Last night at 10:30 I watched as Ozwald Sniffer Beagle humped his best friend, Featureless Man, in his bed, under a blanket. Only his gyrating hindquarters showing. Oh, it gets better. He didn't get enough so he got out of his bed and did it on the floor of our room. Sideways. Yes, my 9 year-old beagle was too lazy to really give it his all, so Featureless Man got it from the side. Here's FM the morning after.
My 1992 Audi 100 CS, who I have loved and cared for and driven from Boulder to Denver and back for the last year and a half is - I can hardly say it without crying - on life support. Last week the old girl left me stranded on 71st & Federal in Denver. In an Arby's parking lot. At 8:20 a.m. Apparently she'd had quite enough of me, or I was turning her on, because she got really hot and started steaming. What I thought was going to be a quick fix is turning out to be open-heart surgery. I had to start making arrangements for the inevitable yesterday. I went to see about leasing a new VW Rabbit. And, I reaaaaalllly liked it. But, the whole time I felt like dear Audi knew I had written her off already. She was lying in a hospital, hooked up to a respirator, wheezing like a dying smoker, and I was joy riding with a hot, young Rabbit.
Compared to the Rabbit, Audi is Bea Arthur. But I still have some affection for her. Yes, she has a lot of miles on her, and has been driven 15,000 miles in the last year and a half, and has already had several minor surgeries in the last six months, and needs new back shocks, but she's paid for. She single-handedly allows me and Gentleman Lover the opportunity to continue our lovely, carefree lifestyle. And I do love her for that.
Anyway, readers, if you happen to be a religious person, throw a couple of rosary beads 'ol Audi's way. I'm not, so I'll be picking out the interior of my new Rabbit. Shhhh.
I just recently found out that I have a friend who does not like Bjork. When he told me, I felt like someone simultaneously punched me in the gut, stabbed me in the foot and slapped me. How can this be?
Look at her. She's a living, breathing, piece of human art.
Bjork is one of the greatest musical artists of my generation.
Bjork makes music like no one else makes music.
Bjork sings like no one else sings.
Bjork gives a shit what anyone thinks of her.
Bjork is fearless.
Bjork is a small child who is allowed to dress however she wants, every day.
Bjork throws every bit of herself into her music.
Bjork had a kid with Tricky.
Bjork is crazy.
Then, it hit me. Maybe I'm so crazy and out of touch with normal human beings that I forget Bjork is too. Maybe the both of us, Me and Bjork, are too crazy for this world. We walk to the beat of our own drum. Skip to our own rhythm. Dress like we don't own a mirror. Then I realized I don't own one piece of clothing similar to Bjork, can't sing, don't live in Iceland, and have a standard 9-5 job. Right... we're not sisters. But still, I contest that there's no way to dislike Bjork. If you've ever seen her in concert, or in the movie "Dancer in the Dark" and still didn't like her, then, well, I have nothing left to say to you. If you can listen to her song "Bachelorette" and not feel anything, then you're dead inside. If you don't look at her and wonder if she's human or musical goddess, you're probably an android. Alright, so you may not die for her music like I do, but you have to at least respect what she's doing. Am I right here?
Please, friends, doubters of Bjork,(especially one who has recently confessed his dislike of Bjork to me) watch the following videos, and think about what you're doing. Don't hurt my feelings.
Now, I dare you to tell me that you don't respect Bjork.
Mickey Rourke is back, so I figured, it's a good time for 'ol CrazyVirgo to come back too. Though I haven't been through rehab or in prison or homeless, I have been away hustlin', flowin', talking smack, riding my bike. You know, the shit CrazyV likes to do. Here's a recap of what I've been up to, then we can just get back to being crazy together.
I spent the summer and fall commuting to Denver on a sweeeet ten-speed Centurion bike, and workin' it for Obama.
Yes. To answer your question. I did look like a clown most of the time, but look who is the President now, suckas.
This past Summer I fell in love with a burger. We met about a year ago, but we kind of fell apart and then hooked up again this summer, leaving me with a full-fledged crush. Larkburger, I love you. I can't wait until you move to Boulder and we can hang out all the time. You have to promise to still love me even if I gain weight from coming to see you all the time.
In September, I saw the greatest concert of my life (so far) at Red Rocks. JUSTICE. Just typing it gives me chills. They are two frenchmen in skinny jeans, smoking ciggies, rocking their decks creating musical bliss. It was my birthday, and after enjoying a little of Boulder's best, I watched this electrifying show. As one incredibly clever, intelligent, loquacious person described it, "It was like marinating my spine in heroin while drinking a fine cognac." I thought my heart would explode out of my chest, not that I would have been sad. Kicking the bucket at this show would have been a good way to go.
In October, Gentleman Lover and I went to Telluride and watched our good friends get married. If you've never been to Telluride, do yourself a favor and go there in the fall. It's a magically beautiful place. (this is the town as seen from Mountain Village, which sits @ 9500 feet)
We spent 4 days in a pimp house at the top of the mountain, loaned to us by my BFF Oprah, with multiple visits to our hot tub, good friends, altitoots and a helluva wedding. In fact, my friend and I nearly inked a contract to be the new BudLight calendar girls. Can you blame them? Look at this shot:
Yes...this was as heavenly as it looked.
For Halloween, I channeled the horror of Sarah Palin and won scariest, this can't be real, I hope this never comes true Costume. Palin for President, everyone. ya....
In November, after a glorious election and copious bottles of champagne to celebrate, our dear friends came to visit. Like any good hosts, we insisted they schlep not just their baby, but also costumes for a Classic Cocktail party. Isn't that what everyone does when their friends and new baby daughter come for a long weekend?
Look how authentic this picture is. It's like it was taken in 1955, stored in a closet, then left out in the sun and resurrected many years later. I know what you're thinking. It's NOT user error.
Then, Christmas. Then, I got back on my snowboard. Then, I fell a lot. Then, Oswald Sniffer Beagle turned 9 years old. And, we're about up to speed.
As you can see, CV is wacked out and weird as ever. So, now that we're on the level again. Get ready for my comeback. I'm climbing to the top of the ropes and jumping back in the ring, mutha effers.
