Friday, January 28, 2011

Bird Porn

Have you seen my Bird Porn?

In the spring of 2009, after accidentally filming two birds fornicating, I uploaded it to youtube and posted it on my Facebook page.

It got a lot of hits and I was amused by the online bantering it generated.

Later that summer, my husband and I were invited to a birthday party hosted by one of his coworkers - an elegant rooftop affair overlooking Time Square.  Even though he worked for his company for several years, I had yet to met any of his colleagues.

Contrary to MonkeyME, my husbands is calm, quiet and conservative. Determined not to taint his professional image, I prepared for the party by purchasing Jimmy Choo, 3 inch shoes, raisin red pumping lipstick and studying well-behaved, trophy wife's watching both versions of the movie, The Stepford Wives.

If nothing else, I would be plumped-up, tame and stoically, in pain.

The party was in full swing when we entered the 42nd story rooftop. Because there was only a hint of a railing, I held my husbands hand tightly and steered us away from ledge.

I wasn't certain what to expect from this band of bond traders.

A general surveillance showed an equal split right down the middle - wife's huddled on the inside, husbands teetering on the edge.

The dance was perfectly timed:

and 1, 2, 3, 4 couple enter left, host enters right
and 5, 6, 7, 8 leads wife to herd and husband to bar

I was left with a brood of blond bobbed, overwhelmed, stay at home mommies.

Bored by the details of labor pains, play dates, diaper duty, and sore nipples - I slowly moonwalked my way towards the edge.

AND there, in the center of our men, stood a curvaceous Russian beauty.  Her name was Lena.  She had wild eyes, never ending legs, and a contagious smile.

It took some work on my part to corner her, but I was determined to find out why she chose finance of fashion model.

My husband, Mark, made no mention of a female coworker and I never thought to ask.

"Mark is married?" she asked
"Yes, thats why I call him my husband" I answered.

After an intense interrogation, I discovered that Lena laughed with her mouth wide open, dated a doctor, smoked cigars, is a classically trained pianist, and was once detained on the suspicion of being a spy.

It's hard to top that.

"Want to see my bird porn?" I asked.

Well of course she did.

We spent the next few hours, tossing back scotch, puffing on stogies, and guessing the cock size of her coworkers based on the size of their hands.

"Mark's is HUGE"  I assured her.

Lena left the company a few months later with no forwarding address.

In doing research for this post, I googled "bird porn" and to my surprise, this is what I found.

A pop, smooth punk recording artist, and owner and founder of the "Thank You For Your Sex" brand.

I guess I made a lasting impression on Lena.

Hey, want to see my Bird Porn? 

photo found on Google Image

Monday, January 24, 2011


Recently, I asked the question...

"If life were an episode of SURVIVOR and you could vote one person off, who would it be and why?"

The answers varied. Some people pounced on the question. Others avoided it.

Some responses were clever and quite humorous, while others were down right diabolical.

I stressed that the question did not perpetuate violence.  The person voted off would be asked to leave immediately, but would not be harmed in any way.  This was an act of empowerment.

Some people asked questions.  They wanted to know where the downcast degenerates were going.  Were the accommodations luxurious?  Would there be chores?  What would the typical day of an ostracized individual be like?  Would they be joined by others and how long would they remain there?

Clearly some people over thought this and I, was one of them.

After several mindful cocktails, I narrowed my choice down to 3 people.

The first is an unreasonable, egocentric client.  I cringe at the thought of our posture perfect meetings.  The pickled pitch of his piss and vinegar voicemails and open ended emails are exasperating.  There is no way I can please him - nothing I do is good enough.  Despite my professionalism, or maybe because of it, he treats me like a disobedient dog.

The second, is a well ridden, over baked, soul sucking, psychopathic, once-upon-a-time homecoming queen, who destroyed a 35 year friendship by jumping into a one night stand with the openly declared, love of my life, when our courtship took a brief intermission.  She told me, "I'll get you two back together!"  She told him, "You'll like ME better."

