"NEWS ON THE RADIO, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HAPPY BIRTHDAY"

I'm telling you, this is the year of milestones. Yesterday was not only a milestone anniversary for my parents, and a milestone birthday for my uncle, but today is a very important milestone birthday for my brother, the very talented photographer, returning full-time student, geological enthusiast and politically and environmentally savvy fellow. He's the kind of guy I'm be glad to be friends with, relative or not.

So, the story of my brother's birthday goes like this: I was in grade school and my Dad woke me up early flew me into some sweet green elastic waistband pants and flowery awesome-collar shirt and a red sweater and hurriedly got me to school. "Daddy, what's going on?" I asked. "You're mom's ready to have this thing." This thing. Thing? So, I was dropped off at school just before sunrise, my folks took off in the sweet wood-paneled station wagon, and I was only aware that there was a thing on the way. I'm foggy on the details here, but I believe that my Dad got my mom to the hospital and then returned, realizing he'd left a young child out front of an unopened grade school in a large city. Or, my brain might have made that up to keep me out of therapy. Whatever. Later that afternoon, my Dad came to school, and pulled me out in the hall and told me I had a little brother. I looked at him, blinked, scoffed, I think, and said, "Oh, well, I wanted a sister."

Then, I ran away from home, getting an entire ten feet from the house. Impressive. Anyway, after years of beating the crap out of each other, we eventually became friends. And, that about brings us up to today. Anyway, my brother thinks this story is retarded, so I, of course, tell it every year on his birthday. Happy Birthday, you. I wish I could be there to celebrate with you.

"PRUDENCE NEVER PAYS"

Kids, we have a few things to catch up on.

I went to the supermarket and saw a guy in tight grey sweatpants jerking off. Also Happy Birthday to my Dad.

Let's talk about the wanking first.

Initially, I thought he was just stratching himself (the wanker, not my Dad), but no, really he was wanking off through the fabric. Right there in the salad dressing and condiment aisle. Wanking. Staring at a shopper and then doing all of the above plus breathing heavy like a donkey.

And, you know, if there is one thing worse than a public jerker, it's a noisy public jerker.

Long story short, two stock boys, an embarrassed store manager and the public jerker answering the store manager in a breathy mid-jerk voice, well, it made for some delightful entertainment is what. I must have pretended to read the back of six balsamic vinegar bottles. It was delightful.

This is now the second public masturbation I have seen this month. So, there's that. You'd think subzero temps would freeze the randy-handy right out even the most public of jerkers, but no. No, they're alive and well and happily jerking here in Chicago.

Bleh. But, anyway, yes, hi, today is my father's birthday. The boy born in a blizzard, is I think how the story goes. Happy Birthday, Dad! Sorry about the wank story.

"NEWS ON THE RADIO HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HAPPY BIRTHDAY"

Good morning! Here at Bigmouth, two very important birthdays are the haps!

First, PNC281, who doesn't blog anymore but should, who makes the world better just by being, who is the greatest at snarking at fashion victims/reality television evah, who I just love to fucking bits, is celebrating a rather important birthday today. (Happy Birthday!)

And a year ago today, Three Fallen Women became available on Amazon, thus officially being released into the world. I suppose you could celebrate in style and go score a copy. Don't let me stop you. Har.

This morning, I'm heading out to record some audio clippage of aforementioned novel to bombard youse with and force you to make viral and download as a PodCast and all of that other sort of stuff one can do with an audio clip that I shall be learning how to do shortly. I woke up early this morning, well, my cat woke me up early wanting cat food, and I stayed awake thinking about projects and odds and ends and this deadline and that one and that sort of thing and finally just decided to get up. You know how it is. But anyway, that said, I need to dash. But, before I do:

For the daily dose (all month long!) of boobage that I've promised all of youse, click here to donate to my Making Strides Against Breast Cancer participation, click here to help fund mammography for women in need (totally free to you!) and check out these easy ways to support breast cancer research with stuff you might be planning to buy anyway: Origins (very fabulous) Make a Difference rejuvenating hand treatment has gone pink and Fretzels has whipped up a super-delicious special pink box of their awesome chocolate-covered pretzels. And, this year, I finally got the guts to participate in the Blogger Boobie-thon. I have two pics. Neither are posted yet. You won't be able to ever, ever tell which two racks are mine, but feel free to puzzle over it. I mean, hey, if you're gonna whip off your top for the entire online world to see, you might as well do it for a great cause (and anonymously, ha!).

