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So, here’s your chance to get to get to know the Goddess of all things sparkly and fabulous while not performing. This is her third or fourth interview with David Letterman. It’s fairly obvious that she is a bit leery of him and doesn’t find him terribly interesting but puts up with him in a playful way. It’s also obvious that he is totally intimidated (which I love). In the interview previous to this one, a few years back, she admitted to him (and anyone who saw the show) that she thought he was an asshole. And somehow, that word fell out of her mouth like glitter. Can she really do no wrong? The interview is a bit long in blog-attention-span-time but it’s Cher for gawdsakes, you’ll have fun. Guaranteed or money back.
Happy Friday eve, all. Happy Cherday. Enjoy.
I found her online last week and my tummy flopped at this picture. I just couldn’t stop staring at it. I had to meet her. I asked Violet if we could juuuust meeeeet her pleeeease.
On Saturday we drove several hours north, asked to meet her, took her for a walk, played fetch, filled out paper work, gave her a bath at the shelter, bought a leash, some food and a squeaky toy, and as soon as she hopped in the back of our car the three of us cruised home, windows down, sun shining. It was all quite dreamy.
Violet knew before we even left to see her, I know she did. I did too.
I haven’t slept much since we got her. She sleeps fine, all through the night actually. But I keep waking up really early and instantly my brain starts shouting, “There’s a dog in the house! There is a dog in a dog bed in the house! Play with the dog! Get up and go play with your dog!”
She is (so far) a dream, like if you could special order a dog over the internet with everything you want and don’t want (except that she doesn’t poop in the toilet and then flush – but she does only poop outside, so no complaints). She and Fraidy have met and seem to dig each other ok, so long as the snout sticking over the pond results in fish flakes. I have a feeling Marcus might pack up and move elsewhere and I don’t blame him. I’ll miss him if he does leave but he’s a crafty guy and will be fine under anyone’s deck. And who knows, maybe he’ll stick around and actually just wait until it’s dark out to strut around our yard, like a raccoon, and let the dog strut around in the daytime, like a dog.
We are serioulsy in love, all three of us. Man, if you thought I wrote about the fish too much…
With her new act in Vegas, the Goddess of all things sparkly and fabulous asked for the day off. And of course Cher, rest up.
After several wonderful interviews and auditions with some of my all time favorite women I’ve decided to go with Dorothy Spornack for today’s cher-thursday slot.
Congratulations Dorothy. How does it feel to be subbing for Cher on justlikejessejames?
Happy Friday-eve, all. And for today, happy Dorothy Spornack thursday.
While driving in our very old car, when Paradise City comes on the radio:
me: Man, nothing else can make that sound.
Violet: What sound?
me: The Axl Rose sound.
Violet:The Axl Rose sound?
me: It’s not a car part, Violet. It’s the guy singing on the radio.
Violet: Oh that is just awful. His mother must be so embarrassed.
I apologize for being a few days late in my letter. It is a bad habit of mine to always be a little delayed with thank you notes.
Regardless, thank you, California. I can’t tell you how wonderful it felt to wake up next to my partner and hear the news that another state stood up to refocus and recenter definitions of equality despite the lack of support from most of your neighbors. I wish you all the best in the coming months and hope that your brilliantly beautiful decision is met by nothing other than love and wedding mixes with Cher songs. Like Massachusetts, you are a hero of a state to me. Hopefully, the other 48 are listening.
p.s. Getting married in Cali? Getting married anywhere? Married already? Send me photos or info or whathaveyou to firstname.lastname@example.org and I’ll post ya
As a kid, my animistic behavior and attitude towards everything was rather active. I invented a personality for everything and could empathize with anything: frustration for trees trying to grow through cement sidewalks, burning muscle aches for cars going faster than they wanted to, stomach aches listening to baby birds squawk and squawk because they didn’t know exactly where their mom was, and disdain for the doorway that bumped my funny bone.
As a kid, after seeing the movie, The Red Balloon, I made it my duty to rescue all less than fully inflated helium balloons from restaurants. When the server would ask me if I wanted a balloon I would say, of course, and then deny the big healthy one being offered and ask if I could have all of the sagging, drooping, or nearly dead ones, please. I would take them home and put them in our hall bathroom. The hall bathroom was the warmest room in the house and usually the sagging balloons would perk back up again for a day or two. This was enough for me to feel as though they were getting a fair second chance at life.
I had way too many stuffed animals as a kid. They all had names, of course, a family history and an awesome adventure story as to how they became a part of my life (I got busted for “lying” in Kindergarten over one of these stories… another post for a different day). At one point I had so many stuffed animals that I started sleeping on the floor so that they could all fit on the bed at night. Eventually my dad caught me, asked me what the hell I was doing sleeping on the floor and I explained. Our compromise was that either some of the animals had to go (not an option!) or that I had to find a way to make room for myself in my own bed. I worked out a pretty simple rotation for my animals and not one of them got any more time than any other. Teddy Ruxpin carried no priority over the Gremlin or that little Red Bear I got from my grandma on Valentine ’s Day. They were all loved and equally important to me, and this was obvious to them, I was sure.
And then there was the time I screamed bloody murder so loudly that the neighbors came running over and busted the door in to see if they should call the police when I caught my dad carving my 2 week old Halloween pumpkin.