The third is my downstairs neighbor - a grumpy, member of the Good Old Boys.  This curt, curmudgeon interprets any given moment as utter misery.  Even his dog looks depressed.  If the sun is shining and the birds are singing, he'll squint hard and complain they crapped on his car.  He has solutions for all of life's problems but doesn't care to implement any of them.  His way is the right-winged, right way, and if you're misguided enough to stand at his attention, he'll insist you "get his drift."

So... which one did I choose?  

As difficult and as demanding as my client is, I knew I couldn't vote him off because he's a client.  I need all my clients - even the beastly, backbreaking ones.

As for the neighbor, he slams the front door hard enough for me to know when he's coming.  Besides, who would take his place?  The thought of a racy, well endowed divorcee, thriving on a diet of home cooked curry, is enough to force me into seeing the sunny side of Mr. Grumpy.

That leaves the de-friended, psychotic succubus, right?  She does seem the obvious choice, and it would have been a slam dunk if a jaded lover hadn't already voted her off.

I started thinking BIG.

Sarah Palin, Osama Bin Laden, Bill O'Reilly, Lindsey Lohan...

But I figured, given enough time and rope, they'd probably vote themselves off.

My head was spinning.  Everyone's choice was straight forward and simple, except for mine.

Until one cold, bitter night, when a depraved, deviant, soiled the freshly fallen snow of a sleepy, coastal Connecticut town.

Somewhere between the hours of 11:31 pm and 5:25 am, in the height of a bellowing full moon, a callous crime was committed.

Someone snatched the wreath from my front door.

It was round, approximately 24" in diameter and was punctuated with noble fir, blueberry juniper, incense cedar and three, ponderosa pine cones.  There was no bow.

It was NOT dead. It was not thriving, but it was not past its prime.  

It was doubled wired to an ornate, wrought iron wreath holder that was screwed into our storm door's hardware.  

The perpetrator took his time.

An inspection of our dumpster, along with trash receptacles in a 2 mile radius, showed no evidence of the crime. After interviewing neighbors, I discovered this was a crime of large proportions - 12 other wreaths were missing.

What pissed me off the most is that someone not only stole my wreath, they stole my thunder. 


Every year, a week before Easter, I put on my bunny uniform - grab my handcuffs, whistle and official bunny badge, and comb the neighborhood for outdated holiday decor.  

Lights, garland, wreaths, deflatable Christmas characters, baby Jesus's, all warrant a cleverly worded citation.

Feeling underwhelmed by the lack of warmth and sunlight? 
Hands always free when you walk in or out of the door?
Call 1-800-LAZY ASS 
We'll gladly dispose of your holiday eyesores. 


But I never steal our neighbors belongings, no matter how tacky or tattered, and I certainly don't go on patrol before Valentines day or even Saint Patricks Day. I patiently wait for the crocus's to POP.  

Once I found a rotten pumpkin, on the third stoop of a slippery step.  I would have been doing them a favor by tossing out their jack-o-lantern, but even this constitutes a crime, punishable by law, and worse - my name, front page in the police blotter.

As of today, the assailants identity is still unknown.  

But that doesn't mean I can't vote him off the island.  

And because I assume my wreath was considered an eyesore, I've replaced it.  

It's wired tight, alarmed with sound, and sure to catch everyone's attention.

Tuesday, January 18, 2011


.The Stress-Test consists of viewing a photo of 2 Dolphins...
  • The dolphins appear to be nearly identical when viewed by stress-free individuals.  The test is not sufficiently accurate to detect mild stress differentials, but is very accurate on individuals with higher stress-levels.
  • Deviations in appearance between the 2 dolphins are indicators of potential stress-related problems and the deviations, if any, may also indicate the source of stress.
  • If you experience significant deviations, you may want to consider taking things a little easier...

How did YOU do?
Not only did I fail, but to me, the dolphin on the right bares a striking resemblance to a llama!!!  This is proof positive that I am suffering from the worst possible type of stress.


What could be worse?  Knowing you alone created it and then worshiped and wallowed in it!

Instead of writing, I spent a solid week bitching, scheming, ranting and reeling over .....  ???

