Boom-boom’s Dilemma, or Sex and the Pity

My friend Natasha has a friend, Boom-boom, who I’ve only met once or twice. By Natasha’s accounts, and by my own brief observations, I have concluded that Boom-boom is an extraordinarily sexually-obsessed, exhibitionistic, 60 year old woman. I have no problem with that. Whatever floats your boat. The problem is that Boom-boom could not attract a fly, if she were flypaper. William Shatner in drag could get more man-action than Boom-boom, and that’s where the tragedy lies.

Like Boom-boom, Natasha is an older, sexually-driven, single woman, but unlike Boom-boom, she is a total fox and has no problem quenching her manthirst. Natasha constantly tries to mentor Boom-boom in the ways of foxiness, but Boom-boom just ain’t havin’ it. Consequently, Boom-boom just ain’t gettin’ any. All Boom-boom gets is angrier and angrier.

You know, Dear Reader, I firmly believe there is hope for everyone in the nookie department. For one thing, if you haven’t got great looks, personality really is the final frontier. I would go so far as to say that personality is 9/10ths of attractiveness. For example, a woman who looks like Truman Capote can go from a “-6” to a “10,” if she has a knock-out personality (and probably some money).

Anyway, Natasha had lunch with Boom-boom today, and no sooner had they sat down, than Boom-boom announced loudly, “I REALLY NEED SOME D--- (slang for male sexual part)!” That was even before the waiter arrived. “It’s been way too long since I’ve had some D___!” She went on. Apparently, her two prospects for “D____” hadn’t touched her in months. So on top of her repellant appearance, she has a negative, pissed off, personality--a killer combo that I call the, “nympho nightmare.”

I agree with Natasha that Boom-boom could be attractive and far healthier if she would merely take care of herself—you know, bathe, exercise, eat right, get enough sleep, drink alcohol in moderation… But no, she loves the night life. She likes to boogie (in place). “Men should want me for who I am!” insists Boom-boom. OK. Whatever. We tried.

Natasha is always taking Boom-boom out in an attempt to get her some AK-SHON (she’s got so much to geeuv!), as if Natasha’s foxiness will somehow rub off on her. Once, they went to “Ladies Night” at a local bar, and when Boom-boom was asked for ID at the door, she lifted up her shirt and flashed the guy her enormous, bra-less, tiddies.

Now, the average straight guy normally likes giant tiddies, but not when they’re attached to a flabby, warty, 60 year old, built like a brick sh*thouse, with Earnest Borgnine’s head. The man recoiled. “Uh, ma’am,” he stammered, “you are not permitted to do that here.” Obviously, that wasn’t the desired response.

Natasha never actually witnesses Boom-boom’s “success stories,” but she sure hears enough of them. Like the one where Boom-boom goes to Applebee’s by herself, strikes up a conversation with some dude at the bar, and 15 minutes later, they’re in the back of his van in the parking lot. Or the one where she meets a guy online, arranges to meet him in person, and they wind up in bed, pouring chocolate syrup all over each other.

Once I joined Natasha and Boom-boom for lunch. I was silent for the most part, eating, listening to their guy stories. Boom-boom was delivering a high-pitched, nasal, monologue to the effect of, “...and then he did this, and then he said that, and...bla bla bla...something something...bla bla...my dentures...”

Wait a minute. *Gulp*

“Did you say you wear dentures?” I asked. I couldn’t help it. It caught me off-guard.

“Yes!” snapped Boom-boom, almost sending them flying into her sushi.

I guess there are two things one should never ask a lady: 1) whether or not she is pregnant, and 2) whether or not she wears dentures—even if you think she just said, “...my dentures.”

Well, if she didn’t want me to know, then why did she mention them?

In conclusion, I think the main emotion that binds Natasha to Boom-boom is pity. Both share an enormous enthusiasm for sex, but Natasha gets lots of it, and Boom-boom doesn’t. Boom-boom’s dilemma is similar to that of the aspiring opera singer with a laryngectomy. However, unlike the ill-fated opera singer, Boom-boom’s lot is reversible. She could be fit and healthy, if only she would try. That’s what’s frustrating to me. At the end of a recent lunch date, Natasha reported that when she hugged Boom-boom, she smelled like “Funky P____ (slang for female reproductive part).” Come on, girl! Every journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. Yours should be into the shower.

Pet Peeve of the Day

Today's Pet Peeve: People in authority over me who are at least 10 times MORE STUPID than I am.

I am temporarily laid-off and collecting unemployment benefits. Although my employer has promised to call me back within a month or so, the Department of Labor (hereafter, DOL) still requires me to apply for several new jobs each week. I play their game to avoid losing my benefits--and who knows?--maybe I’ll find an enjoyable new job that won’t lay me off.

So a few weeks ago, I applied for a job on the DOL website. One week after applying, the employer sent me a job offer letter, sight unseen, and phone unheard. Now you must understand that in my “real profession” (that is, the one that pays), a sight-unseen job offer is a huge RED FLAG, signaling desperation, high-turnover, lack of professional standards, and a host of other bad things.

