Wednesday, November 30, 2005

"Go on. Skin it. Skin that smokewagon and see what happens."

Jethro's pants fly happily off.

Tombstone is relevant on so many levels. And any quote counts as foreplay in the household of Zelda and Jethro.

Tuesday, November 29, 2005

So by now everyone's seen Jethro's picture of me. He likes it, I hate it. I mean I'm all for keeping things lifted, but it looks like I'm trying to wear my boobs as a collar. And I was slightly intoxicated.

Other than that, I don't have a whole lot to say right now except that we are poor, oh so poor. We're talking beans and rice poor. We're beans and rice as Christmas presents poor. Why? Taxes are due. And Jethro is almost out of student loan and I just don't make enough. I am seriously considering taking a job at night at least until after the holidays.

I hate being poor. At least, I hate being poor when I'm expected to be somewhat less than poor. I could be frugal and miserly, but we don't live in an area that is conducive to economical living. I think a second job is most definitely in order. It's either that or set up a paypal account on my blog and beg for charity. Or sell the really good pictures of my tits.

Sunday, November 27, 2005

Karaoke Wedding

The longer I'm married to Jethro, the more I realize that I will never even begin to understand Asian culture. Sure, some superficial things have become slightly less baffling - such as why they would keep the coffee on the same shelf as the jelly in the grocery store - but the culture itself largely remains enigmatic despite my having been married to him for more over 6 years.

Jethro, the girls and I went to one of his many, many cousin's weddings last night. It was a karaoke wedding. They had a karaoke machine and whoever wanted to sing could go up there and belt one out.

I know this inspires thoughts of being serenaded by Yoko Ono, or some little tiny Asian man trying to sing "Stayin' Arive," but it wasn't that bad. The only person to sing in English didn't have an accent and he wasn't any worse than the soloist in church (which actually isn't saying much).

But when the bride and groom cut the cake, some lady went up there and sang something in what I think was French and Vietnamese and apparently a little Latin, because right in the middle of these incomprehensible words and techno tune, came an "Ave Maria." Let me just say that you have no idea of the quality of how bad someone is singing unless you understand the words. Ladies and gentlemen, she was no Roseanne Barr.

But this reminded me of last year at Jethro's parents' house. They were watching a Vietnamese holiday extravaganza on video and it was the weirdest thing I'd ever seen. It was a variety show and had everything from swordplay in traditional costumes, to incomprehensible skits that I don't even think Jethro's parents understood, and weirdest of all they all gathered at the end in skimpy little outfits to shake their booties and sing "By the Waters of Babylon" in English. That was the grand finale.

"By the Waters of Babylon" is a bible verse in Isaiah, I think. It says, "By the waters of Babylon, we lay down and wept for thee Zion. We remember thee Zion."

Don Maclean sings a mournful version and it doesn't exactly put you in the holiday mood. But here was a group of smiling Asians singing it with gusto while they shook their moneymakers to a disco beat. Honestly, it was then that I decided that everyone should marry outside their race because when there is nothing left to talk about, there is always that.

The enthusiasm with which Asians adopt American culture is nothing if not infectious, even if it does result from a huge cultural misunderstanding. Watching Asians assimilate really puts all the flaws of American culture under a microscope. But it also shows just how much fun it is. I sincerely hope Asians are as amused by us when we visit their countries.

Thursday, November 24, 2005

Happy Thanksgiving

The potatoes are mashed, the stuffing is...stuffed and we are on our way to Grandma's house for Thanksgiving with the Bitches.

May all of you have a blessed and happy Thanksgiving.

*Payasita update for anyone who is interested.

Wednesday, November 23, 2005

I just got a frantic call from my stepdad asking me to go online and check a news site. He'd heard a story about a murder/suicide and thought we knew them. We did. And it's worse than he thought. The father killed his wife, his two kids and himself. He was our inspector.

