elementary lunch, my dear

I just had an adorable little lunch of peas & fish sticks (it was really just a fat fish stick, rather than a patty), which I washed down with a glass of ice cold milk & followed with a banana & a couple icy pops. How cute is that?

I just wish I could find the cord to download pictures from my camera, 'cause I'd have shot it & added a pic to make you giggle as much as I did.

By the way, it was an UPA-friendly lunch, as I ate the correct serving size & hardly even touched the tartar sauce with my fishy-fish.

Was your lunch UPA-friendly? Honestly.

hoppin' good times with dirty dames

Everyone who knows me knows I'd rather die in Queens than in Jersey. And that's not saying much. But on Saturday, I found myself packing a small bag & heading to New Jersey -- by choice. We Punk Ropers got an invite from New Jersey's own roller derby queens, the Dirty Dames to come down & teach a class & have some fun. Where better to conduct our brand of insanity than legendary bowling alley & live music venue Asbury Lanes in Asbury Park, NJ?



Getting there was a bit of a pain in the ass. NJ Transit is neither easy to navigate nor on time, plus the other half of our group likes to live on the edge & only got to Penn Station with scant minutes to spare before our departure. All-in-all, it took us more than 3 & 1/2 hours to get there from our happy hamlet of Greenpoint, Brooklyn. Yowza.

But at least it was worth it. Not only did we have a great time with the Hub City Hellrazors & get them salivating for more Punk Rope action, but they invited yours truly to workout with them in New Brunswick while I train for the Gotham Girls.



After such a fun time with the Hellrazor bitches, this coming weekend is gonna be a derby-derby weekend. For anyone brave enough, we're heading to Jersey again Friday evening for the Dirty Dames' next home bout, against the Wilmington City Ruff Rollers from Wilmington, DE. Join us if you dare. For anyone interested, but avoiding nasty skin reactions to Jersey air, the Gotham Girls' next bout is Saturday night in Harlem. Just remember, whichever bout you attend, get your tickets early so you're not left outside in the dark. By yourself.

take the steel upa challenge!

Ladies and gentlemen, it's that time again. Summer is here, and the temperatures are scorching. So, of course, we do what comes naturally to make ourselves more comfortable. We take our clothes off. Or, at least, we take pieces of clothing away.

For some people, it's all well and good. They're not dumping muffin tops over their pants and skirts, pale jiggliness isn't offending the eyeballs of everyone around them, and the thong factor is usually not top of mind for them. The rest of us are a sore sight, though.

That's why I'd like to invite you all to join me in the inaugural Steel UPA Challenge. What's an UPA, you might say? Well, it's the same thing as a gunt or a gock, but we here at the fleshwound refer to it lovingly as the upper pussy (or penis) area. When this area is big and flabby, we refer to it as a FUPA, or fat upper pussy/penis area.

It's a great thing to love and be comfortable in our bodies, but when we combine low-cut jeans with FUPAs, horrible things happen. I've seen pictures of myself violating this principle, and I'm constantly assaulted by this sad, sad sight on the subways, in the parks, and on the streets of New York City everyday.

So I ask you all, my friends, to take this pledge today. Stand up, wherever you are, and repeat these solmen words with pride, dear readers.

I (insert name here) do solemnly swear to firm that shit up and/or keep that shit covered during these warm summer months. I promise to wear clothes that fit me, including shirts that cover my boobies and can tuck into my pants, shorts, and/or skirts. I promise to not purposely wear cute thongs to try to cover up the fact that I'm sporting pants and/or skirts meant for children and/or hanging at half-mast. I swear that I will smack the uncovered fat of friends, loved ones and strangers on trains to bring this heinousness to their attention as well, out of the love of my heart. Amen.

Now, friends, let's get our asses to the gym & get that shit all firmed up. Who's coming with me?!

it's derby time, bitches

Friday night, the man & I braved the trip to the Upper East Side to watch the ladies of the Bronx Gridlock take on the 2006 champs, Queens of Pain, at Hunter College. If you haven't got a clue what I'm talking about, and you're sensitive to cussing or thoughts of massive pain, look away, or simply go to another blog altogether. It ain't gonna be pretty. You see, those are two of the teams representing the five boroughs in the beautiful & deadly Gotham Girls Roller Derby.



