Juicy Lucy with an "i"

I finally had a Juicy Lucy.

What you ask?

A Juicy Lucy.

Sounds explict, you say.

I am not embarrassed to admit it because it is indeed not an awkward new sexual trend that no-one really knows how to do and no-one enjoys (you know what I am talking about, rip-finger throat pelvis cresting aka The Brunt Ramen.)

A Juicy Lucy, if you are not familiar (stupid tourists) is a burger with cheese inside the the meat of the burger, I know, cheese INSIDE, the burger. Not really that groundbreaking, but people make a big deal about it.

So today I ate one. Obviously I was at the 5-8 Club in Minneapolis not Matt's Bar because I spelled Juicy Lucy with an "i." (Chill out Matt's Bar, I will go to you and eat your burger.) At Matt's Bar they spell it Jucy Lucy with no 'i', I guess they're dumber over there (I am not saying the burgers are less stellar, just that the intelligence of the folk may be stupid. Cool it.) There is some kind of weak rivalry or something there, but seriously, cheese inside a burger, that is what it is. Guess what? There is pudding inside donuts.


But first, we decided to get onion straws to set the mood. Little did we know we would be getting.......

The Mountain of 8,000 Onion Straws! (Evil laughter!)

Too much onion, too much salt, the basket was like the Harry Potter Sorting Hat, we just kept putting it in our mouths. But also like the Sorting Hat, it could not be defeated.









Then, like any good date or properly contracted whore,  Juicy Lucy came.

   There I am,  half way through, it was just like a regular cheeseburger, except cheese INSIDE the meat.

I look like a proud 6 year old, holding a frog I found in the driveway. A frog I found in the driveway and was eating when my mom showed up to take a picture.


I am drinking water. And I have french fries and coleslaw.

I am also looking awkward because we sort of new the people sitting behind us and I am felt a little weird knowing that they could see me and I knew that his wife had an inverted nipple.

Here is Naomi! Also looking like a proud small child displaying her find!

Naomi does not have french fries and coleslaw. She can have some of mine.

So with the mountain of onions, giant burgers, fries and coleslaw, we had a hard time completing our lunches.

That is the sad remains of Naomi's burger.

I ate my burger, good for me, my blood threw me a party about it.

But the onion straws, oh the onion straws, they were boxed up and sent home to Ryan.





One word.


Magic.

Puppets!

I made this puppet!

He's awesome! I tried to make a girl puppet, but this is clearly a boy. Look at the yellow ribbon 'stache!

So scary!  This puppet is related to the  most more famous Sexual Suggestion Monster, as seen in Panda Sandwich Sketch Comedy and had his very own photo shoot with a real photographer (not just me with a camera in one hand and my other hand up his rear.) This shoot was for real (eventually I will post those photos too....).

This puppet was named the Sexual Suggestion Monster after being cast as such creature. The idea of the Sexual Suggestion Monster came out of  Panda Sandwich improv scene and then was worked in to a real sketch. My puppet was cast. He has a great agent (me). The sketch involved my adorable puppet helping two children become better friends through, you guessed it, sexual suggestions. Brilliant.

Shoes!

I got these shoes.

They look really weird and gross when they are off. They are a little weird when they are on too, but let me tell you, these shoes are going to send me straight to the top.

This is why I bought them:

I don't know much about they other than they have a tag that says Rider and come in a tiny box.


In my recent trips to the Big Easy and the Big Apple, I spend a lot of time walking and carrying my bag of things.

Specifically, in New York I was hauling my computer around in a unattractive Overland Crescent Laptop bag, along with my fancy Target clogs. The bag, not only being unattractive, is also poorly designed so my computer alone consumed most of the space in the bag. The shoes had little room.

Why was I carrying shoes?

Well, I was participating in what the East Coasters call a Nor'easter! How neat! Wind, water and windwater everywhere. Luckily, thankfully and fortunately my friend had an extra pair of rainboots for me to wear about Manhattan and I had packed a second pair of pants. So my shoes had to be carried up an down Broadway.

If I had had these slight shoes I would have had the "Hello, I am fancy and well-dressed" look as well as the "It is raining upside-down outside, I still don't understand the subway system but I have an umbrella and an overconfident sense of direction" functionality.

When I sneak a peek at my feet in these shoes I see toe cleavage. That kind of grosses me out. But I have big plans for these shoes. Look how low profile they are! I paid for soles of the shoes and air! With that lack of overbuilding, they are fit into a tiny purse shoes. They are already slated to be hidden in my purse for the wedding so I can sneak them on when my yet-to-be-found orange shoes become an orange alert of foot terror (Who doesn't like that metaphor? Come on! It's sort of topical, if it was 2002.)

And I am going to wear them on the way too the wedding and change just outside the cemetery gates (Yes, that is what I said.)

I have discovered my sense of style is all about slight of hand. Which makes sense, after all, I am a spy.

And I tend to ignore sentence syntax.

Sweatpants for your feet.

Tim  Gunn hates flip-flops and you should too.

 In his book, A Guide to Quality, Taste and Style, Tim Gunn says flip-flops make women walk like ducks (Men already do walk like duck so it's not the flip-flops' fault.)

I don't like flip-flops for the cult of cool carefree-ness they have. I really hate the little foam ones that everyone has in fifteen colors, I didn't even know there were fifteen colors in the world. They look stupid and they fall off. And make that sound that is grossly too similar to the "I am eating a lot of peanut butter in my mouth and I sound like a dog about it," sound. Not classy. And no spy would ever wear flip-flops. 

