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November 29, 2002
oh the outrage
If you missed yesterday's post, you should catch up here. Probably easier to just scroll down.
This is the letter I sent to Amazon tonight. Many thanks to the wonderful Mike for pointing out the obvious. I would be nothing if not for my readers.
RESPONSE:
From: cust.service02@amazon.com
To: madison@DONTSPAMMEmoxie.nu
Subject: Your Amazon.com query
Hello from Amazon.com.
Thank you for writing to Amazon.com with your concerns about our
sales of Clean underwear.
I am sorry to hear that you are upset by this item's inclusion in one
of our Amazon Merchant stores.
Please bear in mind, however, that as a retailer, our goal is to
provide customers with the broadest selection possible so they can
find, discover, and buy any item they might be seeking. Because our
customers represent a wide spectrum of opinions, that selection may
include some items which people find objectionable.
You may wish to contact "GAP" directly with your comments about this
item. You can reach their customer service using the information
below:
E-mail: amazon@gap.com
We value all feedback from our customers, and I thank you again for
taking the time to send us your comments about this issue.
Best regards,
T Agarwal
Amazon.com... And You're Done
_____
"Because our customers represent a wide spectrum of opinions, that selection may include some items which people find objectionable."
Call me crazy but I expect that any undergarments I buy will be clean, not soiled.
Should I be surprised that Amazon failed to address the "Customers who WEAR clothes" part? Not so much. I shudder to think.
Anyone want to help me draft a reply?
Posted by Moxie at 4:28 AM | Comments (15)
November 28, 2002
who am i if i don't wear clothes?
Me: What are you reading, little kitty?
Phoebe: Just finishing up Dostoyevsky's The Idiot
Me: Are you enjoying it?
Phoebe: I'd prefer to read it in Russian, but it's not too bad for a translation
Me: You know it freaks me out when you read
Phoebe: Whatever. Could you scratch under my chin, I have an itch
Me: When did you gain this affinity for Russian literature anyway?
Phoebe: Recently. In case you didn't notice I'm having an Amazon induced existential crisis
Me: Oh boy, here we go.
Phoebe: I was looking on Amazon.com for other books I might enjoy when I noticed a section, "Customers who wear clothes also shop for: clean underwear, performance fleece and cashmere."
Me: That's odd wording. But that's just their way of being PC, no one wants to offend a nudist.
Phoebe: No one ever pointed out that I don't wear underwear before
Me: Well you don't
Phoebe: I've been going commando for 3 years and you didn't bother to tell me?
Me: Cats don't wear clothes. Unless you belong to a rich family, in which case you might have a little beaded sweater or two.
Phoebe: But who am I really if I don't wear underwear?
Me: You are a talking cat
Phoebe: Don't you dare be coy with me
Me: Your purpose in life is to eat, shit, sleep, play and watch for birdies
Phoebe: But that's all so meaningless.
Me: I know you've already read Kierkegaard, how about you get cozy with some Sartre?
Phoebe: I'm pretty sure I WAS Sartre in another life.
Me: What do you want from me?
Phoebe: Open up a can of tuna so I can eat before I take my nap.
Me: You have it so good. You really have no idea.
{starhawk made my day. Thanks man!}
Posted by Moxie at 9:40 AM | Comments (8)
November 26, 2002
banned content
It happens earlier and earlier each year.
As soon as the Christmas decorations go up around town (and this year that was about a week before Thanksgiving) able-bodied adults suddenly find the simplest task, such as backing out of a parking space a major ordeal.
Drunk on the holiday spirit, people are already parking where they aren't supposed to, holiday music is playing everywhere and there are men wearing silly santa hats ringing that damn bell asking for money. God forbid you want to buy anything other than cornbread mix, fruitcakes and garland at the grocery store. I could hardly find the booze.
And like clockwork, that not-so-fresh holiday feeling overcame me today. Whether I spend the holidays with my family or not, I end up up feeling depressed and under the weather. It's not that I'm a scrooge or ungrateful but I'd tolerate the season better if people could handle the Christmas carols while driving safely.
I can promise you there will be no snowflakes, holly, or red & green themes gracing my page. There won't be any chestnuts roasting on the open fire. And Jack Frost can bite me for all I care. No one on Moxie is going to write about how they ate too much turkey, spent too much on gifts, or how drunk their Aunt Fran got.
I'm declaring this a holiday free zone. You, my dear readers can escape to Moxie when the trials and tribulations of the holiday season become overwhelming. This is a limited time offer, available now thru January 2nd.
{go over and give my mad little ponies some love, please}
Posted by Moxie at 4:46 PM | Comments (16)
back story
Those of you who have been around these parts for some time know until Friday, I hadn’t had a real date in over a year. Many of you may also recall that I doubted there was a man on the face of this planet that I could click with, even for one date. I also said time and time again that nothing good came out of the 3 years I spent with my X.
Sometimes I’m really glad to be wrong.
This is one of those times.
My hot date on Friday was with someone I met through my ex-boyfriend Lucifer, three years ago. Not coincidentally I had always found this friend very appealing.
Fate crossed our paths a month or so back, and finally a few weeks ago I found myself sharing a small seat with this man in a Hollywood club when lip lock ensued. And a week later, we got to spend another evening together.
We had a fabulous time -- I can’t remember when I last laughed so much or felt so comfortable with someone. Did I mention that he’s handsome, intelligent, funny and sweet?
Only time will tell if this closes the ongoing chapter of “Moxie can’t find a boyfriend” but either way, at the very least I have some proof that there are terrific single men out there.
Posted by Moxie at 12:30 AM | Comments (13)
November 25, 2002
first twins
Hey Barbara and Jenna, Happy 21st Birthday you crazy kids you!