When you buy a house, you need to have inspections done to make sure you aren't buying a money pit. Mr. Belding was the man we called. In this business of people you don't want to have anything to do with, Mr. Belding was an exception. He was such a genial man, it was always a pleasure to do business with him. I never got that teeth-grinding, stomach churning feeling I get when I have to call most of the other people we deal with. He would talk about his kids all the time. He spent a lot of time with him. This is such a tragedy. I have no idea what could have made him do this.

I called him just the other day to see if he would do an inspection for us. He never answered either of his phone lines and didn't return the calls, which was quite unlike him. I figured he was on vacation, but as it turns out, he was already dead along with his wife and children. I simply can't believe it. He loved his children. I can't imagine he was having money problems because his prices for inspections were so reasonable.

I'm sorry for how disjointed this post is. I feel kind of numb and hysterical at the same time as well as sick to my stomach. All of the stupid things run through your head - like I could have done something. I know I couldn't have because I didn't know, but what if one of us missed doing one thing that could have prevented this? I know it's dumb. But when I remember him talking about his kids... I just don't know. Pray for their families. They were supposed to visit them for Thanksgiving. This has got to be a nightmare for them.

Monday, November 21, 2005

Irritating Moment in Real Estate

Have I ever made clear just how much I detest real estate agents? If I haven't, let me be perfectly blunt. I hate them. They're mostly useless individuals and out of the hoardes, only a tiny percentage have any idea what they are doing. Perhaps 1 in 300 have any clue about anything at all and they are not the ones who have their idiotic faces on billboards. I have never seen a realtor yet who has a catchy slogan.

Much of an average moron realtor's time is taken up with the most useless exercises in futility. For instance, I get a call the second I walk into the office from a lady who wants us to sell her niece's property. Not a problem. I work for a realtor and we sell houses. I asked her all kinds of information about the property which she happily gave to me. Then the money question: Is it listed with another realtor?

There was a pause and she said, "It's listed with me!"

What the fuck?

It took me a second to realize that this was not a prospective client, but an agent who was simply cold-calling other realtors to tell them about a property she had listed. And what a pointless waste of time. If we have a client and they're looking in that area, and the house is not too beat or priced too high, we will show it and it will sell. But to call up agents to tell them about your property that hasn't sold since March - as if that is going to help - is beyond stupid.

Some people need to find religion or take up a craft instead of filling up their lives with pointless human contact.

That was 5 minutes of my life I could have spent pinching my nipples. I'll never get that back.

Friday, November 18, 2005

At the risk of beating a dead horse, here's a picture my illustrious seatmate on the bus to Dallas.

Ain't he a beauty?


Now onto something health related - there is a medical theory about breast cancer that Jethro told me about and I think it's too important to keep to myself.

Around 90% of all breast cancers are located in the quadrant of the breast closest to your armpit. Breast cancer has been on the rise for quite some time and a theory is being advanced that it could be due to anti-perspirants. The theory is that blocking the sweat glands causes your body to retain waste products that are absorbed by the surrounding tissue.

Taking this into consideration, as well as the fact that I am at a higher risk for breast cancer because of the big'uns, I have started using only a deodorant. It contains salts which kill the bacteria that causes odor. It works. My pits have been nonsmelly since I started using it (not that they were before). The drawback is that it isn't an anti-perspirant, so there will be some wetness. Fortunately it's almost winter and I rarely sweat in the winter. But when faced with the risk of breast cancer, I'll take the damp underarms. The only other drawback is that it stings a little if you've just shaved. But it's entirely dealable.

So there you have it. Feel free to use the information as you see fit.

Have a great weekend.

Thursday, November 17, 2005

Trip To Dallas Part III: Conclusion

I suppose I might as well finish this, although nothing much happened. I mean, we had sex and stuff, but no one wants those details, right? We porned it up good, but no one is interested in that, right? I sucked that...nevermind. But it was like a rock star, okay? I practiced a few stripper moves in front of the mirror in the hotel. I have a nice ass. It's not often I have the time to look at it.

