Thanks mom

So . . . I buy my mom gift cards and jewelry and accoutrements from Chico's.
If you're not familiar, I'll wait for you to come back after you've perused the above link. Ok, now that you've poked around some there, I'd just like to point out that the target customer's age is significantly older than models on the web site. Anyway. . .
I used to get her discount. Now I get my discount . . . and a quarterly mini-catalog.
There is something humiliating about a catalog of flowing women's clothes delivered in my name.

I am emailing them today to make certain that no more flyers, catalogs, or mailings of any sort arrive in my name at this address . . . you know, for the environment.

(They are, however, welcome to contact me at my email address with any sales, discounts, or merchandise that might interest me.)

And, no, I don't my mom's name is not "Bonnie."

Go-go chick bye

Well, Mike, Janice, and I ate at Madame K's for what will most likely be the last time. It was a nice send off for a restaurant that holds many fine memories, including, but not limited to, drunkeness, wearing pink boas, and tons of birthdays.
The chicken on my final Go-Go Chick pie was dry. The gorgonzola was sparse and hardly noticable. It was nowhere near the wonderful melty goodness of its heyday,--the days when I would tip both front and back of house--but it was good enough. The amazing orgasm dessert? Just as good as the first one I ever had.
Now its onto new memories at new pizza joints.

But for now, a moment of silence for one of the first places that helped make this town feel like home for me.

(And in case you didn't check out the link above, here it is again, so you can see what fancy duds we were wearing.)

Individually raped

Phil and I went mattress shopping yesterday. Its something I've never done with the person who shares my bed, and its inherent awkwardness was compounded by our sexual orientation.
Fortunately, the sales team at the Seattle Mattress Company has found ways of easing those tensions, like the copy for one of the mattresses which reads "coils individually raped."
When the salesman came over and explained that the mattress contained individually wrapped coils, I was both relieved and disappointed. I also found it difficult to keep eye contact with him afterwards because the visions of him satisfying himself with each coil individually put me in schoolboy hysterics.

For an anonymous commenter

Thanks for introducing me to Grey Gardens.
Looks like Jessica Lange and Drew Barrymore aren't screwing it up.

Any interest in that Go-go Chick pie and a couple hours of catch-up?