Sorry that you have to spend your birthday with your folks, I know how you were looking forward to having Tony Pierce show you the ropes, but it's probably for the best. Tony's not much of a drinker, and your Dad has had years of practice.
I'm sure you two are breathing a sigh of relief, recognizing now that you are legal those nasty reporters won't be able to expose your typical college-style underage drinking exploits.
To be honest with you, I really felt bad about all the negative publicity you guys received. You were just being normal kids, afterall. Al Gore's 19 year-old son, Albert Gore III has been arrested for drunken driving twice, most recently a few months ago. It never made the front page, in fact it's hard to find the stories at all.
But what I really wanted to tell you girls is that even if you are legal, you can still get yourselves into a pickle. Really all this birthday means is that you two will have easy access to all the booze your allowances will provide.
That makes either of you two operating a vehicle even more dangerous. And worshipping the porcelin god is not a respectable way for the nation's first children to spend the wee hours of the morning. So you know what I'm saying?
Watch out for pretzels, drink lots of water after a big night and just be careful.
Anyway, I'll pour a glass of champagne tonight and drink it in your honor. And don't forget to send me an email tomorrow and let me know which one of you throws up first.
Cheers!
Posted by Moxie at 2:00 PM | Comments (16)
how to be underemployed
Dawn Olsen is having a hard time adjusting to the underemployed lifestyle. Since she is one of my favorite people, I thought I'd share some of what I've learned over the course of my 16 months as a woman of leisure.
It's all about having some structure, so here's a sample schedule that can be tweaked according to your needs.
1) Set your alarm. Wake up every day before noon. 10:30 AM has worked well for me.
2) Spend the next hour or two, if necessary having coffee, reading the paper and eating toast in your pj's. Think about all the things you have to do today and recognize that you'll likely be too busy to get to them.
3) That should get you to lunch. Go out for lunch with your other underemployed friends, have a glass of wine just because you can. If you are a woman, make sure to stop off and have a manicure on your way back home. Facials, haircuts, and shopping for cheap makeup can be substituted as required.
4) After lunch there is a critical step that most men/women of leisure forget. That's the afternoon nap. Please note that it's not a proper nap unless you are wearing your pajamas. Ideally, they should be wrinkled because you were too busy to take them out of the dryer promptly.
5) When you wake up and are groggy grab a diet coke and get online to chat with your friends. Bitch about not having a job and how you can't pay your bills. Respond to emails and write for a bit. File those unemployment papers in that big pile o junk and make a mental note to handle that another day. See? Now it's almost time for dinner.
6) Since you should still be wearing your pajamas, there's no sense getting dressed again just to go out and buy groceries. Instead order from that local restaurant that delivers. Eat out of the containers with the provided plastic utensils to conserve the water and energy you'd use to wash your real plates and silverware.
7) After dinner get back in front of the computer and look for jobs. Send out a couple while you are chatting with your friends. Don't put too much effort into the cover letter because no one reads those things anyway.
8) Pour yourself a martini, put on your fluffy slippers and talk to your friends on the phone. Tell them how being unemployed is keeping you so busy that it's hard to find time for your job search. If it's the weekend, make sure you have plans for a wild night of debauchery with your friends. Hot tubs, Leonardo DiCaprio, and chicks with fake tits are requisite here in LA. Adjust accordingly to your location.
9) Mix yourself another martini and settle in on the comfy chair and watch late night teevee. Be sure to watch a lot of teevee whenever you can, because that will help keep you in touch with what folks who do have jobs are talking about around the water cooler.
10) Go to sleep by 2 AM because you'll need your strength tomorrow. It's going to be another busy day
Posted by Moxie at 12:11 PM | Comments (12)
people are cheap
Since that chick already had the brilliant idea of auctioning off remnants from her old flame on eBay and me being one to lead and not follow -- instead, I had a yard sale this weekend.
One of the big ticket items were some of the t-shirts I inherited from my X when he *ahem* "outgrew" them.
For instance, a lovely large sized "I {heart} Kuwait" t-shirt". Asking price? Fifty cents. The back of it sports some Arabic, loosely translated it says, "I'm a Stupid American who visited Kuwait."
A woman analyzed it closely, held it up to the sunlight, read the 50-cent price tag and then questioned me firmly, "discount?"
Being completely intolerant when it comes to cheap folks, I told her to get lost. She bickered with me until I reached the breaking point.
"Look. It's 50 frickin cents, lady. It's in perfect condition."
"I don't know, it seems like a lot."
"So it won't go over well at Canter's Deli, but you can't buy one of those on Melrose," I explained.
"35 cents," she asked?
"Damn it, this is a fucking IMPORT," I said, almost loosing my cool.
Apparently, those were the magic words. I had 50 cents in my hand and I was happily free one less memory.
Posted by Moxie at 12:00 AM | Comments (11)
November 23, 2002
i'm here! i'm here!
It's been a really busy week, but if you think I forgot about you, you'd be wrong.
The earlier part of the week, I helped a friend put together a business plan for his new tantric pilates studio. Geared towards under-sexed baby boomers who shit cash and live in Beverly Hills, tantric pilates will be the next wave in sexually charged exercise. The venture capitalists rejected our first pitch for Anna Nicole Smith's Sexercise and scoffed at our ideas for Tae Ho taught by Heidi Fleiss. Such is life.
Mid week, I was fielding phone calls from the Lakers. Phil Jackson, that pest was asking me to explain the triangle offense. Again. Then Shaq called and asked me if he could return to the court. I looked into my crystal ball, consulted with Bentley and told him his toe had healed sufficiently. He sent me a nice fruit basket on Friday. I don't eat fruit.
Then last night I had a hot date. That's right. Me and a handsome man who digs my junk. He gave me permission to tell the story of how we met over three years ago, so that will be posted by Monday.
I've been dying to tell all of you. I describe the tale as a tangled "who woulda thunk it" but this great guy said, "it was never that hard for me to imagine."
