after watching sleeping beauty for the first time, the following conversation took place between bella and marty in front of grandma nat ...

BELLA
lay down on the bed mom and i will put a prick in you.

MARTY
excuse me.

BELLA
i said, lay down on the bed and i will put a prick in you.

MARTY
and, that would be what i thought you said.

my mom rules rules the universe that contains all moms. why? because she knows more about the underbelly of this country's sex life than me and all of my peeps combined. how many of you can say the same about your tired old mom. if you recall, she works for the centers for disease control, sexually transmitted diseases division in particular.

she recently called and asked if she could talk to a variety of my friends about what they may know about trends and commercial practices within the young gay community for an information campaign they are planning. i gave her a few names of people i thought might be helpful and then called them myself to ask if they would mind helping my mother out with a project she was working on. they all agreed.

the night before one of the couples who were to meet with her called the house and got marty. the guy on the phone said that his partner asked/made him call to see if troy's mom had some kind of ulterior and/or deceptive motivation in speaking to them. specifically were they going to come home the next day to find a gaggle of baptists picketing their home. marty assured them they were fine and no such thing would happen.

i called the night after they met with my mother asking for directions to their house from the baptist church down the way just so the bus didn't get lost en route.

from the ever-reliable chavez, one of the better joke emails i've received as of late. but, perhaps it speaks to me in that special way given the number of times this very thought has run through my mind.

Employee: "I'm sorry boss, but I can't come in today. My doctor says I'm suffering from Anal Glaucoma."

Boss: "Anal Glaucoma??? What the hell is that?"

Employee: "Well basically, for the next few days, I just can't see my ass coming in to work."

e-love and dr. j are expecting their first child. congratulations e-love and dr. j.

with that out of the way, let us now move to the interesting part of the news.

e-love describes the vaginal sonogram instrument as highly phallic. i'm not sure what he or i expected from such a tool but we agree it seems like they'd try to do something to make it, well, less obviously phallic. we surmise they feel they're dealing with childbearing age adults and should be free to let such a detail slip by. e-love and i further surmise, they assume wrong.

now in the application of the sonogram, at least they use protection. i mean of course they use protection. this is america, you know, the styrofoam country. but the question is ... if you were a medical professional working with reproductive systems and had to sheath an item that was the shape, of say, a banana, what do you think you might use?

and before you answer, let me assert that these folks are on the baby birthing side of the fence and not tooting the prevention horn as much but i gotta think they're hip to the fact that a condom just might fit this tubular rod like a glove.

can we agree on this?

well, we may, but they do not. instead of getting something to fit the instrument like a glove, they instead use A GLOVE. and when does a glove not fit something like a glove you ask? when that something is shaped like a penis.

and for those who are as inquisitive as me, they use the pinky finger of the glove. and like me, that poor vaginal sonogram device just can't catch a damn break.

on the very rare occasions when marty and i wake up before both children, we drift to the center of the bed and unconsciously wrap ourselves in one another. i can't exactly describe the embrace. a leg is wrapped here. an arm will get tucked over there. etc. just take my word for it that it works quite well and proves to be one of the most serene blips in our lives these days.

recently marty mustered the energy during one such session to whisper in my ear that i smelled like sauerkraut. i gave her the obligatory and frequently used, "whatever". twenty minutes after she left the bed i wondered what she was cooking downstairs, surprised that she would have something in the oven at this early hour. it only took a few minutes to realize the culinary treat i was smelling was me.

but it still wasn't sauerkraut.

marty grew up in a very science-minded home. her father was a cardiologist. her mother an ex-nurse. two of her brothers would grow up to be doctors. marty herself, a high school science teacher. in her house, one didn't take a dump, they had a bowel movement. one didn't drop ass, they simply experienced a bout of flatulence. and, there was nothing humorous about that flatulence. you see, terribly ...

to set the scene...

marty went to an all girls catholic high school.

marty had a friend who worked at a photo-mat.

this friend once brought in a copy of a photo picturing a 20-something guy standing naked with an erection. oh, and he had shoulder length feathered, permed, mulletted, and heavily hair-sprayed hair.

