More Things I Love and Loathe

1. “Lifetime” made for TV movies.

Hate ‘em. They star the same B-list broads who were by Hollywood standards, only lukewarm at the “height” of their careers, 20-plus years ago. Markie Post, Cheryl Ladd, Melissa Gilbert, Valerie Bertinelli, that older woman attorney from the old TV show, L.A. Law……you know “the type” I’m talking about. The the movies all have two word titles: Dangerous Intent; Love Lost; Lost Love; Toxic Love; Evil Deception; Rectal Discharge. Such silliness. And if the producers have an extra ruble or zlotych to spare, they’ll schlep in Patty Duke in some sort of lame ass supporting role. Like she’s some sort of ratings panacea.

2. Shaving my legs.

The consummate drag. A woman, not in a physical relationship, has a tendency to let that one part of herself go to hell. In other words, she rarely shaves. I am no exception. The other days, I was going to put on some shorts…yes, to wear outside… and I looked down and realized that wasn’t going to happen. So, in my shower, I shaved. And shaved. And shaved. Let me put it this way, with what was collected on the razor after each passage, I could have EASILY called “Locks of Love”. It would’ve been nothing for them to have bailed up the excess and load up one of their trucks.

3. I love a good steak.

One that cuts itself and begs for you to eat it. For a woman, that’s the perfect date.

4. Not a big Larry King fan.

How is it that that old thing has been married something like nine times? Guess he asks all the right questions. Still, I must ask this: what woman in her right mind…if you eliminate his high profile gig and matching bank account… actually takes one looks at him and thinks, “Yum, yum, gimme some”. I guess at least nine women that I think of, off hand.

5. Bridesmaid dresses.

Guys won’t understand this…women readers will.

6. Bicycle riders who feel compelled to ride IN TRAFFIC.

And in Houston traffic no less. Tell me something Dear Rider…help me understand: are you just a jerk off or a stupid jerk off with a death wish? Please clarify because I’d like to know what to tell the investigating officer as the coroner removes removes a portion of your left ass cheek, the bike’s right pedal and the remnants of an unfortunate, low-flying butterfly, from my windshield.

7. Roommates.

During my college years, I had only a couple for one or two lease periods. I actually loved living alone and have most of my life. I love my privacy and the freedom that allows. Back in the day, I once lived with a Romanian woman. Great, funny..smart. She was second generation American but you know what the ubiquitous “they” say…”you can take the girl out of Bucharest, but you can never….” She had extremely long, shiny, raven black hair that cascaded down by her sides…..from her armpits!

8. My Aunt Sophie.

She’s single once again and has been for a while. She now lives in a great water front condo in Miami and dates a lot of older men–yet acts like a self-righteous prude but we all know she’s Queen Slut. We know who she is..we know what she is. But in spite of this, she’s loud and boisterous and loves not only embarrassing her nieces and nephews, but humiliating us as well. In my case, she’d tell new boyfriends what I call “Laurie Stories”..things that I did while younger that by virtue of the newness of the relationship are completely inappropriate. You know the kind of stories: crap in pants tales at age six….OK, age 13. But I’m happy to say that my cousin put her in her place not too long ago. We were in San Antonio at a lovely restaurant with ten members of my family. Sophie was holding court as she always does, speaking loudly…embarrassing everyone within earshot. During dessert, my cousin Celeste announced she had a sore throat. Aunt Sophie suggested that she toughen up and just suck on a Lifesaver. Celeste replied, “That’s easy for you to say. You live on the beach”.

9. My ex boss.

TV General Manager. He knows who he is. The reason why he’ll never get hemorrhoids is because he’s already such a perfect asshole.

10. Lastly, the competition that exists between women…namely in the area of breast size.

What’s that all about? I’m a woman of some mammarial means…I don’t know if that’s a real word or not, but we’re going to use it anyway. I’ve heard my share of jokes and put downs about larger bosoms and frankly, I’m tired of it. I used to work with a woman who I guess was jealous because of her extreme void in that area. She was a Minus-A cup. Practically concave. She’d always make rude comments. Like when I’d forget something, she’d insist–in mixed company–that “my mammary tanks were draining my memory banks”. Yeah…comedy. She’d say other stuff too; very annoying. I’d be polite and ignore her but one morning I’d had enough and things came to a head. During a staff meeting I was conveying a joke to the everyone sitting around the table. I prefaced it by saying, “It’s so funny, it’ll make your boobs fall off! Ooops!! Sorry Jane, looks like you’ve already heard this one!”