Library officials on Monday located a Plus Size Librarian who had been missing for more than two hours after she was believed to be oversleeping or overdosing, or both, a top Library official said.

The Librian was located at her basement dwelling, in the bathroom, via cellphone, said Library Administrator Peavey Higenbotham. “The Librarian has been moved to our anti-social subversive employee holding area where she is sarcastically answering questions,” Higenbotham said.

The questioning aims to clarify all circumstances of how she disappeared and why she did not send any (emergency) signals or call her branch library to alert them of her whereabouts.

The Librarian, who often uses various aliases such as “Lefty” or “Cherry”, had not been heard from since Saturday.  When last seen she was carrying approximately 20 pounds of extra weight, several tons of excess baggage and a rather large, scabbous cold sore on her bottom lip and chin. 

She was scheduled to arrive in her branch library at 11:30 a.m. Monday morning. The news came from several bitchy employees who had immediately begun speculating that the Librarian was cavorting with a local Jamaican male, known for his propensity for late night showering. 

The U.S. military also had a report last week that the Librarian’s car  had been seen skirting the runway at McChord Air Force base south of Tacoma. She appeared disoriented and totally clueless that she was headed in the oppposite direction of Seattle where she was destined according to several sources. The U.S. military was not involved in the search.

The branch Manager, Helmut Schmidt, had previously spoken to the Librarian about her irratic behavior and ongoing acts of anarchy within the branch.  While he had considered placing her on suicide watch, he was waiting to see if her antidepressants would kick in at some point over the weekend.  

“The Librarian has now arrived at work, she is missing the majority of her hair and several bald spots are visible but she appears otherwise unharmed, unless you count the cold sore which persists and the strange rash that has appeared on her chest, just above her rather abundant cleavage. Disciplinary action could be forthcoming depending on the Librarian’s willingness to provide free blowjobs for management, once the cold sores and rashes clear up.


Actually, there is no God. Otherwise I would not be suffering this day at the library, the horror, the sorrow and the pity. Things did not start out well to begin with. After continuously hitting the snooze button on my alarm, I was awakened at 10 a.m. by a phone call from a co-worker asking where the hell I was. I threw my clothes on, made a quick coffee and sped to work, arriving within 30 minutes of the call, but still and hour late. This one will probably earn me an official write-up with the boss man. Sigh.

Upon arrival I realized it was the day for a program which was to be presented by one of the most annoying old geezers I’ve ever met.  To maintain anonymity, I can’t reveal the actual name of the program but it was along the lines of  “yowza… let me show you how funny I am.”. Mr. A  is an 80-something cheeseball who considers himself extremely witty and extremely special. He wants to share his love of laughter (it’s medicinal!!!) and slapstick comedy with the world. In the fucking library. Let’s make this clear up front: NOT funny.

So here comes Mister Show with his boxes full of stuffed animals, assorted gag props and next thing I know, he’s wearing giant orange  plastic duck feet, plopping around the library with his short-ass self, grinning maniacally, holding up a huge pair of jeans, in an effort to drum up an audience. I’m on the phone with a reference question and he’s standing in the library yelling out “did you lose your pants?” I am dying. I want to die. But first I want to pummel the old fart. Patrons are fleeing the building. He continues to circle the library looking for takers. There are none. He struts jauntily back  to the conference room, where he is supposed to be presenting this side-splitting humor.  He commences to sing Old MacDonald complete with neighing, whinnying and all the other animal sounds. He sings loudly. He is alone in the conference room. He’s laughing.  Loudly. At nothing. He comes back into the library, giant duck feet slapping the floor, with a stuffed lamb on his shoulder, waving at the few remaining patrons who have not fled but who are desperately trying to ignore him. This spectacle continues  on for about a half an hour. One of my most beloved patrons approaches me at the reference desk and tells me the one thing she learned growing up in New York City: never make eye contact with the crazies.

