Anger Management

I had a long blog, but it got too revealing, so I'm going to summarize:

From Coyote Ugly:

Lil: That's Rachel, you can learn a lot from her.
Violet: She just cut some guy's ponytail off.
Lil: Yeah, the court ordered her to take anger-management classes after she pummeled a customer for grabbing her ass. He pressed charges, I gave her a raise. Cheers!

Hellion: The Musical

In the movie, Singing in the Rain, there is this "musical within a musical" effect. The movie itself is a musical, but it also has a plot twist of actors who are moving from the silent screen to talking pictures--and get the bold idea of making a musical. (Of course, considering the lead actress can't even talk prettily, never mind sing, this gives Gene Kelly and Debbie Reynolds time to make moon eyes at each other as they sing and speak the talking parts of the "talking picture.") Great movie. Classic bit with the umbrella and the dancing in the rain. Donald O'Connor makes a particularly memorable sidekick.

In Anchors Aweigh, the first musical I watched outside of the children classic standbys of Mary Poppins and Sound of Music, I fell in love with Gene Kelly. Madly. "Get there? Oh, darlin', you know I'll get there." And my soul soared at hearing Frank Sinatra sing that lullaby to the much adorable kid who would grow up to be the sidekick to the Quantam Leap guy. It was here I also met Kathryn Grayson, who also starred in my much favorite: Show Boat. Howard Keel and Kathryn fall in love on the river--and he's a roguish river gambler; and she's the innocent boat captain's daughter. There is a dark, sad angsty twist where the gorgeous Ava Gardner is exposed as a mulatto--and is forced to leave the ship (it was neither the captain's nor Ava's idea...but it was the time period, unfortunately.)

Howard also does roguish pioneer man well too. Seven Brides for Seven Brothers is campy, fun, and as deep as a Arizona mudpuddle--but boy, it is a good time. When the six brothers are pining for the town girls and Howard comes in and says, "Well, why don't you do something about it? The Romans would have carried them off! It's right here in Millie's book!"--and what do they do? They kidnap the town girls. The movie is worth the barn-raising dance-off alone. (My friend Holler would beg to differ, but I think it's a great movie.)

Howard was a man of many musicals. I also loved him in Kiss Me, Kate--again, Kathryn Grayson--and he's ever so rakish as he sings, "Where lately is the life I led?" Though he's perhaps not half so rakish as Harve Presnell in The Unsinkable Molly Brown. That movie has some slow points...Holler would probably say they were all slow...but there is this scene where he's teaching her how to read, and he's watching her in such a way you know he's thinking of her naked. Which ironically he's already seen her naked, but...never mind, you'd have to watch the movie. So he sings this song to Molly called, "I'll never say no to you..." Dead sexy.

There are the more obscure musicals like The Pirate and Can-Can (Gene Kelly and Frank Sinatra respectively), which while not as memorable as Seven Brides or Singing are still wonderful...and fun.

And these are just the MGM Golden Era of Musicals...I haven't even gotten to Moulin Rouge, Chicago, et al, which have slowly been making their way into the film biz once more.

So I got to thinking (always a frightening pastime), and I wondered what would Hellion: The Musical look like. I mean, never mind the fact I can't sing. Would my childhood years feature songs from Hank Williams, Sr and Johnny Cash; then my pre-teen/teenage years have all 80s music and big hair bands; and the 90s, four hours of George Strait songs? Would I have Waylon's theme from The Dukes of Hazzard, or would I use his Never Could Toe The Mark? Would everyone be dressed in jeans and t-shirts, my obvious choice apparel, or would everyone be in pageant-themed looking outfits, lots of "Halloween" outfits, depending on the mood at the time? Perhaps a pirate theme, and a Medieval theme...and a Regency theme...and whatever else might fit my whimsy.

What do you think Hellion: The Musical would have in it? And what if your life was a musical, what songs do you think would make the list? Who would play you on Broadway? I'd have Kate Winslet play me, of course...ha, ha, Mike the Titanic would eat his words then....

Can't Help Lovin' That Crazy WIP of Mine....

Oh, listen, sister,
I love my manuscript,
And I can't tell you why.
There ain’t no reason…
Why I should love this prose
It must be something that the devil only know…

Phones gotta ring, emails gotta fly,
I gotta write this manuscript till I die—<
Can’t help this crazy plot of mine….

Tell me it’s trite, tell me’s slow,
Tell me the dumb hero has got to go…
Can’t help this crazy plot of mine…

When I don’t write a line…
I near go out of my mind…
But when I sit with my pen and write—
That day is fine…those words do shine.

This plot can go to eternity,
Crazy and trite, I don’t care how it be.
Can’t help this crazy plot of mine.

*can anyone tell I have a thing for Howard Keel flicks? Man, was he HOT!

The Ultimate Exercise Equipment

Due to the very poor grades I received in my overall health, I have been endeavoring to exercise more. Here’s the problem: I hate exercising. I hate sweating. I hate being hot. I hate doing things I’m uncoordinated at, like walking. Sex also comes to mind here, but that’s a different blog.

