love

Vocal Fry on Parade

Every woman speaks in vocal fry. Every woman trying to win Bland’s rose heart on The Bachelor. Every woman.

“Errrr myyyyyy gawrrdddd. I lurvveeeeee Blandrowrlllllllll. He is errrrrrrrgrowllllllll”

If you don’t know what vocal fry is, go listen to Kim Kardashian speak for three seconds and then hit yourself in the face with a baseball bat. It’s something the young of our kind do, and I would rather rub jalapeno juice in my eyes then listen to it.

But here I am listening to two hours of it–well, one hour and 15 minutes of it, and it’s highly likely I will not make it through the end of the second episode.

After last week’s talentless show, it is now date time. Sarah–she of the one arm–is picked to go on the coveted one-on-one date. The other ladies “awwww” this because they think she poses as much of a threat as a woman pursuing a doctorate in aeronautical engineering. Bland throws her off a building. Her scream sounds like she has a kazoo lodged in her larnyx. She’s actually attached to a harness and then she says “That-growl was soooooo-rrrrrr amazing–gerrrrrrrr?” Bland smiles blandly at her.

The next date card arrives: Jujee. (*Squee!*) Sammy (*Whoo!*) Boo-Boo Child (*Grrrr!*) Booby (*Jiggle!*) Tamayarayra (*Pop-pop!*) KaitlyNn (*WhoMp!*) Lala (*Tinky-Wink!*) Jacket (*pfft*) Vacantie (*…!*) Vaginalflap (*flop!*) Lindsaysey (*drunk!*) Random (*who?*) Token African-American (*Civil Rights!*) and 40 other names are read. Everyone is very excited and/or drunk.

They arrive at a castle. Bland stands blandly on a balcony. The date is a photoshoot for the “greatest romance stuff” Bland says. He might have said something else, but I got distracted by breathing. They will take pictures for the latest box of Grape Nuts Cereal. Some dress up as grapes, some as nuts and even more as the twigs that actually make up a bowl of Grape Nuts. Oh, it is Harlequin romance book covers. My idea is better.

Posey-pose. Grope. Kiss. Oily bodies. Bland.

Some shrieking thing grabs his crotch and says 3,458 times that she is a model. Others say “This is-growllll succcchhhhhh-errrrrrrr and amazzzzzing-errrrrrrrrr stuff?” Bland likes to stare blankly and smile more blankly.

Bland blandly invites them back for a pool party. The pool is full of slighly sour tapioca pudding. The women vocal fry at each other and drink and try to get kissy-face time. There are “connections” and “deep feelings” that one can only get from competing with 25,000 other females for the tongue of a blahville dude.

Another one-on-one date. Some random girl sadly says “It’s myyyyy-errrrr birrrthhhhdayyyy-growl?” so she hopes to get the date. She doesn’t. He asks someone else named ??–let’s call her Void. They go to a garage that has been “transformed” into an “art” “gallery.” See Bland is all about senses of humors, and wants to see if Void has one so “he” sets up a prank in the style of Scare Tactics, which is show I actually enjoy on Syfy. The Bachelor ruins Scare Tactics by designing the lamest prank in the world. A piece of “art” falls, and void gets blamed for it. Bwhhahahhhahahah!!!!

Is this show over yet?

Nope.

More vocal fry. More clenching of buttocks to avoid public farting. More “I hate-rrrrrr herrrrrrrr because-growlll” and then roses are handed out.

Some women don’t get any and that’ssssss—grrrrrrr a bummerrrrrrrrrrgrowl.

Fuck, Ladies

I’m currently watching the premiere of the latest Bachelor. Some guy–let’s call him Chip? Sure, why not–is humbled that all these ladies have turned up to humilate themselves to win his rose heart.

The limo is like a clown limo. At least 300 to 4,000 ladies plop out and try to make an impression by being lamer than the last.