Egocentric BULLSHIT!!!

I can't admit this anywhere other than here but... I did NOT play nice in the sandbox.

I  abuse capitalization, bold text,  "..."   "!!!"   and  "???"
I repeated words like "REALLY???"... over and over again !!!

I was confrontational, competitive and arrogant.

This mixed with a self diagnosed, obsessive compulsive personality disorder, is a recipe for disaster.

It got so bad that people stopped laughing at my jokes.

Eventually, it turned physical when my fury settled in my lower back.

I woke each morning feeling stiff, tired and beaten.

Desperate to regain my jovial self, on Friday I willingly took part in a Friend-tervention - a liquid laced, extra long weekend, focused on helping me get my wit back.

I knew I was headed in the right direction when I disguised the true identity of my super tall friend, Jay by introducing him as Boris - the non-english speaking Russian, and uber successful inventor of pajama jeans.

Before long, Friday rolled into football, and with that came the much anticipated Jets vs Patriots game.

I am a diehard New Orleans Saints fan.  Whenever they play, I switch my Facebook profile picture to this...

But now that the Saints were out of the playoffs, I needed a new persona.

I decided to auction off my loyalty to anyone willing to give me a new uniform.

This was the clear winner...

Would you look at me!!!   Look at how HOT I am!!! 

Not only do I like the new and improved me, but the response has been so overwhelmingly positive that I may stay in photoshop land... FOREVER!!!

Initially I was worried that the top made my waist look too small or that my bottoms hugged me in all the right places, but the postings of praise allowed me to relax, have an extra slice of pizza, and enjoy my cyber high.

Some credit the Jets surprising victory over the Patriots to my wearing of the green.

And I've been told that, in preparation for next weeks game against the Pittsburg Steelers, I'm getting bigger BOOBS!!!

Hey.... my back feels so much better and I sure do hope I made you smile :)

photoshopped ME courtesy of my jazz lovin' buddy, Jim Quinn

Thanks for making ME smile time and time again!


Thursday, January 6, 2011

Riding High

Because it fades, and changes, and ends too soon...what will you do with your WILD and precious life?

Everyday we are given a choice.  Will you enjoy the passage of time or will you hold onto the past?  Are you filled with enthusiasm or deadened by despair?

It is easier to remain stuck in old believes and behaviors, even if they no longer serve us and make us miserable.  We know that a change is long overdue but we are trapped in the illusion of our reality.

The fear of the unknown tucks you in each night.  You awake hungry and exhausted.

I gravitate towards those who seize the day with both hands, and shake it hard.

Contortionists who braid social and silly with sensibility and spirituality.

We party, work and play with passion and purpose. We welcome our mistakes knowing thats how we grow.

Because our spark, although fleeting, rides high and leaves a perpetual trail...

I see myself as a huge fiery comet, a shooting star.  
Everyone stops, points up and gasps "oh, look at that!" 
Then whoosh, and I'm gone...
and they'll never see anything like it ever again...
and they won't be able to forget me - ever.     
 Jim Morrison

Monday, January 3, 2011

The Wild Ones

Only tame birds have a longing. The wild ones fly.
- Elmer Diktonius -

My 2011 toast was declared in my home town of Dallas, Pennsylvanian.  In the doorway stood the shadow of a little girl longing for things to come.  

I am the wild one.  Determined, driven, compulsive, and unrealistically optimistic.  Where did this seed come from?  

I have kept flying.  It takes courage to keep the wings in motion.  To enter each day with compassion, reverence, and conviction.

Regret, resentment and guilt will not ground me.  I stumble, I stand, I sturdy myself - time and time again.

I am grateful for the love and gentle kindness bestowed upon me.  For what I flew towards or fled from - the bright and the brutal.  For what triumph and tragedy have taught me.  

Magpie Goose courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

Stylish hairdo courtesy of my mothers steady hand and my unwillingness to sit still.

Thank You For Encouraging My Joy of Writing

Thank You For Encouraging My Joy of Writing

Shannon E. Kennedy


Photo by Joan Harrison