So have a great weekend everyone. Nigella Lawson is here for the weekly cooking lesson I give her -- if you hear me screaming it's because she's stolen yet another one of my recipe cards. Bitch.
Posted by Moxie at 11:13 AM | Comments (15)
November 21, 2002
buerge no longer a bachelor
So you meet a guy, you date him for 6 or 7 weeks in a controlled environment. You see him a few times a week, sometimes with the other girls he's dating. Yes, that's right he's also dating many other girls. He then proposes. Do you accept?
Helene did. However, her sing-songy acceptance of his proposal made her enthusiasm seem insincere. In stark contrast, Aaron turned down the show's offer to buy the Harry Winston rock -- and used his personal bank account instead. His own gesture that the feelings and decision were real. Very impressive. Especially given the size of the rock.
"Oh stop Aaron, you are going to make me cry," Helene said rather unconvincingly. And there were no tears shed. I was proposed to at age 3 months, by a 5 year old neighbor boy and there wasn't a dry eye in the front yard.
The season finale of ABC's The Bachelor came off more as a poorly acted soap opera. We had 2 hours of a not terribly interesting love triangle. The southern belle, the Jersey girl and the rich banker.
Helene is indeed a very pretty woman, well as long as she doesn't speak, laugh or move. She reminds me of everything I hate about New Jersey. You can take a girl out of Jersey, but you can't take the Jersey out of the girl. The blood red nail polish, that southern New Jersey accent, the hair flip all made me cringe.
Brooke, the 22 year old's tearful limosine lament brought out the cynic in me. It was hard not to feel sorry for her, however she's young; she can expect many more rejections before she finds her prince. If my own experience is typical, I've been dumped, rejected and scorned at least 10 times since I was 22, and I'm still single so the count will continue to increase. Brooke's got to kiss at least a dozen more frogs by my estimate.
Like last season's run, I'm dispointed that the show is over for now. Only a few months until we see the role reversed version. The Bachelorette begins in January and features last year's cast off Trista Rehn. I'm setting my VCR.
Posted by Moxie at 7:41 AM | Comments (19)
November 20, 2002
ms moxie
Hey you guys, it's me Shoshanna. I used to date Jerry Seinfeld, remember?
I've been getting a lot of hate mail from Moxie's readers and I just want to take this opportunity to explain myself.
See, I approached the folks at Microsoft and suggested a Ms. Chutzpah contest.
But no one over there could work out the acronym. Hell, none of them could even spell it, or say it properly. I thought those guys were supposed to be super smart, you know? I tried to explain that they need to have some phlem to get the right sound, but it was hopeless. Instead I ended up sticking my tongue down some hot gentile guy's throat. I really have a thing for the Christian boys, but don't tell my Mother.
So they tried to think of a better name for the contest, which I'm involved in only for the publicity. You see, my Shoshanna Fashions business thing-a-ma-jiggy isn't doing so well.
I mean, they're saying, "she took a dream and turned it into a multi-million dollar business by using her business smarts and fashion know-how" but really I don't even have my website up and running yet.
But I do have a really pretty "under construction" page. Don't you love it? This interweb stuff is so exciting. I'm going to make a dot com and be filthy rich!
Anyway, so I'm really sorry about the real Moxie, I didn't mean to step on her toes. She doesn't use a Mac, though. And um, she told me this morning over the video phone that she doesn't have a job either. Poor thing.
Okay, I have to get back to work. Does anyone know how to make a chart thingy, with like columns and words and stuff?
Posted by Moxie at 12:43 PM | Comments (17)
ask the poodle lady
Nice poodle
Thanks. We've met before you know
I thought you looked familiar
Indeed. You called for us?
Well you two showed up in my dream last night, which is kind of why I pulled out this old photo. But I'm kind of distracted. Look shiny things! Bright colors! The ocean.
Actually, I was hanging out in your mind so I could encourage you to get a haircut. You have some pretty bizarre dreams, I must say.
The only thing stranger than my dreams are my waking hours. Did I mention that I'm distracted?
Yes. Why are you distracted?
I don't know, I feel better. Like my hex has been broken, but really nothing has changed. Otherwise I'd say I was feeling hopeful or maybe even happy. Of course I don't remember what happy feels like, but I'm doing much better and it freaks me out.
Did you want to ask me any questions? I can look into my pooch's eyes and tell the future.
Yeah, lemme think
I came all this way and you didn't have your questions ready?
Be patient. You Aussies are supposed to be laid back.
Your hair is shaggy and your clothes wrinkled.
Enough with the haircut already. Are you channeling my Mother back in NY?
Look, I'm the poodle lady -- you asked for me and here I am. Don't go questioning my wisdom.
Okay, here's a question: is it true what they say, about heartache inspiring extreme creativity?
Doll, for your sake, I hope not. Because eventually, within a few years things will turn around for you and your readers would be really disappointed if you were happy and devoid of creative inspiration.
Yeah, but I'm not worried. Today, a hasidic man who's old enough to be my grandfather hit on me.
That's very interesting.
He wants to have coffee with me and stops me whenever he sees me hoofing it through the hood. And I can tell he's really devout because of all the fur and garb he wears to walk to the coffee shop.
Darling, that alone is worth a post. Now get to work.
Okay, but look...shiny things! Patterns! Colors!
You aren't an infant and now you're scaring me. Go be happy and write up the full story about your big coffee date with a man old enough to be your grandfather.
Thanks Poodle Lady.
{go check out the very first moxie fan page. Lawrence did a fantastic job of picking out the best posts from the last 6 months or so! Krubner, you rock!}
Posted by Moxie at 1:01 AM | Comments (8)
November 17, 2002
a hard worker
They say everyone in the world has a twin. I hope mine is living the high life, because her better half is broke and loveless in Los Angeles. Remember the convenience store guy from San Francisco? He most definitely has a twin.