marty asked to borrow the photo, stuck it in one of her school books and whenever she found herself in a circle of girls and the question came up 'so, are you dating anyone?' in that high, excited falsetto only catholic school girls seem able to attain, marty would respond 'yeah i am' in a return falsetto, 'would you like to see a picture of him?' they would wildly shriek 'like to. i'd love to. yeah! let's see'. here marty would proudly pull this photo from her calculus book and hold it right in front of their growing eyes with an outstretched arm and watch their faces contort. they would then all take their tops off and bound through the halls, their full, dark ponytails wagging behind their lithe young bodies and they'd be screaming the name "troy! troy! troy!" over and over for some unknown reason. ok, so i added the last part, but the everything before that is really true.

i saw this photo once several years ago and feel compelled to tell you something about it. for one, i looked at this item only once, yet i remember every last detail about it right down to the color of the dirty shag carpeting (mustard yellow with black specks). if i had to explain the origin of this shot i'm certain it went something like this.

the year is 1983. quiet riot is playing a spring break concert in daytona. the drummer has just come out of the bathroom, post-concert, thinking he's got a groupie or two waiting for him but instead finds his band mates with their polaroid.

i'd post the image but it would be kind of a hassle to take it out of the frame on marty's night stand to scan it.

in college i majored in english. unfortunately i was not a member of the cool and sexy camp of creative writing, that was better left to the james kelly's of our world. my specialty was in analyzing the literary greats. while my first college roommate wrote a three page study on the black jellybeans left in the base of his mother's easter dish i was dissecting d.h. lawrence's rocking horse winner, explaining how the young boy was having sex with his mother and dying on the cross all while madly riding his wooden, rope-maned steed (the key was in the eyes, the boy's eyes crack the mystery wide open). i didn't exactly seek this discipline out, it's just what came easy to me, it's how my mind operated, and by the end of it all i was pretty good at it if i may for once make this site about me.

last tuesday night i was forced to use my powers not on the likes of Nabakov's Lolita but instead on Frankel's Once Upon a Potty. the task at hand, making isabella understand what was passing through the main character's skull when she defecated not in her potty but right next to it. many would think that explaining this simple scene would be an eyes-closed kind of exercise for someone trained in the craft. but i spent forty minutes on it before looking into bella's tired eyes and giving up. i accept that in the very near future i will find a tiny, toppled turd on the floor inches from bella's very own portable lavatory, all because i was unable to effectively convey the nuances of prudence's thought processes to my eldest child.

furthermore, when i find this misplaced turd on the floor, somewhere in my home will be a content and proud isabella. when i find her she will be smiling and by the time i pick her up i will be smiling too. but, i won't be smiling for the reasons you may think. my grin will come from the fact that i will feign ignorance of the mishap and marty, ever true to her nature, will be the one to scrape human feces off our breakfast room floor with a not-thick-enough paper towel.

while my influence on things in this world may be a tad on the lean side, i like to think that where i do guide events, they are events of consequence and import. i have to feel this way because there is really only one thing i've ever helped along and by every estimation it is one of the coolest institutions in the modern and connected world.

you may have popped in, stumbled upon it by accident or heard about it in the chat rooms but if it is not part of each and every friday you exist, you're making a grave error. so since today is friday and you're here reading this, it means you're not there enjoying that, so get over to the division of michaelcosm, michaelpella and be enthralled, entranced and bettered for it is something you should not go without.

most people who meet me are hyper curious/anxious to meet marty, and not for the same reason luby was itching to meet her. first they want to see if she's really a she (marty ... marty ... could go either way). and secondly, for the same tired reason of just having to know who elected to put up with me till death makes us part.

well, for your information, the person putting up with me had a very lackadaisical look on her face when we saw two pandas having sex in a tree on the tele and the commentator talked about how the female had two vaginas. after telling marty she was at least 50% deficient she informed me that i was short one bifurcated penis as well and that if i'd work on mine, she'd work on hers.

marty then went onto say that she's often contemplated stopping to check out road-maimed opossums because they, like pandas, have this dual genital thing going on. first question is, how does anyone know this. second question is, how the hell did i end living with a person who knows this. third question is, how the hell is it i'm somehow known as the freaky one living at our address.

and, if you're curious, luby seeks to meet the partners of people he may intend hanging out with just in case the other person totally sucks because he "already has one friend he can only eat lunches with because that's the only time his wife is sure to be working and thus guaranteed to be previously engaged."

to the guy running around the internet calling himself 'onan the masterbaterian', thanks. you make me smile. laugh actually. and, this is in no way a dig. i totally in every way envy the combined lunacy and bravado in which you are leading your life. trudge forth my friend. trudge forth.

