Friday, December 31, 2004

Mohammed the Charitable

Is it any wonder why Muslims are so beloved throughout the world?

This is from Little Green Footballs who has it from Live Fatwa:

Name: Mary

Question: It is permissible for us, as Muslims, to
make du`aa’ for those human beings afflicted there even if those people include
Muslims and non-Muslims?

Answer: In the Name of Allah, Most Gracious, Most
All praise and thanks are due to Allah, and peace and blessings be
upon His Messenger.

Thank you.

There is no harm or prohibition to pray for those people who lost their
lives in that natural disaster. However, your beloved Muslim brothers and
sisters deserve more and more of prayers and du’aa’. They deserve your moral and
financial assistances. You should share their sorrow and difficult time and do
invoke Allah to accept them among the Shuhada’ or martyrs on the day of

Name: Hakim

Question: Can we give those afflicted people a portion
of our zakah money even if they are non-Muslims? How about giving them

Answer: In the Name of Allah, Most Gracious, Most
All praise and thanks are due to Allah, and peace and blessings be
upon His Messenger.

Thank you.

The receivers of Zakah money are clearly mentioned in the Qur’an. Among
them, the poor and needy people. Looking at the situation of those people who
are afflicted, one can conclude that the Muslims among them fall under the
category of needy people.
In this regard, those Muslims deserve to receive a
portion of Zakah. As for non-Muslims, they might deserve donation or any other
form of assistance but not Zakah.
Thus, Zakah should be given to poor and
needy Muslims. Some non-Muslims may receive a portion of Zakah if there is hope
that by giving them Zakah that might lead to their conversion into Islam. They
would be then considered under the category of mu’allafati qulubuhun or those
whose hearts are inclined to accept Islam.

Are you thirsty? Convert and I'll let you have a sip.

Wednesday, December 29, 2004

Non-Violence/Other Bits

I am not an overly violent person. Sure I can stand up for myself, but I'd prefer to be reasonable and courteous and I expect the same from other people.

So I have no reasonable explanation for the fact that everytime I see a picture of Justin Timberlake's face anywhere, I want to smash it with a brick.

And from the "Celebrity Idiot of the Week" file, I present: Ms. Anna Nicole Smith. Actually, she presents herself as utterly and completely unwell, as she attempts to present someone else whose name I couldn't make out, but whom I feel extremely sorry for.

And from the "Ordinary Idiot of the Week" files: This one might even make "Idiot of the Month."

Incidentally, one of the only thing worse than having "fag" carved into your forehead, is to have it carved backwards into your forehead. And the only thing worse than that is having to tell people that you did it yourself.

And finally, I think the phrase "people of color" may be on the way out. Is it just me or does it strike anyone else as a wordy way of saying "colored people?" I don't like it. Why, if we are supposed to be "color-blind" (I hate that word, but can't think of a better one), do we have to label non-whites? And every race is guilty of it. In my opinion, race identification should only be used when dealing with suspects in crimes to facilitate their capture, and we should all be properly ashamed of them, but only after they are convicted in a court of law.

(If anyone is offended, please tell me so that I may pour myself a celebratory pint).

Although it's slightly unrelated, I just want to state, for the record, that the day I refer to myself as a "European-American" is the day I will drink a bottle of wine, take a steam bath, and slit my wrists wide open.

Tuesday, December 28, 2004

The Professor

When I was at the more-intellectual-than-thou college in New Hampshire, I had a professor there named Dr. Arnault. He was awesome and I had a heart-wrenching, weak-kneed, school-girl crush on him despite his gray hair, beautiful wife, and seven children.

He was a tough grader of my papers, but a C with a compliment was worth more than an A from any other professor I have had before or since. And he was so cool. It's hard to explain his coolness, but I'll give it a shot. You know how when you are about 18 or 19, you tend not to have much of an intellectual sense of humor? Sure you can drink and laugh it up, but it was really hard (at least for me) to write anything amusing, and almost impossible to read anything amusing and get the joke. (Aside: I'm pretty sure I'm not alone in this.)

