1. Icy Hot! (Or, I'm Too Sexy For My Shirt)

Today I was humiliatingly reduced, for the third time this past week, to slapping an Icy Hot patch on my Grading Knot/Lump/Hump. Now I'm feeling slightly anxious because I've used up the last of my Secret Icy Hot Patch Stash, yet my Urgent Pile-O-Grading is asexually intercoursing and becoming increasingly gargantuan and behemothic. In other words, and not to put too fine a point on it, the Icy Hot to Grading ratio is most alarmingly all out of whack.

(Embarrassing Blurtage #144: The Secret Icy Hot Patch Stash was originally purchased after a particularly wild night of dancing, after which I developed a sore neck from flinging my hair about too much in the wanton abandon of my (clearly former) youth. That's (Icy) Hot, right?)

(Embarrassing Blurtage #145: I sort of like the way Icy Hot smells. That's even (Icy) Hotter, right?)

So in order to sidestep what is undoubtedly turning into a Dangerous Icy Hot Dependency, I think I'm going to have to cold turkey myself off any further Icy Hot Goodness.

Seriously. Aren't you a little embarrassed for me at this juncture? I'm a little embarrassed for me.

2. Testy When Tested

I became testy with one of my colleagues, A., at a committee meeting today. He was, perhaps, purposely yanking on my chain a little, but was, nonetheless, maintaining an essentialized notion of maleness and femaleness, and was resisting my dogged insistence that sex and gender had to be clearly uncoupled in a project that was ostensibly all about examining gender roles in Shakespeare's tragedies. I, predictably, was yammering on about Judith Butler and performativity, and, as I became increasingly agitated, putting cranky air quotes around "masculinity" and "femininity" and saying things like "allegedly masculine traits" and "allegedly feminine traits." At one point, A. was saying something along the lines of how such-and-such was "just in a woman's nature and what are you going to do with a woman like that? She had to be punished and made to swallow fire."

It was at that point that I exclaimed, "Jesus Fucking Christ, A.!" and flung my pen across the table.

Because I am a Consummate Professional. Reeking of Icy Hot.

Afterwards, A. thanked me for a "spirited discussion."

3. Fire Eaters

I will not play with fire.
I wll not play with fire.
I will not play with fire.
I will not play with fire.

4. Peel Back the Sky

All the stars fall down in a brilliant icy clatter.
My flushed cheeks sting.
Not stars . . . but snow.

Oh yeah? Then swallow THIS, dude.

I am SO tired of the oh-so-reductive gender = female sexuality.

You have officially reached goddess status in my performative gender book.

Cranky airquotes. Excellent.

You should not be embarrassed, becuase anything endorsed by Shaq (i.e. Icy Hot) must be cool!

You are indeed an Icy Hottie!

Giving up the icy hot at this juncture sounds kind of like a bad idea. What are you gonna replace it with, Wodka?

Salon Pas, on the other hand...

I can GUESS who "A" is," but could you email me and tell me for sure?! --a former "associate"

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/19139648/?GT1=10056