed upon me the "Most Christian Spirit" award...in front of the whole class, parents, siblings, family friends.

Oh. No. You. Didn't!!!

I was nothing short of humiliated. I remember blinking back hot tears as I walked to the stage to collect the certificate. How dare they?!

Christian Spirit? Granted, I didn't tease or ridicule my classmates. However, that is more likely attributed to a paralyzing case of introversion than a kind heart.

Christian Spirit? What a terrible reputation with which to enter high school. Would I ever live this down? Why, oh why, could Sister Theis and company not see me for the true rebel I was?

Let me state my case. (I think the statute of limitations is up, but please Mom, stop reading now.) It's true what they say about Catholic schoolgirls. My friends and I would...

• Sneak out of the house and through the back alleys of Ashland to Uni-Mart to buy candy. It now fascinates me that the clerk wouldn't blink an eye at a bunch of 14-year-olds rolling into a convenience store at 1am. But candy sounds pretty innocent, huh? Nuh-uh! I recall a pixie-stix snorting incident at the little league filed.
• Dip into my dad's supply of fish oil supplements (a gateway drug if ever there was one) and see who could take the most without gagging.
• Cut wire hangers into strips, bend them into cute heart shapes, heat them on the stovetop and  BRAND ourselves. I think this was a popular tattoo alternative in the mid 90s. Thankfully, the scars have faded.
• Maybe crack open a brew from my dad's beer-filled basement fridge. He didn't drink much, so the beer was really old. So old that the Yuengling containers were still shaped like soup cans. Hence, my long-standing affinity for Campbell's chicken noodle.
• Play hot potato with a water-filled condom someone got from her older, cooler sister who attended Woodstock '94. Disturbing? Yes. But, For the Love of Marilyn, thank goodness that's all we knew to do with a condom.
• Discuss make-out techniques ad nauseum and pray to someday have the opportunity to fine-tune these techniques on a real human boy. "Lord, please do not let his braces slice open my lip." (Hmm, does that type of prayer contribute towards "Most Christian" status?)
• Convince a priest during a Confirmation retreat that a classmate's nickname was Schlong. "Yes, Schlong? You had a question about preparing to receive the Holy Spirit?"
• [Sidebar: God bless the parents of junior high students. May I one day be lucky enough to be blissfully unaware of my children's extracirricular activities... or perhaps not live in a ghetto.]

That's how Marilyn rolled back in the day! Business 9 to 5; Fun 5 to 9. Only one thing has changed.

Back then I wanted Marilyn to be Mo. Now I'm oh-so-proud that I've managed to carry off this split-personality charade so successfully. Now I'm oh-so-grateful that Marilyn and Mo have managed to live separate lives, each successful in her own way. Maybe there is a little Christian Spirit lurking in me, watching over me, after all. That's not someting I'm going to waste any more tears about.

FSU, Greenville Chapter

It was another great weekend in Greenville, thanks to the History Channel. To prepare for the arrival of my out-of-town friends, the AWESOME Doctors O'Malley, I stopped at the liquor store on my way home from work on Friday. (I tried to take care of this on Thursday night, but apparently South Carolina state law closes all liquor stores at 7pm. What the hell?! I often don't get the urge to buy booze until well into the night. I can't imagine I'm alone in that.) I could not find the firefly sweet tea vodka in the vodka section of the store (I mean... that would just be a silly place to put it). My confusion must have shown. A man behind the counter asked, "Do you need any help?" I stated my problem. Then the man screams, "MOM!!!!!  Show her the firefly vodka!!!"

His very sweet eldery mother pointed out my poison and then rang up the transaction. While verifying my ID, she asked, "So your birthday is in August?" Um, no. September. I wondered if this was a test. She said. "Ok, that makes sense. My birthday is in July, the 7th month. So September is 9. These 2 (gesturing to her son and a small girl I presume to be her granddaughter) have birthdays in August." Phew. If I'm going to patronize a family-owned liquor store, I want to make sure they only have late summer birthdays.

Then the TV by the counter flashed a violent scene and the woman gasped in horror. "Oooh, what are we watching?" Her son answered incredulously, "It's the History Channel, mom!!" Pointing to the History Channel logo in the lower corner of the screen, she said, "Oh, that explains the H. I was wondering... Haaa... haaaa.... haaa." (That "haaa" is her sounding out the letter H). Haaa... haaa! (That "haaa" is me laughing.)

When my friends arrived, we started watching... what else?... the History Channel. Yup, that's how I entertain my house guests. Make your summer reservations now! We spent a few hours learning about gangs like the Warlocks, Satan's Disciples, and our favorite... FSU.

FSU is a gang that started in Boston, expanded to upstate New York, and spread a little bit further south this weekend. It has a double meaning - Friends Stand United and F*$# Shi!t Up. We did both. Just ask this crumpled up shot glass that survived a few hours in my pocket before being laid to rest on my end table. That S is F U'd. I can't speak for the doctors, but all I prescribe is cranberry and vodka.