I also am not understanding why brides and bridesmaids are wearing flip-flops. Lots of women whine and complain for a chance to dress up in public. Why are they then choosing a Crayola foam board as the pedestal on which to place themselves?

And growing up, we called them thongs. Thing are very different now. 

I hate flip-flops. And so does Tim Gunn.

Flip-flops make you look fat. 

Craigslist Missed Connection

I think one of my life goals might to be one of the Missed Connections on Craigslist. Not the writer of one, the object of one. I know two people in the last three years to have had one written about them, so I think my odds are pretty good that there are shy, yet friendly, scribes typing internet messages-in-a-bottle at me and throwing them in the ocean of Craigslist.

But I am not very good at looking for them, the Missed Connections postings.  However, both of the people I knew who were mentioned were alerted to said Craigslist mention through their friends. I guess I must be one of the friends. In 2006, when I discovered this new ambition of mine a friend was mocked for his routine checking of the Missed Connection listings, to which he replied, "Hell yes, I look at them, the love of my life is writing to me and I am not going to be the jerk!"

Thanks Adam. So, I guess I am in good company.

Obviously, getting to my point, I looked at the Craigslist Missed Connections today. I think I found me. Or one that could have been me. 

This is what the Missed Connection said:

Uptown Rainbow Food Self-Checking (you) out

You were the most beautiful thing I have seen in a while. Want to play? Want to go out sometime?

I was at the Uptown Rainbow yesterday and I did use the self-check out. So, is it me? Maybe. He should have mentioned that I was buying a pre-cut tray of vegetables, cookies and a bunch of daisies with a chicken on top. That would have been more specific. Or he could have mentioned that I annoyed the Self Check-Out attendant by placing the bag in the wrong location and holding up the self check line. My secret Craigslist admirer poet could also have mentioned I dropped my purse, cookies and frozen Annie's Indian dinner on the floor. 

Really, specifics are needed. 

But I can't reply. I don't know if it was me. And if it was, I don't want to hang out with Mr. Vague-Writing. Or anyone who knows I buy pre-cut veggies and Annie's Frozen Indian Dinners. 

At least I wasn't reading the Casual Encounters again.   I never want to be one of those. 

The job for me!

Career Assesment: An Outline

The Disection of Heather Meyer-Her Skills

1. Spy Skills.

A. Sneaking

1. Avoiding people

2. Getting close to people

3. Being undetected

4. Quiet footsteps

5. Slipping through doors

B. Surveillance

1. Pattern Recognition

2. Knowledge of human nature

3. Google

4. 20/15 Vision

5. Chronic promptness

C. Cool Outfits

1. The Grommet Coat

2. Leggings as pants

3. Adrogenous T-Shirts

1. Theatre Skills

A. Acting

1. Assuming a Character

2. Improvisation

3. Sincereity

4. Swift Memorization

B. Physical Competence

1. Fitness

2. Power tools

3. Gun Safety

4. Three-ball Juggling

C. Adoration of Ibsen Cannon

1. Brand

a. Brand and I are married.

2. Peer Gynt

a. Shut up already, fourth act

3. We We Dead Awaken

a. Pax Vorbiscum

4. Ghosts

a. again with the syphillis

5. Hedda Gabler

a. Hedda is a Libra

6. The Wild Duck

a. Fucking Gregers.

C. Black Market Doctor.

1. Reiki

a. The cats and stingrays know

b. The bugs too

2. Salads with no Dressing

a. Spinach

b. Squash for breakfast

c. time-travel watermelon

3. Personal Experience

a. Rolfing

b. Bikram yoga

c. Massage Therapy

d. That girl who used to be a red-tailed hawk.

It looks like the perfect job for me is the person who delivers subpoenas. I can sneak up to them and pretend to be innocent and non-threatening and then Pow! you have been served!

I can remember that line.

But my friends wouldn't want to hang out with me anymore. They would think I might at anytime serve them. And not as a waiter (if you notice balance and carrying heavy plates of food is not in my skill set.)

And it looks cool in movies.

Games.

When I was growing up I used play a game called, "What would it look like if I died right now?" The conceit of the game was to freeze what I was doing and think about all the muscles that were employed at that frozen moment and then watch as they released their function and I crumpled to the floor, slumped on the couch, lost my head into my plate and so on. The challenge of the game was to go for reality rather than drama. No melodramaticly thrown back heads or drooping tounges. It was a very slow and very mindful game. I always started with the most major muscle at the moment, I am only talking in terms of muscle muscles here, not smooth muscles and others kinds of muscles (the heart is the largest muscle in the body, muscle weighs more than fat, February is the shortest month, whatever.) Muscles that hold you up those are what I am talking about. 

So, if I was sitting on the couch I would just start to give into gravity, releasing the tension in my legs and back and neck. Once the outline of what my lifeless shape was established, it was time to really scan and see the other places that weren't dead yet. Right shoulder lets go, jaw relaxes, ankle all those things. Sometimes things wouldn't move at all. Right now if I died, my arms wouldn't leave the laptop because of how I am propped up here on the couch, but my neck would relax and my head would fall to the left, then forward but not all the way to the laptop because there would be no backward momentum to propel the body forward. The force of my head fall forward is not enough to move the upper torso. And since it fell to the left first and then swung forward it lost a lot of the energy in the fall to the left. 

Then I would lay there.

Science.