Go to sleep a little wiser - Lez' scientifacts

Welcome readers, to yet another educationnal subject, because, in case you didn't know, I'm a complete dork. (Does that make me a lesbian Clark Kent ? We'll adress this topic another time.) Today, I would like to share newly acquired wisdom on how women's body work (my personal holy cup, my cookie jar, my motherland ...*wink*).

While I have almost recovered from my bed-related acrobatics, I still get to visit my gigantic homo physiotherapist daily. Today, as if walking around single-shouldered wasn't enough, I showed up with a really really unpleasant painful pain in my left knee (the right one is fine, thank you). So, willing to discover the mysterious cause for said pain, my faggy-physio (try saying that 20 times in a row...) set about reading my body. Yuuhuuh. Reading. He grabbed both my ankles (no cuffs involved, pervs, not this time), closed his eyes and, I guess, started turning the pages of me. That means getting vibrations or whatnots from the various layers of me (I'm an onion).

And out of the blue, he asked me if it was my time of the month. From my ankles? Really ? Unflinching, I answered, why, yes, it is the 22nd of October today ! Mister Physio then explained me how my uterus was talking to him ...(I'm sending him my next GF for crash training). But since an active vajayjay is normal for me (yes it is, zip it), he proceeded to further investigate my lower stata. And found out that I had some recalcitrant muscle somewhere below that needed fixing.

Then, and that's where it gets interesting, he told that women's hormonal activity had a tremendous influence on the entire body. Duh. Ever heard of PMS? But no. He meant more than just irrational, M.Hyde-like behaviors. Actually, all those hormones (things that end in -gen or -one, like oestrogen, progesterone, mascarpone..) partying while you're suffering and bleeding and being a giant paint in the butt, well, hormones render ligaments, sinew and other fibrous tissues looser than usual. Which could explain why you can get random sprains or twists at that time of the month. Yep. There. You're smarter now.

So next time, instead of mentally applying a fist impact right between your annoying colleague's little sweaty porcine eyes, tell him/her that he/she is lucky you can't smack him/her right now, because it would cause you to sprain your knuckles. And you need those. Then, carelessly add you also don't want to hurt your eyes by looking at him/her and walk away. Optic nerves are a fibrous tissue after all...

NOTE: I bet I'd use "fibrous tissue" on my blog. I won.

8 Against 8 - Let's get married!

Let's not make this a habit, but today, we are talking politics. More specifically, American politics. Even Californian politics. Yes, of course, what else could it be ? It's the ban on Gov. Schwarzeneger's speedos youth pictures ! No. Really, it's about the ban on gay marriage. Come on, unless you've been in hiding with Ossama Bin Laden for a year or so, you KNOW it has been overturned by the State of California's supreme court, so that Ellen could get yet another cover of People Magazine with Portia.

Well, that newly acquired right is threatenend by some proposition, namely the infamous Number 8 (you're a wanker number niiiiiiiine... Sorry, too much Lena Headey lately). Prop. 8, to be voted in November, would permanently define marriage as being exclusively between a man and a woman. We all know how well that usually goes.

So, some (8, to be precise) smart blogging ladies (my fav, Dorothy the mighty) have united to gather funding to fight the said restrictive proposition. They have set up a little diddely web page, 8 against 8, where everyone, anyone, you, can make a tiny (or very substantial) donation to help fight the evil Prop.8. These terrible eight aim at raising $8,000 in 8 days (October 20-27). It's for the good of mankind (or gaykind). So, if you like lesbians and gays (you like me, that's a start *ultra-brite toothpaste commercial smile*), help them/us not be second-class citizens in California.

Hopefully, if California gives gay marriage a go, other American states will too. And it will slowly contaminate France. Because it's common knowledge that whatever Americans like, our tiny president does too...

So go on, click, donate (even $5, that's hardly 3.75€, come on !) and help fight for our right to further develop lesbian bed death (sex gets boring after marriage, or so I heard). We gays also want to have the magical opportunity to pick ridiculous flowery outfits, get shitfaced in front of our entire family and feed each other disgustingly creamy cake ! (and then get divorced and fight over the cat's litter box...). So please, be kind, rewind and DONATE !

NOTE: I will not take any oh-my-credit-card-is-not-American-it-won't-work crap. I did it. Any dumb-ass can. Do it ! Pretty pleaaaase.

Warning ! Do not use for waxing.