I actually had doubts when faxing my resume, due to the employer's strange name, which strongly suggested: 1) Starting with "A," merely to appear first in the phone book, and 2) English as a 2nd language, learned from someone for whom English was a 3rd language. A close approximation of the name is "APlus Everything Solution," hereafter, referred to as "APES." I should have known better, but I had to make my application quota. By the way, "APlus" is one word.

When I finally reached APES on the phone, the representative who I'll call, "Krista," couldn't answer any of my questions but said she'd refer them to--I kid you not--"Snookie," the CEO. This name has been slightly altered to protect the probably-not-so-innocent, but I swear to you, Dear Reader, that "Snookie" captures the vibe of the true name exactly. Krista also invited me to a combination orientation/interview in a city 2 hours away from me, at which, I would meet Snookie face-to-face.

All of my senses were on high alert, especially my common sense. I REALLY didn't want to follow through with APES, but since "work refusal" could revoke my unemployment benefits, I figured I'd better inform someone at the DOL. I called a DOL Specialist, "Steve," whom I had met before and trusted. Steve completely understood my reservations about APES and Snookie and all, but he said I would need to come to the DOL in person next Tuesday at 7:30 AM and make a verbal statement with a "Claims Specialist"

That Tuesday was yesterday, and, Dear Reader, that encounter directly inspired Today's Pet Peeve: people in authority over me who are ten times more stupid than I am. I arrived at 7:2o AM, and stood in the long line of fellow Americans that had formed outside the cold, dank, DOL building. Some smoked. Some talked. Some b*tched. Some almost got into physical altercations when some guy let a lady in pajamas cut in front of him in line...

To make a long story short, I was there from 7:30 AM to 9:00 AM. When I finally met with the "Claims Specialist," who I'll call "Ms. Shrew," and explained my situation, producing all necessary documents, she said (after not having listened to a word I had said), "I cannot take a verbal statement from you because NOTHING HAS TRANSPARENT."

"Nothing has transparent?" I asked.

"Nothing has actually happened," she replied, condescendingly.

Condescension + Word Ignorance = THE WRATH OF ME (10 x worse than the wrath of Shatner).

She had obviously meant, "TRANSPIRED" but didn't know the freaking correct word! Plus, she didn't listen to me, refused to help me, and treated me like crap.

When I got home, I called Steve and told him what had TRANSPIRED with the so-called "Claims Specialist," Ms. Shrew. He was very understanding (he deals with this crap ALL THE TIME) and transferred me to his supervisor, with whom, I think I got it all straightened out.

Later, it ocurred to me that I could have replied to Ms Shrew, "Maybe nothing has transparent, but from where I'm sitting, a whole sh*tload has opaque."

Multiple Choice Question of the Day

What is the difference between gangrene and Lorne Greene?

A. One is really the color green, while the other is not.

B. One died in 1987, while the other will probably exist until the end of life on Earth, as we know it.

C. One is an actor, best known for his role as Ben Cartwright on Bonanza,* while the other is a death of tissue, commonly caused by Clostridium perfringens.

D. One stinks, while the other does not.

E. Both stink; there is no difference.

*Lesser known for his role as Commander Adama, in Battlestar Galactica--a cheap imitation of Captain Kirk in the original Star Trek (played brilliantly, flawlessly, and gut-wrenchingly, by none other than William Shatner).

Me + Dreams + Magic 8 Ball + William Shatner = ?

What has William Shatner done for me lately? Well, appeared in my dream last night, for one thing. I rarely dream about William Shatner, despite what my blog title may imply. In the dream, by some sketchy, accidental occurance, William Shatner and I were to appear together in a stand-up comedy routine at a small nightclub. I was supposed to write our material. Shatner and I had known about the gig for several months but hadn't contacted each other. My "script" consisted only of a vague notion that we would do a short, improvised scene involving a Magic 8 Ball. You know, that wonderful decision-making tool with all the answers, like, "You May Rely on it," and "My Sources Say No," that NEVER EVER LIES, so you must be careful what you ask.

Suddenly, gig night was upon us, and I met William in the backstage dressing room area. We didn't know each other (as in real life) and his tone toward me was distant and superior. However, that tone was a bit confused by the fact that he was wearing a DRESS. At first, I thought nothing of it, but as we discussed the sketch, I thought, "Wait a minute. Why is he wearing a colorful, circa-1970s, mu-mu shift?" I didn't dare ask, because he was ROYALLY PISSED OFF about my improv idea. He had wanted a straight-up SCRIPT. "I don't DO improv!!" He forcefully declared with every ounce of Shakesperian indignation he could muster while wearing a mu-mu.

I was crushed! I felt like I do in dreams where I'm about to take an exam for which I didn't study--and on top of that--THE WRATH OF SHATNER. I guess this "dream" was really a "nightmare." I had let him down, and there was nothing worse than that. Yet, the show had to go on, and he was going to go through with it--without me--as a punishment.