And he works at my Melrose Place corner store where I walk every morning to buy a liter of diet coke. Diet coke, if you didn't know is the breakfast of champions. No really.
Apparently, things were slow for Leo the new day clerk, so when I walked into the store he was in the back room. After I stood at the register for a few minutes clearing my throat repeatedly, he emerged from the mysterious backroom holding a newspaper.
I felt bad; perhaps I had interrupted him while in the mystery theater/reading room.
"Oh hey Moxie. It's been really quiet here today"
"I'm sorry to hear that"
"Yeah, and there's nothing good on the teevee we have back there"
"That's no surprise"
"So I took one of these porn movies we sell...."
Not wanting to hear Leo's critique of Debbie does Dallas; I tried to hurry the beverage purchase.
"Here's my two dollars...I'm in a rush."
"So I thought I'd watch one of those. But it's making me too horny. Normally these things suck, but this one is really, really good."
"Can I have my change please?"
"And I can't really do anything about it here in the store. I'm so horny. And I don't have a girlfriend right now"
Thinking that I might have interrupted some self love action, I no longer wanted to touch the change that he might hand me if he ever stopped talking about how hot the porno made him.
"Never mind, I don't want the change. See you tomorrow"
"Yeah, okay. Have a good day Moxie, hopefully tomorrow will be busier because it's not good to be horny at work."
Obviously not. I hope Leo realizes the owner of the store has several video surveillance cameras. Of course I realize there must be a sign on my back that says, "tell me everything you'd never say to your Mother."
As I walked out of the door, the reality struck me. Reality being the purpose of the strategically placed newspaper Leo was holding.
There are often strange parallels running throughout my life, this is one I can't seem to escape.
Posted by Moxie at 8:25 PM | Comments (30)
November 15, 2002
bachelor bets
While helping the kitty to heal, I thought -- I don't need to update, folks will understand. I figured it's so close to the weekend and no one reads web sites on the weekend.
And then my traffic doubled.
I have no idea how or why, but many of them seem to be looking for my update on The Bachelor.
Always aiming to please, here's my prediction for the winner. My heart says Helene, in fact, I'd want to put MY money on it however I don't have any money. Then I received an email from reader Jeff Questad.
He sent me the link to an AP article about the gambling bets coming in from Springfield. He summarized it beautifully;
"Online betting groups have been taking wagers. But now they are stopping,
because in Aaron's home town incredible numbers of bets are suddenly coming
in picking Helene. An extraordinary number in fact, 9 per minute,
suggesting someone close to the Bachelor himself knows and has leaked it and
it's spread throughout the town."
Then I came across this refute from the folks at ABC:
ABC spokeswoman Lauren Tobin said on Thursday,
"She confirmed that Buerge and his final pick have been out together elsewhere, but "never in Springfield."
And, of course, she would not reveal the name of the lucky winner.
A reader here on Moxie reported seeing Helene back in New Jersey, at a bar with her father.
If what the ABC rep says is true and Aaron was not allowed back in his hometown, would Helene have been permitted to go home if she had won? I'm guessing not.
Really hope I'm wrong here, but if there's any truth to what I've read, Brooke is the likely winner. If there is a time in my life that I'd be happy to be wrong, this is it.
{by the way -- as traffic grows people become increasingly shy. please feel free to comment even if you are new. this web site is more fun for everyone when folks contribute!}
Posted by Moxie at 2:41 PM | Comments (18)
November 14, 2002
tired
Because I'm too busy playing kitty nurse tonight, here's a little photo because you can never have enough Tony Pierce... or go-go boots, for that matter. Not sure what we were drinking but we look a little soused.
Bentley sends a thousand thanks to Shannon, she knows why ;)
Posted by Moxie at 12:57 AM | Comments (17)
November 13, 2002
where does it hurt?
I took a short break from my rock and roll lifestyle tonight to pick up the tiny man who was rubbing up against my ankles. As I scooped him up into my arms he cried out in pain.
So I started a scientific inspection to see what was hurting him. Eventually the only region left was his posterior. I lifted up his tail and noticed that his nether region was extremely swollen. So I call the vet,
"My cat's {long pause} nether region appears to be swollen" I told the nice woman who answered the phone.
"Nether region?"
"You know, his ummm, asshole err rectal area. Looks to be really swollen," realizing I sounded like a complete idiot. But how does one admit that they were looking at their cat's 'number-2-producer' and not sound like a pervert?
Fully expecting her to ask me if anyone in the household was into bestiality instead she shocked me by saying, "I've made a note of it, please bring him in immediately.” It was as if she understood completely. There was probably some sort of code she had to jot down, "code 132=another hysterical cat owner calling about a critter's swollen anus."
Of course I had hair color on my head and had to do a quick rinse before running out the door (with wet hair) to the emergency clinic. Emergency animal hospital is French for expensive.
So while the B man and I sat in the exam room, we watched a little Gilmore Girls on the teevee mounted to the wall. The tiny man really does enjoy watching the WB for some reason. Finally, the vet walks in with another man. I assumed it was a trainee of some sort, but the fine doctor explained that it was his brother, a writer who was looking for comic material.
My beloved cat falling ill was hardly a laughing matter to me, but I suppose he recognized the comic potential in the crazy cat lady. Which I am. Never one to disappoint, the doctor and I used every aphorism for rectum and anus in our review of Bentley's problem. Then we moved on to the poop.
"Have his bowel movements been regular" he asked.
"Um, I think so but I have two cats and it's not like they leave turds clearly marked with their initials"
“Right”
"the (ahem) turds appear normal in color and consistency?"
"Look, I'd know it if either of the critters stopped crapping. There is a crap surplus at my house, and it all seems to be of the highest quality. What's wrong with my furry man?"