The only other thing that happened was that some moron pulled the fire alarm while I was in the shower and I had to run through the hotel like a drowning rat. Bastards.

It was a great trip though. Dallas is just like Houson except more conservative and less traffic.

I have nothing funny to write about. It's killing me. Everyone is sick with Jethro's plague and I'm looking at everything through phlegm colored glasses. Plus blogging about the mundane is dull after tattooed winos and real, live, wiggling coochies.

I think Jethro and I need to go to a tent revival with Trashman.

Tuesday, November 15, 2005

Trip To Dallas Part II: At The Nudie Bar or Defining Duality

With Carlos laughing his ass off at me trying to massage my ass and put on my seatbelt at the same time, we headed for the Wild Turkey, where Jethro and his classmates were.

There we met up with Big Dick and tCj who were quite fun. Big Dick is hysterical. Totally inappropriate, and not a PC bone in his body, he is guaranteed to offend, but you will enjoy being offended.

tCj seemed a little shy at first, and she didn't say much, but when she did, you worried a little for her safety because she was so darn cute.

So we had a few drinks and talked about our blogs. Dick said he couldn't figure me out because he got a different impression of me from my blog. Carlos, who's known me almost as long as Jethro, said that I defined duality. I guess, to put it bluntly, no one can tell if I'm a lady or a tramp, particularly blog readers. I was largely unaware of this dichotomy, but I suppose I should clarify as much as possible. I'm pretty much a good girl in public. I mean, I was raised to be polite and inoffensive to strangers and others who have given me no cause to be anything else. But I have a strange sense of humor and no fear of any subject. And I have found that almost no subject is really taboo if you can find something humorous in it. It may offend a little, but humor takes the sting out of it.

But I think the thing that gives the most erroneous impression of me is the swearing. I swear a lot in private, but I almost never swear in front of people I haven't met before. I mean if I step on a nail or something I'll probably say "fuck" loud and proud, but not as a general rule. But blogging is different. I have a different persona. I didn't set out to create it, it somehow created itself. It's kind of bar slut/philosopher persona, not unlike that of a *shudder* politician. This ekes its way into my real personality a little, but only just enough to confuse the hell out of Carlos, which could keep me amused to the end of time. Jethro understands me better than anyone else on this planet. There is very little I can get by him and that's why he gets laid. A lot.

Boy did I go off. Back to the nudie bar. The reason we went was largely tCj (although none of the guys needed their arms twisted). She didn't have her id, so we had to go somewhere 18 and up. None of the Dallas natives knew of a regular club and no one wanted to drive very far, so as luck would have it, there was an all-nude strip club very close by. Carlos knew all about it. You can't serve alcohol at all nude places, so they'll let in 18+. Fortunately, you can bring your own alcohol so we paid some guy to bring in a 24 pack of bud light. Big Dick complains about the cover charge and the price of sodas, but I guarantee if we were at a dance club we would have had to pay a cover, then pay 6 or 7 bucks a drink which would have been watered down, and there would have been no nekkid ladies. And everyone likes nekkid ladies. I mean, isn't that the whole point of going to any club at all?

So we walk into what I know management hopes looks like a classy Cabaret. It's hard to pull that off with dudes whacking off in the shadows, so I don't hold it against anyone. I thought all the girls were beautiful, but some of us *cough* Dick were slightly more discriminating.

With my honor at stake, and after several beers, I went up to the stage to give a girl a dollar. She was very cute and smooshed her boobies in my face. If I'd been a dude, I would have gotten a lap dance. But I really had no idea what to do. I wasn't sure if I should stick my tongue out and pretend I was into it, or just stand there like a heterosexual mother of two. I did the latter. I mean, it's largely wasted money for me, personally, but the charge it gives guys to see a naked chick rub her boobs in another chick's face, is almost worth it.

The only one to get any real action was our friend Jon. He was one of Jethro's classmates who never passes up a strip club. Jethro, Carlos and Dick are the types of guys who want girls to do their booty shakin' because they like them and not for the money. Jon doesn't care why they do it, so long as they're doing it in front of him.

