The pros and cons of being in a body

“You aren’t in your body.”

For years I heard this from therapists and healers. You aren’t in your body. What the hell does that mean?? What kind of hippy-dippy crap is this? Of course I’m in my body. I’m sitting here. You can see me. It’s not like I’m floating around in the ether. If I’m not dead, then I’m in my body. So why don’t you shut the fuck up, go eat your bean sprouts, play with your crystals, and leave me alone.

Go away.

It took me ages to wrap my head around what “being in your body” actually means. It means being present in my body, using it mindfully to experience the world. The body isn’t a vessel that contains the real “me”—it’s part of the real “me.” I had wrongly dismissed it as nothing but a shell, an unwieldy blob I had to lurch around in.

See, I got tripped up by the difference between the body and its appearance. Its appearance has no bearing on my personality, intelligence, sense of humor, kindness, or anything else, but my body itself is part of what makes up ME. It might not look the way I want, it might make weird crunchy noises when I stand up, it might hurt from time to time. But it’s not a separate entity, and I should value it and take care of it. Because as we all know, it sucks when the body breaks down. As Count Rugen so wisely observed, “If you haven’t got your health, then you haven’t got anything.”

Bodies allow us to enjoy the sensual pleasures of this world, like food, sex, twerking, and this thing. So many wonderful things to experience. You can pet soft, furry animals, relish cool breezes on a hot day, feel sand squishing between your toes, see cheery, colorful flowers. But as with anything, there are pros and cons.

Pros

• Opposable Thumbs. This could also be a con, because there are people who are so stupid they don’t deserve opposable thumbs. It gives them an unfair advantage over other, more intelligent life forms, like barnacles and algae.
• Chocolate Pudding. I know I already mentioned food as one of the earthly delights, but chocolate pudding deserves its own category. That smooth, sweet, silky, creamy deliciousness. We couldn’t enjoy that without our bodies.
• Ice Cream. See “Chocolate Pudding” above.
• Crucial Communication Skills. Our bodies allow us to curse out people who annoy us. Or, if our mouths are full because we’re eating pudding or ice cream, we can flip them the bird. With both hands if necessary.

Cons

• The Human Spine. If there was ever an argument against the existence of Intelligent Design, this is it. Otherwise some sort of update would surely have been pushed through already. Homo sapiens has walked the earth for a few hundred thousand years now, and we’re still only on Spine v1.0?
• Bad Hair Days. I may not know my life’s purpose, but I do know that I was not put on earth to look like a Chia pet.
• The Bra. Not the most comfortable item in the world. Also not the quietest. My bras creak like the hold of an old whaling ship. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if I weren’t in need of so much structural support, but as it is, my undergarment situation is less than ideal.

I’d say the pros outweigh the cons, but ask me again when it’s humid, my back hurts, and my brassiere needs a shot of WD-40.

In the meantime, take your bodies out for some pudding and savor every spoonful.

Madame Weebles chats with Edgar Allan Poe

You may recall my very enlightening chat with Abraham Lincoln from a few months ago.

Last week I communed with the spirit world once again in hopes of interviewing another famous dead soul. The first one to make himself known was a lovely, warm being, but not the best interview subject. I’m so sorry, Monsieur Marceau. Perhaps another time.

After bidding him adieu, I sat in silence for several minutes. Then I heard something rattle across the floor. It was the pit from a peach I had eaten earlier.

Message from beyond, or cat toy?

A strong breeze passed through the room even though the windows were closed. The cord from the blinds began to sway, back and forth. Back and forth. Like a…pendulum.

Waaaaaaaaaaitaminute. Pit and pendulum??

“Mr. Poe!!”

“Blast, you startled me. Now I’ve spilled my wine.”

“Sorry, I’m just so excited, it’s not every day the Master of the Macabre drops by, you know. Here, I’ll pour more wine for us.” I opened a nice cabernet—I thought he would enjoy that (don’t ask for the details on how ghosts drink, it’s very complicated and somewhat messy). We toasted and settled in for a nice chat.