One gal lips up and plants a smooch on his pancake-make-up-covered face. Another pulls a used snot rag out of her cleavage and wipes it off. Another is like “I’m a Cosmo article,” mentions Fifty Shades of Shart and pulls a blue–BLUE–tie out of her butt. Someone has a profession called “personal organizer.” Another does a backflip and almost breaks her elbow. Another calls herself an entrepreneur.

One 1.5-armed gal says this is exactly how she envisioned falling in love. Another has a football because Cosmo told her men like sports, and she uses it as a prop to gaze at his bung hole.

Some woman voice-overs that she’s going to pee her pants. Some lady is that 25-year-old who is really 35. Another shows up in a wedding dress and gah.

Someone suggested I should recap the latest Bachelor.

This is my recap: Fuck, ladies.

Desperately Seeking Hugo

Hugo is lonely, guys.

He would never publicly admit this, but he has grown tired of making out with his reflection and longs for the touch of a real woman.

I know this because I found Hugo’s profile on Christian Mingle. He used my email address so now I’m receiving daily Bible verses for which I’m ever so grateful. Today’s: For I am the LORD, I change not (Hugo 3:6).

I am aware of some of my readers’ obsession with Hugo’s denim shirt and eyeybrowless face. Maybe you will be the one to mingle with his Christian dingle, if you get my drift.

Dearest Reader: Speaker7 is attempting to write a post every day in November so she doesn’t have to participate in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). This was the second most popular choice in the what-the-eff-should-I-write-about-in-the-remaining-days poll. Tomorrow it ends. And to celebrate, Speaker7 will make out with Hugo and film it. . . only if she’s drunk enough. 

A Pad of Sludge

So, so much crying on this episode of Bachelor Pad 3. Some of it being done by me, most of it being done by contestants–ah sweet, sweet alcohol, you do bring out the best in people.

This was not my favorite episode, which is saying a lot because I hate all episodes of Bachelor Pad. And my two-year-old is ill with crying-itis so frankly, gentle reader, we’re going to get this over speedily like a quick shampoo to clear up crabs.

The contestants leave the house and arrive at the abandoned set of Nickelodeon’s Double Dare game show. Host Chris Harrison tells them they will participate in a relay called Hot Sludge Funday, which basically means they will scoot around in goop. The female half of the pair goes first and finishes by dousing herself with nuts. The male half finishes by eating a cherry. And Bachelor Pad producers get a C-minus for sexual innuendo. The twist is partners will be paired up randomly.

Ed, the drunk contestant who was thinking of leaving because he almost was voted off, is drunk. He gets stuck on the wall of shit, which could be seen as a metaphor for his life.

Ed and his partner Jamie lose and each have an elimination vote cast against them. Super fan Dave and his partner Rachel win the competition, an immunity rose and a date with three other people.

Dave’s date is first, and he chooses to take Jamie, Blakely and Erica. I’ll let Jamie set the scene: “We arrive at some red-carpeted place.”

It’s the Bachelor Pad prom. And it’s soooooo…sad.

Jamie never went to her senior prom because senior year was when her mom kind of checked out on the whole parenting thing. Dave wants to give her his immunity rose, but Blakely is all like “Oh hell no.” See Jamie and Blakely do not get along because Jamie made out with Blakely’s partner Chris and oh my god, what the fuck am I writing?

Blakely brings up Dave’s promise to vote how she wished, and makes the sweeping pronouncement that Dave’s time on Bachelor Pad is short-lived. Isn’t everyone’s? What is this show on for another two weeks? I’m sorry what I meant to say was “Oh my god.”

Anyhoo, Dave gives Jamie the rose.

Meanwhile at the house, Reid assures Ed that he will not be on the chopping block again while telling us that Ed will be on the chopping block again. Ed’s like “Reid’s my friend!” And Reid’s like “No I’m not.” Zzzzzzz. I mean, wowzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Rachel’s date is next. She takes Nick(?), Tony (?) and Michael. I swear I thought Nick/Tony was the same person, but apparently not. They arrive at Madame Tussauds wax museum. “I’m just a normal guy and all of a sudden, I’m surrounded by celebrities,” says Nick/Tony. Does he not understand that they are made of wax?

