my jaundiced eye

MJE finally broke out of the gas tank and hot footed it up to the big city to visit Bandoleira-Saturnalia for a few days. Always good to monitor one’s investments. This one is apparently sound but not yet yielding any monetary returns. I suppose I should take the long view which is what my broker always says when I have just invested a chunk of change and the market drops 300 points. I don’t worry because I can apparently create currency out of thin air, like Bitcoin, which I completely do not understand but if it allows me to buy a nice piece of bling and pay for it with monopoly money then sign me up.

But I digress, B-S and I had a grand time. I stayed at a highly overpriced hotel specializing in rooms so small you have to store your suitcase under the bed (which they thoughtfully made high enough off the floor to accommodate a good sized suitcase). They describe the meager size of the rooms as being “Parisian.” Excusez moi, Monsieur Hotelier, square footage is square footage whether you’re in Paris or Peoria. Plus housekeeping never made it to the room one day despite its being empty from 9am until 5:30pm. When I called the front desk to complain they asked if I’d like someone to come right now, WTF??? I’d been hoofing it all over gotham city for hours, why would I want some overworked and underpaid filipino changing the sheets while I stand in the shower stall. Then the “manager” of the hotel called and haughtily asked if I had specifically requested that the room be cleaned earlier…huh, no, I assumed that it would be done within the 9 hour span of time I was not in it. Guess he thought I just fell off the turnip truck, maybe so but I did manage to ask that the bill be adjusted for my inconvenience before I hit the dirt.

Anyway, it was a glorious fall weekend, we walked the high line, swooned in Chelsea Market and went to lots of museums. FYI, if someone can paint a 4” by 4” piece of wood white and sell it to MOMA then my future in the art world is rock solid. And Jackson Pollock, don’t even get me started, I can hear him smirking from the grave. There was a massive Picasso retrospective, but frankly a little bit goes a long way. I haven’t seen that much deconstruction since the OB&C, in a fit of pique took a chain saw to the yew trees in the front yard and we ended up with three 5’ totem poles and a mountain of dismembered limbs.

I was sadly underwhelmed with the big city food, which, coming from New Orleans is a chronic condition. However I have to give the server at one joint props for menu item description. They featured fluke, which I thought was either a parasitic worm or a whale’s tale, neither of which seemed especially appetizing. But according to said server a fluke is “a flat, low energy fish.” MJE has zero interest in the relative energy level of anything I am planning to consume as long as it’s inactive when served, but I would at least like to know what it is. Turns out the featured fluke is a summer flounder. For god’s sake call a spade a spade and bring the me the paper on which is written descriptions and prices of available fermented grape beverages, pronto.

how can’t I kill thee, let me count the ways

Disclaimer: MJE is writing the following simply as an observation of the current screwed-up state of affairs in the execution biz. So cool your jets.

I just read an article about states having trouble figuring out how to execute people. Really? Schedule a field trip to the hood in any city and you’ll get a pretty quick tutorial. It’s not that hard, the douchebags you are trying to dispatch managed to get it right, and probably more than once.

But no, the bureaucratic cretins in the prison system insist on making it so complicated that they can’s figure out their own protocols and as a result can’t manage to off anyone. The following is from a recent article in the New York Times:

Oklahoma last week halted the execution of Richard E. Glossip, who was part of the challenge the Supreme Court had turned down, after officials realized two hours before it was to take place that the state’s supplier had sent prison officials the wrong drug. The error, which led to a stay of all executions, had occurred at least once before. Oklahoma executed an inmate in January using that wrong drug — potassium acetate instead of the potassium chloride that is required under the state’s protocol

But it gets even better, now the prisons can’t get their hands on the drugs they think they need because US suppliers don’t want to have anything to do with the dimwits. As a result, they are are ordering their snuff stuff from abroad, which the FDA says is illegal. Seriously, even MJE couldn’t make this crap up.

