So a while back, I mentioned that I have a new writing gig. Well, it’s officially launched and you can now find me over at “Insert Eyeroll,” a satire site.

So far, I’ve written a story about Weird Al Yankovic running for President, and Octomom being announced as the next Bachelorette. Go, check them out. And hey, I’d appreciate you Stumbling and Digging the stories if you have a few spare moments, thanks in advance.

I’m really jazzed about the new site. There are some really good writers there.

Saw a couple of movies recently. “Captain America” rocked, I thought. They did a great job with it. They did a good job with the origin story. Lots of action and cool shield-throwing from Cap. And I saw it in 2D. Given the option, I’ll probably always see movies in 2D. It’s usually not worth the extra scratch to see it in 3D. WORTH: Full price.

Also saw “Cowboys & Aliens,” which I enjoyed, despite being fairly short on plot. I just went into it with lower expectations and liked it. Daniel Craig was made for westerns, I think, and plays quite the badass. It would have made for a good straight western, without the science fiction thrown in, but so be it. The CGI aliens show through at times – probably why they’re mostly relegated to the darkness – but if you’re looking for a good popcorn blockbuster kind of movie, I think you’ll have a good time. The title says it all. It’s us vs. them. WORTH: matinee price.

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

Former first lady Betty Ford passed away Friday at age 93. She was one hell of a lady. Thrust into the limelight when her husband, Gerald Ford, became our 38th President, she was famous for speaking her mind, even when it was counter to her husband’s views.

She was for the Equal Rights Amendment, and her husband wasn’t. She pressed for the nomination of a woman to the United States Supreme Court. She was candid that she and her husband shared a bed in the White House, when separate bedrooms had been the norm. Gloria Steinem, who wore the face of feminism proudly, once said she “felt better knowing that Betty Ford was sleeping with the president.”

Mrs. Ford was diagnosed with breast cancer two months after President Ford took office and, scared as she was, she spoke up about it in public. That was something that just wasn’t DONE in the early 70’s, speaking about the “C” word, let alone cancer of the BREAST. She said the hell with that, and broke the stigma attached to breast cancer. As a result, the American Cancer Society claimed a 400% increase in requests for breast cancer screenings. She continued to speak to the public, even about her radical mastectomy and chemotherapy. It’s said that tens of thousands of women owe their lives to Betty Ford and her candor.

The dame had guts, and she made the country a better place by speaking openly and honestly about most anything, including her children. She was once asked by 60 Minutes whether she thought her 18-year-old daughter had engaged in premarital sex and she said she “wouldn’t be surprised.” When asked if she thought her kids had tried marijuana, she said she assumed they had. It seemed that nothing was taboo for Betty Ford, and the country loved her for it. In fact, her poll ratings were regularly higher than those of her husband.

Betty offered up to the public that she went to psychiatrists and, ultimately, shared her addictions to alcohol and painkillers, as well. A family intervention caused her to get the help she desperately needed. Though her family pissed her off at the time of the intervention, years later she told Life magazine:

“When you hit the wall, you better find a way to either go around it or over it. The disease (of addiction) is the wall.”

After her treatment and recovery, Betty Ford helped to establish the Betty Ford Center, which became synonymous with drug and alcohol recovery treatment, and was the first licensed addiction hospital in the world. Even into her 80’s, she started one meeting a month at the center with the familiar words, “Hi, I’m Betty Ford, and I’m an alcoholic and an addict.”

She never backed down and always remained true to herself. Something we should all aspire to.

RIP, Mrs. Ford. Thanks for showing us how to be classy, and for leading the way.

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

Gay marriage is now legal in New York. And they lit up the Empire State Building in rainbow colors to celebrate. Hooray! They’ve also made it so you don’t have to be a New York resident to get married there, which is yet another huge step. Way to go, New York. (My home state, by the way.) Here’s to hoping this clears the way for other states to follow suit.

