Tuesday, January 31, 2006

Gwennie and Emma Funnies

I had a sinus headache last night. I usually get a respite in the winter, but it's been so warm my allergies have been going haywire. So I was lying down on the couch waiting for the sinus medication to kick in. Gwennie came over with a concerned look on her face and her toy stethoscope around her neck. She said, "Here. I'll help you feel better." She started listening to my heart with her stethoscope.

Joking around with her, I said, "You better listen to my brain."

Soberly, she put the disc on my forehead and listened intently. I tried my hand at ventriloquism and started making little sounds. She told me to quit it. Finally, she looked up seriously and gave her diagnosis. "Mommy, you have a brain confection."

"Is that bad?" I asked.

"Well, it isn't good" she said.

Then the little dear brought me a heart pillow and a cold towel for my head. Sometimes I love her so much I could melt away.

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Emma is a sneaky little wench. I'm know one day I'm going to catch Gwennie stuck in the thornbushes I'm going to plant under her window. And I know I'm not going to catch Emma with the whole football team under her bed. They'll be there, but I'll never know.

But right now, Emma does this dance where she moves her arms in a wave. Then she squats down and moves her knees back and forth. Then she shakes her bootie. This is hysterical, but it's even funnier when she does it while wearing her bike helmet and knee pads.

Then she says, "I'll get to whoopin' bof a y'all." I think it's from Madagascar, but she has truly made it her own. Especially when she says it at an appropriate moment. Gwennie and their uncle Matt were pretending to fight and Emma laid that line on them. Gwennie won. Sometimes I want to kiss that Emma until she screams for mercy.

Monday, January 30, 2006

No Spandex, Please

Jethro got a gift certificate to Academy Sports and Outdoors for his graduation.

Incidentally, does it strike anyone as odd that a retail establishment selling sports and outdoors equipment nearly exclusively is called "Academy?"

But anyway, he bought us both bicycles so we could take the girls riding in the park or beach, or wherever we won't be a nuisance to motorists. We decided to get the cheapest ones because we're cheap people. The girl's version of the one I wanted was covered in mud, so I got the boy's bike. Does it matter? The only difference I can see is that the bar slants downward on a girl's bike and goes straight across on a boy's. And this seems peculiar because a guy has to worry far more about his junk hitting that bar than a girl does.

I won't be popping wheelies anytime soon, but it was fun. Except that now my ass is sore. And right on the most lewd part (aside from the bullseye) where the pelvic bones poke out, just spanning the goods. None of my muscles ache, just that part. I think I'm going to have to get a fancy gel cushion if I want to ride again.

Saturday, January 28, 2006

Releasing the Doves





















Someone sent me this picture a long time ago and I meant to post it then, but I forgot. It serves her right for forcing her new husband to release his masculinity in such a cheesy way. Somehow I just know it was her idea.

Anyway, let this brighten up your Day of Rest. Or your Monday if that's when you happen to see it. Tuesday latest. Any later, and my ego will be crushed.

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Emma is laboring under the delusion that the phrase "spicy soup" is a bad word. She informed me of this in hushed tones one day as I was making chicken soup. Not spicy chicken soup, just regular. I said that it wasn't, but then I wondered if she had picked up some set of parents' naughty phrase from their brat at preschool. About a week later, she told me proudly that she said, "spicy soup" at school. She had an impish grin on her face, so it's quite possible she shocked the under 5 set with her daring.

I still haven't figured it out, so if someone is aware of a double meaning to the phrase "spicy soup," I'd appreciate the information.

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If you read Jethro's blog, you'll know that Gwennie's team won their first basketball game of the season. This whole season has been beset by problems mostly due to the coach quitting at the last second. The hardest part is that we have the best player in the league on the team. She is a real tomboy with serious skills. She is a team player, but a real competitor. It has been so hard on her to have never won a game. We've had some blowouts, some close ones, and some real heartbreakers, and each loss weighs that much heavier on her. But she has held it together and practiced like crazy. Jethro took over their practices and taught her how to do a layup. She is the only player in the league who can do one and during a game no less. That's going to torture us when she plays against Gwennie in future seasons.