The final piece in this tableau of idiocy is the question of sedation and duration. How hard is that. Michael Jackson sedated himself to smithereens, get what he used! And duration, really? Dying takes time, just like birth, and MJE don’t hear anybody angsting over how long it takes for a pain-wracked woman to dilate and deliver.

If you are in the business of performing capitol punishment then follow Nike’s advice and “Just Do It.” Or call a veterinarian.

telebration time, come on!!!!

MJE and the OB&C have an anniversary coming up this weekend and have mutually agreed to telebrate the occasion, meaning celebrate long distance via telephone. It’s just like the billboard ads for the ambulance chasing attorneys that say “one call that’s all,” or two if you really want to knock yourself out. Next to ignoring them altogether, holidays are best observed via telebration. Imagine Thanksgiving without the kitchen drudgery and acid reflux, xmas without the expense and guilt or St. Paddy’s day without the hangover.

Telebrations of anniversaries are the best of the best. Despite years of marriage these landmarks are still freighted with outmoded expectations: romantic gestures, tokens of love, civility. Telebrations allow you to limit all of those tedious exercises to a few minutes, ten max, and even MJE can manage that. I do like to have the telebratory call or calls timed to coincide with my first bloody mary in the morning and or my second or third cocktail in the evening, or afternoon, depending. I find that I am much more amiable when my blood alcohol level is elevated.

It is MJE’s considered opinion that if couples did more telebration and less copulation most would stay together a whole lot longer. I know that sounds harsh but just think about it…telebration never results in unintended consequences like performance anxiety, or explanations of where that chlamydia came from, or worst case, offspring. It’s most unpleasant result might be a crick in your neck if the telebration runs too long and an ice pack can take care of that.

Happy anniversary OB&C! Let the telebration begin!

follicles R us

MJE never thought she would welcome the sight of postmenopausal facial hair but by gosh by golly she does now! Yesterday I looked in my 10X mag mirror/heart breaker and saw the makings of my old soul patch below my lower lip. Hopefully that means that my skull will be following suit. Must say that achieving a state of hairlessness is about the best thing about chemotherapy that I’ve found. Yeh, it kills cancer cells but let’s be realistic sisters, bare armpits and legs are a pretty appealing outward indication of interior destruction.

MJE can cover her bald pate with a variety of things that scream “there’s no hair under here” but eyebrows are another problem altogether. So a couple of weeks ago, I ordered a crapload of generic (Kirkland brand from Costo) rogaine, aka minoxidil. Unfortunately, as is so often the case with internet impulse buying, I didn’t bother to read either the return policy or the list of contraindications of use. FYI: The answer is no to the first and plenty to the second.

I have to admit that the fairly prominent warning that under no circumstances should the product be used by women did give me pause. But not for long. MJE did what any right minded person would do and headed straight for the internet, the ultimate source for detours around all inconvenient truths. The Mayo Clinic site said you go girl! MD Anderson said go full strength or go home! Who is MJE to argue with these eminent bastions of medicine?

Having willingly disregarded the penultimate dictate, MJE decided that perhaps a more thorough review of the tiny print couldn’t hurt. The caution not to apply it where you don’t want to grow hair seemed somewhat self-evident. Then there was the caveat not to use it when you are pregnant or breastfeeding. Well, since they already told us women are not to use it, no way no how, I guess that means that they assume women will ignore that bit. Finally they strongly advised not to use minoxidil on babies or children. So, what, now in addition to thinking women either can’t or won’t pay attention to or abide by their rules they think we’re monsters?

Consumer Alert: If your feelings or the feelings of your loved ones of the female gender have been hurt by the condescending misogynistic product warnings of Minoxidil call Weenie N. Wringer, Attorney at Law.

One call, it’s small.

bye bye J-bo

Last week John Boehner fell on his five iron for god and country after a meeting with il papa. My guess is that Frank probably delivered a very personal come to jesus message to the beleaguered house majority leader: get out now and save your soul!

Gotta love J-bo, the son of a barkeep who pulled a pint before his first catlick nun knuckle whack. He worked his way through college scrubbing toilets but even that didn’t prepare him for the crap he encountered in congress.