In sadder news, Peter Falk died. I grew up loving him in “Columbo,” of course, but he was also great in “The In-Laws” and one of my favorite flicks, “The Princess Bride.” RIP, Peter.

From “The Princess Bride:”

The Grandson: A book?
Grandpa: That’s right. When I was your age, television was called books. And this is a special book. It was the book my father used to read to me when I was sick, and I used to read it to your father. And today I’m gonna read it to you.
The Grandson: Has it got any sports in it?
Grandpa: Are you kidding? Fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, chases, escapes, true love, miracles…
The Grandson: Doesn’t sound too bad. I’ll try to stay awake.
Grandpa: Oh, well, thank you very much, very nice of you. Your vote of confidence is overwhelming.

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

This is Movember, where I grow a moustache for prostate health. Prostate cancer is the #1 cancer affecting men. You can donate or just watch me grow a cheesy moustache all month. (Proceeds go to the Prostate Cancer Foundation and Livestrong.) To date, I’ve helped raise $60. If you’ve got a dollar or two to spare, please throw it into the hat.

I’m also doing a 30-day meme, the whole of which can be found here.

Today’s photo of the ’stache:

Day 20 – Someone you see yourself marrying/being with in the future

Who will I marry? I’m going with Jaime Murray. Unlike that dude who threatened a TSA agent last week, if Jaime touches my junk, I will NOT have her arrested. Unless she likes that sort of thing. It’s been years since Jaime last commented on my blog, but I’m not gonna hold that against her. I know she loves me.

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

• Yesterday, another mystery ailment for the SecondHand Car. Came out to drive to dinner and the passenger-side window was rolled all the way down. I never touched the damn thing. Won’t roll back up.
• This brings me to the mechanic this morning, of course. Thankfully, no rain last night.
• LIST OF PROBS I GAVE THE MECHANIC. (1) The window, obviously. (2) The Swamp is beginning again. Find the fucking leak. (3) SERVICE ENGINE SOON light is off and on, off and on. Never stays off more than a day.
• There are 3 weeks until Shannon arrives. I need to get my shit together and get the bedrooms ready. Are you coming to SillyBring? April 24 is coming fast. So far, we have seven people, including me.
• There are a lot more Poison fans than I thought. Oddly, some of these people are friends of mine. Oddly, I still like them. The friends, not the fucking band.
• Then again, I like Rick Springfield, so who am I to judge?
• Tomorrow is not only Mom’s birthday, but my twin daughters’ birthday, too. April Fool’s! Mom is still 36 (she swears), yet I’m 43. There may have been a flux capacitor involved, I don’t know.
• Mom is doing well, by the way. This is her second week of physical therapy. Walking around, she even drove from the house to the restaurant last night. “Braking is a bitch.” Um, yeah, Mom. Let’s hold off on the driving, then, for a few more weeks. Braking? Sort of integral to the whole driving thing.
• I’ve had a couple of epiphanies of late. I don’t know what good they do me.
• Been digging “Lost” and its last season. IMAGINARY SPOILER ALERT, BUT ONLY IF I’M RIGHT. My guess for the ending is that Hurley and Sayid will replace Jacob and the Smoke Monster as guardians of the island.
• Almost caught up on “Life,” too. Great series from the same people at Discovery that came up with “Planet Earth” a few years back.
• I’m so woefully behind on virtually every series I watch that there may be no recovery.
• The Sickness. Still coughing and blowing my nose, but I’m relatively better. May start hitting the Y again tomorrow. Just in time for April’s Resolution (announced tomorrow).
• Shit, I really need to come up with April’s Resolution.
• I have the Matrix Therapist this afternoon. Doctor visit tomorrow morning. And a 2-hour drive to get my eyes examined next week. Hoping the car is fixed well before that drive. Having nothing but ordinary terrestrial radio available (should I need to take Mom’s car) is unacceptable.
• Taking mental inventory between now and therapy is gonna be tough. I don’t really KNOW how I’m feeling. Better? Worse? Same? Is the Abilify doing anything? It *might* be giving me more energy (thus, my greatly reduced nappage quotient), but it sure as hell ain’t improving my mood. I don’t think. Then again, the MT did say last time that I seemed “mellower.”
• On second glance, I think I may need to increase the dosage. Feeling like withdrawing from the Net (even like axing accounts) can’t be a good thing. Not for me, anyway. Just. Not. Feeling. It.
• I still get 20-30 “press releases” a day from people trying to get me to write about their celebrities. Hello? No longer doing the celeb thing. Please delete me from your lists. Thanks.
• I also get 10-20 emails a day telling me about Mommy issues. This is also residual ex-job stuff, but probably has some BlogHer mixed in there, as well. Your new nipple cream to help me with my sore nips after feeding my triplets? Thanks, don’t need it.
• After seeing Ben Folds with my friend, Tracy, she got tickets for us to see OK Go in May. She didn’t even ask me first. I’m not bitching. Another band I’ve never seen live. Here’s to hoping they have a giant Rube Goldberg machine set up on stage…or at least treadmills.