Labels. Don't ever try to wax with labels, it just doesn't work. On that random note, let me explain the subject of todays banter. No thanks to someone up in a former British vacation resort (which they gave up, it was too cold and the people over there had the weirdest accent), I now have to publicly disclose 7 factoids on my oh-so-private self. I don't know what would happen though, were I to deny/refuse/ignore the unwanted mission. Would an anvil fall on my left foot while I got hit by a truck full of live but headless chicken? Would my garden be invaded by blood-sucking locusts ? I'll take my chances, I don't care. I don't even have a garden... Allright, I won't, I'll do the damn thing.

The rules of this annoying game are:

1. Link to your tagger and list these rules on your blog
(http://wrywriter.com/, aforementionned person living somewhere in mapple syrup country)
2. Share 7 facts about yourself on your blog - some random, some weird.
3. Tag 7 people at the end of your post by leaving their names as well as links to their blog.
4. Let them know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.


I'll do the first 2 but since I'm ADD, I will have switched to dusting my cellar by the time I reach #3...Where was I? Eeerrmmm...aahaa ! Facts. Tadaaaa :

1. I love confusing American tourists on the Parisian Metro by helping them when they're lost. They won't believe I'm not really American (it's all about the accent).

2. I hate garlic more than Dracula does.

3. I sometimes misuse my ADD to my very own advantage (grin. What? Who? Hu? Oh, not that often...)

4. I cook without ever using a cookbook or a recipe, even desserts. Thus, people think I'm a good cook.

5. I only have eight toes in total, I'm actually a salamander.

6. I have interviewed the person I most wanted to meet on the planet and she told me my interview was one of the best she'd ever done. Shara Worden, last week, I'm boasting, I'm so proud, I know...

6. I once cried during a rock concert (actually on 4 different songs). Shara Worden, last week, not very butchy, I know...

I think I have to eat now. Or is it time to dust my cellar? Wait. Do I even have one? I can't remember. If you can read this, make me a sandwich. I like mustard. Did you even notice there was no #7 ? Now you are lost.

Wry Writer, I will have my revenge... Poutine is best served cold. I don't even know what that means but yeah I'll be back. Or maybe I'll be Sarah Connor...?
Or Lena Headey. Heh heh just because..

Music Crush: Queen Kaki King

I know it's old news but I'll spell it out for you again. Kaki King rocks. Or folks. Or whatever it is she's playing. I had the pleasure to discover her live in Paris last sunday, with a bunch of my friends. I had rather high expectations, given I own her 2 impressive albums and am pretty much addicted to anything music-related, concerts, CDs, guitars and straps (guitar straps that is, you perv!). Picture yourself in a tiny venue called "La Boule Noire" (the black cue ball, that's pool to you again, perv), at the bottom of Montmartre hill, with at most 50 people in there. Intimate is the first word that comes to my mind. The second one would be shalibelyblubelaaaaarf *thud*. Yep, that much. And that's without mentionning how cute Kaki is, edging on hot.

So, no opening act. Kaki can stand on her own tiny feet (not sure how many she has). After little waiting, in she comes, in the midst of misty fumes, courtesy of the clumsy (probably on drugs...) stage manager. After that, I just can't remember. I must have been hypnotized or something. I do remember exiting the place with my friends, some of them reasonably bored I must admit, but the concert itself is kind of a blur. Or a blob. Or something fuzzy and nurturing. Really, it was all very intense and a fantastic musical experience. Little Kaki (if she's over 5 feet, I'm Ani Difranco on a poney) and a dude, whose name I can't remember (and couldn't care less) performed for almost 2 hours. Tiny Katherine - Kaki is no real name, it's a fruit- handles her guitar in a very unique impressive way. I tried to follow her fingers, moving up and down the neck of her guitar at an incredible speed, but failed. It's like trying to chase a Porsche on an electric wheelchair. See for yourselves.

"Playing with pink noise"

And that's not even close to how impressive it is live and upclose. I got all dizzy from trying to follow, so I just laid back, or rather leaned back a little (I was standing). I let myself drown into the music, and oh my, what a trip! Thumping basslines with no bass, complex yet obvious melodies, rhythmic progressions that will leave you exhausted. And then some finger slaping and tapping. If you're no guitar player (or just pretend to be one, like me), her skills will deter you from ever laying hands on a string (guitar, not G strings, enough already). It's all just magical. She delivered without a sweat or a broken nail, sporting a deep, dark, gaze and a smirk on her face. Did I mention how cute she really is ?