"STRETCH OUT AND WAIT"

I'm taking applications for a houseboy. No, that's not true, of course. I'm still sick, and don't want to go to the store. But, I need Pepsi, Spaghettios and a grilled cheese to go another round with these germs and so I must. It's just as well. Youse know how a Type-A aspiring to be a Type-B like me does. I'm trying to rest and feel better, but I'm laying around going rest, type, rest, type, email, gather, move, file, organize, find, look at clock, rest, type, cmon feel better... nnnnow.. Okay nnnnnow! and not really resting.

I get up early but when Ma Guth called today and said, at like nine in the morning, Oh shit, did I wake you up? I sounded like a cross between a two-pack-a-day octogenarian and a squeaky door. Now, post steamy shower to clear the nose, maybe just the squeaky door. Plus Minnie Mouse. Bleh. Today is the worst of it, but maybe that means I'll start perking up tomorrow. In the meantime, my brain is in a fog. Bloop, blee, blee, bloop, bloop bloop. If anyone wants to run a crazy idea by me, today is a good day to do it.

But, I do have sense enough to recognize three positive haps today. One, Mermaidhead's baby is being born as we speak. Two, The Prosecutor's birthday is today, too. Three, you guys-- we've already raised almost half of my fundraising goal for the walk, and I haven't even been taking donations for a solid 24-hours yet. Good, Good, Good.

Wait, what's that you say? What walk? Where can you donate? Oh, well click here, of course, for everything you need to know.

"NEWS ON THE RADIO HAPPY BIRTHDAY"

So, I wrote her an email, and I just realized this morning that it bounced back. So, let's all face Rhode Island and sing at the tops of our lungs: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOUUUUU! HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOUUUUUU! HAPPY BIRTHDAY SKIRMISH OF WIIIIT! HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOUUUUUUUUUUUU!


MANY, many, many good wishes and lots of love to Nicky, an all-around wicked funny lady, a great friend with a kind heart, a beautiful soul and a woman with the ability to turn the very unforch into the extremely forch.

Now, click yourselves over to wish her a Merry 30th.

"NEWS ON THE RADIO HAPPY BIRTHDAY"

Happy birthday, Morrissey!

"ANYTHING IS HARD TO FIND, WHEN YOU WILL NOT OPEN YOUR EYES"

I wonder, sometimes, how many emails I have deleted because the sender thought to be clever and use a subject line that looks like spam to me or my spam filter. Eh well.

Yesterday was a good day in so many ways, mainly because it toed a wonderful line between silliness and seriousness.

Though I knew Mermaid Head was super-busy and I only aimed to stay a short while then get out of her hair, catching up was lovely so our visit was most of the afternoon. We talked about SCUBA and adventures, discussed our treks (past and future) to the better beaches the world has to offer, a stubborn sewing machine thread, and everything else, really, and just existed for a few hours. I really like this about Mermaid Head-- she's the kind of friend to just sit and exist with. No deadlines, no stress, no stuff. Even stressful times are rather serene in her world because she's just earthy and genuine and un-fussy and open and non-judgemental, probably without even realizing. I admired her mama-to-be belly and, I think for the first time, thought about the quality of person she'll raise up into the world. This kid will be an astonishingly good person, that's for sure.

As a belated gift, Mermaid Head gave me "Lookin' Good For Jesus" lipbalm and a stabby Avenging Unicorn action set. Einstein now will have company on the road.

Then, off to celebrate Irish Ho's birthday. We went to dinner at a Thai place on Division and people-watched then off to a drink at a bar that once was low-key and off-the-beaten-path but apparently now is, uh, well... it was hosting (we learned after hanging out for a few hours) a late-night 80s retro night. Only the DJ was born in 1985, so I don't feel like I entirely agreed with his depiction of the 80s. Perhaps it was a bit 1989-1992. Maybe I was just painfully aware of a general lack of (a) Smiths (b) Cure (c) Joy Division, etc. Anyway, Irish Ho and I were joined by Super Sarah and the three of us snickered at complaints of the 1983 and under club such as, "Shaddup you 1986er, I was born in 1984! I'm totally feeling old!"