Turns out his little scent glands got clogged up and infected. Poor Bentley had to have butt surgery tonight and I don't get to pick him up until morning. Being the crazy cat lady, I just called the animal hospital. He's out of surgery and doing just fine. Oh, and I'm also out 600 bucks.
But the little guy is worth it, I love him so much -- even if I did have to admit that I was checking out my cat’s ass. It was for a good cause.
Posted by Moxie at 12:19 AM | Comments (39)
November 11, 2002
house guests
While scooping up the luscious locks tha Weis left behind in my sink, floor and shower, I was reminded of some childhood memories:
I call it "Aunt Helen and her big fat greek wedding." But fast foward a a decade.
Because she always pointed out what you couldn't see, visiting with Aunt Helen was always dreadful. At least twice a year it was a family tradition to hop in the car for the excruciating drive from NYC to Cleveland. Fortunately, the Cleveland side of the family would often take the drive themselves to the "big city."
When Aunt Helen arrived, someone was always car sick, or turning blue because Uncle Pete, our beloved Greek in-law had the air conditioning blasting on high. He had a horrifying propensity for falling asleep at the wheel. His cure was to run the a/c no matter what the season and to eat Pepperidge Farms cookies one after the other whenever he drove, no matter how short the trip. Uncle Pete swore it kept him awake, and brushed off our alarm at his sudden massive weight gain and sleep apnea.
Aunt Helen's car was always loaded to the brim, even for a 3 day visit. The trunk was packed like intricate 3-dimensional puzzle pieces. My Uncle Pete would have to remove one item at a time, in the proper order so that he could free the next bag or box. After the suitcases, bags, boxes, and potty chair were piled into our hallway, Aunt Helen would pull a tote bag from the mess and immediately march into the bathroom of the guest suite.
There she would roll up her sleeves, and purposefully spray Lysol, generously marinating the toilet seat, faucets, tub, walls, floor, and of course the door knobs. She'd use a tissue to pick up the brand new soap my mother had left out for them and drop it into the trash bin, which she then also sprayed generously with with her antibacterial arsonal. Aunt Helen told me bathrooms were one continuous colony of bacterial and viral atrocities and that I should breathe sparingly, as we never know what's commingling with our oxygen. "Trust no one" was her motto.
Once Aunt Helen had coated everything thoroughly, she'd make a few defensive arm movements, directing the aerosol at the walls, and towels in case any germ survived her wrath. She'd then wash her hands with the medical grade antibacterial soap that was carried in her handbag. "You should always lather for at least 3 minutes in order to kill all the germs," she'd tell me. I would stand in the doorway and watch her -- jaw dropped as she then pulled out a bottle of rubbing alcohol, which was then poured over her scrubbed hands. This was before the advent of the portable hand sanitizers, and this, apparently was the next best thing.
About an hour later, she'd head back into the guest bathroom, armed with bleach, some foul smelling unmarked yellow liquid and a toothbrush. I never saw exactly what went on in there, but our grout never looked brighter.
Aunt Helen's son, Stephan was 9, but he still used a potty chair when they were not at home. "What about at school, does he put that thing in his back pack when he goes to school everyday?" I asked. But no, just like his Mother, he didn't like public bathrooms, and held it all day until he reached home. "I hope you don't pack his lunch bag with one of those huge drinks," I told Aunt Helen. "That could be disastrous." I asked her what would happen if he had explosive diarrhea at school and she simply made the sign of the cross and thanked God aloud that it hadn't happened.
Although my family was generally well educated, toilet talk was always a popular dinner time topic, and Stephan's toilet habits were discussed at great lengths when Aunt Helen was absent. "The kid's going to be packing that potty chair when he heads off to college," my Father speculated between bites of steak. "I bet he's going to grow up and become a homosexual, he should be peeing standing up by now," my Aunt Eva stated. "Everybody knows I'm the best Mother, so I know these things." How did she know if he was peeing sitting down? I promptly informed my other cousins that she was a closet pedophile, and should remain on high alert until I gave them the "all clear."
Those things we couldn't see were at the forefront of Aunt Helen's mind at any given moment. Many times during family visits, all the cousins would crowd into one bedroom and she'd tell us bedtime stories about little children who were blinded and disfigured by flesh eating bacteria because they got too close to someone on the subway. Our young minds found these tales as exciting as a bona fide ghost story. Once we were standing in line at the grocery store, someone three people in front of us sneezed and Aunt Helen whipped out several surgical masks, and instructed us to put them on immediately, before we got sick and died. She even horrified the neighbors with a detailed account of a friend who'd lost her child to an unknown incurable viral disease after he picked up a handful of after-dinner mints at a local restaurant.
Looking back, the most ironic thing about those visits was the state the bathroom was left in after my Aunt and Uncle left. Uncle Pete was Greek and his entire head, neck, arms, back and chest were covered with tightly wound black hairs.
This was his parting gift to us.
But we figured, as we regretfully found these hairs in the sinks, shower, sofa, sheets, carpets and washing machine for months to come - that they were more likely than not, clean.
Posted by Moxie at 11:58 PM | Comments (14)
November 10, 2002
ben and jen
Ben, when I've given you advice in the past you agreed I was credible because I might be the only woman on the planet who doesn't find you the least bit appealing. My publicist was having lunch with your publicist's chiropractor's brother and heard the news of your engagement. She called me immediately and asked that I try to talk some sense into you.
You don't need me to tell you that the unwashed masses you call fans, the same folks who pay exorbitant amounts to see you nance around the big screen, aren't necessarily happy about the blessed occasion. They kind of hoped for better.
I know you've been doing your best not to pickle your liver and maybe, in the process of your rehabilitation, the lack of booze has driven you to an unclear state. Don't you know J Lo collects X husbands the way most women collect shoes?