But today, Mattie got her reward, and they beat the best team in the league 24-18. And all 5 girls had to play the whole game while the other team had an extra player they could sub in. It was a sweet, sweet victory. I wish I could have seen it, but I was staying with Jethro's grandmother while his family ran errands. The doctors still only give her three months tops, but what do they know? 3 weeks ago they were saying days.

Thursday, January 26, 2006

Jethro Is A Wuss In The Cold

Zelda: "STOP IT! Your hands are fucking freezing."

Jethro: "But you're so warm. It's just for a few minutes."

Zelda: "If you don't stop I'll bite you. I'VE BEEN KNOWN TO DO IT!!!"

Jethro: "C'mon. I got the girls to school and it's cold outside. The least you can do is let me warm my hands."

Zelda: "I will smother you with my bosoms."

Jethro: "Good. They're warm."

Monday, January 23, 2006

An Answer To A Good Question/The Dangers Of Utilizing Technorati.com

So the best question by far was whether or not Jethro and I have ever gotten into a fight about something we blogged about.

There were a couple of things. He got annoyed when I posted the audio of his snoring (which I graciously removed) and I was irritated when he described how hard he laughed when Gwenne called my legs fat. There were a few other things that I've written, but those are the stand-out moments. I write more than Jethro and he is usually a gentleman, so I'm bound to piss everyone off more.

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And speaking of pissing people off, I technorati'd myself on a whim. That was a mistake. Some New Yorker, irritated by a comment I left at a blog post about European political art, searched both of my blogs and projected some violent sexual fantasy onto my poor little masturbation post. What is it with hard-core leftists and violent sexual proclivity? I've never fist-fucked myself in my life. Three-fingers tops, and even that's a strain.

But the funniest part of that post was his calling me a "card-carryin' Protest Warrior -type nutter..." (I love his unpretentious use of British colloquialisms, by the way). So I thought I would post a few pictures and let anyone who bothers to read this draw their own conclusions.







US



















THEM














US


















THEM



















PW REPRESENTATIVE HOTTIE

















HIPPIE DREGS
(Free Love and a trashcan for afterwards)























NO EYE-GOUGING NUDITY






This one's for Kristin :-P


EYE-GOUGING NUDITY
(He's speaking to a reporter, no doubt coveying the righteousness of the anti-war cause, and backing it up with a tied-off scrotum).








Now I know there are sane Leftists who are embarrassed by all of this. And it's not my intention to embarrass anyone in posession of a measured, rational, political point of view. But these are the people I feel need to be countered by anyone who is opposed to Islamofacism, Communism, The Public Display of Sagging Scrotums, etc. They don't have the monopoly on free speech and I intend to make that clear by dragging my moderate ass out there every chance I get.

Most Protest Warriors are not confrontational by nature. I'm a mild exception, being the recipient of true hippie genes. But there is a limit on what normal, working-class individuals will tolerate. And another Vietnam-style hippie coup is not one of them. So they can keep their dictators, gulags and free love. I can get laid just fine as an aficionado of democracy.

Photos courtesy of ProtestWarrior and Zombietime

Friday, January 20, 2006

For Sam (See Last Post's Comments)

I have a slight cold. Not enough to keep me from functioning, but just enough to be a little phlegmy and achy. Every time I feel like this, I want to start making out with someone. And yes, Jethro would be the obvious choice. But I must be French somewhere in my ancestry because they are the only ones I can see getting turned on by mucus.

But to the point. I was feeling sick, so I went into the break room to make some tea. One of the Hot, Young Assistants was in there making lunch. I dribbled a hello to her, and was going about my business when another agent walks in and they start talking about a lie he told one of his clients. She kept insisting that it was a lie, and he kept insisting it was a matter of perspective just like, and I quote, "World War II." He said World War II was a matter of perspective and that whomever was victorious got to write history. Then he exhorted us to "remember that," as he made a pompous, sweeping exit.

