Who Has A Vacation Home I Can Visit?

Dodge needs to get the hell out.

If you have a cottage, cabin, villa, manse, chateau, or dacha I may invade for a brief time, I would like to hear from you.

My credentials:

1. I clean up after myself.
   
2. I will walk, hold, feed, and pet animals.
   
3. I will not encourage you to eat those iffy fungi on our nature walks.
   
4. I make the meanest, baddest guacamole you will have ever tasted (with or without cilantro, out of respect for those for whom cilantro = soap)...
   
5. And the most perfect margarita to go with it. (My fruit-garnish preparation skills are top-notch.)
   
6. I can haul out the wit if a moveable salon is what you are looking for.

Or I can completely ignore you all weekend, if that is what you are into.

What Have I Been Doing This Summer?

Watching it bake on by. I just went to the flea market for my allotted 30 minutes of cancer-baiting.

Belatedly falling in love with Black Sabbath. The pioneers. The best. Forever. SABBATH!

Learning drums. Listening to Priestess and Black Sabbath with my ginormous headphones on and picking out the drum part, over and over. Going to the studio with Ivan to rehearse. (Okay that's only happened once so far but it's going to continue.)

Some other things that I can't tell you because It's Not That Kind Of Blog. (But it's probably not what you think. It's most likely not as good as you think. Unless you think I murdered someone. It's better than that.)

And I baked a cake.

Some thrifting. There is no thrill to compare with getting some cheap t-shirt for close to what it actually should be worth. But even Beacon's Closet is too expensive for me now. Yesterday I got a skirt, dress, and two t-shirts for $48, but minus the $16 credit for some stuff I got that I maybe paid two dollars for (a one-piece Budweiser swimsuit that was too small for me (and too big for the other person I know who would really like it) and some gold sandals this woman at work gave me). So I paid around $34, really. Which isn't bad. I can and sometimes do pay Beacon's prices, but it is less of a thrill. The same haul would have been about $12 at M***. So the bargain aspect is definitely a draw. I can't tell you about the really cheap places because then all three of you might go there and ruin them for me.

I guess just tell me if you want to go thrifting with me. If you want to go with me, it's a different story.

The Groupie Bra-Fling Was So Wrong, In So Many Ways.

I chose an unwearable, a black lacy number from my current "collection." That's kind of sexy, right? That I'd worn it? And that I am now too fat to wear it? (You know you've gained weight when...(you gain a cup size)?) And that I am groupie-gifting an item that is useless to me and taking up space? All really hot groupie behavior, n'est ce pas?

The tag was frayed. It was a worn bra. See above. (But only the tag showed signs of wear.)

I wrote my phone number on the frayed tag with a Sharpie.

There was no room on the frayed tag for any information besides my phone number. No "to Vince," no "for a good time call." No "umm, yeah, so, this is Dodge."

The band was punctual. They were the first band of the day to play, at 1:30 pm, on the small stage. We arrived 1:33-ish and they were already playing. It was the middle of a heat wave and the sun was baking. It was yet another odd set of circumstances under which to see my favorite band: Wake n' Roll, on the beach. The early start time and the hour commute to Coney Island meant that all I had time for before departing my home to Rock Out was shower, dress, caffeinate, meet Rev and hop on the subway.

It kind of goes without saying that Priestess "brought it." Hirsute and black-clad, they sweat through their jeans as I worried whether they were properly hydrated in the intense heat. Their passion was not diminished by Coney Island's X-treme weather conditions. Vince was sitting at an angle that allowed some kind of air blower to pouf his voluminous locks into a constantly swirling halo around him at all times, giving his extended drum solo under the blistering sun an extra-hallucinatory effect.

Well, I "brought it" too, and I flung it as well. When they had played nearly all the hits, I got a pang in my stomach, thinking about the bra stuffed in my bag (another faux pas: I think any underwear you throw at a band is supposed to be ripped off your body in the frenzy of the moment, not judiciously plucked in advance from the "will I ever wear this again?" drawer) and the mission that still lay before me.