Jennifer left Cris in June and is engaged not more than 4 months later. For cripes' sake, I keep handbags longer than she keeps husbands. You yourself were doubtful for the long-term prospects of my own X, Lucifer who ran off and got engaged not more than 3 months after ending our three-year relationship.
Look, all I'm saying is that you deserve better. Sure she's got the world's most famous ass, but marriage requires a lot more than a nice set of glutes. Yeah, yeah...you've always told me you're an ass man. I just assumed that had something to do with your Matt Damon related activities.
I know better than to try and change your mind because I know how stubborn you are. Like when I tried to talk you out of breaking up with Gwen because you didn't appreciate her penchant for 20-dollar umbrella drinks. Surely you know J Lo is an arch enemy of Gwen's? I just hope this isn't a junior high mentality scheme for revenge. But I trust it's not. Actually, as I've mentioned in the past I've always had a secret desire to hook it up with my X's friend. Sometimes these seemingly perverse attractions happen innocently.
Remember that time we ate greasy french fries, drank shots of Absolute citron right from the bottle and peed on a beach which turned out to be Barbra Steisand's backyard? Oh you might not remember that, it was right before you went into rehab. Anyway, I told you I'd always support you, even if I disagreed.
And you know how they say, when you sleep with someone, you are sleeping with everyone else they have ever slept with? You and P Diddy make a cute couple, dearest Ben.
So, my engagement gifts to you are some suggestions for a cool new nickname. I'll start the list of potentials right here:
B lo
J's Beau
Ben Lo
future X husband number 3
{my readers will undoubtedly have more clever suggestions than I do}
...because you can't marry J Lo unless you have a moniker, a first name missing a consonant, or a marriage death wish.
Posted by Moxie at 6:35 PM | Comments (59)
November 9, 2002
getting the hang of LA
Just days before Marc Weisblott's departure, he finally got the hang of life in Los Angeles. Turning down a chance for some site-seeing with Matt and Emmanuelle he told them matter-of-factly, that he needed to conserve his energy.
Most of the daylight hours the past 9 days have been spent planning for the evening outings, and of course, recovering from the night before. Marc commented that he doesn't know how anyone in Los Angeles has time for a real job. I agreed that being unemployed has kept me really busy as of late.
On Thursday afternoon we dropped by and paid a visit to the Patio of the Patio Pundit, Martin Devon. Later we drank wine, laughed and shared a fantastic meal with Matt and Emmanuelle at their pad. Aside from being terrifically talented with words, they are also great cooks and gracious hosts. We were even treated to a little after dinner music - some vintage Ken Layne recordings. It was a blast.
Last night was the final social engagement of the trip.
Weis and I were honored to attend Eugene Volokh's lively fiesta. We scored in the bottom percentile of the doorstep IQ test, But Mr. Volokh was kind enough to let us stay despite our intellectual inadequacies and inability to recall where the western hemisphere begins and ends.
Embarrassed, I decided to pick up a little coffeetable reading at the Volokh residence and improve my mind. From the photos, you can clearly see when Eugene was around. I'm not as sly as I thought. {click for larger photos}
Weis and I talked with the always enjoyable Sara Rimensnyder and met the very charming Mark Kleiman who claimed his life was even stranger than mine at times and easily topped my tale of car woes.
You see, it rained here yesterday like it hasn't rained in months. Some of that rain made its way into my distributor cap which prevented my little go cart from running properly. So while Weis sat inside the dry car shivering, I in my party clothes braved the rain to remove the cap from my car and use a little toilet paper to dry it off. Everything was fine after that though my fingernails were a little dirty.
It's been a busy nine days, so I'm taking Sunday off to recover and try to make time for my job search. See you Monday.
{while i'm gone be sure to stop over at tony's place and preorder one of his books!}
Posted by Moxie at 12:36 PM | Comments (10)
November 8, 2002
and the good news is....
Thanks to an introduction orchestrated by Matt Welch, one of my journalistic idols, I have been paid to write for a newspaper.
See the online version of my singles' column here. Let's hope there will be more to follow. If you live in Los Angeles or Orange County you can pick up a good old fashioned newspaper version of The Jewish Journal and read Moxie on the john -- just what you've all been waiting for!
I'm kvelling and proud. So wish me a hearty Mazel Tov in the comments...it's a good day for the Mox. For once!
Posted by Moxie at 2:29 AM | Comments (41)
November 7, 2002
the bachelor | closing in
Aaron said he didn't have any clarity. Perhaps that had something to do with how drunk he appeared during two of his three dates. The nose was a lovely shade of blush with Helene in Aspen and his whole face was beet red with Gwen in San Francisco. I chuckled as he struggled to open the envelope containing a key to the love shack but instead handed it to Gwen, "here you read it," he slurred.
He knew exactly what it said having opened and read an identical note on the last date, but certainly he's bright enough to recognize he was in no shape to read anything on national television.
In all fairness, I've found him to be much more likeable than my first impression, as expressed here on the site. Marc and I sat and speculated that Gwen, whose femininity we question, was the least compatible with our fine bachelor. What does a 31 year-old divorcee want with a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed 28 year-old anyway? Surprisingly he once again made what I saw as the best choice. And so Gwen headed home. Someone better suited awaits her, I'm hopeful.
But no wonder this round of elimination was so challenging for Aaron -- the dates were among the blandest I've ever seen. Given the choice of any of the three activities shown on tonight's episode, I'd pick a night at home with the cats and a pizza anytime. I'm fairly sure that his pleas for an extra five minutes with each lady was arranged by the producer in order to fill the hour long show which was shockingly devoid of content. Especially given the "intimate" nature of these overnight dates. It reminded me that this is not so much a reality show, but more a game show. And sometimes, the host needs to fill up some time. Weakest Link style.