We were doing a class on William Faulkner whom I considered not funny at best, and horribly depressing at worst. It was hard for me as an 18 year old to see any humor at all in Faulkner. But when Dr. Arnault would read exerpts aloud in class he'd start chuckling at something then start laughing so hard he had to wipe his eyes. And suddenly, instead of depressing, Faulkner became 4 dimensional. So I credit Dr. Arnault pointing out the humor in literature (which I have always taken waaaaaaay too seriously).

One of my proudest moments came at lunch one day. A group of professors plopped themselves down at our table and asked us how we were enjoying The Great Gatsby which we were studying at the time. Everyone else started toadying up and saying how much they liked it and pointing out metaphors and all of the rest of the idiocy that comes when people try to prove their intelligence.

When I got a chance to speak up, I said it was alright, but I thought it was kind of overrated. I told them I hadn't read the book previously and it had always been built up to be this masterpiece, but upon reading it, it seemed a little dull.

I wasn't saying any of this to be different or to stand out. I rarely do things like that. I know it may not seem that way, but you'll just have to take my word for it. Anyway, it was my honest opinion. Dr. Arnault nodded his head and said something along the lines of, "I feel the same way. It's alright, but it's not the masterpiece it's cracked up to be."

For Dr. Arnault to agree with you was, among the students, the undisputed intellectual feather in one's cap - the holy grail, if you will. As long as enough people heard about it, it could cement your reputation as an intellectual contender, at least at that college.

I fully and freely admit that I was not and am not any kind of intellectual powerhouse. If I were to define myself in the intellectual sense, I would say that I was quirky with just enough edge to be mildly interesting. Not the stuff of genius exactly, but it's as much as I have a right to expect.

What I'm long-windedly boiling down to is that I'm not going to finish college. I could, but I won't. It is really depressing to me because I wish I could set a good example for the girls. But I won't go back to school on principle. It is too expensive, and any degree I'd get wouldn't amount to JACK SQUAT.

Sunday, December 26, 2004

Wouldn't Have Believed It If I Hadn't Seen It With My Own Eyes

In Houston, TX, we had snow on Christmas, 2004. Mark the day.

To most Northerners, this is not something to get excited over. To most Southerners, it's something major. But to a transplanted Yankee, who hasn't had a white Christmas since childhood, it is something that has the potential to bring tears to your eyes. Not that I would admit to it.

The snow is gone, but it's still in the 30s which is bitterly cold for Houston.

We went to my parents ranchette near Katy, TX and had a lovely time. I cooked, my sister cooked, and my Jewish grandmother, who likes to come down for Christmas just to torture my mom, made chopped liver. We drank lots of wine/Frangelico.

My little sisters decided to play Santa for the girls, and ended up scaring Emma so bad she wouldn't go to sleep. They got Gwen and Em into bed, then crept outside their window and one of them, in her deepest voice, said, "Ho Ho Ho, Merry Christmas!" Poor Emma. She didn't even cry or speak she was so frightened. She just ran out of the room and clung to me. I couldn't pry her off with a crowbar. I was pretty steamed. It set back my Christmas set-up by about 3 hours.

Jethro and I went to bed at about 3am on an air mattress we had set up in my step-dad's office. We had sex. It kept us sane. Besides, there is something so lovely and forbidden about doing-it in your parents' house (my parents' house at any rate).

This morning, poor Jethro was awakened by an eardrum shattering rendition of Joy to the World. The room we were sleeping in housed the speakers heard all over the house. They were right above his head. My stepdad turned on the stereo while everyone gathered to open presents, forgetting that Jethro was in the room sleeping. Poor man has been a little deaf all day, but that could be selective.

I bought the girls a ridiculous amount of presents, but their favorites seem to be these little barking dogs I bought them. Emma's is a chiuaua she calls "Pinga", and Gwennie's is a pink poodle she calls "Poodle".

Gwennie ripped through her gifts like a dynamo, her eyes bright and squealing with glee. Emma opened hers slowly, hugging each toy tightly before moving on to the next.

Gwennie had asked me for everything she had seen on TV this year. I spend most of my pre-Christmas thinking about what Gwennie would like. Her happiness makes the whole endeavor worthwhile, just because she's such a stinker when she's miserable.