Finally, with the statement, "So, either we have to take some drugs or we have to leave." was issued, we made our exit, but not before a rather funny scene in the restroom. While waiting on line to pee, a pretty young blonde woman came in and took her place in line. A woman not having her finest moment, let's say, looked up and asked the blonde if she was on Top Model. Instead of a simple "yes" blondie comes back with a huge Miss America grin and replies, "THANK YOU. I was." and the two have the weirdest conversation that involved the preoccupied woman asking many questions and the blonde thanking her for compliments never issued, then half-complaining that her weekly shooting schedule was brutal.

I don't know. I left with Super Sarah and Irish Ho, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in a sense. We're past the phase where it's fashionable to try to convey maturity with complaints of feeling old, but rather at a point where it feels good to be independent and feel healthy. We're a little tougher than we were a decade ago and have had a decade plus to have gotten our respective shit in order. We've already had a few adventures and learned to rise above some petty nonsense and enjoy things as they come. It's a good era, that's for sure.

But, I'll admit that it was nice to be carded, too. Har. We parted ways, but only after giggling that we all remembered the words to a particular Motley Crue song and singing it for a moment on the street corner to the dismay of passersby. Mature, see?

Serious, silly, serious, silly. Just as it should be.

"OSCILLATE WILDLY"

Last night, I went to a store I adore, The Book Cellar for a very different kind of author reading. Though she did read from her book, Alpana Singh (Alpana Pours) also served as sommelier of the event, pairing wine with books. This, as you can imagine, is right up my alley. Her book is wonderful, especially the section she read about pairing wines with rice cakes and Chee-toes. As someone who has long been pairing wine with Spaghettios and Taco Bell when the occasions arise, I knew this book would find a special place in my heart immediately.

I, of course, wanted to make an attempt to convincing Singh to do a vegetarian (good) or vegetarian writers (better) edition of her television show, Check, Please!, but, in the end, I thought this might seem a little creepy for a strange woman to suddenly be in her face pitching her ideas, so I passed.

The writers behind the books paired with wine were the books of Wendy McClure (I'm Not The New Me and The Amazing Mackerel Pudding Plan: Classic Diet Recipe Cards from the 1970s, who also shared a hilariously funny short story with us about a pet fish, and the wonderful friend friend I made in Omaha last year, Jami Attenberg (Instant Love), who also read a bit from her new novel (can't wait!).

I was pleased, also, to see another friend I met in Omaha, Michael Barnes who is so incredibly talented and such fun to be around. So, with many familiar, smiling faces, BFFs, partners-in-crime and old friends in tow, we all headed out and about for (more) wine. The brain behind the bookstore joined up later (and we had a spectacular conversation about marathon adventures), I met a hilarious copywriter (who reminded me of a best friend in third grade) and it was, all in all, a lovely night.

Of course, I'll ask what I always ask: Get these wonderful books, tell other people if you enjoyed them, then add them to your LibraryThing and Shelfari pages. Better yet, go to their readings when they're in your neck of the woods next.

Today I'm paying a visit to Mermaid Head to see her mama-to-be belly and give her a big hug, then it's off to dinner (and probably even more wine) with Irish Ho to celebrate her birthday. Tomorrow V. is here for the day. Monday I have dinner plans in Memphis. Wednesday I have a reading in Austin. Bonk! Boom! Pow! Woot!

"NEWS ON THE RADIO..." PART 2

I just got a really great tattoo. More on that later.

My dear friend Skirmish of Wit (sorry if that link was down before. Should be fine now) has just posted an extremely flattering photograph of me that I think you'll all get a kick of. It's from a warm and fun birthday a few years ago that she celebrated with me. Good times. Good times.

"NEWS ON THE RADIO HAPPY BIRTHDAY HAPPY BIRTHDAY HAPPY BIRTHDAY"

Ever since I was a little girl, I've had this funny idea about birthdays. While I love good birthday wishes, it's always made me wonder. I mean, I didn't do anything except get born (more effort of Ma Guth's there than mine) and manage not to die for another year. While, especially knowing me and some of the adventures I find myself on, this might seem like a feat of epic proportions, it's really pretty easy. I say that, but maybe I nearly miss death a hundred times and day and never realize.