I paused with my tea bag in hand, and said quietly, "Yeah. The concentration camps were just a matter of perspective." The Hot, Young Assistant looked uncomfortable as I started making my tea rather violently. She told me he was a jerk and no one liked him.

She came over slowly and put her hand on mine. "Do you want to talk about it some more?" she asked in a low, sultry voice. Her blonde hair gleamed and her blue eyes looked concernedly into mine, and suddenly I wanted to talk to her more than anything.

We found an empty conference room and sat down with my tea and her Lean Cuisine. I rested my achy head on my hand and began to tell her of my family's history and struggles while she listened sympathetically.

When I was through, she again placed her hand on mine and moved in closer. I could smell her perfume and see the soft curves of her breasts rise from the lowcut turquoise sweater she wore.
I sat perfectly still waiting for the moment. It came. She lightly touched the side of my face and kissed me. Gently at first, slowly parting my lips with her tongue. I felt my arms go round her waist and my hands spasmodically clutch her sweater, reaching underneath to touch her warm skin.

And I'm going to stop now before I become totally gay.

Thursday, January 19, 2006

An Off-Color Day At The Office

Okay, the previous post still stands, but as is inevitable, the minute I start bitching about writers block, I find something I want to write about.

I have a slight cold. Not enough to keep me from functioning, but just enough to be a little phlegmy and achy. Every time I feel like this, I want to start making out with someone. And yes, Jethro would be the obvious choice. But I must be French somewhere in my ancestry because they are the only ones I can see getting turned on by mucus.

But to the point. I was feeling sick, so I went into the break room to make some tea. One of the Hot, Young Assistants was in there making lunch. I dribbled a hello to her, and was going about my business when another agent walks in and they start talking about a lie he told one of his clients. She kept insisting that it was a lie, and he kept insisting it was a matter of perspective just like, and I quote, "World War II." He said World War II was a matter of perspective and that whomever was victorious got to write history. Then he exhorted us to "remember that," as he made a pompous, sweeping exit.

I paused with my tea bag in hand, and said, "Yeah. The concentration camps were just a matter of perspective." The Hot, Young Assistant looked uncomfortable as I started making my tea rather violently. She told me he was a jerk and no one like him.

Now I cut guys a lot of slack. I'm no feminist. I give them the benefit of the doubt 9 times out of 10. No, well, more like 7 times out of 10. Not because I think they are superior, just because I think they tend to get a whole lot of shit that women have exempted themselves from.

But I don't mind calling this dude out. No doubt he was attempting to display a kind of macho, superior, brain power in front of "the ladies" - probably hoping that we'd assume his penis matched his intelligence. I guess we've all seen it. Some male person grasps a concept an inch or two deeper than scratching his balls and wiggling his opposable thumbs, and suddenly the gateways of fornication are open via the intellectual route. Or so he thinks. I suppose it's amusing, but I must admit that I chafe a little under any male's assumption that I'm not smart enough to know he's an idiot.

Wednesday, January 18, 2006

Fluffer

Okay. I'm going to be doing some blog updating shortly. This is going to be a onetime opportunity for a mass update (I will always wheel and deal on the side). So if you would like for me to link to you, or you need your link updated, please tell me within a week. That means by next Wed. You can leave your blog address in the comments, or email me at jethrozelda@yahoo.com. I hope you will also return the favor.

Also, I know I haven't been commenting much on other blogs or responding to my own comments like I should. I read every comment I get and I read every blog I link to. But haven't had time in about 6 months to comment regularly. I hope to change that in the near future.

And lastly, I need blog fodder. Everything I've tried to blog about recently including Emma's birthday post has turned to blah on the page. So please give me a question or a topic and whatever I have the best answer for, I will post.

Monday, January 16, 2006

Not For Those Under 18, Unless It Is With Your Parents' Permission, In Which Case I Say You Should Probably Consider Putting Yourself Up For Adoption

Jethro went with a friend last Friday to see a chiropractic office for sale. Jethro's mom called the house looking for him and Emma answered the phone.