Emma asked me for one thing. She saw a commercial for The Littlest Pet Shop and came up to me and asked in her wee little voice, "Mommy, can I have that puppy?"

I said yes and told her she could have a pony too. That kid can wrap me around her finger like no other.

All in all, it was a good day. Aside from a few tiffs with my ragingly bitchy sisters, it was quite pleasant. I hope everyone else had a wonderful holiday.

Friday, December 24, 2004

Merry Christmas Y'all

I have many relatives of different religions and non-religions. When I was very small, I grew tired of having to say so many different things around the holidays to different people, so I made up a farewell that included it all. I used it all year 'round.

Merry Christmas, Happy Channukah, Good Tidings, I love you, Bye-bye!

I think that may just cover it all.

Wednesday, December 22, 2004


We were right in the middle of marital relations when I blurted out, "NAIL IT, BABY!!!"

Does that strike anyone else as uncouth?

Tuesday, December 21, 2004

Day Two

I hauled a vomiting Jethro out of bed to meet the group Protest Warrior of which I proudly serve as the East Texas Chapter Leader. It is a pro-democracy and freedom advocacy group who fundamentally oppose the left-wing reactionaries. Really cool people. The boys were so hot and there were only a few other girls. If I were single....

Anyway, we all met for brunch and talked politics for about two hours. We were in heaven. Then we all met for paintball, and Jethro ascended to a higher plane. He's really good. Embarrassingly good. All of the others were newbies and Jethro is pretty aggressive. Fortunately it won him respect as opposed to resentment, but he now has 5 massive purple welts all over his body - 2 of which are perilously close to the "facilities."

The field was pretty cool. I would have loved to play, but I don't fancy getting hit anywhere on my precious person by a stinging paintball, so I stayed by the bonfire they had going.The day was beautiful and chilly, but the fire was warm. I sat there and relaxed. Emma fell asleep and Gwennie found a little boy to play with. I just sat there with my eyes closed and waited for Jethro to finish.

Then I said something So Incredibly Stupid.

A man had rolled up to the fire in a wheelchair. He was paralysed from the neck down. Being drowsy and a little hungover, I didn't notice that he couldn't move his hands. I asked him if he was going to play. He looked at me with the sympathy with which you would view a blind person, and politely said his paintball days were over. I contemplated throwing myself on the bonfire.

Night Two

I conned my sisters into staying with the kids again and Jeth and I, once again, headed for 6th. We were supposed to meet the Protest Warriors at a bar called The Gingerman. My sister works at the one in Houston.

It was a great place, and Jeth and I got there first and were able to snag a lounge section. We had just ordered all our beers and were settling in, when someone mentioned that there was an underage member roaming the streets looking for a place that would let him in. Not wanting to leave a fellow member out in the cold, we all left the nice cozy Gingerman for a ghastly dance club that would allow him entrance. I considered calling Trashman to see if he wanted to meet us for a drink, but then I thought how shitty it would be if he left his wife with a sick kid on their honeymoon.

The dance club was amusing. I used to be so intimidated by clubs when I was 18. Now, they bore me to tears. I did get hit on though. That was cool. I had just consumed my 4th or 5th long island iced tea when a guy slid up to me and asked if I was here with anyone. My speech was pretty slurred by this time, so I jerked my thumb towards Jethro and kept drinking. Jethro asked what was up and I said, "He wanted to know if I was here with anyone." The look on the poor guy's face was terrible - a combination of sincerity and fear.

Jethro said, "Were you hitting on my wife?"

The guy said, "No, I wasn't."

Jethro laughed and said, "It's cool."

The guy said, "Thank you."

I chuckled evilly into my long island iced tea.

Yeah. I know. We left the club shortly after.

The last thing I remember is grabbing what I sincerely thought was Jethro's arm. It turned out not to be and I realized that I was fondling the bare arm of Someone Else who, surprisingly didn't pull away. The second I realized it, Jethro grabbed my arm and led me to the bar to pay. I was pretty embarrassed and never got to explain myself to the young man whose arm I'd slobbered over. Nice way for the East Texas Chapter Leader to behave.