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

So I mentioned that my Resolution this month hit a snag. Big time. Bottom line is, I got fired. From one of my gigs, not both.

Not that it’s a huge shock, mind you. After all, I haven’t worked in quite a while. I take the blame for that.

I won’t say exactly which site fired me, but it doesn’t involve travel blogging, and it might rhyme loosely with Brain Trawler.

No matter. It’s lit a fire under my ass. I plan on doing more travel stories until I find another gig to add to the hotel blogging. So if you know of anything, please let me know. Especially if it involves me writing more humor’ish, slice-of-life stuff. I’m also going to get my other little project going. I told you, I have ideas.

Course, this reaffirms what I’ve already said. TequilaCon is definitely out for me this year. And it doesn’t look good for BlogHer, either. Disappointing, to say the least. For you, I mean. Ahem.

In the meantime, I thought I’d write a little letter to any future employers I have. I’m sure they’re all reading this and are interested in anything and everything I have to say.

Dear Future Employers:

Hi, I wanted to take a moment to give you a list of things you might try in order to make my life with you more pleasant. Or more professional. Whatever.

1. You should know up front that I prefer being notified when I get fired. You know, as close to when you hire my replacements as is convenient for you. To clarify, telling me months later – only after I am ready to return to work – is just a tad late for my taste. I realize it’s a personal preference, but it’s MY personal preference.
2. If you simply must fire me, I prefer getting a phone call over getting an email 15 minutes before end-of-business. It’s more professional and, as an added bonus, it doesn’t make your company seem like it truly doesn’t give a fuck about their employees.
3. Please don’t try to explain your decisions for firing me, unless you’re giving me REAL reasons. I’m not as dumb as I look. For example, saying that it’s because of “budgetary constraints” when you only have a finite number of writing slots per day, and it doesn’t matter who writes them or gets paid for them, is kinda bogus’ish.
4. If you’re going to fire me, please do me the kindness of removing me from the company email lists first. I have enough email to wrestle with every day, I don’t need more.
5. If you happen to be in, say, the gossip industry, please don’t pretend to class up the joint by not using words like “butt” or “nude.” Especially if it’s a blog skewed toward mommies. Because moms happen to be nude a lot, and they also have butts. And they’re also there to read GOSSIP. Running a gossip blog – and again, this is only if you happen to be in that industry – and telling the writers they can’t use words like “sex” or “boobs” is a little like telling TMZ not to take photos. It can be done, mind you, but no one is going to want to read it any more. And I think the traffic reflects that. Or *would*…sorry.
6. I like employers who send me things like free coffee or Cherry Coke Zero. And massage gift certificates. Even without the Happy Ending added on, it’s still a nice perk.

I have other ideas, too, if you care to ask for my input. Most involve naked women, but I do have a great one that includes a shaved giraffe.