I’m having an IM conversation with my pal and co-worker Mike, who is safe at home today:

here he comes


he’s got the side door open
and it’s freezing

WTH – you can’t let him do that

he’s rounding the building in his duck feet

i’m not doing anything

i’m staying away from him

cereal. you’ve got to stop him


i can’t deal with him

Rob will be pissed [note: Rob = manager]

i’m telling Rob and Rob is going to kick his ass

his duck ass

I think he’s giving up
no takers
an hour of desperation
is almost up

ahhhhhhhhh… relief. He packs his boxes, takes off the duck feet. It’s over.  The day continues as sunshine fills the library through endless floor to ceiling windows. The Cherry Blossoms are in bloom. I hear the flutter of hummingbird wings.


I saw the movie “Oliver!” 16 times when I was in 6th grade. I was obsessed with Jack Wild, who played The Artful Dodger. I knew every song by heart. I still know most of them and can sing them in character. Nancy, singing “As Long as He Needs Me”, Oliver sweetly singing “Where is Love?” and the Dodger singing “Consider Yourself At Home”…..  Fagan “I’m Reviewing the Situation”…..  I was so obsessed with Jack Wild that my friend Mamie and I would call the studio in LA where he was taping H.R. Puffinstuff, every day , several times a day, asking to speak to him. Mamie had her own phone line so the cost of  long distance from South Carolina to LA was of no consequence in our adolescent Jack Wild addled minds.  Finally, one day, the operator was so sick of us calling, she actually put Jack on the phone to us….. my god… imagine the shrieking screamfest that ensued….   when we were finally able to speak I asked weakly, “is this REALLY Jack Wild?”. He replied in that perfect cockney accent “who would it be if it ‘aint?”… more screaming and shrieking and crying on our end of the line.

He was cordial if confused about who the hell we were. He asked how the weather was in Carolina. I asked if he would come and be in our local Christmas parade. That’s all I remember. But god, the sheer determination of two adolescent girls still amazes me. We did it. We set our minds on talking to him and we did it.

Where is that girl? The girl with such determination? Such resolve. I guess she’s still in here somewhere. Still having various forms of hero worship. Occasionally brushing elbows with someone of some notoriety. I met Sam Shepard in a bar in West Virginia and in trying to act  all nonchalant like I didn’t know who he was I asked him “don’t you work at Jiffy Lube?”.. he was confused, looking a little scared and amused and then was very polite when I told him I was kidding. But he left the bar pretty quickly after that. My attempt at seducing him away from Jessica Lange thwarted.  I wonder still if he remembers that interaction. I can be a real ass at times.  I once took a personality test with one of the many shrinks I’ve had in my lifetime and she told me I tested as the most introverted person she had ever tested in her entire career. Funny eh?

UPDATE: Thank god I’ve aged a little better than old Jack, looks like life wasn’t too good to the child star… rest his soul….



I’m not the drug addict type but I am loving me some valium these days.  Times are tough and I’m sick of talking about it but the blog is dead for a while. The blog nobody reads anyways……  Then there’s the Fukital…… if only i could get my hands on that shit.

Thanks to H. for reminding me of one of my favorite sayings. Pearls indeed. This after I spend a lot of time writing thoughtful and well composed e-mails to a certain someone who either doesn’t respond at all or responds with one word. One unimpressive and non-committal word. So yes, we must remember not to cast our pearls before swine ladies and gents.

Now, on to other pressing matters. As you know, I am habitually late. To everything. However, I have been doing a lot better with getting to work on time since returning to Mayberry RFD. Today I was 5 minutes late and got an e-mail immediately from THE MAN, who was standing in front of me. Words? Can we not use words? I was just starting to like the dude a little.  I have plenty of perplexing people in my life already. I don’t need another one. But some things are out of our control. I feel like telling him he’s lucky I’m here at all considering my menopausal, asthmatic and brain dead  ass is barely functioning today.  Pearls before swine.