At least Chris, the show's *ahem* fine host doesn't say, "you've been voted out of the mansion, please extinguish your torch, which here in malibu represents your desireability and potential for marriage with a rich 28 year-old."
And only a week to wait for the reunion show where we see Christi scream, "I've NEVER boiled a bunny!!" THIS is quality programming, folks.
Posted by Moxie at 1:04 AM | Comments (23)
November 6, 2002
build it and they will come
It's disturbing to realize I've been going about the dating thing all wrong. Ann reminded me last night of an episode of Sex and the City where the red haired one starts "preparing" herself, her bed and environs for a handsome man whom she had yet to identify.
"Build it and they will come"
The fine folks who built Disney's California Adventure lived by this motto and look where it got them. It's the loneliest place on earth.
But never one to let a thought go without over analyzing it, I finally found some sort of truth. You can't play tennis without a racket. A game of baseball is no game at all without the bases.
The house isn't tidy with a well stocked fridge. There are no silk sheets on my bed or little scented candles scattered across my dresser and night table. There is no spare toothbrush in my cabinet waiting for a male user. I don't make myself pretty at night since no one is going to be ringing my doorbell bearing flowers and a bottle of wine. I don't make romantic dinners in hopes that if I cook it, a man will come over.
No one comes over. The house of mox is the quietest place on earth. But aside from the building basics that I lack, I also recall that the easiest way to meet a guy is to already have one.
You are ready, the love nest is in use, you're confident and have that air of "I'm taken" which is irresistable to the opposite sex. Really, it's the "what the hell is she doing with him when she could be with me" complex that Freud spoke of.
This doesn't mean I'm going to go out and buy silk sheets, candles and start dressing up for the grocery store but it's something I'll be thinking about next time I decide to clean my house. It's long overdue.
Posted by Moxie at 3:50 PM | Comments (26)
davis hoopla
Still recovering from the Gray Davis party. Woke up this morning with a Measure B t-shirt on backwards and confetti in my underwear. Davis' speech was really very gracious and all the poor homeless folks they let into the hotel really seemed to enjoy the balloon drop and ice sculptures.
But really -- while I had a good time -- I wasn't overly impressed.
What *would* have impressed me is if the Dems had said,
"oh no....we'll forego the 15 ice sculptures of the California bear."
One would have been more than enough to satiate the public's craving for an out-of-style yet opulent party decoration. Seeing more than a few on every floor of the Democratic HQ's really bothered me. I would have been very impressed indeed had Gray Davis said,
"Take that money and donate it to a social service. If we can't find one of those have your assistants round up some homeless guys. Take them for dinner at Sizzler and put 'em up at a Holiday Inn for a night. We're for the poor afterall."
And that's what struck me most.
{Several photos will be added to the gallery later today for those who are interested}
Posted by Moxie at 8:09 AM | Comments (12)
attorney general
Ann Salisbury, Bill Lockyer, California Attorney General and Moxie.
More photos and coverage of the elections from the Democratic Los Angeles HQ's coming tomorrow.
Posted by Moxie at 2:44 AM | Comments (21)
November 5, 2002
why i'm not voting today
Oh, I'm a terrible American, it's true but I find politics droll and demeaning. I'm not going out to "Rock the Vote." No thanks, I'd rather pick lint from between my toes because picking a chad to punch, in this election in particular, is much like deciding would I rather eat cat shit or smell like it.
First and foremost, after I moved to Los Angeles I registered to vote using Al Gore's web site. Guess they didn't like my choice of party because when the Presidential elections rolled around, somehow I was not registered at all. That's quite a glitch coming from the man who invented the internet.
Politics seems to divide people and not unite them. It also causes them to act like children, only they use bigger words.
The California gubernatorial race reminds me of grade school. And not just the name calling, I'm talking picking teams for kickball in the playground. Eventually, all the good people are taken and you are left with two undesirables. One who can't kick and another who can't run.
"Really, that's okay. I don't want either of you, I'll play short one player."
Of course that's not an option here, but when I think both candidates will do an equally poor job it doesn't much matter. That and I save the environment by not driving my car over to the polling place.
Not voting also vindicates me when whomever the media was cheering as the best candidate suddenly becomes the central figure of their scorn.
Don't look at me, *I* didn't vote for him.
I don't like to lose yet find myself hoping for the underdogs. Holding unpopular opinions ensures I'm disappointed with election results. The liberals would claim, "but if you voted, maybe your guy wouldn't have lost." Which is ironic given my political leanings. The ones who encourage me to vote would not be happy with my choices.
But then again, I can sit and read the issues and still hold no opinion. They both sound good to me in most cases. I can see both sides of the coin. Let the folks who are better in tune with the world make the decisions.
I'll stick to figuring out whether pink is the new black.
Posted by Moxie at 1:35 PM | Comments (11)
piddler on the roof
I thought this would be an appropriate time to bust out a cartoon from my good friend Mike Capozzola, a talented cartoonist who resides in San Francisco.
This evening the legendary Luke Ford arrived at my house to pick up tha Weis but was afraid of succumbing to the "shiksappeal" and refused to step inside while waiting for Marc to complete his evening reading of the Torah.
So the two nice Jewish boys went out for dinner while I worked on finishing off a very non-kosher bottle of dry red wine while watching a non-parve made for teevee version of Carrie. A few hours later, Marc rings the doorbell and tells a Moxiesque tale of almost getting arrested for "not having his pants on" behind an office building on the illustrious Sunset Strip.
Needless to say I was more than interested in missing some of the movie to hear his tale.
Seems that after dinner the guys were viewing the famous sites on the Strip when nature called. Not being dressed appropriately to enter a club, nor willing to pay a 20 dollar cover charge to take a leak, they decided to let nature take its course behind a quiet deserted office building when a security guard on a motorcycle arrived. Strongly believing he was stopping an act of sodomy in the making, he shined his flashlight on them only to realize they weren't even standing close enough to hear each other speak.
