Obviously I’m Blanche

This is a thank you to everyone who voiced their concern last night.
I’m sorry.
I was a drunken jackass.
I am taking the steps necessary to rid myself of Pitiful, Wallowing Mavis. Soon, I will be back to the Efficient, Goal-Achieving Asshole Mavis that you all know and love.
Incidentally, I’ve already assigned Golden Girl characters to each of you who contacted me. Let’s see if you can guess which one you are.

Stolen From Somewhere Else, Redundant For Some

1.YOUR ROCK STAR NAME: (first pet & colour of underwear)

Martha Nothing

2.YOUR GANGSTA NAME: (fav ice cream flavor, favourite cookie)

Cookies and Cream Homemade

3. YOUR “FLY Guy/Girl” NAME: (first initial of first name, first three letters of your last name)

A-Sco

4. YOUR DETECTIVE NAME:(fav colour and fav animal)

Magenta Human

5. YOUR SOAP OPERA NAME: (middle name, city where you were born)

Susan Yarmouth

6. YOUR STAR WARS NAME: (the first 3 letters of your last name, first 2 letters of your first name, last 3 letters of mom’s maiden name)

Sco-Am-Bes

7. SUPERHERO NAME: (2nd favorite colour, favourite drink )

Silver Chocolate Martini

8. NASCAR NAME: (the first names of your grandfathers)

Allan Married-Man-From-Two-Towns-Over

9.WITNESS PROTECTION NAME: (mother & father’s middle name)

Joy Havelock

Pretend Shane MacGowan Likes When I Sit On His Face

I have an imaginary boyfriend. I call him Pretend Shane MacGowan.
I’ve had imaginary boyfriends pop up from time to time ever since I was 16. My first imaginary boyfriend was Andrew Foreman. Andrew was tall and slim with curly dark hair. His mom was from England and his estranged dad was in the mafia. He had a younger sister, Mary, who I became good imaginary friends with, too.
Sometimes I would imagine being friends with Mary first. Thrill of the chase, right?
So Andrew stuck around for several years until I grew bored with his storylines and I went for a long time with no lasting imaginary boyfriend. I had imaginary affairs with Adam and Jack, but they weren’t the commitment types.
I invented Pretend Shane MacGowan this past September. Sometimes he has a Scottish accent, sometimes an English accent and sometimes he is pure Canadian. He looks almost exactly like the real Shane MacGowan circa 1985, but with less angst and better teeth. He is also tall and slim, and his hair might be darker than the real Shane MacGowan’s hair.
In real life, if I were to meet this Pretend Shane MacGowan, I would quickly lose interest. He is too well adjusted for my taste. He lives in a one bedroom apartment somewhere nearby and he builds interesting pieces of furniture. He is warm, friendly and funny. He smiles a lot and is very receptive to life.

Thank You, John Simon Ritchie

Once upon a time, there was a fourteen year old named Mavis. Mavis had a three-week boyfriend who liked to make mix tapes for her. Mavis has had many boyfriends who have liked to make mix tapes/cds for her over the years, but that’s not relevant right now. The first mix tape that this particular boyfriend made for her had a lot of typical small town crap on it; The Eagles, Queen, The Rolling Stones, you know, crap. There was, however, one song, the first song, that was different from the rest. Young Mavis was very interested in this song. It was unlike any of the music she had listened to over the years and although she didn’t know it at the time, it would play a major role in the direction she would take as she grew into an adult. The song was, in fact, My Way, sung by a young upstart who went by the name of Sid Vicious. I’m posting a different video, however, because I like this one.

Third Time’s The Charm

I’d love to eliminate the warlords with a clever song and dance routine.

Propaganda Music, Take Two

Part of what shapes us in our impressionable youth is what we watched on television. While I no longer watch television, I do remember having loved it.

Lazy Hippies

What I like about propaganda music and national anthems has to do with the intense emotions involved. You are united through your country and your cause. That is a powerful feeling. It’s a primitive emotion, necessary to keep human tribes strong. Like pair bonding, or grooming, but with more people. Like group sex pair bonding. The hippies would love it, if they weren’t so damn lazy.

Old News

I dreamt I was sitting at an outdoor cafe, where a woman’s disembodied voice was telling me there is no heaven.

She had it on good authority, or so she said.

And while she was telling me this, a tarantula, who had been sitting on the tabletop, minding its own business, climbed up my arm and nuzzled itself against my neck, beneath my hair.