Sincerely,

Karl Erikson

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

Watched half of the last “Tonight Show with Conan O’Brien” before bed last night. Funny, funny shit. Conan is funnier than I’ve ever seen him. I can relate. I often find that I’m near the top of my game when I’m in crisis mode. Not lately, mind you, but other times.

His ratings the last couple of weeks were up by over 60%. And NBC is still ditching him because, well, NBC is being run by rabid monkeys. Clearly. I mean, it makes sense. Jay Leno did so fantastic in prime time (*cough*) that anyone in their right mind would want to move him back to 11:30. Cue the Jaywalking and Monday night Headlines…comedy gold, people. *cough*

I don’t know who the fuck thinks Jay Leno is still funny, but the monkeys sure seem to dig him. Something tells me that Letterman’s ratings are gonna stay ahead of Leno’s now that this shit has gone down. But we’ll see. Either way, I’m back to not watching NBC late-night.

It’s like “Dallas” in the 80’s. That time when Bobby was killed, but a year later he wakes up and realizes the whole last season was a dream? Yeah, that’s the shit NBC is trying to pull.

“Just pretend the last 7 months never happened. You never saw Conan in the 11:30 slot. See? Jay Leno is host of ‘The Tonight Show.’ You must have dreamt the whole thing.”

Er…right. I was just imagining that “The Tonight Show” was finally funny again.

So. Back to me.

I slept last night. Finally. For about 6-1/2 hours. My brain finally shut off, thanks to classical music. And a beer. And a sleeping pill. And exhaustion.

Music has always been there for me. It’s critical in my life. But lately, naturally, music is trying to kill me. Every song that plays on the radio or my iPod (even on Shuffle) has lyrics that are speaking directly to me. Yes, music is trying to make me have an emotional breakdown.

Normally, I go to sleep to music, whether it’s my iPod or this retro 80’s radio station called The Point (101.5). But with me in manic mode, everything I see and hear is just more stuff for my brain to chew on. Actually keeps my brain BUSIER when I’m trying to relax and sleep.

So the classical music last night (thank you, WunderRadio! ) did the trick.

Yes, you heard me right a couple paragraphs ago. I think I’m manic right now. It definitely explains a lot of my behavior of late. The racing thoughts have really been out of control lately…far worse than usual.

I have a hard time explaining racing thoughts. Here’s what Wikipedia has to say about them:

Racing thoughts refers to thought confusion which occurs in manic episodes, hypomanic, or mixed episodes. While Racing thoughts are most common with patients with Bipolar disorder, they are also common with Anxiety disorders, such as OCD. Racing thoughts are also associated with use of amphetamines. ^[1]

Racing thoughts may be experienced as background or take over a person’s consciousness. Thoughts, music, and voices might be zooming through one’s mind. There also might be a repetitive pattern of voice or of pressure without any associated “sound”. It is a very overwhelming and irritating feeling, and can result in losing track of time. Sometimes racing thoughts are accompanied by an elevated pulse, including drumming in the ears.

Generally, racing thoughts are described as an event where the mind uncontrollably brings up random thoughts and memories and switches between them very quickly. Sometimes they are related, as one thought leads to another; other times they are completely random. A person suffering from an episode of racing thoughts has no control over his or her train of thought and it stops them from focusing on one topic or prevents sleeping.

Accurate. This site has a great chart, along with a list of symptoms of bipolar disorder, too. I’ve experienced most every symptom on that list. Lots of big ideas, rambling more than usual, restlessness, careless spending, paranoia, the whole shebang. Heh, I said she bang.

I think of racing thoughts in cartoon form, because I really try to relate most everything to cartoons at some point. Cartoons explain things so much more simply.

You’ve seen Pinky & the Brain, right? Imagine the Brain, mulling over his amazing Take-Over-The-World schemes. He’s sitting there – while  images of da Vinci’s Vetruvian Man, chemical compositions, quadratic formulas, Acme Rube Goldberg device blueprints, chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, quotes from Andy Warhol, and giant Pi’s go swirling over his head. Tons of different ideas and thoughts surrounding him, consuming him.