Ironically, just moments before Luke had pointed out the infamous garage where celebrities and anyone else who shits cash meets the dealer who provides them with overpriced cocaine. These security guys have a blind eye for drugs, but God forbid two straight guys try to {extreme sarcasm} have a little homosexual love behind HIS office building.{/extreme sarcasm} Because that sodomy stuff never happens in West Hollywood.
Luke:
Does it look like I have my pants OFF?
{Luke begins to walk towards the security guard}
Security Dood:
Stop! Go back! Come one step closer and I'll draw *my* weapon
Luke:
Take it easy, I was just trying to relieve myself
Security Dood:
Oh. Pissing. Do you guys want two men pissing in YOUR backyard? Now get out of here!
So Marc arrived back at Casa Moxie visibly shaken, but mostly amused by the American style rent-a-cops and longing for Toronto, where one can relieve him self with true freedom and not be mistaken for something he is not in the process. Maybe that security guard should get a job at Saks Fifth Avenue.
Posted by Moxie at 12:55 AM | Comments (8)
November 4, 2002
weisblott's commentary on the LA nightlife
Marc Weisblott flew into LAX on Thursday. Thus far he hasn't been overly impressed with the quality of the Los Angeles nightlife. A picture speaks a thousand words.
Posted by Moxie at 12:06 PM | Comments (8)
no one wants that
Glenn Reynolds is right, the world isn't ready for the MoxiePundit™
The PartyPundit, sure. Party in the sense of a blonde chick wearing geeky-chic glasses giving the run down of the great times had by all at Ken and Laura's amazing costume extravaganza.
But really, no one needs to know that the Weis fell asleep two parties in a row. It's already been written about here (by a nice Porn Journalist/ turned Orthodox Jewish man who calls me beautiful!) and depicted here.
Carson or as I call him, "Little Daly" phoned me tonight for the first time in a long time and he asked me, "did you miss me at all during those parties? I mean you were hanging out with real celebrities, babe. You still like me?"
I hung up on him and refused to tell him what he wanted to hear. I mean, three years together doesn't mean I owe him an explanation, does it? Especially because he dated Tara Reid while we were supposedly engaged and about to move in together, I shouldn't care enough to miss him. Right?
Whatever. Every man I date who dumps me is one more guy I can add to the "wrong for moxie" column in my endless Excel spreadsheet of potential husbands/fathers of a little mox. Even if it does hurt just a little, it confirms the prescence of a heart that knows how to love.
I told little Sean (who's 3 1/2 weeks and sweet as can be), that by the time he's old enough to date, I'm likely to still be single. Greg swore the wee one laughed, but I'm sure it was just gas.
I've been in a funk the last few days. Post-party let down -- the drab reality of being the moxovich sets in, kind of thing.
A reality that doesn't include even a ray of light. The kind of feeling you can't pretend doesn't exist. The emptiness friends can't fill. The spot next to me in my bed at night that goes unfilled and the scent of my soul mate still on the pillow, a year after I last saw him. Waking up again tear stained. I thought I was past this. @%$#!&^%!!
My life continues to be one endless circle and it still stings when the salt water waves reach up over my broken heart. But at least I'm getting out of the house and hanging out with great people.
The glass is half full of my favorite Trader Joe's wine.
{many thanks to marc brown for the cool action shot of me!}
Posted by Moxie at 12:55 AM | Comments (16)
November 2, 2002
moxie pundit
Tim Blair has not yet updated his site with details of his top secret Colorado meeting with the VodkaPundit. My sources say they enjoyed watching the World Series together but Mr. Green refused to reveal his occupation, much to Mr. Blair's chagrin.
The VodkaPundit, who does not typically blog on Saturday, had to comment on the Mondale/Wellstone issue.
Mickey Kaus reveals his "inner Andrew Sullivan" is coming out. Isn't Andrew Sullivan already "out"??
Ken Layne writes a lengthy salvo on his feelings about the blogosphere.
Yes, Bill Quick still lays claim to coining the term "blogosphere" and has earned $36.11 since August 20th on his premium service.
PatioPundit points out that it's getting darker earlier than it did last week. And the dark is darker than it used to be.
Pej makes an administrative announcement. He will be blogging on a lighter than normal schedule due to a relative's Bar Mitzvah. Permalinks are not working. Mazel Tov!
Posted by Moxie at 6:14 PM | Comments (27)
November 1, 2002
two marc's and a tony
I have a headache today and it has nothing to do with the fabulous Halloween bash Marc Brown threw last night at his groovy downtown loft.
A man at the party asked me who I was here with, I said, "Tony Pierce, over there" and "Marc Weisblott over there." He seemed impressed that I came armed with not one but two quality men.
The party goer was NOT impressed when Marc Weisblott fell asleep on the couch during the festivities. "Jet lag" I assured him.
I've known Marc Brown for about 4 years but haven't seen him since last October. He's been all settled down with a lovely girlfriend for quite a while now, but back in the day we called him "Big Brown" and "Playa-playa Brown." Not a lady in Los Angeles county could resist his mojo. It's fitting that he's a good friend of Tony -- currently Los Angeles' most sought after bachelor.
As a belated birthday present, I let Tony drive the Porsche around the block. He really doesn't look 109.
But back to my pounding headache (which is why I've been remiss about writing anything of quality today). I woke up this morning and Phoebe my cat was missing. She fell asleep with me, but was no where to be found at breakfast time. I've spent the better part of my day crying and calling for her. Finally I went outside and was talking with my neighbors when we heard her sweet little voice from under the building. Somehow she pulled a houdini and escaped from a locked building.
All is well now at casa moxie. I'm going to take a few asprin and I'll be back in the morning.
Posted by Moxie at 1:09 PM | Comments (15)