He went on stage by himself, having changed into black jeans and a red sweater. Looking sharp. I was glad he had ditched the mu mu. Although he was doing it solo, he did take my my Magic 8-Ball idea plus a translucent trash bag (the trash bag was his idea). Basically, his act consisted of asking profound questions of the universe, while swinging the Magic 8 Ball around at the bottom of the large trash bag, like a mace. When he was done asking and swinging, he would hold the 8 Ball up above his head, stretching the trash bag tightly over it, with the excess bag hanging down like a tail, and read the answer through the bag. Now that I think of it, this is a physical impossibility, since the Magic 8 Ball must be read in the upright position (so that the "answer thingy" can float to the top). But hey, it was a dream, so I cut William Shatner some slack (like his tailor).

What was the meaning of this dream? Did it have any meaning at all? Hey, I know! I'm going to ask the Magic 8 Ball (which I have in real life)!

Magic 8 Ball, did my dream about William Shatner last night have any meaning? "Cannot Predict Now," replies the 8 Ball. I'm not surprised, as this dream was pretty darned HEAVY. I'll give the 8 Ball some time to digest, and ask it again later.

ME (and william shatner)

Question: Has there ever been a picture, motion or otherwise, of William Shatner and another person, in which William Shatner was NOT the focus?
Answer: Not if William Shatner had anything to do with it.

I've read complaints by past co-stars that he would hog all of the close-ups and most flattering camera angles to their diminishment. Well, all I can say to that is: cut him some slack, people! His tailor does.* He's William Shatner, for Pete's sake. No further explanation needed. Case closed.

*Nowadays, that is. Back in the Star Trek TV era, his tailors cut him a conspicuous LACK of slack--especially in the pants department.

Kung Fu Grip

Move over, GI Joe with Kung Fu Grip. William Shatner has your sorry plastic behind SO WHOOPED in this department! Just look at the evidence (see photo exhibit WSKFG above). For approximately 20 seconds in 1987, William Shatner actually gripped my arms bilaterally (with my full consent, of course) at the deltoid/biceps junction, thus permanently instilling in me ETERNAL SHATNER MAGIC. To this day, my arms still have incredible muscle definition in this area.

Me & William Shatner: The Photo, Part II

And then one day in 1987, something interesting happened: WLAV, the local rock radio station, announced that...

We interrupt this story about the photo of Me and William Shatner to bring you a special news bulletin: I don’t freaking feel like writing about William Shatner today! In fact, I haven’t felt like writing about William Shatner for FOUR DAYS now, and there’s nothing anyone, including William Shatner, can do about it! No, I haven’t suddenly become a Shatnerphobe or Shatnostic; I am just, for whatever reason, all Shat out at this juncture, and I need some space.* Today I exercise my First Amendment right of Shatner-free speech. Yes, I may be writing his name repeatedly, but you will note that there is not one shred of Shatner-rich content behind it. It’s like diet soda, except it won’t give you cancer, and it’s I-Can’t-Believe-it’s-not-about-William-Shatnerlicious.

*The final frontier.

Me & William Shatner: The Photo, Part 1

The year was 1987. Ronald Reagan ruled the West, Madonna ruled the rest, and small, portable cell phones were still the stuff of science fiction. I had just graduated with a Bachelor of Science in Nursing—a field for which, I could not have possibly been more ill-suited—and begun working full time, second shift, as a hospital oncology nurse. This job so drained every ounce of my 23 year old being, that at the end of a work night, all I could do was sit zombified on the couch, watching re-runs of the original “Star Trek” series that, thank God, came on at 11:30 PM. I called it, “warping out.” At that time in my life, William Shatner as Captain Kirk, may well have been the only thing standing between me and a future of gurgling, ranting, heavily medicated, lunacy.

To Everything There is a Season

...A time to be born, a time to die. A time to sow, a time to reap. A time to kill, a time to heal. A time to talk about William Shatner, a time to refrain from talking about William Shatner. Yes, there is actually a time to stop talking about William Shatner (like, for example, when it's time to "get a life"), but that time is not now. Now is the time for all good men and women to write, read, and yak their fool heads off about the greatest thespian of all time, William Shatner. So without further adieu, I am pleased (and mortified) to present the 100% true story of "Me and William Shatner."

No Shatner Bashing

People who don't like William Shatner are what I like to call, well, "idiots," for one thing, but more scientifically, "Shatnerphobes." There are basically three kinds of people in this world: Shatnerphiles (that's me), Shatnerphobes, and Shatnostics (a tiny minority of persons unaware of the existence of William Shatner). It is my hope that one day all 'phobes & 'nostics will attain enlightenment, and learn to live in peace and harmony with William Shatner.

One More Thing

Actually, I must add one more thing before relating the amazing tale of how my prized possession, a photo of me and William Shatner, came to be. I was recently laid off from my "real job" for two months. Upon receiving this news, my first thought was, "What am I going to do during this time to pay my monster debt?!" I was all in a tizzy. Then a calm washed over me, and I thought, "WWWSD?" At times of great crisis, Dear Reader, I highly recommend asking yourself this simple question. What would he do? Well, whatever he'd do in any given situation, you can darn well bet he'd do it with intense, dramatic flair, by God! For several minutes, I had no idea WWSWD, but I remained calm, breathed deeply, and searched my inner Shatner. Then it came to me. He would start a blog. That blog would be entitled, "Me: William Shatner." And it would be good.