I don't judge either men who go, or ladies who strip, but it breaks my heart a little to see pretty, naked girls crawling around a stage for dollar bills.

Jon got a lap dance from a gorgeous girl who had a teeny little C-section scar. The guys noticed it and their opinions ranged from "children = bad" to "she must have worked really hard to get in shape after having a kid. I'm going to pay her money to have her canoodle with me a little." She sat with him for three songs, so I hope Jon got his money's worth.

I figured out things about all of us that night.

Jon likes girls who work out.

Dick likes girls who make him earn it.

Carlos likes it when girls do something cool. He got a kick out of it when one of the girls was showing her pooter to a guy and was mouthing the words of her song. I don't remember what the words were, but they were appropriate to the situation and it was a cool moment.

Jethro likes me. He also likes saving money. He probably considers me an investment.

tCj likes to tease. And she's good at it.

As for me, I like hanging out with guys at strip clubs.

Sunday, November 13, 2005

Trip To Dallas Part I: The Bus Trip

So I neither slept nor played Zuma on the way to Dallas.

My sister-in-law dropped me off at the downtown Houston bus station. I checked in and sat down to wait like any normal person would do. But I was not a normal bus traveler. I was white. And I wasn't drooling. Most white people who ride the bus are dirty individuals with many piercings and crazy eyes. As I was waiting, a dirty white kid came up to me whining some bullshit story about having lost all his money and his ticket and how his mommy couldn't send him another ticket until 10pm and he didn't know how he was going to eat. Then he started crying like a little bitch. Then he said he was joining the army next week.

Zelda (amid peals of laughter): "How old are you?"

Blubbering White Kid: "21."

Zelda: "Son, do you have any idea what they are going to do to you in the army? You're a big boy. There's no reason to cry. So you have to wait awhile. Big deal. I know it's inconvenient, but when you're in boot camp, you will wish you were stranded in a bus station."

Blubbering White Kid (still whining): "I know, but no one will help me and I don't know what kind of a place this is. They just laugh at me when I ask for money."

Zelda: "That's because you're crying."

After instructing him on the finer points of panhandling, I gave him my change, kept him from hugging me, and sent him on his way. God help us if that is our military. He looked better suited to a legalize pot rally.

I boarded the bus and snagged a window seat because I get carsick if I can't see outside. Bad idea. Most people will allow the single, non-crazy white girl to ride the bus in peace and not inflict their low i.q.'d presence upon her, with one exception. Crazy white men.

I saw him board and knew instantly that he was going to:
1.) Sit with me
2.) Talk to me
3.) Hit on me

He sat down, grinned a boozy smile, and offered me his dirt encrusted hand along with the wine he was drinking out of a soda cup with a straw. I politely demurred and crunched up against the window.

He started talking about his kids, a pleasant enough subject. But with people like him, it always turns to how much child support he has to pay for them. I have a theory that this is how they get to talk about what good fathers they are, coupled with how much money they make. The only problem is that if they are paying $5,000 a month in child support, how am I going to gold-dig any of it?

Guys like that also seem to think that if they have fantasized about something long enough, they are competent to speak on the subject as if they have the actual experience. I was subjected to long, intricate stories about houses he'd built for himself with his own two hands, hot bisexual girls who fought for the privilege of having a three-way with him, and his super-schlong - able to ferry 8 Catholic girls to school and leap tall buildings in a single bound, not to mention giving the most splendid orgasms known to women.

I tried to read. I tried to sleep. I tried to hold my breath long enough to pass out. All useless endeavors. He asked to read my book after telling me that he must have read 100,000 in his academic career. I let him, hoping for the miracle of silence. Not only did he move his lips, he also read aloud. After stumbling over "anarchy," he handed it back.

The more wine he sucked through that straw, the more he started talking about my boobs. Apparently, in spite of the hundreds of threesomes in which he had participated so enthusiastically, he'd never seen bigger ones.