Which involved tapping the dude in front of me on the shoulder, and yelling "Excuse me, I have to throw my bra at them now" toward the vicinity of his ear. He politely shuffled to the left and I pressed myself against the barricade.

It was a far and high fling I was required to execute. The band was high up on this sheltered stage, and the barricade kept the thin but loyal crowd from getting closer than 30 or so feet away.

It was so hot, and I wasn't properly warmed up. I think I pulled a muscle in my side. The bra sailed into the barricaded-off area in front of the stage, where some guy batted it just as it was about to hit the ground, to give it the extra push it needed to make it to the stage. Where it sat, for the remainder of the show.

I had a nice time eating and drinking and going on the Tilt-a-Whirl with friends after, wondering, but at the same time actually understanding perfectly, why my phone did not light up that afternoon with a call from a member of Priestess.


The guy in the headband is the one I had to tell to shove over.

If Any Band Deserves To Have Lingerie Thrown At Them, It's Priestess.

And on July 15, this pleasure will be mine.

Found Spam Poetry Du Jour.

explain dark social love horses,
completely number fill pleasure.
filled perhaps short?

CLICKHTML

love being near evil perhaps,
talked immediate sandwich cousin met.
disappoint development happened spot.
telling talked wine gray necessary met?
chance free god how?
quickly book considered.

Oh my god, this is the most beautiful poem ever.

And it so resonates with me! I mean, I've totally talked immediate sandwich cousin met! And don't get me started on love being near evil perhaps.

There's Someone I'd Like You To Meet.

This is Lubka Bubkova.


This is Lubka Bubkova's next scheduled event (click to enlarge photo).


This is Lubka's personal message to you:

Everybody on Dodge-Blog, we know you must be prodigious in number, what is up?! It is world-reknowned, cosmetologist among many other hats I wear, LUBKA BUBKOVA. Be saving date, beehutchez, cuz rare chance to be recipient of mad science droppings, and marvel at my plausibility-defied outfits, is right around corner! Gonna be Klassic Lubka, you don't wanna miss!

See below, is website.

Lubka is out now.

yougotcharacter.com

Riff-Raff.

Oh dear. This is a google ad I'm attracting.

POAB = Priestess On A Boat = A Unique Happiness.

I'm really honored to have had the opportunity to see my favorite metal band, Priestess, perform on a boat last night in New York Harbor. I thought I had experienced some adventures in life but this was a strange, unique thrill I never could have anticipated.

The vessel, The Half Moon, was so much smaller than I expected. They should call it the Quarter Moon. There's no such thing though, is there? It took us about 10 minutes to make our way around it, which we did early on to scope out the joint, but it only took that long because it was so crowded and wobbly. I still feel like things are wobbly. Not once did I hurl, although I saw another woman hurl. It seemed ok though, not like, "I feel gross, if I don't spew I may die of alcohol poisoning," more like, "Oops, seasick, let me just get rid of something discreetly." She should get a medal for most elegant vomiting.

My computer is rocking in front of me.

It was a great time because it was such a simple pleasure, really, and yet kinda bizarre, and it all happened by walking north from my apartment along the river for about 15 minutes. In just a few steps I was transported to another world. I know this probably sounds overdramatic, but I live in Manhattan and this was the closest I got to leaving it since last summer (not counting Brooklyn or Jersey City. Hell, Jersey City was last weekend and even that seemed exotic).

Let me put it this way: I was BOATING (there was a CAPTAIN) with a METAL BAND from Montreal.

But as I said, it was a compact vessel. It gave the show a very intimate feel. I did not get to know every other Priestess fan in attendance, but I definitely could have in the time allotted. So it ended up feeling not at all like a concert, but a party with three bands at someone's house. As the house moves down the river and into the harbor under a full moon.