We got home, and it was my turn to vomit. We left the next day. I thought I was going to float away on wave after wave of nausea. But I didn't and we're here, and I'm blogging all about the fun we had. I think I want us to move there.

Monday, December 20, 2004


We left 6 hours later than we had planned, but Jeth and I are easygoing people so we had only reached Bitter Divorce stage as we pulled out of the driveway.

Once on the road, the tension dissippated somewhat. I tried to call my sister in Austin, but I ended up calling Trashman by accident. I'll try to explain the mistake, but I may fail. I don't have my sisters' #s programmed into my phone, but they had been calling me so I hit the list of recent calls so I could get in touch with one of them. I don't have their numbers memorized, so I called the first number with the correct area code. Apparently, Trashman had called and I didn't pick up my phone since I was too busy slamming my head into a shelf in my haste to get out of there. If I had known it was Trash's number, I would have called it sooner. I know I sound like a flake as I write this, so I can only imagine how I sounded to Trashman when I called him asking for my sisters.

I probably sounded even more flaky when I squealed like a gay man at a Justin Timberlake concert after discovering that I was talking to Trashman (after he told me that I had the wrong number and then called me back). I found out his real first name, and he found out Jethro's. I know I'd feel weird calling him 'Trashman' if I ever met him in real life, but I can't possibly think of him as his real name.

Anyway, he told me that he was trying to talk Jack into meeting us too, which, for some reason, instantly made me wish I'd stuck to my diet and lost 10 lbs.

We chatted a bit about how there was a possibility that we knew more about each other than actual live friends did, and then he told me he and Jen had gotten married. I felt so priveleged to hear about it firsthand, and once again offer my congratulations.

We made tentative plans to see the light show, but if you read his blog you'll know that it was not meant to be. Damn flu season.

Austin Night One

If you've never been to Austin and you like to travel, I suggest you put it at the top of your list. It's a small, quaint, bohemian city. Very artsy with a lovable weirdo on every street corner. It's hard to find your way around at first because the streets are referred to as two different names. By the way. Would someone please tell me how one is supposed to infer from a sign that says TX-1 that it is really Mopac? And while you're pondering that, please tell me how one is supposed to know that Research is really 183?

We finally made it to Austin. As prearranged, one of my sisters babysat and Jeth and I hit 6th street. We went to pub called BD Riley's. They had the best Texas Irish band I've ever heard. I know our family is Irish somewhere in the Euro-soup. My sister and I couldn't keep from jigging. Jethro thought we were nuts, but was so hypnotized by the jig my breasts were doing that he didn't say anything.

I ended up pretty well smashed and left, but Jethro stayed out with my sister who hooked him up with free Mojitos all night. I was pretty gone by the time I left, so I can only imagine how drunk Jethro was after drinking free Mojitos all night. When he got home, I was still kind of bombed. Things happened. Jethro will blog about it.

to be continued....

Friday, December 17, 2004

A Post with a Use

I'm writing this post because Jeth, the girls and I are going to Austin this weekend, and I didn't want to leave the post about masturbation up the whole time.

I can't wait for this trip. I have sisters who have agreed to babysit the girls for at least one of the nights we'll be there, so at some point I plan on being scrape-me-off-the-floor-and-pour-me-into-bed drunk. If we're very lucky, Trashman will utilize the cell phone number I courageously emailed him and we'll have the pleasure of a meeting in the flesh.

(Did that sound dirty?)

Jack can come too if he is not out busting the trollops for taking his picture.

Anyway, have a pleasant and safe weekend, and pray as always for little Savannah.

Wednesday, December 15, 2004


When Jethro and I were first dating, he was in his last year of college and living with three roommates. They were all a little strange, but Hung To was definitely the strangest. He was a little fellow, aged 19, but literally looked about 10 or 12. The mere sight of him behind a steering wheel was enough to scare the bejeezus out of you. He was Asian (of course) had lived in France for most of his life, but spoke English with the worst accent you have ever heard. I spent hours with him trying to help him say his L's and R's correctly, just for my own amusement. He could say them correctly, but he always, without fail, mixed them up. To this day, I can't figure out why they are mixed up so easily by Asian folks. He was so dyslexic about it that I finally told him just to reverse the letters in his head. Every time a word was spelled with an r, he was to think l and vice versa. This approach was marginally more successful.