The kicker is the four contestants will be done up like wax figures to trick Bachelor fans. Is the trick that they’re not actually celebrities?

The fans are brought in and asked questions about the wax-like Bachelor contestants behind them. One woman is unsure who Tony even is (that makes two of us) and then remembers he was the pathetic one.

Tony thinks it’s “great.”

Rachel gives Michael the immunity rose, and the two feel all kissy-face in Butch Cassidy’s hide out.

Meanwhile at the pad, Jamie goes on and on about Chris’s love for her, and his desire to dump Blakely as his partner to hook up with Jamie. “To fall in love on this show would be amazing,” she delusions.

She goes to Chris’s bunk and he gives her the whole it’s-not-you-it’s-me-but-actually-it’s-really-you speech.

Jamie cries and says she’s awkward at dating and it’s really hard for her to trust people. Here’s some advice: meet someone not on a reality game show.

Elimination day. Reid floats around in a pool and unveils his plan to destroy Ed. He looks very intimidating in his polka-dotted inner tube.

Sarah feels she owes it to Ed to tell him what’s coming down the pike. Ed feels the inner tube of betrayal constrict his waist.

In a talking head, Ed vows to retaliate.

Later that night, he confronts Reid in the pool. Reid feels powerless without his polka-dotted tube holding him up, and is a terrible liar. He starts to sweat immediately and shifts his eyes all around. Ed tells Reid he sucks and knows that Reid is conspiring against him. Reid is all “Ruh-roh.”

Blakely worries she is also going home and turns to the men for assurance. Tony does what he can:

But in the end it is Reid and super fan Donna who are sent packing. Before Reid leaves, Ed’s partner Jacelyn says “I’m shit-faced. . . oh and Reid you’re a dishonest whatchamacallit. I’m drunk, yo.”

In the limo, Reid has a moment of clarity when he says: “I feel like a pretty big loser right now.”

Don’t we all, buddy. Don’t we all.

A Pad of Plugs

Very intense episode of Bachelor Pad 3 last night, people.

Wait…what the bleep did I just write? I no longer know language thanks to my Fifty Shades recrapping so I apologize for any confusion I may have caused.

I meant to write: Everyone on the show is a butt plug.

Do I need to delve further or does that adequately sum up the second episode?

Well there was this:

It begins with every Friday night at every bar in America. Two drunk women are simultaneously crying and screaming at each other. “You called me a slut.”–“No I dint.” It’s fascinating. Except not at all.

It is the twins. They apparently argue a lot and drink a lot. And many of the reject bachelors and bachelorettes are annoyed by them, which says a lot since they are known as reject bachelors and bachelorettes.

This week’s challenge was selected to honor the Summer Olympics, says host Chris Harrison. And by honoring it, the Bachelor Pad contestants intend to defile it. The men and women will perform a rhythmic gymnastics routine. The worst performers will get an elimination vote cast against them, the best will receive an immunity rose.

Tony is not at all down with that. He wanted the challenge to be something more masculine or in his words, dude-like. I’m sorry to hear that Tony, but my main question is who are you? You are on this show? Okay.

So the routines are predictably awful. Erica Rose and Ed are selected as the losers, although really there are no winners on this show. Michael and Blakely win the immunity rose and a romantic three-person date just like grandma and grandpa and random guy 1 and guy 2 enjoyed in the days of yore. Michael and Blakely each have a rose they can give to save someone else.

Michael’s date is first. He chooses Rachel, Lindzi and Donna, one of the super fans. Donna, of the giant banana, digs Michael ever since she saw him humiliate himself on TV the first time.