It’s like that in my head. Most all the time. As if my reticular formation is malformed…or nonexistent.

For most of my life, I thought that was how EVERYONE’s brain worked. I was stunned to find out that wasn’t the case in the 90’s. Stunned, I tell you.

It’s astounding, really, knowing what I know now about bipolar disorder and racing thoughts, that I was a straight A student throughout the bulk of my academic career. But somehow I managed to compensate for the mess inside my head.

Growing up, my parents always called me “a dreamer.” But not in a good way, really. A “dreamer,” as in someone who daydreams all the time and gets nothing accomplished. And I always just bought into that. It’s not as if they had any understanding of bipolar disorder, or depression, or any of the other mental shit I’m afflicted with.

My problems were easily explained. Karl is a dreamer, his head is always in the clouds. Karl is lazy. Karl is very smart BUT doesn’t apply himself. Etc. etc ad nauseum. These were the things my parents were dealing with, and I can’t blame them for not knowing the warning signs or symptomology associated with BPD. It was the 70’s. Back then, divorce was still a “taboo” word, kids could go trick-or-treating unescorted by parents, and we still thought that shag carpet was a good idea. Our collective conscious was obviously afflicted.

One of the more prevalent threats I used to get from my folks when I’d misbehave was this: “Do you want us to take you to a psychologist?”

“Noooooo!” And I’d start to cry and beg for them not to take me.

Jesus, I wish I’d said yes. My life might be totally different. But back then, a shrink was a very scary threat. Shrinks were BAD, and proof that *I* was BAD. A fuckup. A loser. Crazy. Irreparably Broken.

Now I know better. Shit, I know a LOT of things better since I started going to therapy and psychiatrists. Not that I don’t often see myself as irreparably broken, mind you. Those negative tapes are still prevalent between my ears. I hear them at full volume a great deal of the time. It’s why, whenever I make a mistake, the first thing I say in my head (and usually out loud, too) is, “Gah! I’m an IDIOT!” Because I am literally hearing that shit in my mind, as clearly as I hear the television or a real-life conversation with a friend.

I tell you all this, about the racing thoughts and some of the other shit inside my brain, so you have maybe a little better understanding about the stuff I have to constantly compensate for. And because yesterday I had an appointment with the Matrix Therapist.

It was basically me blurting out 10,000 things all at once. For an hour. Mom fell on the ice. Now I’m her caregiver 24/7. I almost killed myself TWICE last week. I’m sleep-deprived. I’m losing relationships. My car “Service Engine Soon” light came on during my drive here.

I. CAN’T. TAKE. ANY. MORE.

And I told her I’m pretty sure I’m having a manic episode. She agreed. She’s gonna talk to the shrink and see about adding more meds. Now that we’ve seen me at baseline, and we know the Geodon isn’t enough. I’ve been taking (most) all my meds as directed since January 1.

I need more. And fast.

So she’s working on it. And that’s a good thing.

As for my diabetes, my sugars are running a lot better. Still high at times, because I’m not taking EVERYTHING until we get the meds adjusted. I am, however, checking my sugar 4 times a day (except for yesterday, when it was a very full day), using the regular insulin when I’m way high, etc.

This morning, I tested a 171 straight out of bed. Not bad, considering I don’t take nighttime insulin at the moment. Too scared. Last night, after two slices of pizza for dinner, my sugar was 294. That’s not good, but for the time being, I’d rather be high than low. Sure you can understand why.

My doctor went home violently ill yesterday, so my appointment with her is rescheduled for Monday. That’s when we’ll go over my blood test and make med adjustments. This isn’t a bad thing, since it’ll give her 3 more days of numbers to look over before we change things around. (And thanks to Glucose Buddy I have graphs and numbers galore.)

Mom’s surgery went perfectly. They went in, removed all the little kneecap fragments, reattached the tendon to the remaining kneecap, and it went without a hitch. She’s in a LOT more pain now, though we are staying on top of it with the pain meds.