I do digress, however.

Hung was a perverted little shit, but he worshipped Jethro with a devotion that can only be understood by small Asian men who have hero-worshipped taller Asian men with girlfriends who were putting out.

And all his hero worship didn't prevent him from trying to catch Jethro and I in the act. He was devoted to this mission. Jeth and I would close the door to the bedroom and lock it and hear the little "scritch scratches" of him trying to pick the lock. On one particularly disgusting occasion, we heard a zipper unzipping. Actually, that was pretty funny.

One night, Jethro and I were in the room, and we heard Hung outside the door.

"Make some moaning noises," said the intrepid hero.

"Oh God, oh God, right there, OOOOOO, oh Jethro, yes, yes......"

Jethro tiptoed to the door and flung it wide. Hung practically somersaulted into the room, grinning adoringly at Jethro with his little hand in his little pants.

Gross, but really funny especially in the retelling.

I paid him back though.

One afternoon, I was off of work and Hung and I were alone in the apartment. Pretty in Pink was on tv, so Hung and I watched it together.

Now if there is anything I took away from Pretty In Pink, it is that it was a totally innocuous movie. The plot was minimal, the characters shallow, and it was oh-so-dated. The last scene in the movie is a rather chaste kiss between Molly Ringwald and Andrew McCarthy. Nothing to write home about.

The movie ended, and Hung tore out of the room.

"Weird little fucker," I thought.

I headed down the hall to the bedroom, and there I saw. Hung had flung himself on his bed, and covered both himself and what appeared to be a hummingbird, with his blanket.

"What the....?"

The "hummingbird" was moving faster than I had ever seen one move. Hung's eyes were closed and there was a pained expression on his face.

He isn't. He COULDN'T BE. He IS. Oh geez.

"HUNG! What the hell are you doing?"

The hummingbird activity ceased abruptly. Hung sat straight up in bed.


"Well then shut the goddam door!"

Monday, December 13, 2004


#1. I took my eldest daughter to a birthday party the other day. It was at a pottery studio. All the kids got to pick out a piece of pottery, paint it, and have it glazed. Loads of fun. I stayed there with Gwennie the whole time, and we painted a butterfly box. We had to leave it there for a few days, and I was going to pick it up on Monday. I guess the party girl's parents picked it up for us, because Gwennie comes home Monday with the box. But it isn't the one we painted. This one was ugly. I know it shouldn't be that big a deal, but we had such a good time painting it together, that I'm really disappointed we don't have it. I suppose I could make a big cry baby out of myself and talk to the girl's mom, but I don't want to. I just hope Gwennie doesn't notice.

#2. I had a lady call me last Thursday to schedule an appointment to list her house with my stepdad. Fine. It was set for Friday at 1:00pm. She calls 10 minutes prior, and cancels. Not so fine. She calls me 10 minutes ago, and says that the realtor she had called first had finally gotten back to her and she was going to use them instead. Not fine at all. She took 5 minutes of my life to tell me that she was going to use some loser realtor who didn't even have the common courtesy to return her call promptly. ARRRRGGGHHHH.

#3. Gwennie's school rainy day dismissal is chaos, bordering on panic. I sloshed all over the outside of the school in the pouring rain looking for my daughter. Even with the umbrella, we were soaked. When we finally made it back to the car, we found a little girl crying in the pouring rain. She had walked across the street by herself to look for her mom. I asked her if she was lost and she said, "No, my mom is."

I laughed and told her we'd find her. I walked her and both my kids back across the street in the pouring rain to look for the kid's mother. When I go to cross the driveway of the school, the teacher who monitors traffic screamed through her bullhorn that we had to use the crosswalk. I'm not lying when I tell you that the crosswalk was less than a foot away from where we were crossing. "You've got to be kidding!" I screamed back.


No good deed goes unpunished.

I've never come so close to giving a teacher the finger.