The vessel was nearly dwarfed by the bowl of potato chips, the only thing to eat on the Half Moon, but free of charge. Mike of Priestess came out with it, all excited, and said, "This is just until the big bowl gets here!" Whose crazy idea was it to find the largest stainless steel bowl in existence and serve up chips in it to metal fans on a boat? I don't know, but I do like knowing that handsome Priestess drummer Vince Nudo and I both ate from it. I am sad I didn't get to hang with the band more. I'm a really bad groupie. I guess I'm a fan, not a groupie. This band really delivers. I love them all but I must note that Vince is DEMONIC on the drums. Unfortunately he was too far away and his drumming too frenetically demonic to be captured by my camera, so I captured none of those crazy expressions he makes when he is shredding on the skins. Drum surfaces probably aren't skins but I'm trying to use lingo. I don't know enough drummer lingo. I wish I didn't get so tongue-tied around him. What a teenager I sound like! (My friend Jen was present for the awkward simultaneous chip-eating, and she later said the charge between Vince and me was "palpable.")

So I don't know when I'll be able to see Priestess again live. But I will rest up for it and not get too intoxicated so that by the end of the night maybe I can actually talk to them. Besides being great as a band, they are four sweet, smart, funny dudes.

I'm going to ask Vince out now on my blog:

Vince, the next time you're in New York (or maybe Los Angeles or Montreal, both of which I'm planning on visiting soon), let's get a bite to eat before the show. I mean, you have to eat. What do you like to eat? So it's a date? It can be a group thing if you prefer. That might take some pressure off me. I get so nervous around you. You really are incredibly handsome not to mention the most radical drummer ever in the coolest band ever. I'd like to get to know you better, take a walk around the city with you. Doesn't that sound fun? We could go to the dog park without a dog. I've done it, it's fun. Or I see us in Montreal at a cafe, it's so European there. It looks like the touring has been good for your muscles. Okay, so let me know!

Now that I think about it, I should probably be glad I haven't said more to Vince.



Mikey Heppner of Priestess, beer can owner unknown



Dan Watchorn of Priestess



Priestess. Mikey Heppner, Mike Dyball, Dan Watchorn, Vince Nudo.


This one was on myspace. Someone commented, "Jesus called. He wants his look back."

Dear "Amateur Swinger" Who Failed To Spam Bloggystyle.

Just because you succeeded in finding bloggystyle by searching for "wife swap" doesn’t mean I’m going to publish your comment. I’m not into giving amateur swingers free advertising. Frankly, I’m not into giving the pro ones ad space either.

Wait, there is such a thing as a pro swinger?

This all just doesn't make sense.

First of all, swingers have to be multiple. Swinging by definition requires a certain number of personnel, no? Just try and swing all by yourself.

Okay, well, it’s possible, but I think it’s rare.

And professional swinging would require pro swingers and their swingees, presumably also professional, because why would the pros hang with the amateurs? But if you are all pros, swinging together, who is paying you? What is anybody going to hire a bunch of swingers for? Swinging is supposed to be recreational, right? Like tennis?

Don't corrupt it by selling it.

Oh. I forgot. You're not selling it, you're an amateur.

I think amateur in this case must mean "bad."

At any rate, your comment is flabby with redundancy, which gives me a not pretty window into your swinging.

I’m tempted to link to your page. Your grammar and punctuation alone would make my reader(s) lose bladder control.

I'll consider it.

Sorry, I've Been Busy Becoming A Metal Groupie.

I suppose it would have been better to post this when the article was still free of charge. But hey, becoming a metal groupie has kind of cut into my posting. But maybe you have a nerve premium account or want to get one and and then you can read about my metal rock-groupie exploits with the Saint Reverend Jen Miller.

Otherwise, subscribe to Toxic Pop and read about our next Priestess groupie outing.

Or visit and listen to Priestess on myspace! They're from Montreal and they ROCK and I never use "rock" as a verb!