MJE will miss the man-tanned, cigarette smoking, ever blubbering congressman from the eighth district of Ohio, done in by his absurd desire to try do the job for which the taxpayers paid. Unfortunately for him and his political career negotiation is the new n-word in Washington.

Kevin McCarthy is J-bo’s odds on successor. MJE personally doesn’t trust the intellectual dexterity of someone whose eyes are closer together than a flounder’s. That said, intellect is a luxury that politicians can ill afford when dealing with the current republican electorate.

parting is such sweet sorrow

It is with mixed feelings that MJE bids adieu to the gas chamber. Sure there were trying times but on balance, I met some incredible people, like the The Pioneer Woman, Laura Ingalls with a microwave and a crockpot. I know there are people like her in the heartland of this great country of ours, and god knows MJE is all about inclusivity (especially for my yard man and dry wall hanger) but you can’t tell me she doesn’t have a .270 short mag stashed next to her mix master. And I’m pretty sure she’s not afraid to use it, especially on someone who looks like my yard man. However, being hermetically sealed in an acrylic tube with her cherubic face beaming down at me as she cooks up massive quantities of macaroni and cheese was like being at a cocktail party full of fascinating people and being stuck with the one bore who doesn’t drink and never shuts up about his vacation.

Then there was Mr Smith, a fellow “diver” (in the parlance of the staff) who despite the explicit rules posted in the changing room about do’s and don’ts (with photos, in case you’re not sure if it’s okay to bring in that stick of dynamite) routinely wore his tighty whiteys under his scrubs. For god’s sake how would my children explain to my grandchildren that graymo was blown to bits by someone’s irresponsible wearing of underpants! Speaking of which, not only were undergarments verboten but so was metal of any kind. Ever a rule follower, MJE dutifully left her wedding ring in the locker during treatments. Well, don’t you know I forgot to retrieve it last week and went screaming back in a panic. After scouring the floor on hands and knees amidst the cast off socks, shoes and diabetic boots without success I reluctantly opened the locker and gingerly rifled though the current diver’s clothes. Finally found it, tangled up in his drawers. Purrell me, STAT.

MJE has also gotten rid of her little bastard wound vac, but not before he fell on her toe and damn near broke it.

in your facebook

I just read that facebook, the social media outlet for narcissists of all ages, is considering adding a “dislike” option. Well now we’re talking. However, MJE doesn’t think that goes nearly far enough. She’d like to kick negativity up to a whole new level and proposes a social media site strictly for the truthful airing of dirty little secrets. A place where you can “share” the embarrassing details of your interpersonal relationships with your family and friends, not the xmas letter fiction that no one believes….We’ve all read them, “Our youngest was accepted early decision at Princeton! “ really? We’re shocked, what with his being a fourth generation legacy and your six figure donation to build a new rec center. And his older brother “just got an incredible job!” It’s about time, he’s been living in your basement since he graduated from college in 2009. And the inevitable “adorable new grand baby”, give us a break, not only is your daughter unmarried but she doesn’t even know who the father is.

Let’s be honest, it’s the dirty laundry that genuinely interests us: the grown child who is a tattooed welfare diva, or the drug addicted nephew and his kleptomaniac sister. And do tell us about the five year old grandson who isn’t out of diapers, or the brother in law who is back in them. And don’t leave out a single detail about your boozehound mom who’s facing 60 days in the county jail on a DUI violation or your brother the priest who was recently defrocked for boinking altar boys in the vestry.

The very thought of having a constantly updated window into the other people’s miserable lives makes MJE’s heart sing. But I’m not alone, the Germans as a people enjoy it so much they even have a name for it, schadenfreude.

Look it up.

little pink pill

Well girls, your time has come and hopefully so will you with the new female sexual enhancement drug “Addi!” Addi! is now available by prescription for women with hypoactive sexual desire disorder, or HSDD (to protect the squeamish grandchildren.) Women with HSDD suffer with severe lack of sexual desire (not the slightly less severe variety experienced by approximately 99.9% of post-menopausal women.) And only “specially trained” docs are allowed to write scripts. MJE would love to see the syllabus for that little seminar. Suggested screening questions:

How long has it been since you gave a rat’s ass about having sex?