MW: So how have you been? What have you been doing lately?
EAP: For the past year or so I’ve spent much of my time haunting the creators of The Raven in hopes of driving them mad. I think that would be quite fitting. Did you see that movie? It was an abomination.
MW: Yeah. It sucked mightily. I’m sorry, Mr. Poe, you deserved much, much better.
EAP: I agree. And please, call me Edgar. This wine is quite nice, by the way.
MW: Would you care for some more? I’ll top off our glasses. I’m so glad to have this time with you—you died too young. By the way, speaking of people who died too soon, Abraham Lincoln visited me too. Have you met him?
EAP: Oh yes, Abe and I drink together regularly. He’s the best wingman. That “Honest Abe” shtick of his works every time. Me, I just work the “tortured writer” angle. Chicks love that shit.
MW: So you’re both basically players. Nice.
EAP: Don’t hate the player. Hate the game.
MW: Whatever you say.
EAP: You know, it’s too bad I’m not alive now, I’d be a fantastic movie or TV writer.
MW: Yes you would. Do you have any favorite TV shows?
EAP: Twilight Zone was genius, of course. Which reminds me, I’m having brunch with Rod Serling next week. I loved Buffy the Vampire Slayer. The American Horror Story series is excellent too. I also enjoyed WKRP in Cincinnati.
MW: Excuse me?
EAP: Loni Anderson. She was a hot number.
MW: I wouldn’t have expected you of all people to like a sitcom.
EAP: Did you hear me? Loni Anderson. We need more wine, by the way, this bottle is empty.
MW: I’ll get another. So tell me, which movie version of your stories did you like best?
EAP: I liked Pit and the Pendulum with Vincent Price. But I was disappointed that Roger Corman didn’t take more liberties with the stories to give the women skimpier costumes. Vincent is in my regular poker game—he has an amazing poker face. Then there’s Hazel Court, who was in a few other Corman versions. What a great rack. I keep inviting her for a little afternoon delight, with—
MW: Yeah. I don’t want to hear details. Now—
EAP: Have you ever tried absinthe?
MW: Once or twice, yeah.
EAP: I happen to have a bottle with me. Be a lamb and pour us some. Better yet, let’s just drink from the bottle.
MW: We’ve already had a lot of wine, you know.
EAP: Exactly. Now it’s time for some real alcohol (takes a few swigs and drains half the bottle). Here, have a few belts. Now where was I? Oh yes, I was telling you about my torrid affair with Mata Hari. She might have been a spy but I discovered exactly which button to push to get her to reveal her secrets, if you know what I mean…
MW: Eww. No. You weren’t telling me about that.
EAP: No? Oh yes, you’re quite right. It was about my delicious weekend of debauchery with a buxom peasant girl from medieval France. I bent her ov—
MW: No. It wasn’t.
EAP: …that was right before I met some of Nefertiti’s beautiful Nubian handmaidens. Those maidens know how to use their hands all right. And don’t you just love that word, Nuuuuuuuubian. Come on, say it with me.
MW: I don’t want to.
EAP: And then there was the time I met up with some of the Vestal virgins from Rome. Virgin in name only, by the way. They were wild.
MW: I really don’t—
EAP: But nowhere near as wild as Mary Queen of Scots and Queen Mary. I had a threesome with them many years ago. Those Catholic girls really know how to get their freak on. You’re Catholic, right?
MW: Edgar! Give me that absinthe. You’re skeeving me out.
EAP: What a delightful word. Skeeeeeeve.
MW: This conversation makes me want to bathe.
EAP: Excellent idea! Would you like me to scrub your—
MW: Goodnight, Edgar.
EAP: You’ll invite me back soon. You’ll see.

On behalf of Edgar, Madame Weebles would like to apologize to Poe fans, Roger Corman fans, Hazel Court, Catholics, Nefertiti, Nubians, medieval French peasants, Vesta and her virgins, Mata Hari, Mary Queen of Scots, Mary Tudor, and women in general. It was the absinthe talking.

Search terms: WTF edition

I’ve got to switch things up around here.  My recent posts have been sentimental and/or introspective and frankly, I’m starting to annoy myself.  It’s time to break away from all that thoughtful shit and bust out a new batch of search terms.  For a refresher on the other mind-boggling search terms that bring people to my blog, please click here and here.

First, the newest members of my I Hate Alex Trebek club:
why is alex trebek such an insufferable prick
why does alex trebek think he’s hot shit
i fucking hate trebek
alex trebek isn’t a nice guy

I wish I didn’t like Jeopardy! as a game because I have such a hard time watching it with that smug bastard hosting.  I yell at the television at least once per episode, usually more:  “Fuck you, you little douche!”  “Shut up!  Stop talking!”  “Ass!”

What is WITH these people??
weebles boobs
weebles rack
weeble porn
weeble butt plug

Based on the disturbing popularity of these sorts of terms, I’m going to create a new literature genre: Weeblerotica.  There’s obviously an unmet need here.  A very twisted, baffling, unmet need.

Not quite the right URL, sorry:
heynicerack.com
loveyourtits.wordpress.com

If only I had thought of either of these for the name of my blog.  I could have been Madame Boobs.  Both of these domains are available, by the way.  I checked.

Some pressing questions that require answers:
can cats carry demons
Yes, but only if the demons are very small.   Cats can’t handle a big saddle.  Also, cats are pretty lazy.

what do i do i’m scared of weebles
Did they not read the title of this blog?  FEAR NO WEEBLES.

can i touch up my hair and raid it the same day
I suppose so, if you have a lot of bugs in your hair and you don’t mind that bug spray smell.  But you know, you may have more important concerns than your hair.  Just saying.

i wore pantyhose for halloween, now i can’t stop
I find this one particularly curious.  Is this person now addicted to pantyhose?  How does this happen?  What was their Halloween costume, anyway?

you see another brother in christ and you get nauseous
Whoa, is that any way to talk about a brother in Christ?  Let he who is without nausea-inducing qualities cast the first stone, dude.

Um, what?
prepare to fuck a new woman every day … but first read through our policies below

What the hell kind of organization is this?  I’m going to need to see these policies of theirs.  And is there a division for those who might wish to fuck a new man every day?

Variations on Fuck You:
fuck you american style
i fuck people like you in prison

Yes, well.  “American style” could mean so many things…  And although I’ve never been to prison, I watched Oz, so I know what’s up.  But if someone says, “I fuck people like you in prison,” does it mean that you’re a tasty piece or does it mean that you’re an obnoxious jerk who needs to become someone’s bitch?  It could go either way.

So many weevils, so many idiots:
how to make sure weebles aren’t in your food
what happens when you swallow a weeble
what to do if spaghetti has weebles in it

You mean like this? I usually just pick them out and lick off the sauce. It’s really no biggie.

If I had a dime for each search term where they obviously mean weevils and not Weebles, I’d be writing this post from my yacht on the Riviera.

My personal favorite:
geddy lee madame weebles in bed

Geddy, is that you????  Don’t be shy, baby.  Email me.

More search terms that would make great band names:
picturesque vagina
barricading the cheese
big pubes little dick
pantyhose ascendant
precocious tits
subway penis
dead marshmallow

Let Madame Weebles tell your fortune

As many of you know, I’ve heard dead people.  So I’m thinking of turning this into a full-time gig, complete with fortune-telling.  I figure as a psychic reader I can really work the wild curly hair thing and wear outlandish, exotic, low-cut outfits that show off the girls.  Plus, with “Madame Weebles” I’ve already got a good name for this shtick.

The problem is, a lot of the traditional tools used for fortune-telling are pretty old.  It’s about time we updated some of these divining methods to be more in keeping with our modern lifestyle.