He asked if he could give me more children. He asked if my husband was going to meet me at the bus station and if he wasn't, why? And if I were his "old lady" he'd meet me at the bus station with a Rolls and a dozen roses. Amused by the thought of someone meeting anyone at a bus station with a Rolls, I let him prattle on. At some point he asked to see my cell phone, and like a mother trying to placate an ADD child, I let him. He tried to photograph my boobs with it. I held my book firmly over them. Then, at his insistence, I took a picture of him and the tattoo on his neck. I guess if I had a tattoo on my neck I'd want people to take pictures of it too.

It was with sigh of relief straight from the inner depths of my soul that we pulled into the Dallas bus station. My tattooed friend shook my hand again, and gave it a smeary kiss. I hauled ass off the bus. Carlos wasn't there yet, so I paced for awhile.

After a few minutes, I realized that I had gone from the frying pan to the proverbial fire. Pimps and pimp wannabes as far the eye could see, eating their pimp food, walking their pimp walks, and, worst of all, staring their pimp stares.

Lest anyone think I'm overly sensitive, I assure you I'm not. I've had people glance my way since I was 16 and I don't even see them anymore. But not in this case. I looked around and thought, "No one is on my side." I made for the ladies room and called Carlos. "Do me a favor," I said. "I'm staying in the ladies room. Call me when you get here and I'll meet you outside.”

"Is it bad?" He asked.

"Yeah. Real bad"

I hung up and called Big Dick and tCj and we finalized our plans to meet up.

I talked to the cleaning lady for awhile, who was really charming, especially after Neck Tattoo. Then Carlos called. "Hey, I'm outside in a silver car and I'm looking at a fat woman with three suitcases."

"I'll be right there."

I took a deep breath and plunged out of the restroom at a breakneck pace, dodging pimps and hos and all the rest of the intellectually bereft. If my life were ever made into a movie, this sequence should be shot in slow mo with me dodging past the last pimp, who "wanted to axe me something," and diving perfectly into Carlos' car, like a football hero catching the winning touchdown.

"Drive, motherfucker, drive!" I shrieked in a terrified frenzy. If I'd had a belt I would have whipped him like a carriage horse. It was only after being safe in the car that I realized I had been clenching my ass for almost 5 hours straight....

Stay Tuned for Part II: At the Nudie Bar

Friday, November 11, 2005

Have A Great Weekend

Last post before I leave. I had to pick up some shampoo at the grocery store and in the parking lot, I saw a grown man riding his shopping cart full of beer. Just running and jumping on it all the way to his car. I'll bet he gets a case of the Mondays.

So I'm gonna pack my shit and shave my kitty. Wish me luck.

Veterans Day

How do you say thank you to those who risk their lives so I can blog naked holding my gun?

It's inadequate, but to all the veterans: a very happy Veterans Day. Thank you.
I'm legitimate.

Thursday, November 10, 2005


I'm so excited to be going to Dallas. Elliott - baby - save me a dance or something. You too, Tease.

I'm taking the bus. I'm actually excited to be taking a freakin' bus. For starters, I can't drive very well. This has a long, boring personal history behind it, so I won't bore you. Secondly, I love bus stations. The more child hookers the better. Just kidding. I just like the comings and goings. My favorite word in the whole English language is 'departure' announced over an intercom.

Perhaps I'm not as much of a country girl as I thought.

Anyway, I'm looking forward to the uninterruped moments of solitude. I plan on sleeping and playing Zuma on my cell phone on the way up. And speaking of which, I have to remind Jethro to get an extra motel room. He's sharing one with three guys right now, and I'll screw him in front of them if I have to, but I'd prefer a little romance. Or at least a shower curtain or something.

And speaking of Jethro, pray for him tomorrow and Saturday which is when he'll be taking those boards. They start at 8:45am and go until 7:00pm both days. I know. The horror. And on top of that, he's sick with a sore throat and a fever. So keep him in your prayers. We can't do much if he doesn't pass.