was at a wedding last weekend and something happened.

what would you say the act of a guest passing very audible gas during the bride reciting her vows portends?

yeah, i don't know either.

i'm quite different from most of the guys i work with. this is typical. but usually not as pronounced as my current situation. in the eyes of my colleagues i'm prissy, snobbish, delicate and several other decidedly negative terms, by their estimation at least. the only thing i could say about them is they are men, real, un-concentrated men.

the other day one of the uber-men informed me that if i mentioned UNIX one more time (they are a microsoft shop) a certain three of them were going to drag me out back and kick my ass. they don't know UNIX and aren't entirely comfortable with what such a change may hold for their future employment in this firm. i confidently told him i could defend such an attack. curious, he asked what 160 pounds of me was going to do against the combined 2,000 pounds of their three-man gorilla-squad. i would simply act like your pummeling aroused me, sexually. his countenance changed quite visibly. he admitted that this just may work.

odd places i've seen stray pubic hairs in the not-too-distant past:

1. in alex's diaper at his 1-week pediatric exam. the doc checked to make sure it wasn't attached before confessing that had it been, we may have a problem.

2. sticking out of the play-doh as it passed through a fun factory's shape maker. the shape of the moment was a simple square.

3. on my work laptop's computer keyboard.

and on the last item it was the client i was meeting with who brought it to my attention. he didn't say anything, he just waggled a long index finger above the letters R and T where it sat. 'oopsey-daisy, wonder where that come from?' and, to say you don't quite know what to do with it once you're holding it in the air pinched between your thumb and forefinger, highlighting it's curlycue shape, would be a vast understatement. if it were an obvious head hair you'd just lightly shoo or blow it off the desk and onto the floor, but i know how i'd feel if someone started floating stray groin hairs around my work area all willy-nilly. so i did the only respectable thing i could think of (at 8:15 in the morning at least) and daintily picked it up, studied it momentarily and deposited it into my shirt pocket. i'm a staunch believer in conducting low-impact business meetings.

after leaving this appointment i spent a moment hoping the guy knew i was simply trying to be respectful of his space and that i was not a collector of random short hairs. although, i can say, should anyone have such a hobby or collection, i would have interest in seeing it.

there were 11 kids and one father. the oldest was in high school and the youngest just out of diapers. the dad learned long ago trying to get answers from these greater-numbered masses proved futile so a system was devised to contend with the numerous overturned lamps, dings on the wall or basically anything that just seemed out of harmony.

after an infraction, they would be ordered to the basement. all eleven. they moved slowly and single-file down the stairs. i say slowly but not so slowly their compliance might be questioned. once there and standing in a motley line they would be instructed to undress. the pace in which this was done closely resembled the march down the stairs, not swift but definitely in motion. once all clothing was heaped on the floor in front of each child the man's belt would come off with a long pull from his fleshy arm. as the tip left the the last belt loop a silent starter pistol went off and there's really no other way to describe what came next other than to say, all hell broke loose. naked children ran screaming in all directions.

some crouched low and others ran outright but none stood perfectly still, it made for too easy a target. oftentimes two or more children would collide into one another. this could be a shoulder-grazing blow or a head-thumping collision. when this happened one, usually the smaller, would fall to the gritty floor. if down, they would madly crawl towards an outer wall not concerned with the potential scrapes from the unpredictable cement. the younger ones urinated as they ran, their erratic streams spraying on themselves as well as those who were just too damn close.

the adult in the center reached for the racing youths as they darted by. he'd try grabbing their flailing, wispy arms where he would then raise them high enough in the air to negate their churning feet. working his fat hand under their bony armpits worked best. the belt was in constant motion whether he held a kid or not delivering imprecise but meaningful blows. making contact on them as they shot by, while not as significant, still proved therapeutic. those who dangled beneath his raised arm would take licks to whatever side of their body was facing the advancing leather when it arrived. after a few strikes they would be released, their feet already in motion, for the next child to be snared.

it was certainly possible to make it back upstairs without ever having been singled out or even touched by the belt. it was equally possible to be collected multiple times. this was a gamble the children were willing to take, pitting their strategies of escape against their siblings. in the end, the one thing they all knew in the 60 watt darkness of their home's basement was that the only absolute defense would have been to be born in the house next door, down the street or on another continent altogether.

story told me almost 10 years ago by a coworker (g.s). it stands as one of the most vivid firsthand tales i've ever listened to.

howard stern

all the wash u college students left over the last few weeks. this begins our quite season. during this period, there's all sorts of folks trolling the alleys scavenging for the goods rich kids don't feel like carting back home. just another luxury of those who don't have to pay for what they have.

as for me, their used and soiled housewares hold no appeal, but that is not to say i don't take advantage of the mayhem. it's more than typical to stumble across some morsel that is curious not for it's monetary value but for other, better reasons. and, i have come to ritualistically look for one memento each year to remember the esteemed students by. this season's trinket was a note i found on the sidewalk while walking home one night. it reads.