We moved over a few inches and crossed at the crosswalk. As we walked inside the school, the girl saw her mother talking to another lady about some nonsensical social function. "Mommy!" yelled the little girl. The mom absently put her hand on the little girl's head and continued with her conversation. No acknowledgement whatsoever. Her first grader was literally wandering the street by herself in the rain, with no protection. A stranger had to help her, and the stupid cow didn't have the common courtesy to even acknowledge the situation. Hanging's too good for some people.

#4. Seven, after reading my blog and not seeing my picture, cast his vision of me as this: Medium brown hair, tallish, medium build. Voice=bold and brassy, almost bossy, but pleasant.

If I were to take the description literally, it means I'm completely nondescript except when I open my mouth to boss people around, possibly in a maternal way. Not exactly flattering.

If I were to take this description figuratively (which I'm very much afraid it is), I'm visualized as a 300 lb, bossy bar wench, screaming obscenities and tossing beer. Pleasant, maybe if a mob has held me down long enough to give me an elephant tranquilizer.

I don't hold any of this against Seven who can't help what my writing conjurs up in his mind, but DAMN! EGO KILL. It's my writing. I swear too much. Maybe I should brag more instead. Or talk about how I get hit on by men of the Latino persuasion on a regular basis. Nah. Jeth would start practicing his Tae Kwon Do and cleaning his gun, and I see him little enough as it is.

3 more days 'til sweet liberation (Jethro's exams will be over).

Sunday, December 12, 2004

The Mermaid

OK, I love folk music. Not the hippie tambourine junk, but the folk trios/quartets from the late 50s early sixties. The Limeliters are my favorite. I know. It's probably a gayer genre than the hippie crap. But I like it. It's innocent and comforting. Here's a sample:

Read it through, it's funny. Promise.

When I was a lad in a fishing town
My old man said to me,
"You can live a life, such a jolly life
Sailing on the sea."
You can search the world for pretty girls
'Til your eyes are weak and dim,
But don't go swimming with the Mermaids, Son
If you don't know how to swim.

For their hair is green as seaweed,
And their eyes are pale and blue,
But I'll tell you now before you start,
You may love that girl with all your heart,
You're just gonna love the upper part.
You're not gonna love the tail.

So I signed on to a whaling ship
And my very first day at sea
I seen a mermaid in the waves,
Smiling up at me.
"Come live with me in the sea," said she
"Down on the Ocean floor.
I'll show you a thousand wondrous things
You never seen before."

So in I jumped and she pulled me down
Down to a seaweed bed.
A pillow she made of a tortoise shell
And placed beneath my head.
She served me shrimps and caviar
Upon a silver dish.
She was just my taste right down to the waist
But the rest of her was FISH!

Oh her hair was green as seaweed
And her eyes were pale and blue.
And her face it was a work of art,
But I only gave her half my heart
For though I loved the upper part,
I could not love the TAIL!

So into the tide, I sat and cried
And sang to the clams and whales,
"How I loved her eyes and her seaweed hair,
All but her silvery scales."
Just then her sister swam on by
And set my heart a-whirl!
For her upper part was an ugly fish
But the rest of her was GIRL!

Her toes were round and rosy,
And her knees were thin and pale.
Her legs they were a work of art,
And I loved that girl with all my heart.
I didn't give a damn about the upper part
And that's how I end my tale!

Friday, December 10, 2004

...And So the World Turns

Hooray for Savannah!!! God bless her and may she make a full and speedy recovery. It's funny how blogworld can give you such a giddy high. I can't wait for pictures of her running around, as healthy as a little horse.

I ask also for prayers/good thoughts tonight for my best friend, Kristy's, niece and the granddaughter of my godmother. She's a beautiful 17 years old, and had just started college on a full scholarship this year, when she was diagnosed with spinal cancer. It is inoperable and chemotherapy is her only option.

From a personal perspective, I've known her since she was born. I know her family and this is extremely devastating. The family has suffered tremendous tragedy in the past, losing several friends in car accidents, a father/grandfather to a heart attack, a brother/uncle to an asthma attack at 29, a niece/cousin who died from liver failure last year at 26, and an uncle/brother-in-law who was found dead just a few months ago from what they believe was a heart attack. He was 35. This is just one more terrible thing on their already overflowing plate. Even though she would never say it, I sense from talking to Kristy, that the family is very stressed and worn down by seemingly endless suffering. They are a really special family - as kind and generous and good-hearted as you could ever hope to meet. Please ask God to be with them and give them the strength and courage to see this through.