I remember the night my dad finally drew the line with my affection towards everything. That night he came to tuck me in only to find a four foot tall two-by-four under the covers with his daughter. The wood’s name was Charlie and he was cool because he was just as tall as me. Charlie had 3 big knots: one was an eye (the other was closed so you couldn’t see it), one was a belly button, and one was a bruise on his knee. Dad found me in bed with Charlie only a few weeks after he had caught me sleeping on the floor next to a pile of teddy bears sleeping soundly all over my bed. He stayed pretty calm and simply asked, “Jesse, sweetie, why is there a large piece of lumber in your bed?”
I said, “Dad, it’s Charlie! He’s as tall as me! He’s fine, he fits. Pleeeease let me keep him. We all fit, see.”
The next morning I woke up and Charlie was gone, never to be seen again. I wasn’t terribly invested in Charlie and never really dwelled on his disappearance. Plus, with my new rock, Sylvester, weighing in at 16 pounds, covered in little petrified shells, I was all, Charlie who?
I mention all of this because I was thinking about it on Sunday while I was watching my fish swim around and around… and around, waiting for my raccoon to show up, and worrying about my avocado plant’s loss of leaves lately. I realized how much of that part of me I still carry around. With my head hanging over the pond, all of a sudden it dawned on me that Fraidy probably doesn’t even care about me. And this is most likely BECAUSE HE IS A FISH. And for a moment Fraidy became just a gold fish and that’s it. Chances are he doesn’t even have enough conscious ability to have feelings about anything, let alone me in particular. It didn’t really hurt to realize this, it was just a bummer. Like when you think you’ve made a new friend in a college class and then the class ends and you never hang out again. Well, no, it’s not really like that at all, but that sucks too. I guess the bummer is that I’m too old now to be able to re-convince myself that everything matters and that everything knows that everything matters, like I believed as a kid. Fraidy matters to me but besides the fish flakes I have to offer, it’s likely that I’m just another big object that blocks his sunlight every now and then.
Or maybe not. Maybe when he sees me his little fish heart flutters and his fish face smiles and his little fish brain thinks, “Jesse! Damn, it’s good to see you again.”
Wondering if that boi you like likes you? Well, wonder no more. Cher has the answer.
A general, choppy, update on life:
Violet has a ton of work stuff going on, my job has been slammed with real work to do and Violet’s parents are coming into town this weekend. So, I have been spending my time doing actual work stuff (instead of blogging), helping Violet with some of her work stuff, and preparing the house for parents, which we all know means hiding some things and digging out other things to put on display as if they are always there.
Spring is very springy and I am ready for summer.
I haven’t seen Marcus and am assuming it’s because he is a healthy raccoon with hurt feelings and has a grudge against our lack of edible garbage (we compost almost everything worth scavenging. He’s smart enough, he’ll catch on eventually.)
Fraidy is the raddest fish that has ever lived and we have developed a cool little routine that goes:
I go out to see him as soon as I get home every evening. I scoop out the never ending fallen cherry blossoms with a net. He gets all flippy-floppy trying to dodge the net, inevitably working up an appetite. I sprinkle in some fish food flakes in the same place every time, wiggle my finger in the water where the food is, which is his food-cue that he quickly caught on to. He dives to the bottom and acts all coy (yes, bad pun, and he is actually just a remarkably beautiful goldfish). At first he is very methodical, like a hungry shark, attacking one piece of food and then diving back to the bottom. Eventually, he starts swimming around more furiously, striking at several pieces in a row until he just starts striking at anything and everything. Every once in a while he gets a cherry blossom or a little piece of moss and then shoots it back out with force and with this grumpy fish face like I tricked him or something. I watch, laugh, and then go inside to recount the whole scene to Violet.
She’s not terribly willing to have long conversations about our goldfish but she is sweet about it and listens.
I will up my blogness frequency again soon. But for today, that’s the news from lake Woebegone… or Washington, I guess… where the women are strong, the raccoons are good looking, and the fish are above average.
Also, as we all know, Thursday is Cherday. If you have any great Cher-ness, do cher. You can send anything and everything Cher to email@example.com
The other day, while I ditched work to go walking in the sun, only to stumble upon those fabulous pictures of cap’n who n’ da’ crew I forgot to mention the sparkly, fabulous music in my ears, acting as my soundtrack. It is one of my very favorite Cher songs (even though it’s a cover). My dear Sinclair put this song on a mix for me a few years ago and just now, sent me the link to the video, which I hadn’t seen.
Hot. Sexy. Yum. Love. Wonderful. Fabulous. Aaaah.
Happy Friday-eve, all. Happy Cherday.
This is Fraidy. Fraidy Phat the Fish. It’s not the clearest picture but that’s because when the sun is out he is cruising all over his pond at warp speed, making a clear fish shot hard to catch.
A few Saturday’s ago, while Violet was gone, I set up camp right next to the pond with a book, some coffee, and nothing to do but sit in the sun with my fish. I hadn’t seen much of Fraidy until then. I thought he was just really shy and afraid of being seen (hence the name). But as it should turn out he’s cold blooded, just like all of the other fish in the world, and so during the winter season all he’s really doing is hanging out at the bottom of the pond, freezing his little fish balls off, trying to stay… not frozen.
But now that spring has sprung, Fraidy is a fire-fast, fat and happy, flippy little fish. A cute little red head, as you can see, with a ring of red around his lips as well (I’ll do what i can to get a picture of that). I have grown to love him rather quickly and pretty seriously. And now that he actually does stuff you can count on regular fish updates- meaning, if the fish, the raccoon, the girlfriend, and/or Cher bore you, you will most likely lose interest in my life.