A. months B. years C. decades.

If you answered A or B you aren’t sick enough.

What is it about your annoying, middle aged, balding, overweight partner that no longer arouses you?

Answer: all of the above.

Addi! Is manufactured by Sprout Pharmaceuticals (which seems a more appropriate name for an ED drug maker) and was twice rejected by the FDA for dangerous side effects until Sprout waged a campaign titled “Even The Score.” Now you too can drop dead of a heart attack during sex! Let’s hope he notices.

Addi! will be heavily marketed during the The View, the Today show and The Bold and the Beautiful by scantily clad, newly frisky geriatrics But cool your jets girlfriends, Addi! is not for everyone. “If someone has low sexual desire because they hate their partner, sex hurts and their life is a mess … the pill is not going to help them,” said Dr. Lauren Streicher of Northwestern University. Uh oh.

Furthermore, Addi! and alcohol don’t mix. My guess is that booze lands more people in the sack than any pink pill might. Just think about being stone cold sober the next time you want a roll in the hay with Addi! Seriously, think about it.

ringalingadingdong

While I was waiting to have the doc check my (now deaf) ears after coming out of the gas chamber this week her phone rang. The ring tone is the theme from The Exorcist. I commented that it seemed an odd choice for someone conducting ear exams instead of throwing demons out of the possessed. She agreed that was a dark choice for a doc. To which I say hell yes sista! That’ll give your patients something to chew on during their interminable stretches in the waiting room.

MJE sees ring tones as something of a window into the soul. Years ago I had Bandoliera-Saturnalia program my ring tone to be “Built Like a Brick S***t House by the Commodores. I could get my entire check out line, the cashier and the assistant manager at the Pig funking it up by the second ring. Sadly when I traded in the phone I lost my funkadelic vibe along with it. I had B-S program my next phone to ring “Come on Over to My House” by Rosemary Clooney, a saucy song from the 50’s that Rosemary belts out in a phony Italian accent. If Rosemary tried that today she’d be the target of an Italian-American Anti-Defamation league boycott for sure.

The OB&C programmed our house phone to have personal ring tones for different callers so you know without hoisting yourself out of your barcolounger who was on the other end trying to bother you. The options are pretty limited but he did the best he could with what he had. For our in-house republican, son Nute, he chose “God Bless America,” the OB&C assigned himself “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” and B-S was given Beethoven’s “Fur Elise” which seems a bit somber for a bohemian twenty-something. I have chosen not to call the house from my cell as I believe that selective ignorance is vital to a happy life.

However, if I had to put money down, I’d bet that mine is the theme from Jaws.

sick stamps

MJE received a well meaning note of sympathy and support from an acquaintance of a few years back, someone who upon hearing of my medical situation self-morphed into a “dear friend.” I’ve discovered that when you’re sick, it’s like being the new “it” girl in junior high, everyone wants to be in your orbit. Well kids, you really wanna be in my orbit, how about joining me in the gas chamber for a few laughs. Or lug around my little belching bastard for awhile. But the note wasn’t the interesting bit, it was that she used a breast cancer forever stamp on her letter and included a packet of them with her note. Is it just MJE or does that feel incredibly creepy.

When the hell did the USPS start issuing sick stamps? What happened to the American flag and flowers of the south? What next, a gonorrhea forever stamp? How about chlamydia or erectile dysfunction? Seriously, whose bright idea was this, because my friends, that is your tax dollars at work. The postal service is spending god knows how much time thinking up stamps that remind most people of something they’d probably just like to forget. But my question is why stop at diseases, how about highlighting a broader range of scourges. Why not female circumcision, or terrorist beheadings, or mass shootings forever stamps. The world is fast going to hell in a hand basket so the possibilities are truly endless.