Jethro's Mom: Is your daddy there?

Emma: Um, nope!

Jethro's Mom: Where is he?

Emma: He's with his boyfriend!

Jeth didn't think that was too funny. Probably his mom didn't either.

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So after he looked at the office, he came by my work to tell me all about it. In the middle of it he started falling asleep in his chair. I kept asking him questions and he kept giving me answers that trailed off into snores. Just when I figured I would ignore him until he was coherent, his eyes popped open and he asked if I wanted to screw. Never being one for a missed opportunity, I said sure. But not before locking the door and making sure the boss was far, far away. I'm cowardly for all my chutzpa.

The logistics of doing it in an office can be complicated. Not ones for grand gestures, and seeing as how the desk was jam-packed with expensive computer equipment, the sweep and fuck was out of the question. So we did it (carefully) in the guest chair.

Office sex seems really kinky until you're doing it. The whole episode is peppered with things like "I should have brought a condom" and "Don't you dare splooge on my sweater" and "I'm sorry baby, but you'll just have to swallow."

I can't swallow. I can barely even spit. The thought alone makes me gag. But rather than risk ruining a perfectly good work outfit a la Monica Lewinsky, I decided the mouth would indeed be the proper receptacle. I was deciding this while frantically trying to get Jethro's fingers on my nipples without taking off my bra, and getting comfortable enough to get off without making Jethro shoot off in my hair or my eye instead of the designated orifice. Who says I am unfocused and no good at multi-tasking?

Gross, just gross. But at least I got mine. Oh yes. I got mine.

Friday, January 13, 2006

Happy Birthday Emma

My dearest little Emma. I've had a hard time deciding what to say about you. You're so wispy and sweet, I feel as if I say too much, you will blow away. But if I had to do all the choosing, I couldn't have picked out such a sweet little girl.

But you are growing up. I can't believe you're 5 already. And your sense of humor is already on a level far above my own. I love the way you say "buttocks." I've never heard anyone give it the effort you do.

And I love the way you sing, "I like to Mogey, Mogey" instead of "Move It, Move It." And I love the way you move your little tush when you sing it.

There are so many other things. Your artwork is always fascinating. I'm absolutely convinced it is the product of a superior mind.

Stay sweet, my little Emma. Your mama loves you so very much.

Thursday, January 12, 2006

This 'n' That

If you ever want to see a Freaky Movie, see Audition, a film by director Takashe Miike, who is obviously quite deranged. Normally, I detest horror movies, and this one was no exception. I had to leave the room for the last 15 minutes. I think eyes got poked. Out. And despite it being "a powerful and thought-provoking look at Japanese sexual politics" my sympathies were firmly with the dude.

Where would we get such a movie, you ask? Jethro's friend Corin gave it to him for his birthday. Corin is a freak who taught himself Japanese by watching anime. Now whenever he says "Kiri, kiri, kiri" I am convulsed by a shudder of revulsion.

Corin is in the military and is desperatly seeking combat. I pity anyone who comes into contact with him, be they friend or foe.

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I have a UTI. It's from having hot, sticky, spank-the-mama sex. Damn these high-maintenance destroyers of men.

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And lastly, after visiting a few hospice care facilities, Jethro's family decided to bring Grandma home. Thank God. Even though she is dying, it is turning out to be a special time for everyone. All the family members are dropping by the house and visiting. She is laughing and enjoying everyone's company. She doesn't look well, and I don't believe she has much time left, but she seems happy and content, and you can't ask for too much more out of life.

Tuesday, January 10, 2006

It's Enough To Make You Crazy

Gwennie: " MOOOOO-OOOOOOM! Emma's tattling on me!"

Sheesh.

Sunday, January 08, 2006

How Sweet It Is

It was a great day today. The weather in Houston has been just beautiful. Clear skies, temperature in the 70s - not typical January weather in the least. But before anyone stuck in the frozen North starts giving me the bitterness, just remember that we have about three such days a year. So let me enjoy it, huh?