----------< begin note >----------

Hi Just, here's the hey. See you soon!! Tess. (the above words were written in very big text at somewhat of an angle and there was an elongated heart in front of the 'Tess'.) Just in case and b/c my mom is making me, here's our address: (address inserted here) if you take a taxi tell them to take 91st st on the south side of edith dr to get to greenbelt. you'll recognize the house. oh! and here's bo's cell phone which my mom is also making me give you: (phone number inserted here) mine is: (another phone number) much love! be safe! (next to the above two lines is a drawn box and inside it is written 'We're on a mission from God'.) tessa oh! and there will also be a hidden key which i will tell you about.

----------< end note >----------
it is quite fortunate this scrap wasn't found by some freak who would:

a. pick it up and put it in his pocket.
b. later read it while sitting on his front porch, twice.
c. post its contents on his website.
d. or call the number pretending he's 'Just'.

now i know you're thinking the last item might just be a little risky. i thought the same given caller id, star 69 and the constant fbi surveillance i'm under, so that's why i made the call from e-love's house.

toodles jen and justin. i'll call before i arrive. and i'm axiously awaiting my 'hidden hey!'.

a nighttime ritual in our home is after baths (bella's) we watch toy story for a bit before going to bed. this has been going on for some time and i've now watched the movie no less than fifty times. after these numerous viewings i have only one observation on the film:

little bo peep is a tramp.

for those who reached new levels of disgust by yesterday's admission of my occasional swollen-genitalia syndrome, you flatter me.

for those who requested a visual aid of my condition, you flatter me as well.

and for those who said your condition is worse than mine, you flatter yourself.

as noted yesterday i recently purchased an electric toothbrush. something i didn't mention is that another thing i'm doing now is i read the instructions for things that i buy. i haven't done that since i could make noise with my armpit. and i couldn't read before that. if you do the math that does mean i've never read instructions.

not only am i now reading the instructions, i'm heeding them. for instance point five from the braun people reads:

5. never drop or insert any object into any openings.

the problem is they do not specifically apply this tenet to their product. therefore, i'm forced to take it as general advice. one would think they might say "do not insert this item into electrical outlets, lest you may have a bad day" or "do not prod humans smaller than you with this device because that would pretty much make you a dick and karma would dictate some larger human will later violate you in a like manner."

given my quandary, problems abound.

there are three garbage bags sitting NEXT to the dumpster behind my house. they're mine. i put them there. i'm fearful of placing them INTO the actual dumpster.

a man pushed me at the ATM because i wouldn't put my card into the slot. he didn't even give me time to explain. he just called me a name involving the rather troglodytic term 'moron' and cut in line.

i've urinated on the bathroom floor eight times since getting my toothbrush. i have tried explaining the reason to marty, i even showed her the instruction pamphlet, which i now carry in my wallet for quick reference, but she just grabbed it from me, crumpled it in her raised fist, threw it back at me and told me to stop pissing on her floor.

i wrecked my car after swerving to avoid going through a tunnel and then almost got hit by another car once i realized i inserted myself in my car in the first place. that close shave knocked me out of my inserting things into other things stupor.

however, the instructions for some elbow patches i just bought tell me to never think about something i'm unaware of. this may get worrisome.

oh, and happy birthday to the raised fist one.

ok, let's say you get picked up by a spaceship or approached on the street by an alien and they ask you what is the difference between men and women. reproductive and physical traits aside, what would you tell them? and let's say you want to keep it brief, given that they're an alien and all and possibly freaking you out a bit. i think a lot of people would jump on the horndog factor. the visceral, do-anything nature of men. or perhaps the power gene or the slob factor or their incessant need for new, young and shiny things.

while any of those work, they are relatively singular in nature. i would shoot for something fresh and more impactful, something that dug into the embarrassingly few layers of the male psyche, something that would concisely reveal the true nature of men in comparison to women. i've actually been thinking on this much longer than i'm comfortable telling you but i've finally concluded my search. the answer is underwear.