She goes back to the doctor Wednesday for a follow-up appointment. We’ll know more then. For now, what I know is this. Six weeks in the knee immobilizer. Then 6-8 weeks of physical therapy. That puts us well into April.

Which brings me to my next point. TequilaCon is out for me this year.

It kills me, but quite frankly, I’m seriously considering everything being out for me this year, including BlogHer. I wasn’t kidding about not feeling the social media thing lately.

That may change, of course. As I progress through the Year of Resolutions, my attitude may change. But I have yet to buy my BlogHer ticket for this year. And at the moment, the only must-do as far as travel goes this year is visiting Bubblewench for her birthday.

In fact, I may adopt that for any traveling this year. Just visit friends in intimate gatherings, instead of attending the big blogger gatherings. That does not, of course, include Avitaween, which I can’t see skipping.

We’ll see. I’m not making any rash judgments. I think I’ve made enough of those in the last couple of weeks. And now that I know I’m manic, I know I need to keep the impulsivity in check and try more heavily to rely on my logic, as opposed to my emotions.

Emotions come and go, people. Acting on them impulsively, without any thought whatsoever, is foolhardy at best. And that’s something I’m trying to avoid.

I HAVE decided upon my February Resolution. Will be announcing that February 1. But the other 10 Resolutions for 2010 are still completely up in the air. So keep those suggestions coming.

I’m a natural Glass-is-Half-Empty person. Jaded. Cynical. Even petty. I’m trying, with the YOR, to do a 180 and move to being a Glass-is-Half-Full kinda guy.

It’s a bitch, believe me. My first instincts are always to point out the bad shit. Making a conscious effort to make NOTE of that Negative Nancy tendency – as it HAPPENS – is quite a workout. Those negative self-tapes and all that shit.

But I’m trying. And my friends are helping a lot with that effort, pointing out to me (in the moment) how things could always be worse. And I am trying to be gracious about it, even if in my head I’m hearing, “Fuck, I can’t say a single thing without it being criticized.”

Perhaps, though, the first step is controlling what comes out of my MOUTH, regardless of what’s going on in my head. Fix that part, then we can backtrack a little and start trying to fix the words that AREN’T coming out of my mouth.

Change what I say, then change what I think? I dunno. I could just be totally full of shit. I’m winging it here, people. This shit is all new to me.

Change typically terrifies me.

I hope to change that, too.

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

Hi, I’m Poppy. I look like this:

Now that we’ve established that I am a female Rocky let’s move on.

So, Wednesday I’m at work just having finished up with something in the server room and I sit back down at my desk for a segue-task-personal-email-check (does that make sense to anyone but me? that means in between tasks or when I’m annoyed with a task I do a quick gmail check to get me back on focus) and I see this thing in my email:

And I’m all like, “Chickenfoot?! Who the hell is Chickenfoot?” which is not unusual for me to be like, I talk to myself a lot at work as a coping mechanism for the required ridiculousness that comes along with being an IT Guy with boobs. In my annoyance-slash-curiosity I of course googled the term “chickenfoot band” and was brought to this link which boasts the following:

” Yes, you read correctly – Chickenfoot. Say that name again, just to get used to its sound. Chickenfoot.

It’s a silly name for a band — and album — that kicks a donkey’s ass six ways to Sunday and back again. Maybe that’s because long before the four men who comprise Chickenfoot came together they [blah blah blah, I stopped reading here, I'm undiagnosed ADD and I live in 40-second minutes, so whatever].”

And here’s a picture of them:

First impression: Goofy old men who wish they’d been a hair band when hair bands were cool. (I LOVE YOU, DEF LEPPARD!) And then I opened my eyes and thought about what they look like for a minute and realized: HOLY FUCKING SHIT, THOSE ARE THE HAIR BAND PEOPLE! It’s Joe Satriani (a guitar god who played with Deep Purple for a bit), Sammy Hagar (Van Halen post-Roth member), Michael Anthony (Van Halen founding member), and Chad Smith (Red Hot Chili Peppers)! Ok, so maybe those don’t all qualify as hair bands, but c’mon! Hair is dare-I-say-instrumental to those groups.