The Not-So-Great Wall

Condo #5 in my little courtyard recently became available for rent, and I've been campaigning hard for some friends to move in. No friends moved in. Hmph, some friends! People had been understandably reluctant to move into #3 due to a Thanksgiving day helium suicide incident, but #5 is ghost-free to my knowledge.

BUT this initially seemed to have worked out in my favor. I was outside sweeping my stoop when a man approached me - the new occupant of #5! He is a good (enough) looking, personable, single young lawyer. The wheels started turning. (JT's response when I relayed the details of this meeting: "He doesn't even know he's about to be victimized.")

However, I was self-conscious about the broom in my hand during our conversation. It's unnatural. Stoop sweeping? That's an activity performed by old ladies in housecoats. Then I thought back to a suicide-free Thanksgiving... I baked a pumpkin pie in 2007. The staged photos were so wholesome and domestic that I considered starting a match.com profile. I would attract a husband who wanted an apron-clad housewife... and then I would tell him to bake his own damn pie. Perhaps the broom could be another weapon in Cupid's tool belt.

 
But back to the point... thanks to the vehicles of this quattlebaum of a lawyer and his moving crew (MOM!), there was only one parking spot available in our tiny "lot" on Saturday night. I backed into the tight spot next to the wall without incident, which is a miracle in itself. Getting out on Sunday afternoon? Not so lucky. I maneuvered myself into such a position that my only options were to: 1) back up and rip off my side mirror; or 2) continue forward and scrape the entire back half of the car. 

Sophie chose #2. This is my car... my 2-month-old car... the only new car I've ever owned. The scratches are obvious, but the denting doesn't photograph well. Repair estimates are pending. Good thing I have a G sittin'.

F that S

I still check in with the New Zealand news outlets from time to time, for the sheer entertainment value of their "journalism." Here you have it... a news article that consists entirely of misspelled, rambling, idiotic blog comments on a previous news article. The ratio of letters to cuss-concealing asterisks is approximately 2 to 1.

But Mike D and I hear your message loud and clear, Kiwi kids. You gotta fight for your right to party (insert 28 exclamation points).

Lazy Avo Saver

As a frequent consumer of avocados, I have to assume I am the target audience for this product. But never have I ever thought to myself, "How will I possibly store the 2nd half of my snack?" Tell me, dear readers, when did saran wrap get such a bad wrap?

Hiatus Over

Why hello, dear readers! 2 months? 2 months! You haven't aged a day.

Why did I stay away so long? Bad blogger, very bad. I have been partying like the end of the world is near... like supermarkets are running out of jello... like homeless shelters are running out of Mad Dog (Great, now what I am supposed to do with all these paper bags?). Why? Why not? Couldn't tell ya. Marilyn has been "FACE"ing Mo for a solid 8 weeks (and 28 years). Those 2 are gonna have to learn to compromise sooner or later.

So what has she been up to, in a nutshell?

• Celebrating the off-the-hook back-to-back weddings of my best friend and my sister in the keystone state. I know two very, very lucky new husbands!

• Mourning the one-year anniversary of my departure from New Zealand. 6pm Drinkie Fridays at the Green Room are fun and all, but they're not as illicit as 3pm Drinkie Fridays in a foreign government office. And there are no young Kiwi males with whom to rendezvous in the stairwells (There, Claymate... your long awaited, much requested new blog post :) )

•  Continuing to wonder, on a daily basis, "Who are these nutcases I work with?" 

• Watching the episodes of Oprah that I DVR, on a daily basis. Yep, I said it. 

•  Having my old car towed, due in large part to the antiquity of the United States Postal Service. 

•  Buying a new car. 

• Wrecking said new car (for which I've made exactly ONE payment) into a wall. Approximately 32 people have suggested this happened under the influence of delicious margaritas. Nope. Did that all on my own. 

• Wrapping my brain around the Great Pregnancy Epidemic of 2010. Ladies, the morning-after pill costs $50. Consider it a long term investment. But since that ship has sailed... it's all very exciting!!! The mamas-to-be include 2 of my nearest and dearest (whaddup LB & AHA!). Some of these little cuties have already arrived, and many more are expected before the end of the year. Just when I thought I was over the shock of all the baby news, my sister got a puppy. Equally unexpected.  

• Trying to keep up with the baby and puppy crowd. Guess what? I have recently acquired not one... not two... but THREE houseplants with whom to share my TLC (when I remember). It is an ambitious undertaking.

I intend to stay more current with the blog, but I need some gentle prodding every now and then (um, that's what she said). If you are reading this - and you know you are - please... For the Love of Marilyn... say hello in the comments once in a while.