You’re 5 years old today. You’ve done some pretty cool stuff for such a young thing. And your daddy W and granddaddy Dick have done an amazing job of feeding you with the blood of thousands of innocent Iraqis, young American, British and other nameless countries’ soldiers, not to mention the trillions of dollars they’ve spent on you to make sure you can continue to trounce, stumble and cavort around over there, drunk from all the success. And you’re not done yet are you? Uncle McCain is gonna keep you in the money for maybe another hundred years. Cousins Blackwater and Halliburton luff ya so much baby, they’re crying tears of pure joy on your special day ….. Your godfather Osama is so proud he’s about to bust. I can just see him partying down over there in Pakistan like it’s 2099. The American Sheeple might seem a little sad to see you turn five – wasn’t it just yesterday you were a little tyke pulling down statues and looking for flowers along the road along the way from the airport to Baghdad ???  …… but don’t worry… they support you still. Because not to would be unpatriotic.  So….. happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, you look like a quagmire, and you smell like one too!!!!

Photo courtesy of Madame Galina’s Iraq Tour


The topic of the day. Let’s all say a few Hail Marys and begin shall we? First off, I’m really sad. Really really sad. I thought I had a handle on the relationship with the boy. Sadly, I think I have just been fooling myself. And making a fool of myself at the same time. Sad is a word I might tend to overuse in this post. I’ll try to think of synonyms like morose, bereaved, bitter, blue, cheerless, dejected, depressed, despairing, despondent, dismal, doleful, forlorn, grieved, heartbroken, heartsick, languishing, lugubrious, morbid, weeping, woebegone. And stuck in the pathetic fallacy.. okay that doesn’t really fit but I do like the way it sounds. And the pathetic fallacy is something I am totally into. 

I went to a party last night. A friend’s 50th birthday. He had rented a performance hall and had all his musician friends there playing. The group was a distinct split between middle aged men and 20 something goth boys and girls (birthday boy’s kids and their friends). First I wowed the middle aged men with my hilarious verbocity, my performance of my famous hit tune “Daddy Fucks Dobermans” and my dazzling good looks.  But then I found myself drawn to the 20 somethings with their purple hair, multiple piercings and tattoos.  The truth is I made an ass out of myself. As is often the case, when faced with a somewhat uncomfortable social situation I really crank up the “oh I’m so special” routine and unleash the ego into overdrive.  I gave the host a hug and left.

When I got home I called the boy about 50 times, after having called him about 50 times from the party where I was unceremoniously making a total fucking ass out of myself.  The boy was in a bar in a seedy part of town and not too thrilled with my idea of humor in calling him an asshole and having my new buddy at the party call him one too. But we were kidding.  Sorta. Anyway, after the additional calls made upon my return home, the boy relented and came over.  We listened to some Steven Wright and laughed but then the conversation turned to who he was doing the night before.  I realized I am right back in the same boat I was in back in October and that boat is a stinky, leaky piece of crap.  It’s dark, there are no oars, the engine’s blown, there is nothing but bleak echoing emptiness in that boat.  And a howling sea tosses it mercilessly against the rocky shore.

This story goes downhill from here so I think I’ll just stop while I’m ahead and say today I am at work and have to excuse myself from dealing with the public because if anyone even looks at me funny I am going to cry and vomit and fall on the floor flailing my limbs or clawing at my eyes……  it is that bad.

Have you seen the ads for the new birth control pill called “YAZ” ? I don’t have the cool font to put the hip spin on the word YAZ but it is like oh my god! It is so awesome! I’m all like oh my god! If I wasn’t menopausal and all I’d be like “yes!” YAZ!!!! That is so totally awesome. I am all “that is so much more fun to say than Ortho Novum”!!!! So I called my friend Amber and I was like have you started your YAZ ? And she was all like YAZ? Oh my god!!! You like YAZ? I like YAZ!!! Now I gotta go log on to that cool website i just saw on the Colbert Report.

Cover reads: Featuring stories from Top Idols from every season – Carrie Underwood, Jordin Sparks, Ruben Studdard, Clay Aiken, BLAKE LEWIS, and many more!

Someone track this Jack Canfield down and stop him…… NOW!!!!

hey.. did we forget to revolt? This guy’s on the way out and it seems we have forgotten that he needs to be strung up, torn down, waterboarded, and sent to GITMO. He can afford to laugh, breathe a sigh of relief and hold hands with the Saudi princes, kings, terrorists…. the spotlight is off.