Wednesday, November 09, 2005

So thanks for all the Bratz advice. It's nice to know I'm not some kind of psycho prude who's going to end up forcing her daughters into prostitution just to escape the injustice of never owning a Bratz doll. As it turns out, the makers of Bratz have made other, less repulsive dolls called 4 Ever Best Friends. I realize they're a little PC in their mixed-race themes, but face it, My kids are mixed and these dolls look like them and their friends. I think that's important. And since they're made by whoever makes the Bratz dolls, I can buy the Bratz sushi lounge (which is so cool it makes me want to cry) for them and satisfy my obsessive compulsive disorder regarding accessories matching the dolls.

And, best of all, these dolls lack the 'tudz.

I know I spend a lot of time thinking about their toys. Probably too much. But the girls watched one episode of the Bratz Rock Angels cartoon. Jethro and I were there and didn't think much of it until Jethro asked Emma, the good one, to put on her shoes and she raised her little hand, snottily, and said "Whatever." To. Her. Father.

Oh no she didn't, girlfriend. That was nipped in the bud. But all because of that lousy show. They are never watching it again. And in fact, they're never watching the Cartoon Network again. They can watch Nick Jr and the Disney channel. And maybe PBS if I'm feeling generous.

I don't think the makers of those programs know anything about kids. I know the idea is to show spunky girls, full of piss and vinegar, who have fun and won't let anyone stop them. The problem is that the only ogres trying to stop their fun in real life are their parents who want them to go to school or clean their rooms. Yeah. We suck.

Monday, November 07, 2005

This has been the longest day of my life. Jethro is in Dallas and I am just trying to get through the week without him. I hate being alone. I hate it so much, I moved in with my in-laws for the week. Screw all of you for laughing. You try being robbed by two gun-weilding psycho-boys and then tell me you wouldn't put up with your in-laws for the security of knowing your children are safe. But I don't actually have to "put up" with my in-laws. I like them and they tolerate me reasonably well, so it's win-win, especially because they get to have a slumber party with their grandaughters every night.

But seriously, I don't know how military families do it. One night without my husband, and I'm antsy and miserable. I can't say enough heartfelt "thank you's" for the sacrifices they make. Bless you all.

So I had the kids fed, homeworked, bathed and in bed by 8:30pm. Then their grandparents came home and ruined it. "Who wants ice cream?!" Damn them. So I decided they would have to get the girls to bed and I would come back to my house to take out the trash and take a shower. First thing I did was grab the gun and keep it in the bathroom with the shower door open, just in case. After I was finished, I sat here naked and started blogging. Then I thought about horror movies and how the naked chick always, always dies. So I retrieved the weapon from the bathroom and I'm now sitting here blogging naked and holding a gun. A loaded gun. If I make it through the week without getting a tit blown off, I'll consider it a major victory for self-reliance.

So I hope we get to see everyone in Dallas. I'm just sitting here, naked, with a gun, counting the minutes.


First a funny from Emma. We were out eating and she decided to get up. Just as I picked her up out of her chair, she let one rip. I laughed and said, "What do you say?"

She said, "I farted."

I laughed again and said, "No, you're supposed to say "excuse me."

She said, "Oh. Excuse me. I have to go tell Gwennie I farted."

No shame, that one.

Anyway, I need advice. Gwennie and Emma love the Bratz dolls. So far, I haven't let them have one because they seem too narcissistic and materialistic. Plus, they look ridiculous. They have huge heads and scrawny little bodies. They should start billing them as "ethnic anorexics, whoring their way to better fashion."

But more than the pounded on makeup and the slutty clothes, I have a problem with the "attitudz," as they like to claim the "toyz" posess. Even the "ponyz" have "attitudz." Look at them. They look like My Little Ponies in Hell.

So I'm torn. I know the girlz, I mean girls want them, and I'm not one of those people who think toys can magically and evilly posess children and start making them think things are not actually what they are. I mean, I played with Barbies and I had no delusions about what I would look like when I grew up. It was pure fantasy.

