Quelle surprise.

I got another writing project. This one a) is legit-illegitimate, where I have to straightforward plagiarize and cannot delude myself the person needs the help or is using this as a model paper or some folklore, and b) has some whiff of the racysauce to boot. Double ooh!

Cheezits, I don’t even like being bad, this is me putting an upbeat face on it. Well…I can’t say the topic is the worst thing ever in my book, I admit.

Alternative Secretary poster design by Dawn Patrol on the IMP awards website.

So, yes, I came home from the SJ trip with Miss D and, after meeting up with Paolo at Chevy’s for some strategy and relaxation (gown is safe and sound in the actual town where the wedding will be, one less care on the list this week, thank god!), I got back to the ol’ compy and found I’d won a bid on a paper for which I’d forgotten even devising a quote. Got all those dogs in the fire, stanimal, I keep saying so, and a few other frankly distracting things swirling around me.

Quelle surprise: the topic is masochism. SS Funtimes, ahoy!

Giving the people what they want: Inaugural edition feat. boob-gropin’ Megan Mullally

There has been nary even ONE SINGLE search for “Maggie Gyllenhaal” and “bdsm” on this blog (which I expected to see and find the lack frankly disappointing), but “boobs” and “Megan Mullally” tip the scales dramatically, even coming in ahead of “Asia Argento,” “gay batman,” and “Drew Barrymore.” So, heck, here you go, awesome internet party people: a little bit o’ Miss Megan Mullally lezzin’ out with Debra Messing a couple years back at an awards show:

And a quickie of just some topless Megs, cause she’s my fave from the sitcom Will and Grace, which I pretty much never watched so I guess it is pointless to say I have a favorite, but I will say whatever she did on that television thing, she is onstage a damned fine singer to boot.

Enjoy! Eskimo kisses to you all!

Secretary of State of Mind

Mr. Kite’s friend Brian and I just became imaginary friends on facebook (I am now imaginary facebook friends with the entire Trio: be jealous of my imaginary popularity) and I did that thing where you flip over to your new pal-oh’s profile to make sure there is not some detail of their life like jail time or a broken marriage that you have missed in conversations so that you do not inadvertently do something socially gafferiffic the next time you have a real actual live encounter like joke about the shocking divorce rate among convicts. In doing so, I noted that he had a recent status update about a favorite movie of mine, Secretary. Gobsmacked, I totally abandoned facebook and began what would become an hours-long reacquaintance with a thing that had used to resonate so strongly with me that apparently the repressed rides again.


It had been a while, a few years at least, since I’d watched it. Since before I met my husband at the minimum, I know that much. So that’s like five years, at least, I suppose. Four? Five? Whatever. Not the point, unless it is. It might be; I don’t know.

I found truckloads of screencaps from it and was rereading the script while following along in the screencaps because I have not updated my divx codecs in basically ever and can’t play DVDs even if I did go rent the movie, and I was not up to streaming or bittorrenting it and getting some kind of folkloric virus on top of my other shit today, so I figured I was doing the next best thing.
I found myself totally sobbing and deeply affected, even more than on prior viewings or, like, after-the-fact contemplation of the material. (Saying “like” distances me from the fact that I have indeedy thought at length about a film after watching it; it makes me sound less intelligent so that in case I am wrong it’s okay for you to correct me because what do I know? These are the sorts of things I was noticing about myself while reading and thinking today.)

“Mr. Grey…thank you so much for your helpful suggestions. Because I am trying to be the very best secretary that I can be for you.”

What I realized was that this is definitely one of those movies that is a movie about love done my way. It is actually pretty much exactly what. My kind of love, my kind of problems, my kind of change that is needed. I definitely have to buy this now, probably as soon as I pick my daughter up from school. I don’t know when I’d watch it. It’s a problem that a movie in which I see myself so nearly down to the last detail, recognize so many parts of myself, a film which I find wholly healing and uplifting in its tragic and touching way, is one I have to hide from my family: what does this mean. This means I must be ashamed of how I love. Yes? I think. All I know is that that’s wrong, somehow. Either I’m wrong or my shame is wrong. This is a problem.

“It’s your behavior.”
“What about my behavior?”
“It’s very bad.”