Holy crap, was it a great time -- and for $20 a ticket, it was a cheap night of entertainment in Manhattan. The Gridlock & Queens were neck & neck for the entire bout. Elbows & hips became the most formidable weapons, fishnets were de rigueur & the sweet sounds of hundreds of "fuck yous" rang out from all over the gym -- directed at refs, skaters, cheerleaders & mascots -- anyone, really. There was even a kick-ass halftime show, featuring Brooklyn Double Dutch, five chicks who can jump 2-3 ropes at a time, with insane amounts of cool & rhythm. The double dutch show was followed by a little representin' by the cheerleaders for all 4 Gotham Girls' teams. Not quite as rhythmic, but a lesbitronic/boy's wet dream nonetheless. In the end, the Gridlock skated like demons & truly earned the win -- 118 to 107. It was a beautiful thing.



If you've never been to the derby, here are a few things you should keep in mind:

-don't start shit with any of the other fans -- they may skate for another derby league & they can most definitely kick your soft pansy ass
-you'd better cheer like hell, no matter what team you choose to back
-to keep from shredding your voice, stomp as you cheer (particularly loud & obnoxious on wooden risers)
-dress for high temperatures -- it tends to get boiling hot in bootleg basement gyms & you'll be jumping up & down & stomping a lot

Y'all join us for the next bout this Saturday, June 16th. Get your tickets now, though. Those bitches sell out just about every time.

abundant sunshine on my shoulder

In case you hadn't noticed, I was really unhappy at my last freelance gig. The Creative Director was a complete douchebag & the place was sliding quickly down the bowl of an enormous toilet in flush mode. As luck would have it, I was emancipated almost two weeks ago. The CD said they just didn't have enough work & money to keep two writers on staff, so he let me go & kept the poor guy who was struggling through his second day. Soon enough, he'll join the frustrated copywriters' guild.

It's not exactly an exclusive group. There are frustrated writers everywhere -- fantastic writers, stifled by narrow constraints, untrusting superiors and a lack of vision. Every day, I see more proof, especially online. Take, for instance, this example from weather.com. Looks to me like someone was sick & tired of describing conditions as merely "sunny," "cloudy" or "raining." It's abundantly clear to me that someone's unhappy.

That's why this time, I'm taking it easy. I'm not going to be pressured into taking a job just to work. This time, I'm going to be much pickier & get what I want, instead of just a paycheck & a daily sense of dread.

peoples gots to go when peoples gots to go

The fun portion of this trailride I've been on the the past couple months is coming to a bitter, sad end. I'm neither bitter, nor sad, but I'm keenly aware of the dwindling numbers in the humor column here. Friday marked the passing of yet another one of my newest & funniest compadres from the tiny agency I've been calling my temporary crapshack recently. She didn't die -- yet. She may if she sends me pictures from the beach this week. She just got a better job at a better place. Much better in both categories.

And today, the unsettling reality of silence is overwhelming. Seriously, nobody's talking. Sound has died in suite 900. Who will I take hour-ish-long lunches with? Who will dare to suffer the occasional afternoon Smoochie? I'm gonna need to have a bake sale to raise the funds necessary to find my sanity, wherever it may be.

Or I could just find another job & run far away from the eerie silence of rats trapped in cages of their own making. Yeah, I'm gnawing outta here. Anyone got a tooth file?

UPDATE: I Smoochied myself. Now I feel dirty, but in a totally good, healthy way.

fuckin' activist judges

On Wednesday, April 18, 2007, as the 24-hour news outlets gushed story after sensational story about the crazed VA Tech gunman and his innocent victims, the Supreme Court ruled to uphold W's "Partial Birth Abortion Ban," which he signed into law in 2003. The law hadn't been applied yet, as it smacked of unconstitutionality. But that all changed on Wednesday, as his ultra-conservative appointments to the Court made their presence felt. In a 5-4 decision, SCOTUS (aka, SCOTUM) opened the door to terrifying erosions of our reproductive rights, with, one can assume, more civil rights soon to follow.