And they kinda rock, so let’s show these old men a little love in the Hot for Teacher way.

(Yah, I went there.

In case you don’t give a shit about Chickenfoot, here’s the Hot for Teacher video:

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

Howdy, y’all!  GingerSnaps here, and I would like to thank Karl for the honor of guest posting during his awesome Summer of Love.  I absolutely adore Karl.  He is a sweetheart of a guy, and I was so happy to finally get to meet him face to face just last month at ConFab Baby!

You may or may not know, but I reside in the great city of Nashville…also known as Music City.  There are lots of cool  things about living in a town filled with musicians — both successful ones and wannabes.  I could regale you with all kinds of memories about my brushes with greatness, but it’s the not-so-great I have encountered that really makes for some good stories.

With all of the reality shows on TV these days, it is pretty obvious that people will do just about anything to become famous.  The same goes for folks trying to get noticed down on Music Row.  Legend has it that even Kris Kristofferson landed a helicopter onto Johnny Cash’s back yard just to give him a demo tape of his songs.

I never witnessed anything that outrageous, but one day I was working in my office at Sony Music (this was back in the mid-90s) and suddenly a rush of people passed by my door. Not being one to ever miss an opportunity to witness a good fight or fodder for some good gossip, I immediately got up and followed the crowd.  We all ended up at one of the large picture windows facing Music Row, where to our utmost surprise, there she was.

Standing out on the sidewalk…in all of her glory…a woman — a lady, if you will (and I know Karl probably would) — buck-naked (is it buck-naked, or butt-naked?  I never know…) except for a cowboy hat and cowboy boots…and the guitar she was strumming.

Now, she was a fairly attractive lady — tall and thin, long, black straight hair — and, oh how I wish I didn’t know this…she was au natural.  She would have fit in perfectly in a hippie commune.

She was just strolling down the street, strumming her guitar, and singing her songs.

Well, she wanted to be noticed…and she definitely was!   (By the cops, too.)

I’ve often wondered what ever happened to The Naked Lady of Music Row…if she ever got a song cut or a record deal…I kind of doubt it, but who knows…she might be on the charts right now!

So there you have it…one of the advantages of living in Nashville.  I love it here!  If you ever find yourself visiting my fair city, by all means give me a shout…we’ll head on down to Tootsie’s Orchid Lounge for a beer and to scope out the next big star…or (hopefully, fully-clothed) wannabe.

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

CONTEST

Don’t forget to leave me your double dog birthday dares on this post. Leave a comment with a dare and you might win a prize. Deadline is Friday at midnight.

Well, my first week at Famecrawler is already over. Hard to believe. I’m all loopy from a wacky sleep schedule, and sleep deprivation, but slowly learning the ropes. You have added Famecrawler to your feedreaders, right? I’m not saying that I get paid traffic bonuses or anything, but I’d sure appreciate you clicky-clicking on all my stories.

I’m confident that some time this week, I’ll actually get around to someone’s blog other than my own and Famecrawler’s. The feedreader, as always, is coughing and sputtering.

Thank God for my friends. Yesterday, 2HT was doing its own coughing and sputtering and done did died for a while. Long story short, I went insane for a couple of hours and then deactivated all the plugins, reactivating them one at a time and refreshing the blog after each add. It’s back up and running, thanks to Justin, Vahid,  and DutchBitch’s suggestions.

It’s officially September and that means my 42nd birthday is mere weeks away. Meh, I’m not all that jazzed about it, really. I’m sure I won’t be doing anything on the big day. Good thing I have those dares to look forward to.

I’m woefully behind on television, too. And with the new season coming up, I need to head over to the reborn Snackie TeeVee and see what the hell the new schedules are looking like. Surely you heard that Snackie TeeVee is back, no? Head on over there and check it out. It’s all shiny and new-like.

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan