Feliz Cumpleaños a Mi!

Happy birthday Southern Discomforts nee With Love, The Princess nee HRH & The Princess.

One year.
180 posts.
Fairly regular entries.

Yeah, I'm proud.

Thanks for reading! Keep coming back!

Love,
Susan nee The Princess

You have to sign up for this ...

I know I've told you guys before about my emails from The Universe, but really. You need to sign up for them. My email from this morning:

Super-incredibly FAST is the general order of the Universe, Susan, often with a splash of lemon, a dash of salt, and a shot of tomato juice.
And just knowing this about the "general order" makes stuff happen super-incredibly FAST. And puckers one's lips.

One writing career with abunant wealth is on its way,
The Universe

Not only am I going to be a big time writer (Oh Oprah ... get ready!), it's coming with abundant wealth and apparently a Bloody Mary.

Calling all Jews

I wonder if it's because we don't have a decent bagel spot in the South Slope. I know there are temples in the area. Maybe it's just because the Jews in my neighborhood are all reformed or just non-practicing.

It's Yom Kippur here in New York (and other places) and one of the great parts about Jewish holidays is mass transit. On days like Rosh Hashanah, the city quiets down around 4pm as the faithful make their way home before sunset, and the train crowds at rush hour resemble a Saturday afternoon rather than a busy work day. It's perfect. Everyone gets a seat.

This is what kept me from scowling this morning at Erica who, although increasingly cranky from fasting, is having a day at home to "atone for her sins" -many of which were committed last Yom Kippur in a hunger-induced rage - or as I call it, watch CNN and play with the dog. So this morning as I told her that if she needed any help coming up with her atonement list, to let me know, I headed out, looking forward to a lovely, relaxing, seated commute into the city.

But no. Either everyone on my train line is a gentile or all of the Jews in my neighborhood are forsaking the highest and holiest of the High Holy days. The train was so packed that I didn't get on the first one that came into the station. That rarely happens to me on non-Jewish holiday days. So this is my official shout out to all Jews to reclaim their heritage, embrace the High Holy days. Mama wants a seat on the train!

Mr. Clicky is Albanian & Other Fun Stuff

I have officially completed seven weeks of the Drinking Drivers Program. Seven weeks of videos.

Father Martin
My Name is Bill W.
Drunk and Deadly and,
I'll Quit Tomorrow, A powerful three part drama about the progressive of alcoholism. I'll Quit Tomorrow tells the story of Steve Miller, his family, friends and employer and their continuing struggles with his progressing alcoholism.

Seven weeks of Mr. Clicky

Clickety-click. [Pause.] Clickety-click. [Pause.] Clickety-click.

Seven weeks of The Mouth.

Why don't you get up and let us see you walk?
You know you the only female in here, right? You should get up and let us see you walk.
You should come in last and leave first so we can all see you walk.

All for this:Then.

Four Drinking Drivers Program graduates walk into a bar ...Yep. That's them. Top - Pop Star. Bottom, Left to Right - Mr. Clicky and The Mouth. Not shown, Me - Seated between Pop Star and The Mouth. Not since the days when I lived with Duck have I found myself in an Old Man's bar at 11:30 in the morning. But, let me tell you, it didn't take me long to get reacquainted. As a matter of fact, I was the one who sniffed the bar out.

We had wandered around Brooklyn Heights for almost half an hour following Pop Star. "Really. I know there's tons of them right around this corner." Finally I offered to go into a liquor store to find out where the bars were that were open to degenerates like me and my DDP pals. Three people were working the counter (a good sign that booze was a big hit in the area and that we were sure to find a spot). I asked the old guy who looked like he had been living hard and sure enough ...

The diner across the street has booze. There's one down at Henry. Those two spots down the block serve mimosas on Saturday. Montague there's about 5 or 6 regular bars. That's where I'd go.

And that's where we went.We opened the door and found three people already seated at the bar. God love the Irish. We all "bellied up" and the orders began.

Shot of Hennessy and espresso - Mr. Clicky
Shot of Hennessy and a beer - The Mouth
Shot of Patron and a beer - Pop Star

I ordered a vodka-tonic because I rationalized that if I were at brunch I could have ordered a Screwdriver and it would have been okay. I got enough shit as it was.

Aww! You weak! What's that shit you're drinking?
(To the bartender) Yo! Get this girl a shot!

I explained to them that what I was drinking was, in fact, alcohol -- liquor even -- and that I only had my chaser in the same glass. Before I could get through half of my drink, the boys were already ordering the second round.

You may be wondering at this point something to the effect of, "Susan. What the fuck is wrong with you?" I answer, "I don't know. It's a problem." I've been making foolish choices for my whole entire life. Mainly in the interest of excitement -- or hoping to get a good story. For example, one night, my old blog partner, HRH and I went to the ballet. We dressed and played fancy pants and thought we were spectacular. As I remember, we didn't enjoy it very much, or we enjoyed it enough but were disappointed in the long lines at the bar. The point is, we left. And somehow we found ourselves caught in the rain in Times Square. We hid out under some scaffolding to smoke and wait for the deluge to ease up. That's when Apache showed up.

Apache was an actual Apache-American who was an electrician on the construction site we were standing under. We chatted for a second and then he asked, "Hey. You wanna go up?" Well, of course we did. Next thing you know, we find ourselves in a construction hoist with Apache, heading to the 37th floor of a building that had no walls. It was incredible. I stood on the edge of the floor looking over the new Madame Tussaud's on 42nd Street thinking, "Jesus Christ. What is wrong with me? I'm standing here, on the 37th floor after riding up in an elevator clinging to the side of a building by aircraft cable (which I incidentally also have to use in order to get down). There are no walls. I'm wearing heels. I hope this guy isn't a killer." He wasn't. And it was a rare chance to ride up the side of a building in a construction hoist in the middle of Times Square. And I'm glad I did it. So there. How many of you have done it?

Alright then.

Still, I know it's stupid. But I guess I keep doing these stupid, risky things because I keep getting away with it. Which is why I ended up inviting Pop Star and Mr. Clicky back to our house. (I would have invited The Mouth, but after I told the boys I was gay, he waited for me to go to the bathroom and then he left.) Our impromptu party happened because after his third or fourth shot, Pop Star insisted that we were going to find weed and then we were going back to my house to smoke it. I thought, "Ooh! An adventure!" and said that I thought it was a fantastic idea. After stopping in at a Fort Greene pizza joint to buy pot, the three of us ended up in my backyard with Erica.

And we had a good time. I wish I had something more outrageous to tell you about the evening (which lasted until 10PM) but it was just a fun night. We all chatted and joked and laughed and it was cool. Pop Star took a nap on the sofa, we ordered pizza, Mr. Chatty informed us that he hates Russians. He is Albanian, dammit, and Russians, apparently, suck.

Me:OOH! I know what matz means!
Mr. Clicky:Matz? You mean cat?
Me:Yeah! Cat! Isn't that cool? I know the word for cat in Albanian!
Mr. Clicky:Yes. Matz. Cat. Very good.

Eventually the night grew to a close, we woke up Pop Star and the boys made their ways home.

In Mr. Clicky's car.

Play Them Off, Tom!

What is wrong with Barack Obama & John McCain? Don't they have manners? They're trying to appeal to the common people (me and you, dear reader) but they find that they are above Tom Brokaw's traffic light? I say it's bullshit.I think as soon as the red light hits, Tom should be able to hit his IR and have rap music blast over the system. If our candidates want to relate to middle America, we should start with treating them like middle America. People, celebrities are our most important people ever and the Oscars play them off all the time. What makes Obama and John McCain any better than Jack Nicholson or Jessica Lange?

It's making me crazier than my inability to keep my eyes off of the audience response graph at the bottom of the screen.