how weird is it that men dig womens' underwear as much as they do. clean, soiled, no matter. for men, a pair of delicate delicates is such a _thing_. if obtained it is a prize to be coveted and shown only to those with such backstage passes to their personal life. the appointed owner will touch them softly, smell them (say what you want but you're preaching to the wrong cat here), then fold or rumple them neatly and steal them away into some secret place specially picked out for such valued possessions.

now flip this. can you imagine giving as a present or some affectionate token, a pair of your tighty whitey's or printed boxers to a lady-friend. and forget about the soiled variety. if they're clean you're at the least going to get an "Oh my God!" and should you place a pair of your seasoned, bacon-striped, thin-where-you-scratch-most pair of undershorts in her unsuspecting and outstretched hand you just may get a merciless ass-beating. you may as well reach into the murk of a johnny-on-the-spot and let the sludgy residue slide into the powdered palm of her hand.

i was just thinking that that is what i would tell an alien race is the difference between men and women should they ask me. men like womens' underwear and nobody likes mens.

in attempt to explain some of my lunacy, i've told you how my mom works in the sexually transmitted division of the centers for disease control and some of the traumatizing events to come about from this affiliation (as in, monstrously large and mangled penises painted on our living room wall). should this confession not sway you in my direction, see how they celebrate christmas in the aniseptic corridors of their building as carolers in white lab coast made their rounds last week.

On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me a little luvin’ under the tree.

On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me two itchy bumps from that little luvin’ under the tree.

On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me three french kisses, two itchy bumps, it’s some sort of STD.

On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to me one clinic visit, three french kisses, two itchy bumps and some sort of STD.

On the fifth day of Christmas my doctor said to me … Chla-mydi-a, one clinic visit, three french kisses, two itchy bumps and some sort of STD.

On the sixth day of Christmas my doctor gave to me six penicillin, Chla-mydi-a, one clinic visit, three french kisses, two itchy bumps and some sort of STD.

On the seventh day of Christmas my true love came to me – “how ‘bout a quickie?”, six penicillin, Chla-mydi-a, one clinic visit, three french kisses, two itchy bumps and some sort of STD.

On the eighth day of Christmas my ture love gave to me – a case of herpes, “how ‘bout a quickie?”, six penicillin, Chla-mydi-a, one clinic visit, three french kisses, two itchy bumps and some sort of STD.

On the ninth day of Christmas my doctor said to me try doxycycline, a case of herpes, “how ‘bout a quickie?”, six penicillin, Chla-mydi-a, one clinic visit, three french kisses, two itchy bumps and some sort of STD.

On the tenth day of Christmas the CIS came to me “tell me ten sex partners”, try doxycycline, a case of herpes, “how ‘bout a quickie?”, six penicillin, Chla-myid-a, one clinic visit, three french kisses, two itchy bumps and some sort of STD.

On the eleventh day of Christmas the CIS gave to me eleven HIV tests, “tell me ten sex partners”, try doxycycline, a case of herpes, “how ‘bout a quickie?”, six penicillin, Chla-myid-a, one clinic visit, three french kisses, two itchy bumps and some sort of STD.

On the twelfth day of Christmas I got just me twelve latex condoms, eleven HIV tests, “tell me ten sex partners”, try doxycycline, a case of herpes, “how ‘bout a quickie?”, six penicillin, Chla-myid-a, one clinic visit, three french kisses, two itchy bumps and some sort of STD.

well, if you consider the four prime tickets to the david sedaris reading this april that are tacked to the wall of wonder, i'd say i am. so we've established that i'm your buddy, but the more pressing matter is are you mine? do you deem yourself worthy of one of these golden tickets to what is sure to be a night of hilarious bliss.

it's time to separate the alphas from the betas and see who really, really, viscerally, wants to be the one, or three, on my arm come showtime.

now i know many of you would consider marty to be a logical candidate. i'd advise you to consider again because after somewhere between 11 and 15 years of comments like "what's your website address again" and "no, a little to the left, a lot really, just start going left and i'll tell you when to stop" or the daily ritual of getting struck about the head and told that i'm going to be late for work again if i don't get my odor-ridden ass moving, i assure you, her ticket is up for grabs, way up.

excerpt from garrison keillor's Lake Wobegon Summer 1956