Jethro and I took care of the yard. With Jethro finishing school and everyone sick, the yard was in a severe state. He mowed the grass, and I raked the leaves. I keep forgetting how relaxing outdoor work is. Usually I'm pretty keen to stay out of the sun and heat, but on a day like today it was wonderful.

After we finished the yard, Jethro played basketball with the girls for hours. Gwennie plays in a league and she really needed the practice. If you can believe it, she is the worst player on the worst team in the league. It's kind of cute. She has no idea and she's so enthusiastic. I hope with a little work she will improve.

I went out to watch them play. Gwennie and Emma were practicing passing. Gwennie fouled Emma many many times. Jethro started shooting the ball from all the way across the yard and making the shots. He used to play on his high school team. I was never really interested in jocks unless they could use proper grammar, but after watching Jethro swish that ball through that net again and again, I think I just might like basketball players almost as much as bass players. Meow.

Sometimes I think women have a pretty good deal. I mean, get hitched to an enterprising man, with a decent career and all you have to do is remain faithful, and give it up a few times a week. I'm too lazy to cheat and I like to fuck, so how sweet is that?

Friday, January 06, 2006

Jethro's grandmother is in the hospital. She has a problem with her liver, the doctors aren't exactly sure what to do about it, but they're only giving her two weeks to live. Wouldn't it stand to reason that if they aren't doing anything more for her, and they are only giving her two weeks, that Jethro should get her medical records and take them to some of the different doctors he knows? Sometimes families can be as stubborn as MDs.

Somehow I don't think they see Jethro as anything more than a teenager playing doctor. That would be fun for me, but I imagine it's quite frustrating for him. Anyway, I won't say I'm taking a break, because I always end up writing in spite of it, but if you don't see Jethro or me around for a couple of days, you'll know why.

Tuesday, January 03, 2006

Gentlemen, I will be discussing Female Phenomena, so consider yourselves warned.

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I have had a bad day. How bad, you ask? So bad that I wish I'd been born a man - a gentleman scholar, if you will. I was meant for a life of ease and contemplation. But instead, I am going to be a realtor. So bad that if I had to choose between getting half a pinkie toe cut off and reliving this day, I'd be limping for awhile. You get the idea.

Stepdad and family went to CA for New Years, so I have been showing houses for Stepdad in his absence. It has been going swimmingly. Jethro helped me with a couple because I was unfamiliar with the areas and I am a somewhat nervous driver. But today I was all on my own. This is where the nightmare begins.

I have been battling a cold for the past few days. I convince myself I'm better and then it bites me in the ass. This morning was no different. My head was achy and stuffy and my throat hurt. On top of that, I started my period, which is a huge frustration especially on the first day.

But I valiantly set off for the office with my tampons and cold mecicine. I tried like heck to get out of the showing appointment, but they were quite keen to go, so I went. I made it there without too much incident and showed them the first house. They didn't like it. I showed them the second house. They didn't like it at all.

And then the unthinkable happened. I got lost. Not just a little lost, but pass-by-the-same-church-four-times-and-call-the-sales-office-each-time lost. What little confidence I had was utterly shattered. The ladies, who had been following me, were quite nice about it, a fact for which I will always be grateful.

When we finally found the sales office, I picked up the keys from the manager and we went to go see the new homes. They didn't really like any. But after the 2nd one, one of the ladies kindly informed me that I had a blood-stain on the back of my skirt. Just fucking grand. I thanked her for telling me and tied my jacket around my waist. We were just about to leave the subdivision, when we saw another house that the sales office had neglected to mention. They saw it and loved it. I went to the sales office and it was still available.

So despite the cold, the getting lost, and the period, I think they are going to buy the home. It wasn't a total loss, but it is a hard way to earn a living. I think I want to change professions.

Maybe I'll be a narc. I hear it isn't so bad.