Search strings, and post # 142 in 2007

I just noticed that I did in fact exceed the total number of posts for 2005, my first year blogging. This was my goal, and I'm now happy. It's also, in case you are keeping track, post #384 or something like that. Traffic to alphabitch.org continues to be light, which is how I like it. I've only ever had to delete a couple of comments (mostly for irrelevant commercial shilling or really offensive and also highly irrelevant commentary). While I was adding things up, I took a look at some recent search strings that led folks here to this little corner of the virtual world:

• songs of the apocolypse: here's a playlist
• how much does a dash of worcestershire sauce mean in a recipe? I admit I have been guilty of not being more specific in my recipies, but 1 dash = 12 drops, according to the cooking page at the very fine website onlineconversion.com. Or two pinches. Or 0.00000258499 of a hogshead [US], whatever the hell that is.
• Christian biker chicks: Can't help you here. This is the post they went to, but I'm not sure it helped, as I am neither a Christian nor a biker chick.
• vintage lingerie pictures: I aim to please. Here you go. Of course, they are pictures of the lingerie only; I am not in them.
• regret it sooner or later: I'm not sure it was what this person in the UAE was looking for, but I did get kind of embarrassed when one of my friends mentioned a rather intimate blog post over dinner. "Regret" is putting it a little too strongly though.
• bodybuilderin alphabitch: um, this is weird. Someone from Germany. I don't think this post was what they were looking for, somehow. I used to do a lot more weightlifting, but not so much these days.
  
• concrete cut dog door: There is a dog door in my house, but it's cut into a wooden door in pretty much the usual way. Sorry, can't help you.
  
• Jennifer Warnes breasts: go away. There is nothing here about Ms. Warnes' breasts. She has re-released her fine recording "Famous Blue Raincoat," however, which I cannot recommend highly enough. It's all Leonard Cohen songs, except for 'Song of Bernadette,' which she co-wrote with Mr. Cohen. And did I mention it's excellent?
  

There were also the usual multiple searches for what I guess you could call my greatest hits:

• squid octopus difference: I don't know, precisely, but they are different. And I do know that some people think that finding a squid in your driveway makes more sense than finding an octopus in your driveway. In Wisconsin. While removing snow.
• duct tape leg shaving: I am probably going to be famous for this one, if I am ever famous for anything. Perhaps I will regret ever posting this. If you do try it at home, make sure that you use really high-quality, sticky duct tape, and also wait a good long time so that there is enough leg hair for the duct tape to get a grip. Doesn't work so well on stubble. And don't try it if you've never waxed your legs, because it will probably hurt a lot. Experienced leg-waxers, however, will find that it's quite effective -- if you don't use that cheap-ass 'duck tape' crap. And you don't pull the strip off, you roll it very firmly against the direction of hair growth.
  
• tatertot hotdish best recipe: A very good recipe, if I do say so myself. But don't use that crappy paddy-grown wild rice. You're much better off with ground beef or brown rice. But the really good wild rice? Totally excellent. And Tater Tots® are just plain good, I don't care what anyone says.
  
• can dogs eat blueberries? Yes! And they love them, fresh or frozen! Do NOT, however, feed your dogs grapes or raisins. It could kill them, for real. Raspberries, blackberries, and blueberries are fine, though. I've been feeding them to my dogs for years, and they seem to suffer no ill effects.
  

So maybe I'll keep blogging for another year.

Ruby does not like wasabi peas

I dropped a wasabi-coated roasted pea on the kitchen floor. Ruby chased it enthusiastically and got to it before I did. I tried to explain that dogs don't like wasabi very much at all. She ate it. And then she looked up at me with the most hilariously horrified look on her face. I took pity on her and gave her some supper a little early: some kibble and half of one of those awful Scotch Pies I made the other day.

She's had a rough coupla days.

The deforestation of Area 51

TMI Warning. I'm not sure I can write this post without saying outright what I've gone & done, but I'm going to try, in order to elude the most annoying search-engine action. Dunno if it'll work.

Plus, it's kind of embarrassing. It's not terribly shocking, just not the sort of thing your average middle-aged quasi-hippie feminist goes and does on a whim. I apologize if this is too much information; I just think it's pretty hilarious, and I hope that maybe someone out there will learn from my mistake: don't do this!

There will be no photos; don't even ask.

I didn't set out to do it, not quite this completely. And I do, in fact, have some fairly serious regrets. It's a sensitive place, Area 51.

Here's how it happened:

I'm not exactly a slave to fashion, but I did recently acquire some new pants. Several pairs, in fact, to replace the old ones, which had worn out. Fashion, apparently, has changed since I last bought pants. The old ones all had waistbands that were at my actual waist. The new ones are not exactly hip-huggers or low-cut or anything even remotely sexy, but they don't go all the way up to my actual waist. And I got kind of tired of the layer underneath showing above my waistband.

Did I do the sensible thing and go buy new under-garments? No, because I had a whole pile of perfectly good ones in the back of the drawer that I haven't worn in ages, since I got all those high waisted pants.