I was going to write more, but I'm kind of upset right now. My godmother has been through such hell, and I can't stand to think of her having to suffer this pain. I'd give up my right arm if no one in their family would ever die again before the age of 75.

I know this will sound morbid, but Kristy and I used to jokingly compete as to who'd had more deaths in their family. Keep in mind we were dumb teenagers at the time. It was just black humor and a way of coping. But there's no humor when it just doesn't end.

So please keep Rebecca in your thoughts and prayers.

Wednesday, December 08, 2004

Operation Nekkid and Available

Aside from one quickie, Operation Nekkid and Available has largely been an unnecessary mission. Stress from work and school has rendered it practically undoable. Damn shame. I was looking forward to it.

Note: Operation Nekkid and Available is the name I have coined for the stress reducing mission during the last two weeks of Jethro's schooling sessions. Basically it entails compulsive sex and very little conversation.

If my sex life is the reason why you read this blog, look for satisfaction on December 17th, 2004.

Gentlemen, I give you fair warning:

I've been to many gynecologists in my life. No particular reason, I've just moved around a lot. I have come to the personal conclusion that men are better at it than women.

Now, I've heard arguments from both sides of the equation. Some say women are better because they actually possess a twat, and can empathize. I say that women are worse for precisely the same reason.

For example, when you're scratching someone's back, you instinctively scratch where it itches on your own back.

Lady gynecologists, in my opinion, have their own lady parts in mind when they are probing yours, and with all things being equal but different, it may not be the most comfortable proposition.

When all is said and done though, I like visiting the gynecologist if for no other reason that to know that everything is OK with that most sensitive and tempermental part of my anatomy.

God, those things are high maintenance.

On the Totally Disturbing front:

Someone found my blog by searching for "Black Republican Slut"

I think, perhaps, someone is not a Condi Rice fan.

Tuesday, December 07, 2004


I've stayed away from politics for awhile, but I've been reading some blogs where commenters have complained that the blue states are subsidizing the red states. I wanted to address this because logically, it is not a well-thought out gripe.

Is it true? In short, yes.

Whose fault is it? Liberals and the residents of the blue states who vote for them. Democrats, empowered largely by the urban populations of the blue states, saw fit to tax them into subsidizing the farmers and the highways and byways of the red states. The red states didn't vote for the Dems, the blue states did. So it's their own fault.

I wonder if Bush repealed the tax cuts of every blue stater, would he start winning them over? As I see it, blue staters aren't happy unless they are being thoroughly, fiscally abused by their government.

If you can believe it, I'm actually bored with politics.

New Topic I won't give them a link, but they're easy enough to find.

Fucking yikes.

I mostly laugh at it because as far as I'm concerned, mail order brides will only help to seperate the wheat from the chaff, as far as men go. I think it's kind of funny how many mail order brides end up realizing what losers they're married to and get the good old American divorce post haste. Women will always be women, and there is only one thing that ensures our power over men. We can say all the pretty, intelligent things we want, but it isn't our minds (...and Zelda chuckles evilly, maniacally, and at great length).

However, floating in the cesspool of bitterness, resentment and sexual frustration, there were a few turds of truth.

"Traditional marriage balances different privileges and obligations for men and women.

Traditional Western culture balanced special privileges for women with special obligations, and the same for men.

Equality states that no one get special privileges, and that responsibilities and rights should be equally shared.

Either system is balanced and fair.

The problem with modern Western culture is that many women want only the positives from both systems:

They want special privileges from the traditional system (men paying, being "gentlemen" by using special deferential manners and language to women, being the main breadwinner, etc) but not the old-fashioned obligations (being modest and ladylike, being a housewife, etc).

They want the positives of equality (rights, equal access to work and education, etc) without the responsibilities (paying your own way financially a full 50% for life, taking risks with no safety net, and taking your lumps without complaint like men do...not expecting to be protected or sheltered from harsh reality, etc)."