The oooh-so-dark gaze

The smirky smirk smirk

Most of the songs, thankfully instrumental, are a testimony of her overpowering technique and self-taught virtuosity. Utterly mind-blowing. The only downside is that she can't sing, but still persists. Really, Kaki, stick to what you're good at. Please...In between songs, most of which were over 10 minutes long, Kaki casually sipped from her beer- she's no Amy, just a few sips, really. She also displayed the most appalling array of bad jokes I've heard since the last Tegan & Sara show. Don't get me wrong, I think those jokes were hilarious. Then again, I am infamous for my terrible jokes and lame ass puns, such as :

Speaking of the most famous twins of Lesboville, they must be friends with Queen Kaki, since they keep on cameo-ing in each others' work. Kaki played guitar on 2 song of The Con and there seem to be a lost Quin in King's latest, fancy still-frame video :

"Pull me out alive"

At some point of the show, she said the chair on which she'd been sitting was bothering her, and that she'd lost her mojo. I want to underline how irrelevant and out of place that statement was. Mucho mojo she has. She might say the contrary but she'd beat Austin Powers at any Girl-on-girl convention in a heart beat. She has much nicer teeth.

Nicer tits

Errrr, I meant nicer teeth.

Now, despite all that praise, one dumb question comes to my inane mind. Kaki King is an out lesbian, good for her. But for the love of fingers, how on earth does she twiddle around with her girlfriend with such nails ?

My Random For A Horse - Help Wanted

Albeit the flagrant inactivity on this poor excuse for a blog, I have been doing very much nothing with my time for the past two weeks. For that, I have that lame ass useless shoulder of mine to thank. Just because I'd decided to try a certain pyjama-endorsing martial art (with limited success, obviously), I am now rendered impotent and unable to perform the basic tasks and gestures of everyday life. I can't get dressed, do dishes, clean my place, carry groceries, type on a keyboard or have sex with more than one girl at a time. Wait. No. Too much information. Anywho. Work out, they say. It's good for you. Oh yeah, now I have a better understanding of what 'good' means.

However, my peculiar predicament has allowed me to discover the fantastic extent of lesbian generosity. And that of the straight ones too (I will not be deemed ungrateful, no, no, no). Being almost fully handicaped (What? Overstate? Me? Naaahh), many of a friend stood up for me, offering various services, help and a great diversity of liquor to help me cope with my situation. Out of sheer selflessness and friendship (I am here excluding the stalker who offered to massage my feet and other body parts daily), my friends have gone to great lengths to make me feel less miserable. Were I not so profoundly low-maintenance, independant and self-relying (and humble, too), I could have easily taken advantage of my poor-me situation. I could have asked them to fulfill a few of my fantasies, involving outfits, unrewarding chores and ambiguous positions. Like, say, some of the following...

Imagine, your own private nurse...Taking care of your every need, a nurse would pamper you, bathe you, and so on. Nurses are awesome because: they know ALL the drugs, they know how to tie you up in a bed, they are used to working long hours at night and because when you push the button, they come right away. Sorry, I know... And just because a nurse would now the answer to the following question.I'm not into killing-inclined-Daryl-Hannah like nurses, but I'd hire this one in a heartbeat. Shirley, I think I need a full physical.

Now, I know that having a personal housekeeper, a cleaning lady, a maid, whatever you want to call it, will be my first move as a rich person (one day...when the financial bailout fiasco is over). Because I hate cleaning. Because I'm lazy. And because, well, remember Leisha Hailey in that outfit, somewhere in season 2 of the L Word ?

(if anyone finds a decent pic, you know where to find me!)

Or that one (close enough, right?)

Of course, just when I thought things couldn't get any worse, well they did. It wasn't enough bad luck to be stuck with three limbs instead of four. [Note : Yes, I'm a girl. Therefore, I only have 4 permanently attached limbs. Most of the time.] No. My brand new woodfloors had to be ruined by a good flood. While I was admiring the high-heels-running technique of Gillian Anderson, out poured the water from underneath the kitchen sink. I immediatly issued an emergency call out to the Mario Bros in each and every one of my pals. Damn you, plastic plumbers, I knew I should have gone for the Polish one !

For now, my piping have been taken care of. Of course, no one was able to fix them the way Corky would have (at least wearing the same outfit). Alas, nobody's perfect... Here's to well-taken-care-of pipes.

I'll will not burden you with all the ungrateful tasks I've had my friends perform. Still, I'd like to send a big bucket of warm fuzziness to those who put up with my constant whining, cut my food and taught me how drunk-dance with one arm. Last but not least, I would like to thank my mother, my producer, my agent, my dog. Eeerrmm, no. Wrong speech. No. I meant I'll also be sending the goody bucket to those who saw past my not-so-well-hidden agony and kindly provided me with all-natural herbal painkillers.

Ladies and gents, I am forever indebted to you (or at least until I throw an incredible recovery party). Amazing, generous and funny, you know who you are, thank you.