And the Bratz are pure fantasy. I just don't know that I really like that fantasy. At least the Barbies stayed home or had careers - actual money-making careers. But I'm going to go out on a limb and say that they're probably harmless and I will consider getting them for Christmas, but I had better not see a hint of the Bratz attitudz or I will have no problems reconsidering while I spank 'em good.

Friday, November 04, 2005


Please notice how you will only be reading about this on blogs. I know it should probably go on Payasita, but I'm putting it here instead. Perhaps it seems more personal because one of the girls looks like my daughter.
If you ever have any doubts about who and what we are fighting, don't. There is no second-guessing motives here. This was not done out of desperation or poverty. And this is what we can expect if islamo-facism wins. You can sit around and try to understand the "whys," but you won't get any answers. It's as if the David Koreshes and the Jim Joneses were suddenly financed and given license by governments to cut the heads off children in the name of Christianity.
I don't care about offending Muslims. Muslims should be worrying about offending me. Where is the outcry from the Muslim world. I want to hear their outrage that someone of their religion would do such a thing. But we have nothing. Silence. Perhaps whiny equivocations from those leftists who are too stupid to realize that they are staring at their fate.
Does this represent the tactics of all Muslims? No. And I know it, so spare me the "not all Muslims are like that." But Muslims say nothing. And they will pay the price for letting the screaming imbeciles have their way.
Thanks to Blonde Sagacity for the link.

Thursday, November 03, 2005

Payasita Update: Machismo vs. Homosexuality.


Jethro and I are going to be in Dallas the evening of November 12 and during the day on November 13 (Saturday and Sunday) during the day. If anyone is interested in hooking up with either of us, you can email us at I'll email you back my cell phone and stuff. It'll be fun. There is an excellent possibility Carlos will be there so if there are any interested ladies, I've offered to be his pimp.

I'm off to go vote.

I'm back. There wasn't anything of interest except Prop 2 regarding the definition of marriage.


Ok, I know this is random, but I just remembered it and I thought it was funny. After Jeth and I had sex the requisite 6 weeks after Gwennie was born, we lying there smoking our Marlboro Reds and I said, "You know what this makes you?"

Jethro said, "What?"

"A motherfucker."

Ba-Dum-PA! Thank you. I'll be here Tuesdays and Thursdays. Be sure to tip your waitress.

Tuesday, November 01, 2005

Good Halloween

It was a dark and stormy night.

And Gwennie had bronchitis. So trick-or-treating was limited to only a few houses. Then we took them to the mall. Keep reading. It gets better. Jethro decided that I, dressed as a looter, didn't do it for him, so on went the corset and fangs and crazy eyes. I guess I can manage to dress all slutty for him once a year. Jethro's leather pants fit a little tighter, and I had to lace the corset up a little looser, but I think we still managed to look pretty good.

Digression: Did you ever look into the mirror and realize you were looking older? My looks haven't changed much since I was 18, but I've been really looking at myself in the mirror lately, and I see things. I'm not afraid. I'm not afraid. I'm not afraid. But Jethro is going to end up looking younger than me eventually. And he'll be a doctor. I don't think my tits are going to make it that long. Show no fear. Read. Learn. A head full of thoughts will sustain you through times when you are alone. It seems silly to be worrying about loneliness with a husband and two children. I love us to the point of heartbreak. Is that enough to keep your best friend around when someone younger and hotter wiggles their way onto the table with a mouth full of flattery and tits full of saline? Am I giving this my best shot?

Resume: Gwennie and Emma were Mulan and Sleeping Beauty. So much for originality. I tried to make Emma Mushu, but she took one look at the costume and freaked out. It was so funny. She was so excited at first, but she got a look at the dragon head and her grin turned into a face of abject terror. I felt guilty and let her be Sleeping Beauty like she wanted.

At the mall, Jethro and I scared people with the eyes. Actually Jethro scared people with the eyes. I scared them with the boobs. It was funny. We will have pictures.