I rearranged some of the paragraphs for the sake of clarity, but the words are all theirs.

This whole article frightened me somewhat. I see my some of my friends behaving in this way, and I get all uppity about it, but then I always start to assess my own marriage just to make sure I'm not being a big fucking hypocrite. I'm kind of a stickler for fairness. I don't want to take advantage of anyone, yet I'm not exactly an equalist when it comes to my marriage. I wouldn't call myself a traditionalist either. I think I'll start off by being totally honest. Good things first:

1. I never deny sex to get my way.

2. Money has never been my first focus, or even a terribly high priority.

3. I don't just love Jethro, I genuinely like him.

4. I'd never want a nanny.

5. I'm reasonably intelligent, a decent conversationalist, and mildly amusing when I'm not being totally inappropriate.

Bad Things:

1. I am a terrible housekeeper.

2. I have no ambition.

3. I have sex sometimes in the hope that it will get me my way. Actually, if I were to be totally accurate, I would have to say that I try to use the sex that I've already had to get my way.

4. I get distracted easily. This accounts for both #s 1 and 5.

5. I am a terrible housekeeper. And I hope Jethro makes enough money someday that we can afford a housekeeper a couple of days a week.

There. My best and worst marital qualities.

I have to say in my own defense, I would rather spend time with Jeth and the kids than do housework. It's never done, and if I were to spend all my time taking care of it, I'd never have another conversation, or play another song, or eat another piece of pizza, which has, incidentally, ruined my diet. I'm going to be mythical if I don't quit eating so much.

Where was I?

Oh yeah. Actually, I'm pretty much through. It's been cathartic. Yet somehow, I think it was dangerous to start with the red state, blue state shit and then post bad things about myself. I'm asking for trouble. Oh well. Trouble and I have long been aquaintences. I'm trying to phase him out, but he's quite persistent.

I could ramble on for hours, but I'm going to pack it in. I have to wake up early to give the little 'uns a bath. The youngest has wet the bed and I am faced with the moral and ethical dilemma of either waking them up in the middle of the night to bathe them and change the sheets ensuring a most unpleasant time trying to rouse them on the morrow, or letting them sleep in pee pee and bathe them in the morning. Tough call. I know.

Friday, December 03, 2004

Gwennie and Emma Funnies

That rap music has really filtered too far down the school ladder. Gwennie asked Jethro the other day, "Daddy, what does 'rhyming' mean?"

Jethro said, "It's when two words sound alike."

She said, "Like 'ho' rhymes with 'toe'?"

"Where did you hear those words?"

"And 'yo' rhymes with 'ho'? "

Gulp? I have no idea where she heard that. Jeth and I don't listen to a whole lot of hip hop. And the stuff we do listen to isn't exactly filled with yo's and ho's. I'm not upset about it because she said 'ho,' but I'm kind of concerned that I have no idea where she heard it. Maybe she was just picking random words. I just hope she doesn't figure out what rhymes with 'pink', 'tigger', 'flick', 'speedo', or 'light revel'. She can already swear like a professional.

Now that I've (hopefully) offended everyone at least somewhat equally.....

Emma was changing her clothes yesterday. Right in the middle of the process, she ran up to me and said, IIIIIIIIIIIIIII'M NAKED! I guess you had to be there, but it was really cute. She has been staying home with me lately, and I've enjoyed having her around. The older one is wildly entertaining, but she's very demanding. Emma is way more easy-going.

New Topic


While looking at porn
Jethro caught me and queried,
"Are you having fun?"

Thursday, December 02, 2004

If You Missed It.....

...too bad. It means you need to come read my blog more often. I think something is wrong with the cool comments. The comments and audioblogger, apparently in a conspiracy to frustrate me to levels unseen since the presidential election, have decided to thwart my blog and render it incapacitated while both are active.

Refer to comments for a description of what was missed.

The Sound And The Fury

This is why I am up at 3am. Somehow, he never saves the best ones for when I'm trying to record proof of the sound. But I have been known to kick him in my fury.

Most of the time I am left staring off into space like a madwoman with wide, dry, bloodshot eyes, hoping against futile hope that cessation of all sound will not mean the death by asphyxiation of my dearest love.