The foursome arrives at a club, and it is obvious that the band performing has to be related to someone in the Bachelor franchise. I swear, more people attended my childhood play Who Done It? and that was performed in my grandparent’s bathroom. The lead singer emotes to the point where I fear I might see part of his lower intestine hanging from his ass while the crowd aimlessly mills around and watches Michael french kiss Rachel.

Donna, who declares this is the best date she will ever experience (Awww! So very, very sad.), tries to win Michael back by sharing a page from her Michael stalker notebook.

Michael likes it or he begins tonguing Donna to distract her from ever drawing anything again.

Michael gives the rose to Rachel. Next up is Blakely’s date. Blakely is partnered with Chris B, but Chris B. likes to make out with Jamie. He says it’s part of his “strategy,” keep friends close, but their vaginas closer.

Since Blakely has a rose up for grabs, he stealthily makes out with Blakely in her bed, which is a bunk bed she shares with Jamie. And Jamie sees them because duh. James Bond, this guy ain’t.

Blakely decides to take Chris B., Ed and Dave, the remaining male super fan, on the date. Dave almost starts to cry when she invites him, and, wow, do Americans just have so little to live for? Is this all there is? A Dorito taco from Taco Bell and the chance to go on a four-person date with a nobody? I am thoroughly depressed.

But I perk up when I see their group date is participating in a soap box derby or because I just finished half a bottle of wine. Could be the wine.

They decorate their cars and helmets. Dave goes for subtlety by making his car rose-themed.

Chris has a very measured reaction to that: “If David gets a rose, someone might die.” That would make it a way more interesting Bachelor Pad.

Dave has a heart-to-heart with Blakely and says he wished someone stood up for her on her last season, and his vote is hers. Meanwhile, Chris tells Ed he has no interest in Blakely and just wants the dough.

In a discussion with Blakely, Chris questions why she has trust issues. It’s really hard to be the biggest doucheball on Bachelor Pad–douchiness is a prerequisite–but Chris is close.

Blakely says she’s glad Dave is such a good friend and understands her so…dramatic pause…Chris will you accept this rose?

Back at the pad, people add semen to the bacteria-infested waters in the hot tub. The twins fight again and continue fighting through the night about really important issues:

One of the twins decide she’s leaving and since they play as one contestant, the other must depart as well. She says a tearful goodbye to Dave who is unconscious during the exchange:

Since the twins voluntarily left, no woman will be voted off. That leaves just the women voting for one man, and there is some pretend tension that Ed will be leaving, but it turns out to be Ryan, who wasn’t really featured on the show except to say he is a 32-year-old virgin. I hope he DVR’d that.

As I stated earlier, there are no winners.

I’m Sexy and I Know It

So a weird thing happened to me today:

I think I was hit on. I can’t say for sure because I haven’t been hit on in a really long time. I believe the last person who hit on me was my husband, and we’ve been together over 10 years.

I was driving to a Zumba class and stopped at a red light. A truck pulled up beside me in the left hand lane, and the guy in the passenger seat knocked on his door to get my attention. I looked over, and he smiled and wiggled his fingers at me. At first, I thought oh that’s so and so…wait, who is that?  Did I know him? Nope. My brain’s facial recognition scan came up short so I asked him, all puzzled-like, “Do I know you?” And he shook his head no and I said “Oh, okay” and the light turned green, and I took off to him shouting “I was being polite.”

Weird right? I am by no means a head turner. I never was, and now that I’m nearing middle age, my interaction with the opposite sex has been mainly of the “here you go, ma’am” kind. I can’t show you what I really look like since I’m all about shielding my true identity on this blog, but I somewhat resemble her:

This is the crazy cat lady from The Simpsons

Well, I was wearing my workout clothes so this best represents what I looked like at the time of the alleged pick up:

Replace the unitard with a ratty T-shirt and sweatpants and you’re golden.