Don’t get me wrong, I like a nice pot of tea brewed with loose leaves.  I’m sure tea leaves make all sorts of interesting shapes and patterns in the bottom of a person’s cup.  But if you can predict a person’s future by reading tea leaves, surely you can do the same thing by reading formations in bath salts.  Bath salts are so much more au courant than tea leaves these days.

I see a zombie eating your face. Good luck with that.

The crystal ball is a beautiful creation—a shiny, smooth, hypnotic sphere.  But it’s a bitch to keep polished and smudge-free.  And it’s heavy.  Ever drop one of those fuckers?  It’s a great way to fracture your foot.  And I don’t even want to think about what would happen if it cracked or chipped—or shattered, God forbid.  If breaking a mirror is bad luck, can you imagine what kind of terrible juju is in store for someone who damages a crystal ball?  So why take that risk when there’s an app for that?

I see you in a—wait, hang on, I’m getting a call.

Tarot cards have been around for centuries, but they’re so cool that I don’t want to update them.  If I were to modernize card readings, though, I would use baseball cards:  “You have drawn A-Rod’s rookie card.  This signifies that you will be successful and wealthy beyond your wildest dreams, but you will also be a pathetic head case with no soul.  Everyone will hate you.”

You’re going to die alone. Sucks for you.

Now all I have to do is cultivate some sort of vague, non-specific European-sounding accent and I’m good to go.  At least I think so.  Am I missing anything?

Hey, nice rack

Yes, this post is about what you think it’s about.  It’s about boobs.  Cans.  Hooters.  Melons.  Jugs.  Sweater meat.

My friends, I am not a flat-chested woman.  I’m packing heat.  I’ve wintered well.  My cups overfloweth.  Mind you, I’m not complaining.  It comes in handy quite often.  I’ve got a built-in popcorn catcher.  And it’s a convenient place to keep a tissue or money when I have no pockets available.

There are, however, some drawbacks.  The most annoying being unsolicited comments from representatives of the XY chromosome pairing.

I started getting comments and catcalls when I was a teenager.  Now that I’m in my 40s I don’t get as many but it still happens occasionally.  And it’s not like I’m pulling a Sue Ellen Mischke, walking around wearing just a bra.  I can wear the baggiest of sweaters and some slack-jawed idiot will still zero in on my chest.

Do I find it icky when guys make lewd comments?  Ewww, yes.  Do I think it’s sexist and degrading?  Fuck yeah.  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve fantasized about launching asshole-seeking missiles at these knuckle draggers.

But my other feeling is, if you’re going to make a sleazy remark, you should put some thought into it.  Make it memorable.  Pithy.  Because I’ve heard a lot of really lame stuff.  Loud kissy noises, a variety of animal-type grunts, many yells of “Woooooooo yeah!!!!” or words to that effect.  Once a guy came up real close to me, gaped at my torso and said, “BIG ONES!!” in a voice that sounded eerily like that of Cheech Marin.  And for international flavor, I’ve gotten a lot of “Ayyyyyyy mami!!!”

Come on, fellas.  Don’t phone it in with a disgusting noise or a wolf whistle or something juvenile like that.  Those are all really played out.  You can do better.

I’m not saying you should doff your hat and proclaim, “My dear lady, your mammaries are quite bountiful and luxurious indeed.  Good day to you!”  But if you’re going to be a douche, at least make an effort not to be a stupid douche.

The best line I ever heard was when I was about 17 or 18.  Anyone remember those t-shirts sold by Haagen-Dazs back in the glory days of the 80s?  They had the H-D logo on the front and an ice cream flavor on the back.  I had one (mine said Coffee).  One day when I was wearing it, I was walking down the street and saw a guy ahead of me leaning against a parked car.  I had a feeling he was going to be a problem.  I just looked straight ahead and hoped he would leave me alone.  He didn’t.  As I passed him, he said, “Haagen-Dazs, huh??  Nice scoops you got there, honey!”

Now that was clever.  Respect, bro.