Like A Surgeon

Madonna turned 50! And unless Mulder and Scully know something about my memory being erased to forget this past week's really relevant celebrity news (is Lindsy Lohan still wearing black leggings and is she still a pseudo-lesbian? Is Jennifer Aniston still a clingy nutjob? Is that a baby bump on Katie Holmes or is she just riding the crimson tide this week? I NEED TO KNOW), there hasn't been much hoopla over her 50th birthday. ("Hoopla"? Am I a 1920's school marm? Yes, yes I am. Ain't that the bees knees. Now scram kid, you bother me, see?)

Speaking of 1920's school marms, I think it's about time someone make a Lifetime Movie about Madonna. If I were to make a movie of her life, who would I get to play her? Considering she's had 237 different looks over the past 25 years, I suppose I'd have to get different actors to play her at her various stages in life. RuPaul would play Madonna in her "I'm black" period, Rosie Perez would play her during her "I'm Latina" period, Woody Allen would play her "I'm Jewish" period and Dame Judi Dench would play her during her "I'm British and a classy broad now. Seriously, I have an accent and everything. And I tell people that I actually write children's books for extra street cred as a good mom. See?! I'm on the level. Why won't you people believe me, I'm classy, DAMMIT" period.

Of course, there are a lot of other times of her life that I haven't quite figured out just yet. Like the present Madonna. She's all over-toned and buff and...stringy. Not that I have anything against a woman trying to kick Father Time's ass, I say do whatcha gotta do, sister. But there's a point where you gots to stop the working out because before you know it, you go from looking like Tina Turner to looking like Mick Jagger.

Come to think of it, he would make a damn fine Madonna, wouldn't he? It's like they were separated at birth. Kind of.





Of course, if Mick can't do it, he'll need an understudy and I think I've got the perfect stand-in:



A chicken wing oughtta do it.

Don't get me wrong, I do loves me some Madonna~ or specifically~ I loves me some 1980's Madonna. This is the only way I want to remember her, the kickASS Madonna before she got religious, before she got all healthy and shit (what is THAT about?), before she got all saving the world-y : ratty hair, black rubber bracelets, tulle crinolines over leggings.



I would have KILLED for these shoes when I was young. In fact, I really, reeealy want to wear them now. Are they not *thee* best Madonna shoes evah? You know you want to wear them, you sneaky skanks, you TOTALLY do. If you have a size 7 foot (as IF), you can own these vintage 80's white lace boots. You heard me: 80's. white. lace. boots. They're up for grabs on ebay, click the pic to take you to the listing:



So happy belated birthday, Miss M! But please, put down the Jane Fonda videotapes and can of Slim Fast. It's OK to just sit on your ass eating Ben and Jerry's and watching Friends.

Mission: Impossible

I know you've all been burning & itching like a contestant on Rock of Love, dying to know where I've been. How do I know this? Because all my one fan said "Dude, where've you been?!" I wish I could say I was doing something terribly clever and brilliant, like skulking about town fighting crime and carrying out wicked awesome spy missions with a superbad undercover handle like "Scorpio". Or "Gluteus Maximus". Or "Cornholio".

But I have not. What I *have* been doing is being aggravated, now with extra stabby action, fighting with my interwebs service. And next to teenagers these days, the second thing I can bitch about at length is my interwebs service and I've had little over the past week. And I know what the problem is, even! It's the skanky wire outside that needs to be replaced! You're fired, Verizon. At least your triflin' ass WOULD be fired, but I haven't been able to get in touch with an actual humanoid all week because the stinking freaking 800# menu is BROKEN. You know those really swell pre-recorded messages you get when you have to call a utility company? "Press 1 for English. Press 2 if you would like to pay a bill. Press 3 if this is a true emergency. Press 4 if you're a stupid ass named Kim who thinks she's actually going to talk to a customer service rep today." Hey! I'm a stupid ass named Kim who thinks I'm actually going to talk to a customer service rep today! Huzzah! But I kid you not, this is (pretty much, I forget the whole routine) what happens when I call the Verizons:

"Thank you for calling Verizon Online. Please have your account number ready. For English, press or say 1....[you know the drill, so I push the number for Tech Support and then wait]....I'm sorry, I did not understand your last command. For English press or say 1...[the menu starts all over again, so this time I chose the option for Customer Service]...the charming Customer Service operator answers and I tell Shanequa the operator- who sounds like she's filing her nails and talking to her cousin Shanaynay on her cell phone in the other ear- that I need Tech Support. She says she'll transfer me and I'm all Huzzah! again while I wait for another charming Verizon employee in the nerdtastic tech department...and I wait...and then: "Thank you for calling Verizon Online. Please have your account number ready. For English, press or say 1..." I was stuck in a damn LOOP! Are you kidding me?! So great, my life is now a Seinfeld episode. "Verizon Online. WHAT...is UP...with THAT?"

So if anyone knows a Verizon Online employee, would you please ask them what the fark is up with their jacked-up, broke-down, ghetto-ass, Seinfeldian-loop phone menu and then promptly kick him in the twig and berries for me? Then ask him the same question a second time, and kick him in the twig and berries for me.

Needless to say, it would have been a much cooler story if I was really riding around in the Mystery Machine, high on Scooby Snacks, kung-fuing the crap out of bad guys and evil-doers and foiling Old Man Johnson's plot to turn his barn into counterfeit money-making hideout. So let's just say I was doing that.

Embrace your inner Daphne. EMBRACE IT. From BoroughVintage, is this cutesy 60's purple number:



So you're more of a Velma, eh? Hmm. Well. Good luck with...that. At least there's the cute oversized orange turtleneck going for you. What luck, theVintageZoo has one. Find your own damn knee socks, what am I, your mother?



Back to my life of fighting the internets. But you can still call me Gluteus Maximus.