Now, I’m not saying I’m blahsville to elicit any “What are you talking about?!? You’re so pretty, You go grrlll!” kind of responses in the comment area (but please post them if you feel an unbelievable urge, and make sure the grrlll has the adequate number of r’s and l’s), I’m painting a realistic picture so you can help me decipher this gonzo interaction. I have a toddler who woke me up at 4:45 this morning, and I look like that happens on a daily basis. I’m also just generally unapproachable because I cover myself in barbed wire to protect against unexpected hugs or spontaneous displays of jocularity.

I’ve never been really good at reacting to pick up lines. In my 20’s I was the girl scowling in the corner, waiting for the cab she called to come pick her up and take her away from the nightmare known as “the club scene.” If a gentleman happened to try his magic line on me, I normally responded with a guffaw and then ran and hid in the ladies room.

So I’m not quite sure what pick-up truck man intended. Was he just being polite? Do people still wave and smile at total strangers just to let them know that we’re all in this soon-to-be zombie apocalypse together? Or was he trying to car jack me?

It is a mystery.

But what I do know is tomorrow I will be doubling up on the barbed wire.

To Know the Actual Love For You

Wouldn’t that be something–especially today of all days, the 14th day in the month-long celebration of National Bird Feeding? To know the actual love the actual someone has for the actual person who is you? I wish there was a list of actual tips. Maybe written by someone for whom English is a second language. Then I would know if a guy has a love for their girls.

The Internet never ceases to amaze me, whether it be sating my never-ending desire to know all there is to know about adult baby syndrome or helping to master the intricacies of the Shake Weight®, it always comes through for me. Google even made me a video Valentine I never finished watching because I clicked on a link to learn how to get freakishly long eye lashes (cow urine moistened onto the eyelashes followed by dollop of bird urine, cover with gauze). It was difficult to read through the gauze, but I did find a website that answered the age-old question:

How is it possible to know the actual love of the guy for you?

Tip 1 – When he takes interest in your matters like your work schedule.

I asked Mr. Speaker7 if he knew what I did at 10:35 a.m. today. He responded: “No, what did you do?”  I have been giving him the silent treatment ever since, and broke it only to say what I would like to order for take out.

Tip 2 – When a guy keeps a track on your habits.

I break my silence. What is my number 1 habit? I ask my husband. “Sitting in front of a computer screen for hours,” he responds.

The correct response is ribbon sorting.

Tip 3 – When a guy wants to spend more time with you, dates out with you and shares your favorite pastimes, then he is madly in love with you.

Do you want to mix up these ribbons and then sort them by thread count? I ask. “It’s been a really long day,” sighs Mr. Speaker7

Tip 4 – If he tries to be friendly with you, it show signs of love for you.

I think the supermarket cashier is into me because he said “Here you go. Have a nice day” rather than spitting in my face, a clear sign of no love for you.

Tip 5 – Changing of topic when you discuss about your future with him is not a good sign of a healthy relationship with your love.

What is the future of your relationship with my love? I query breathlessly. “…” responds Mr. Speaker7 because he left the room 20 minutes ago to stop answering these questions.

Tip 6 -His every action will make you believe he loves you.

Really? His every action? All humans poop. There was even a book written about it. Should I see if he is or is not pooping on a photo of me? How far do I go here? I mean your tip is very specific and helpful, but where do we draw the line? Ball scratching? Yes, ball scratching.

I think that’s a good tip to end on especially since Tip 17 is “knowing when to end your blog post on a positive love note shows he feels in love with his love over you” and there are 3,259 other tips. And Mr. Speaker7’s action of folding laundry when I hate folding laundry is clearly making me believe he loves me in a sharing of not-favorite-pastimes-kind-of way.

Happy Bird Feeding Month to you all!

Existential Crisis

I have many existential questions like:

Why do I exist?

How do I know the reality I see is actually reality?

Why don’t more people read this blog?

But the biggest question I had to consider today was: Why am I still single?

Don’t be mislead by the pronoun. I am not the “I” in that sentence although I am the “I” in this sentence: Why did I watch the show ‘Why am I still single?’ That is a question I will never be able to answer.