Anyway, there is less than an hour left for me at my present age. At midnight, the clock rolls over on a new day and, for me, a new year. I wonder what this year will have in store for me? Did the guy in New Orleans seal my fate for a good year by throwing that spell at my feet? Maybe so. Hope so.

Also, this is a pretty important birthday, by my thinking.

When I was a little girl, I probably had an idea of what my life would look like tonight. I have no idea if it looks like I thought it would. I haven't gotten caught up in the trappings of a cultural idea, so much, of what I should be doing at my present age, as a writer, as a woman, as a wage earner and such. I don't look the same as I did in my early twenties, and I'm okay with that. I'm glad, even. I have a line or two, but I earned them. I have a lot of grey hair, but that's only less I have to bleach out to turn pink. Another perk I can't help but feel like I earned.

So, maybe that's where the real celebration is. Sure, I have made it to see another year of my life begin, but I've gotten here in my roundabout, adventurous, goofy way that is all my own and arrived with my way of moving through life and taking it all in and processing it in my way. I'm looking around my apartment as I write this and can't help but smile as I see a collection of things that represent all of those adventures.

That's good enough for me. It really is.

"WILLIAM, IT WAS REALLY NOTHING"

I'm such a clutz sometimes. This morning, in amazement that I was seeing such a huge dump of snow in mid-April, I fell over my cat, then, being flustered, went to take the trash out and forgot to disarm my alarm and scared the shit out of my neighbors when I opened my backdoor and set it (the security alarm) off, and so early. Good morning! WHOOP! WHOOP! WHOOP! It's seven am! Everyone up! WHOOP! WHOOP! WHOOP! Everyone look outside and see your goofy neighbor shrugging and waving meekly! WHOOP! WHOOP! Well, I guess I can take some solace in knowing I have neighbors who bother to look. That's a plus. Anyway, then I whacked my knee on the end table. Bang! Pow! Boom!

Anyway, I have a few little items to discuss.

The first item is that I have been invited to create an artistic rendidtion of my own arsehole (in honor of Kurt Vonnegut's depiction of his arsehole) with some terribly respectable authors, over on Spitzy's blogsite. I have many, may ideas of how I might do such a thing. I'll be doing this over the next several days, so I'll let you know how it goes. Clearly, this art must contain song lyrics. That's all I know. I have several ideas floating around... I wonder if he would accept a short arsehole series?

Secondly, I have a new piece going up on Six Sentences on May 2nd. I'll remind you. Fret not. I know you were frantic, trying to get your paper calendar and Blackberry to set reminders. I know. Shh. I'll take care of it.

And, I want to start doing a little every-other-week feature thing. I'm going to snatch up a writer, ask three very important questions of him/her and post it up. We'll all make new friends, expand our literary horizons, have fun pimping other writers' words, etc. It'll be fun. Want in on it? Just email me and we'll sort out the details, then I'll slap up the post. Voila. Super fun. No fuss.

Lastly, if you have thrown in a submission for my top secret little group fiction project, I'm nearly through all bazillion (yes, really a bazillion) submissions and will have my proverbial shit together on that shortly. Thank you all for your pateince when I got about seven or eight times more submissions than I planned to. Show on road shortly.

Anyway, I am staring at an important birthday square in the face today (a few days away still), and thinking a lot, and rather excitedly, about my life, and what a great adventure it has been thus far. Some of it has been stressful, most of it has been remarkably great, but it's all shaped me and made me who I am this minute. This second. Right now.

And, I can dig that.

"MIXED UP 21"

Welcome to another edition of "If It Could Only Still Be Socially Acceptable To Make A Mix Tape, This Is What I Would Put On One This Week" Saturday! In all the hustle and bustle of the week, I almost overlooked the fact that on March 1st, this blog was a year old. So, let's rock out to some birthday-ish, bloggy and year-ish music this week, shall we?

1. Bigmouth Strikes Again/The Smiths
2. Last Good Day of The Year/Cousteau**
3. Birthday/TheSugarcubes
4. Anniversary/The Cure
5. Life In A Glass House/Radiohead
6. Won't Let you Down/Wilco
7. Anniversary/Voltaire
8. Golden Years/David Bowie
9. Pretty Good Year/Tori Amos
10. Anniversary of an Uninteresting Event/The Deftones
11. Eyes Without A Face/Billy Idol
12. The World Has Turned And Left Me Here/Weezer
13. Anniversary Song/Cowboy Junkies
14. Open Book/Cake
15. Anniversary/The Pogues

**Who remembers the significance of this song to me? Anyone? Bueller? Ah, tell you what-- the first person to tell me (in my comments section):

(a) the significance of that song to me, (b) the names of three venues where I have held readings and (c) the names of the three women in my book, Three Fallen Women, shall win a fancy Three Fallen Women lapel pin.