Being a good little activista, I donated to NARAL, stirred up my hornets' nest of friends and wrote a letter to Justice Ruth Bader Ginsberg. It was the least I could do to calm my blinding fury and remind those fuckers to keep their hands off my body. I'm posting my letter to Justice Ginsberg, in case anyone else wants to write her and thank her for her support, or if you just have a hankerin' for more of my voice. Plus, NARAL has started a petition and a letter to the editor campaign, both of which you can find here.

Ladies, gents, please stand with me now as I salute Justice Ruth "The Motherfuckin' Truth" Ginsberg.


Dear Justice Ginsberg,

I am writing you on my behalf and that of many friends who are deeply troubled over the Supreme Court’s decision today to uphold the Partial Birth Abortion Ban Act of 2003. We are not only troubled but terrified at the possible implications that this ruling could hold for reproductive rights in the future.

As we all know, the religious right and fundamentalist groups have been fighting for more ignorance and less necessary healthcare and prevention for years. In my 33 years, I’ve only known our country as a somewhat progressive nation, for legalizing abortion and making several strides for equal rights for women and minorities. But the tide seems to be changing, and what was a small group of like-minded individuals has become a political force with which to be reckoned.

This group has a hard time separating church and state, clearly demonstrated in the majority opinion, in which Justice Kennedy said the ruling reflects the government’s “legitimate, substantial interest in preserving and promoting fetal life.” We can also see it in Bush's response, "Today's decision affirms that the Constitution does not stand in the way of the people's representatives enacting laws reflecting the compassion and humanity of America." (emphasis mine) This from a government which has consistently sent thousands of young men and women to die in an unnecessary war, supports torture when it’s in their best interest, and is helping to take basic healthcare out of the reach of even the middle-class. The Constitution only stands in the way of zealous groups’ and individuals’ agendas.

I applaud and thank you for your strong dissent against this ruling, and I ask your advice for productive ways in which my friends and I can demonstrate our shock and dismay over this ruling. We are all active in our local pro-choice groups, and vote with passion and conviction, but 2008 is a long way away. The reasonable, pro-choice majority needs to be heard over the cacophony of cries for our country to revert to the Dark Ages from small fundamentalist groups.

Please, continue to stand strong for our Constitutional rights, and thank you for continuing to fight for reproductive rights, and the health of all American women. And please let us know how we can stand with you in fighting the good fight.

Sincerely,

Fifi
Brooklyn, NY

bizarre observations of tv-land

Last night, I caught enough of Deal or No Deal to notice the thing that stands out to me even in their commercials. It's glaring, actually, and I can't be the only one who notices. It's not just the models who are all dressed alike. All the DoND zombies are similarly tailored. The "I'm proud to be an American" uniform for female contestants seems to be black pants & an ill-fitting brightly-hued sweater. Tasteful, yet whitebread, plus it's Lee Greenwood-approved. The male contestants all sport khakis or black pants with the kind of pastel oxford shirt that says, "I'm not gay, I'm from Kansas & I don't know any better."

What do you think? Are there just racks & racks of sad, boring clothes in their green rooms, or do you think those poor saps actually come dressed identically?

Talk to me, Goose.

welcome to my fleshwound

This is my first post to "the wound," as I'm gonna fondly call it from time to time. Pressure from friends, especially the dim sum bum, has me writing a blog post instead of working. What can I say? I'd rather do this anyway.

So what can you expect from the wound? Well, along with amusing you with only-in-New York moments, we here at the wound will be launching the inaugural Steel UPA Challenge (more details soon to come). Plus, you'll be able to depend on weekly-ish updates on your people in Greenpoint, including anecdotes, musings, and the occasional picture and video (though you may never see us, per se). Occasionally, we may also romp off into uncharted socio-economic-geo-political waters, but don't be scared, babies. the wound will be with you (picture "the force" with more out-of-basement moments). There may even be a review of some item, service, or event from time to time, and you can probably guarantee regular rants.

No different from any other blog, right? Just so much more fun, 'cause it's the fuckin' fleshwound, baby. Oh, yeah. There will definitely be cussing. Fundies beware. Fifi's here.