It is a show on VH1, starring Marcia Gay Harden as Siggy Flicker, a New York-based matchmaker, and Shawn and Marlon Wayans, reprising their roles from the 2004 classic White Chicks, as Siggy’s twin stylists.

I’ve just been informed that this is a “reality” show. This makes me think back to my second existential question.

So Siggy Flicker is apparently the name of a real live person. She helps people with their problems by having them bash apart perfectly-cooked whole chickens. The opening sequence shows the four main archetypes of singledom: The Overtalker, Mr. Ego, The Needy Guy and The Cat Lady. This is the name of my next band.

Siggy will be “helping” Ebonie and O’Neal. Ebonie is very picky and not easily impressed. She is shown making a vision board of her perfect man whom she calls Prince Jamal. It is very “impressive” and not at all like anything I would have done in sixth grade. This is true, in sixth grade I had a very “impressive” picture collage of Ralph Macchio on my bedroom wall. Ebonie’s vision board makes my collage look like a Robert Rauschenberg.

O’Neal is a “recording artist.” He sounds like a seal, the barking kind not the musician, as he bleats into a microphone. So maybe a sheep is a better analogy? I don’t know, I’ve already spent too much time thinking about his “music” career that I now must be lobotomized. He says he’s the “black Brad Pitt.” He talks a lot about his tattooed balls, which I hear is how Brad Pitt won over Angelina Jolie.

Siggy sets Ebonie and O’Neal on a date-vaillance, in which Siggy and her twin stylists secretly observe their date behavior. Ebonie brings up Prince Jamal. O’Neal talks about how the dump he took in the bathroom will require the restaurant to repaint the walls. The two do not click.

Siggy show actual judgment when she bursts in to end the date when O’Neal begins talking about how his balls smell like lavender. I am by no means a matchmaker, but even I know ball scent is a first date no-no.

Siggy now confabs with the twin stylists and people who are identified by the moniker “love picker,” which for some reason makes me think about elementary school when kids would call other kids garbage pickers.

“The worst thing you can do is wear a bindi on your forehead,” says one love picker wearing a bindi on her forehead. She might not have actually said that, but she should have and then immediately went to a mirror, saw her mistake and removed the bindi.

So now it’s time to change the bad date behavior of Ebonie. The twin stylists dress her in a terrible Cinderella costume taken from my school’s 1988 production of Cinderella and plop make up on her face. She is taken to a group of “princes” wearing crowns a half-step up from the paper Burger King crown but 10 steps down from the crown the former creepy Burger King mascot wears. She reads her Prince Jamal wishlist and all the princes leave. The moral: Don’t appear on reality television.

Siggy takes O’Neal to a knitting circle when he can dazzle a group of older women with his knitting double entendres. “Is this a sewing needle or the actual size of my penis?”

The love pickers are out and about picking out potential love interests, and now I understand why I made the connection to garbage pickers. They stop in barber shops, basketball courts, free clinic waiting rooms, urine-soaked alleyways. Siggy separates the chaff from the even chaffier with probing questions like “Where’s the craziest place you’ve ever had sex?”

Matchmaking magic ensues. O’Neal is going on a sailboat date: “I know I’ve got swag. Out of the gate, if she’s hot we f*** in the boat.” Lucky, lucky girl.

Ebonie is going wine-tasting in some Brooklyn establishment that encourages people to suck out wine as if they are siphoning gasoline from a tank to mix with other wines. I know it’s hard in New York, and restaurateurs have to resort to gimmicks to get traffic such as charge $700 for a bowl of donut soup, but this is just gross. Incidentally how I feel about the winetasting is how Ebonie feels about her date. In the bathroom she secretly tapes together the vision board Siggy cruelly made her rip apart.

O’Neal does the “I’m-the-king-of-the-world” Titanic reference and mentions his balls once. His date is perfect.