But elastic, over time, kind of wears out, and catches on things. You know what kind of things I'm talking about here, I think. So the other day, in the shower, I decided to trim a bit around the edges, as it were, of my own personal Area 51. Nothing dramatic. But it was uneven, just a little. Which I found annoying as hell.

It was like wearing two socks of the same color, but one of them is thinner than the other one, or a different texture. No one else will notice, but you'll feel it all day. Or you will if you have two feet and you can feel your socks and you're bothering to pay attention. This will drive you nuts, if you're anything like me.

So anyway, yesterday I attempted to remedy the uneven-ness, and I guess you could say I went too far. I just kept making it worse. At a certain point, I thought, 'aw the hell with it -- just keep going!' It was moderately amusing, and not as difficult as I expected it to be. I did not injure myself. Apparently all the kids are doing this sort of thing nowadays.

My amusement lasted for about an hour and a half, and then the itching set in. Every kind of lotion or powder that I tried either stung or itched or burned. I finally found some unscented grapeseed oil in the fridge, which seems to help a little (warm it up first! And no, I have no idea why it was in the fridge; the only thing I ever use it for is bath oil or massage oil).

Suggestions, requests welcome

The lovely and talented Sara, of Moving Right Along, posted a while back about National Blog Post Month (a.k.a. NaBloPoMo), in which participants agree to post on their blogs every single day during November. I'm not really much of a joiner, but I've decided to give it a go.

In case you haven't noticed, I'm not always very good at posting regularly. I run out of ideas, or time, or sometimes I might have an idea but don't bother to write about it because I don't think anyone will be interested (not that that stops me the rest of the time, but you know how it gets). So your suggestions for posting topics and requests for recipes are entirely welcome. It will certainly be a challenge to post something every single day.

Is there something you've always wanted to ask me? Need to know what to do with all those leeks? Want advice from a total stranger with no particular authority or qualifications? Have questions about alternative fuels? Sex? Epidemiology? Leave a note in the comments or write to me at contact.alphagal -at- gmail -dot- com and I'll make something up and post it during November.

More fun with duct tape

It's almost Halloween, I gather, so maybe you'll find yourself wearing some kind of sexy electrician costume and you don't want to invest in highly specialized foundation garments just for one outfit, but you might want a little more in the cleavage department. I'm not here to judge you for this, but I did find some highly amusing instructions from the always charming Plumcake over at Manolo for the Big Girl! She says that she learned it from some drag queens in DC back in her modeling days, but her instructions are much funnier (and much more helpful) than the ones I found via my search string log the other day.

Alas, no photos. Not from me, not from Plumcake.

Bizarre search strings

OK, this is funny. A little over 24 hours ago, someone in Monongahela, PA, arrived here at alphabitch.org while searching for a sexy pharmacist plus size costume." And my little blog post was the second item in the search.

Which I gotta say I think is kind of strange. But hey, whatever. They didn't stay long, whoever they were. Less than a minute.

Another interesting search: "tape without shaving," which lists my post on hair removal with duct tape first. I'm nearly famous. That visitor was also here for less than a minute. From Columbus, OH. Incidentally, the second item in that search has instructions for men who wish to create the illusion of cleavage.

Go crazy, dudes. It'll look great under that sexy pharmacist costume.

When jokes just write themselves

I've seen this logo around the net a few times lately, with snarky comments about the elephant's 'wide stance,' the Minneapolis-St.Paul location (stay out of the airport bathrooms, yall!) the prison-striped shirt, and the starry eye (are there drugs in the coolaid they're drinking, or does it symbolize starry-eyed optimism?). With various comments about the array of phallic-seeming tusks, trunk, tail, etc. -- and what's with that big red 2008? Is it meant to suggest an extremely Grand Old Phallus, or is the elephant attempting to, um, fuck 2008? Cause that's kind of what it looks like, at first glance. And why is the elephant's tongue hanging out like that? That's just weird.

But I thought that surely the version of the logo that everyone was snarking about was digitally altered, because, I mean, that's just too easy. Seriously. A logo like that would never make it out of the first meeting with the client. Were there no focus groups? Though if there were photoshopping going on, I'd be tempted to add the suggestion of a bathroom stall divider in the background. But I'm mean like that.

So I went straight to the source, the GOP Convention 2008 website. And clicked on the prominent "Official Convention Logo Unveiled" button. And there it was, in all its glory. Not photoshopped at all. It was designed, on purpose, by New York City-based Creative Director Robert Matza, who has, it says there, "overseen many aspects of creative development for a broad range of corporate identity clients while at Landor Associates [...]." So he obviously knows what he's doing.

In any case, they've certainly got people talking about their new logo. And there's no such thing as bad publicity, right? And according to convention President and Chief Executive Officer Maria Cino, "This design highlights the spirit of the Republican Party and it will adorn everything from the Xcel Energy Center to t-shirts and other souvenirs." To which RNC Co-Chairman and Convention Chairman Jo Ann Davidson adds, "By the time our convention is complete, this emblem [...] will have been seen by millions around the world."

Well, then. There you have it. It's the spirit of the Republican Party, highlighted. Get your minds out of the gutter, people. Personally, though I don't plan to attend the event, I would like to acquire a coupla souvenir items.

Via Suburban Guerrilla, who credits Sadly, No (which, read some of their comments for more snark. If you like that kind of thing).

Watch your backs, Spinal Tap

So last Friday, late in the afternoon, I got this phone message from my buddy Fstorch. It was kind of staticky and garbled, but I understood that I was to be at a particular place by 8 or 8:30 at the latest. With my accordion. Something about the bass player not being able to make it. Oh, and I should dress like a rock star.

I called him back to try to figure out the rest of it. He said I knew enough, and he needed my help, and to please just show up. The place happened to be a certain neighborhood pub owned by a friend of mine who was turning 40 that day. I didn't much feel like going out, and I'd already been to lunch with the birthday gal to celebrate, but Hypergal had said earlier that there was something gonna happen around 9 or so that I wouldn't want to miss.

When I got off the phone, I was downtown and I saw my friend Officer S. of the Bike Patrol. He's a neighbor and a friend of the birthday girl as well. I asked him if he knew anything about what was happening later. Not much, he said, but he'd heard something about there was gonna be a Queen cover band around 9 or 9:30.

I started to worry at that point. What was that he'd said on the message about the bass player not showing up? But Ruby needed her supper and a walk, so I went home and did that. Then I stared at my closet thinking OK, rock star ... what am I gonna wear? And realizing I am old and boring and my clothes are boring and when the hell did I get so fat? And I have nothing suitable for a rock star to wear. I don't even fucking like Queen. And I really really didn't want to go out, did I mention that?

So I stuck with the big black trousers I was wearing, added a pair of clunky black Doc Marten platform-y sandals, and a strappy black tank top. I didn't think that was quite right, so I took off the tank top, put on a blue bra, and put the tank top back on. Not exactly rock star, but as I still had no clue that I was actually going to be in the band, I left it at that.

Got there just in time, and was immediately rushed across the parking lot to Fstorch's workshop by my friend M, a student in the NC School of the Arts Wig and Makeup program. She pinned up my hair and put on a hairnet and an enormous reddish-brown afro wig, and some wraparound glasses and some lipstick the same color red as my accordion.

Our drummer got a long blond wig and, bizarrely, a chicken mask; and Fstorch, on the guitar, got a Howard Stern wig and a moustache that looked kind of obviously taped on his lip. And then J., our lead singer, who was mostly playing himself channeling Freddie Mercury. I've never seen him in a shirt quite like that before though. Poor guy was nervous, and trying to commit the lyrics of 'Bohemian Rhapsody' to memory.

The whole evening got better once I realized that the actual music would be supplied by someone's iPod patched into the sound system, and that we had a competent sound guy so it was highly likely that everything would go OK. Because, see, I don't actually play the accordion. The drummer really was a drummer, though, and he made some noise. Fstorch really does play the guitar, but I'm not sure it was plugged in to anything. And our lead singer? Pure, total, genius-level ham. Freddie Mercury plays Vegas-quality schlock. A wonder to behold.

The band was called Queen Size:



Yeah, that's me in the back. Oh, and an accordion, for those who don't know, has a handy little button right under your left thumb, which when you push it causes air to go in and out without going through the reeds. As in, silently.

So we took the stage with 'Bohemian Rhapsody,' since at least one of us had rehearsed it. The crowd went wild. Sang along. Demanded another. And another. Flicked their lighters in the air. I think J. would have kept singing all night, but Fstorch took the mic and said we had to catch a plane for Branson right away, and we wanted to go out with 'Happy Birthday.'

I don't think anyone but us noticed that we were actually lipsynching to the Flaming Lips' cover of Bohemian Rhapsody (here's a video from the 2006 SXSW Festival), which made me feel a little better about the whole event.

Because as the birthday girl always says, "WHO DOESN'T LOVE QUEEN???"

I DON'T, is what I always say back. Even so, that was the most fun I've had in a long damn time.

Photo credit update: All photos on this post by Lindsay Cummings

This just in

Casual sex only rewarding for first few decades.

"Researchers found that those who regularly achieved mind-blowing orgasms without the expectation of commitment often experienced mild feelings of loneliness and a passing regret after as little as three decades of pure physical bliss free of emotional complication."

from the Onion, naturally.

This is just scary

via Magpie

Searching for meaning, or something like it

I just took a quick look at my site statistics (still averaging about 50 visits per day) and was amused to find that "the difference between a squid and an octopus" is no longer the most popular search string leading people here. That's been overtaken by searches involving duct tape and hair removal. "Can dogs eat blueberries?" is still pretty popular (yes, and they love them), as is "diy haircut" and searches for a tater tot hot dish recipe. (Or, more commonly: "tator tot hot dish.") "Green moth" is also pretty big.