Oh, and speaking of winnings, the "Friends In High Places" Contest isn't going to win itself. Remember, it isn't about getting a famous person in the photo, just the most famous person you have access to. You get a lot more than a lapel pin for winning that one. C'mon. Humor me. It'll be fun.

"NEWS ON THE RADIO, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HAPPY BIRTHDAY"

One of my nearest and dearest celebrates her birthday today. Here's what we're going to do. Everyone face New England and shout, "Happy Birthday, Sandy!" at the top of your lungs. Ready, set, go...!

"ASK ME, ASK ME, ASK ME"

How is anyone expected to listen to Balkan Beat Box and not dance? And, while we’re on the subject of Bands I Enjoy, I’ve been rockin’ out to Gogol Bordello a bit lately, too. Now, the super-duper thing that I realized is that Balkan Beat Box links to Gogol Bordello on their website, yes, yes, but also to Big Lazy, a band I first heard at Black Betty in Brooklyn about five years ago when I still lived in New York. I loved them then and I love them now. The nicotine song from the 1999 self-titled album is my favorite.

Pssh, you’d think these dudes are paying me to plug, them, but they are not. I don’t know any of them. Just a fan.

Shabbes could not have been better. I shook things up and did things a little differently this week and enjoyed it immensely. Actually, my birthday was fantastic, too. I think this year of my life is off to an excellent start.

"NEWS ON THE RADIO HAPPY BIRTHDAY HAPPY BIRTHDAY HAPPY BIRTHDAY"

Chag Pesach! The seder was lovely tonight and I'm minutes from falling asleep, terribly happy and stuffed with delicious food and delicious wine. But it'll be my birthday in a matter of hours, so I had to stop by and write a bit. It's funny, I hear people complaining about aging and it makes me laugh. Would we really like to be young and dumb forever? Fuck no. I think birthdays are fantastic. So what if crows' feet are creeping up on me? So what if I have lines to show how much I've laughed? And, the more gray hairs I have, the less black hairs I have to bleach in order to make them magenta. Bring it, I say.

"THERE WAS NOTHING, NO ONE, NOTHING AROUND FOR MILES"

Last night, I drove over an hour to the home of a dear old friend. Today is his birthday. He's the friend who has everything, including an endearingly childish love of pranks and stunts. I drove out of the city's comfortable glow, past the uncomfortable and uniformed hum of the suburbs and into the freaky blackness of the middle-of-fucking-nowhere. The safest and most-comfortable way I can position my life is to live in a serene and immaculately clean apartment in the center of urban chaos. All else makes me wiggle and fret. My friend, you see, lives in the solitude of a little house off a county road in a town that makes me fidgety with its Americana quaintness.

My backseat held the tools of my work: a donkey pinata, a garbage bag filled with carefully-selected thrift store bras and panties in various sizes, a crinkled brown paper bag of cowgirl confetti, a filthily-edited game of pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey, a roll of packing tape, a Sharpie (I'm rarely without one and I have no idea why), and a slew of "acquired" local far-right Republican-party campaign signs. The panties and bras are to inspire his nosy neighbors into thinking he's more socially active than he actually is, the donkey themes are to pay homage to a long-running habit he and I have of adding "jackass" to the ends of serious sentences, and the Republican goodies are just to piss him off. I attached the pin-the-tail poster across his front door, adding "You owe me for the tape" in Sharpie and proceeded to over-tape the poor donkey poster to death. The panties, bras and confetti were all scattered around his yard, as were the political signs, and, lastly, the pinata was positioned like a sadly forgotten puppy, staring at the front door.

He phoned shortly after daybreak today in hysterics that gave way to genuine gratitude for effort. It was odd. I expected his laughter, I expected his promise of revenge (my birthday is, after all, only a few weeks away), but, as my hijinx were to entertain myself just as much as they were for him, I never counted on him being touched that I had bothered.

Jackass.