The show ends with an Animal-House where-are-they-now style ending. Ebonie is still searching for Prince Jamal and O’Neal is engaged.

Lucky, lucky girl.

Deep Dark Sex Secrets 1 through 1,890

My life is full of regrets.

I was thinking how much I do not want to be on a bed of death, lamenting all the things I should have done, but didn’t.

I had not seen Maury Povich’s eponymous show since Vicki slept with her sister’s boyfriend Jamal and Jamal’s brother Dominque and posed this simple question:  Is my sister’s boyfriend or his brother my baby’s dad?

I never did find out the answer to that question.

Regret.

Speaker7's last words

Speaker7 dies

Today’s Maury did not pose a question, but a statement of fact: “The tests will uncover your deep dark sex secret.” I would get my answers today…well, not to Vicki’s dilemma–that will forever haunt me–but the answers to some of life’s greatest mysteries.

Deep Dark Sex Secret #1: (editor’s note: this actually could be deep dark sex secret #17 or #1,825 because Speaker7 missed the first six minutes of the show. Regret.)

“She was more like a beauty queen from a movie scene. . . but the kid is not my (daughter)”

Kristina has two children with her husband David, but David doesn’t believe he’s the father of Chantilly because he thinks Kristina cheated on him with her ex-husband Tony.

Kristina is angry. David thinks she’s a cheater. They both tell their stories in a very natural non-reading-cue-card-like kind of way.

I chew my fingernails down to the knuckles……Maury pulls up the flap on his endless supply of manila envelopes….I reach up to wipe the sweat pouring from my forehead…

“In the case of Chantilly,” Maury intones. “David you are the father.”

I black out.

When I come to, I learn there are more deep-dark-sex-secret uncovering to uncover.

Deep Dark Sex Secret #2: Electric Boogaloo

A one-night stand turned into one DNA dispute.

Maria had sex with Andrew one time. Maria screams everything she says as if she is trying to make herself heard over a sandblaster. She screams at the audience to “LOOK AT MY BABY!!!!! LOOK AT MY GIRL!!!!” She screams at Andrew “I HOPE YOUR PENIS FALLS OFF!!!!!!!!”

Maury pulls out the envelope. I get into a fetal position next to the couch.

“In the case of Drucilla,” Maury intones. “Andrew you are NOT the father.”

I began to convulse as a thin trickle of urine puddles next to my twitching body.

I wonder if my system can take anymore deep-dark-sex-secret uncovering when Maury cuts directly to the next story after Maria ran backstage screaming “I’M SORRY!!!!!”

Deep Dark Sex Secret #3: Revenge of the Sith

I change my outfit and swallow four Xanax. I go to my happy place in my head as Maury introduces April. April thinks her fiance Walt and her cousin Laureen are having “sex on each other.” She has seen “sex stains” on Walt’s boxers although Walt claims they were just from an accident. Lovely, lovely love.

Maury has the lie detector results. Before he can intone them, my heart seizes in my chest. I can feel a blood vessel explode inside my head. I flop off the couch onto the floor.

I believe I died a few seconds before being revived by Maury’s clear delivery that Walt is a liar. The boxer stains were sex stains after all.

Incredible, riveting storytelling.

My only regret is that I didn’t DVR it.

Regret.

 

Reno is Not the Biggest Little City In World

The following is an excerpt from my upcoming memoir “Jerry Springer Got Me Pregnant and Maury Povich Will Prove It” which will be coming out just in time for the holiday season in late January. It will make the perfect gift for National Weatherman’s Day on Feb. 5 (screw you, Weatherwomen).

The night Jerry Springer came to town, a massive power outage turned off lights, TVs and cell phone chargers in eight states and Canada.

This was August 14, 2003 and my then-fiancé T and I were talking politics and drinking beer at the Hyatt Regency in Buffalo. The city was largely unaffected.

I looked up and saw Jerry enter the room.

“Look there’s Jerry Springer.”