Friday, I went to my friend Jackie’s house, who also hates sweating, being hot, and doing things that make her look uncoordinated. She is a good friend though, and doesn’t want me to croak quite yet, so we went for a brisk walk. 4000 steps for our little jaunt.

Yes, yes, I’ve got one of those dorky pedometers. Blue.

Saturday, we went to a Pirate Festival at the Rotary Park. This has lots of opportunities for walking. I would tell you how many steps I took, except about halfway through the park I realized my handy-dandy pedometer had fallen off. Probably during the petting zoo area or the pony ride location. (Before anyone points out I’m too big for pony rides, let me assure you I had a 3-year-old in tow who was interested in petting the ponies—though not riding them.) I think the black pony ate my step-counter.

After about 3 hours of wandering around the park, the 3-year-old misbehaved horribly and we had to leave. (So much for pirate hunting.) Once home, I dragged Jackie to a JoAnn’s, where I got the rest of my materials for my Halloween costume; and then we went to a Barnes & Noble, for no other reason than to sit in the squishy chairs and read books. Then Erica, Jackie’s little sister called.

She was going to take her dogs to the dog park. Did we want to go? Now let me just say she has the coolest dogs ever. Nakira and Monty are these cute, hilarious mutts. Nakira is the ham, and she’s always so excited to see you…and she smiles all the time. Monty is lower-keyed, but a lover. If you lay down, he’ll crawl up beside you, worm his way into your arms, and sigh in contentment as his head is resting on your chest. (Monty is proof males are the same no matter what species they are.) I love them both, so I’m game to the park.

We go. Erica lets the dogs run in their area as Jackie and I walk on the trails for our evening walk. (I wanted to make sure I got plenty of walking in—since that horse ate my walking device! How was I to know when I could quit walking? Blast.) So we probably walk a mile roundtrip. Erica wants to now walk the dogs on the trail. Okay. So I get Monty, because he’s lower-keyed, right? Hahahahahaha. I trotted my ass off to keep up with this dog!

I don’t jog, folks. If you ever see me running, it’s not “to” something because frankly “it” can wait until I can saunter to it or I just don’t need it. If I’m running, it’s from something, like snakes. A serial killer. One of my really bad dates. Monty, though, doesn’t know how to saunter, and unless I wanted to be dragged down the gravel road on my belly, I adapted immediately.

So I jogged. Panted. Gasped for air as I walked at an uber-fast clip when I could no longer jog. By the time we left, I was certain all-told, I must have walked/trotted at least 3 miles. Yes, of course, I’m counting the Jackie-Fran sauntering mile—but two miles of jog/trotting is quite a bit, thank you much.

I’ve decided the ultimate exercise device is not a pedometer but a dog. Not one of those sissy dogs though—a 40 pound mutt who doesn’t know what a saunter is and is very interested in trotting up and down roads. If he likes to also curl up with you as you watch TV and sigh against your chest, that’s just a bonus.

So what’s your secret exercise equipment? Your toddler? Your dog? Your husband?

Mousetrap Part Deux

I shared a "Mousetrap" poem with you some months ago. I think. I'm pretty sure. So I wrote a part 2 to the poem.

Our moments have passed and the years have gone by
But still I find I’m intrigued by this Cocksure-ish Cat.
If he would but stay unmarried for the blink of an eye
I’m race him to the bedroom in six seconds flat
But this is a Feline who can’t be alone—
Thus I’m unable to allow him to make me his own.

My virtue has thwarted him time and again
As he sets to convince me it’s inevitable we’ll mate.
How could a passion as ours be considered a sin,
When it’s clear we’ve been marked by the Fickle Finger of Fate?
Oh, he’s persuasive and every glinting look beguiles.
I’m enchanted by the beast of his masculine wiles.

“Take me and kiss me,” he pleads against the curve of my lips;
His caress could cause a nun to recant to her vows.
I find I’m disabled, dishabille, and empty of quips,
Full of “yeses” instead of “back away nows.”
Good thing the faith of Christendom doesn’t depend upon me
For I find I’m ‘tween the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea.

Lies we have bantered, truths we have forsook;
We’re caught in the web we’ve created ourselves.
A tangled romance you’d find nowhere but in a book,
A love bartered in a circle of Hell.
Eternal Hope springs and refuses to wane
When I’m in the embrace of my favorite Bane.

Ode to Men

Men, thou art handsome savages,
With rakish grins to make me swoon;
Even the shyest of you are prone to ravages
And seductions under the light of the moon.

“Fancy a fuck?” or other such words,
Will command your attention like cannon fire blast.
If it weren’t so funny, it’d be for the birds—
Anything, I suppose, to get us to mount your mast.

Like dogs on collars, chained to a tree,
You forget and run to the end of the tether.
Hope springs eternal for a sex orgy spree,
Complete with whipped creams, cuffs, and a feather….

Oh, men, how I adore thee, thy simplistic motivation,
For why shouldn’t we screw instead of most anything?
Let’s then do as thy will—and call for a cessation,
And instead explore all the pleasures that sex can bring.