T gave me a look as if to say ‘big deal,’ thinking I was referring to an episode of the Jerry Springer Show on the bar’s television. He swiveled around in his chair and caught sight of the trash TV icon.

Jerry wore a simple pink polo shirt and khaki pants. His hair was perfectly conditioned.

Speaker7's future Babydaddy

He talked on a cell phone to some stranger in Michigan who didn’t believe the cell phone’s owner that Jerry was there. I wanted to throw my chair and yell obscenities at the cell phone’s owner as a way of paying homage to Jerry, but I saw none of his bodyguards and it wouldn’t have felt quite right without being restrained by them afterwards. I mumbled a quiet, respectful “I’ll bleeping kill you, you bleeping whore.”

“What?” T asked.

A group of young people holding out pens and folders encircled Jerry. Buffalo was also the destination for Young Democrats attending a Young Democrats Convention. Howard Dean seemed to be the favorite although I noticed a few John Kerry buttons. Of course we all know how well things turned out. But I don’t hold Jerry responsible. I never would.

While Jerry signed autographs and basked in the attention of his admirers, I wondered about Reno. Not the city in Nevada, but a transsexual who appeared on Jerry’s show. It just so happened T and I had watched that particular “classic” Springer episode earlier in the day.

Reno was a woman who lived as a man and had sexual relationships with other women who didn’t know Reno’s biological gender. Reno thought it was best to come clean with Danielle, the woman he had been seeing for two months and recently slept with because he thought Danielle should know.

And what better place for total disclosure than the Jerry Springer Show?

Danielle came out to cheers and took her seat next to Reno.

“Ain’t I been good to you baby?” Reno asked holding onto her hand. “The best you ever had?”

Danielle smiled and said “yes” knowing that since this was the Springer show only good surprises were in store for her.

“Well, I’m a woman.”

Jerry handled it perfectly. Usually his golden nuggets of wisdom are saved for the “Final Thought” segment at the end of the show, but he unleashed them left and right, many of them landing squarely on Reno’s ass.

“You have the right to be who you are. . .” Jerry began. I started clapping, a few woo-hoos followed.

“But when you sleep with someone, they have the right to know your gender.”

Yes, Jerry. Slam dunk.

And then the power went out.

T and I were left to wonder whether Danielle and Reno could work things out despite their differences. If these young kids couldn’t make it work, then who could? I wanted to have faith in love. I wanted to believe that even with deception, mangled English and public humiliation, loved prevailed. I wanted Jerry to tell me.

I knew there was a reason why Jerry and I ended up in the same hotel bar miles away from our respective homes in the middle of black-out and Young Democrats convention. It couldn’t just be coincidence.

With the repetitive “Jer-ry. . . Jer-ry. . . Jer-ry” running through my head, I stood up from the table.

“Whoa [Speaker7],” T said. “Where are you going?”

I looked at T and bent over to cup his face wondering how he would react if I told him I really hated Indian food although we continued to celebrate our anniversary at the Indian restaurant where we had our first date. If Reno could offer full disclosure to Danielle didn’t T deserve the same?

“Ain’t I been good to you baby? The best you’ve ever had?”

“You’re drunk, aren’t you,” T replied.

I stumbled over to the crowd surrounding Jerry. I felt I could get closer by body-slamming people. Finally I was face-to-face with my hero, and then my mind went blank, my vision blurred. I squeaked out “Reno?”

Jerry looked perplexed

“I’m sorry, honey, what did you say?”

“Reno. What ever happened to Reno?”

Jerry studied me a moment and said “I think the power outage was mainly limited to the northeast. Thanks for watching.”

And then he was gone, swept up in a tide of Dean supporters.

I turned and T was beside me.

“Let’s go,” he said.

I was disappointed. T said if I cared so much, I could just order a copy of the classic episode and find out the ending that way.

But no.

I wanted to believe that Danielle and Reno were sipping pina coladas and laughing about how Danielle called Reno “Fuckin’ disgusting” on the show.