Tuesday, May 30, 2006

Belated Memorial Day

We went on vacation. It was a last minute deal and we ducked out of a myriad of responsibilities to do it including my sister's graduation and Brighton's margarita housewarming, and another friend's Ultimate Fighting Championship party.

I feel badly about everything except my sister's graduation. I never graduated high school, so I really don't give a fuck. My only excuse is that Jethro's ulcers desperately needed a break , and there were relatives who were able to care for his grandmother, so I could snatch some time.

It was a wonderful trip. The beach was so relaxing and the drive down in a Honda Pilot was actually a pleasure instead of the buttock-clenching nightmare that our previous trips in the Accord have been.

And yet I was melancholy yesterday on the ride back. I couldn't put my finger on it until we started passing cemeteries and the tributes to the fallen soldiers.

Sometimes in a big city, you get caught up in the frenzy of day to day life. There are so many people, so many obligations; there's politics, and church and family. When I was growing up in the Catskills, we lived in a small town. They had a parade every Memorial Day, and it was an Event. Months of preparation went into it and everyone who could find a group joined up and marched in the parade. I marched with the Brownies and Girl Scouts and one awesome year I got to carry the flag.

I remember passing the town barber who was a family friend and a former Marine. He was a very kind man, but he had always intimidated me a little. He was standing on the side of the road watching the parade go by. But as I passed him, he stood up ramrod straight and saluted. I was shocked.

It took a few years, but the seed of that moment finally took root. We are all equal and that flag made it so. The big, tough marine hadn't lowered himself to salute the flag of a little girl. He was saluting the flag of our equality - a concept so important that thousands upon thousands of soldiers lay dead in defense of it. They are not unequal in death. They are the foundation upon which our equality is formed; their deaths entwined with our lives, paving our way and guiding our paths.

These brave souls would scorn the maudlin weeping of cowards and shun the smiling hypocrisies of politicians. Instead let their heroic deeds, big or small, and their heroic deaths inspire us in the lives we live in freedom because of them.

LT SMASH has the best tribute I've yet to see on the internet. If you have the time, take a look at the soldiers who have given their lives. It will make you cry, but it will make you proud.

Friday, May 26, 2006

Conversation With An Elemplary Learning Center Representative

Rita: "Exemplary Learning Center, this is Rita speaking."

Zelda: "Hi, my name is Zelda and I have two daughters that I am thinking about putting in summer classes."

Rita: "Have they had problems in school?"

Zelda: "Not really, but I want them to get a little jump start on the next year. I don't think they are realizing their full potential. My younger one is about to start Kindergarten and she is kind of shy and I think her speech may be a little slow. I'm not really sure about her. She is hard to figure out. The older one is doing okay, but I think she needs to work on her math skills."

Rita: "Well it's good you're getting ahead of any potential difficulties. I'm just going to ask you a few questions about them individually."

A series of questions ensue about both girls that are interspersed with my own unintelligible brand of humor.

Zelda: "As far as Gwendolyn is concerned, I really want her to get ahead in Math. Math is my Waterloo and I'm borderline retarded."

Rita: "Oh my god! I never would have guessed!"

Zelda: "Well, uhhh...I meant I'm just uhhh...borderline retarded at uhhh...Math, not uhhh...really borderline uhhh...

Nevermind. I am retarded."

Tuesday, May 23, 2006

The Significance of a Big Red Ball

Jethro and I christened the car. Strangely enough, it was individually. I think it's indicative of our own special relationships with it.

Big Dick said in one of the comments that he was glad we hadn't purchased a new cactus. This reminded me of young man with whom I saw a movie during my illustrious dating career. We met in a bookstore. He took a chance on love.

On our way to the movie theater, he stopped by a flower/newspaper stand. He came back with a cactus. It had a long green base and a large red ball on top. And of course there were pricklies all over it.

"This is for you," he said shyly. "It seemed a little more unique that just flowers," hoping he'd get pussy points for his ingenuity.

"That is quite true," I said, after I'd closed my mouth from surprise.

Needless to say, our romance was short-lived, but not because of the cactus. He was always telling me sob stories. I think he thought a pity-fuck was his best shot. But I wasn't giving it up for lust, much less pity, so he really had no hope. Kind of tragic, really.

Friday, May 19, 2006

Auto-Erotica (title change)


I was so excited, I had to hump something. Why not the new car?

Thursday, May 18, 2006

Clandestine Meeting On A Display Toilet

I think part of the reason my life seems to have taken a serious turn is because I'm staying with Jethro's grandmother. She is so frail that I'm afraid she is going to go any minute. I check every so often to make sure she's breathing and I try to get her to eat when she is awake. She has a morphine patch, so she sleeps a great deal. It isn't difficult, but it's emotionally draining. I worry about her every second - kind of like a newborn. Everyone is expecting her to pass on at any moment, but I think she will hang around for awhile. The doctors gave her 3 weeks and that was 3 months ago. I think she might not have what they say she has. But what do I know?

Anyway, she is a darling little old lady. Ever the hostess, she will set food out for me even as I set it out for her. And she does the dishes. Jethro says to let her do it so she will feel useful. I agree, but I feel a little guilty.

On a lighter note, I got a hair cut and color the other day. No more Something About Mary hair.

The morning of the big Cut and Color, I had not washed my hair because supposedly color stays better if your hair isn't washed. Suffice it to say, my hair was disgusting. I couldn't get the tangles out so I said "fuck it, I'm paying them to deal with it" and I left. The salon I went to was quite fru fru. They asked me if I wanted anything to drink so I had a Perrier. The girl who came out to cut my hair looked like she was straight out of high school. I almost said, "Can I have the fag instead?" but political correctness won the day and I didn't let my prejudice of youth stand in the way.

The girl did a great job on my hair. She was slower, but she did it right. My eyebrows were another story.

I need to get them waxed badly. My mother-in-law usually does them. But she asked me if I wanted to get them colored to match my hair. I said that would be okay, but don't make them the same color - a little darker than my hair would be just fine. Needless to say, I ended up with big, bushy red eyebrows. I looked a little like Animal from the Muppets. I didn't have to pay for it, and they attempted to die them darker, but it didn't work. I guess I'll just have them waxed smaller and hopefully they won't be so noticeable.

On another unrelated note, has anyone ever wondered what it would be like to have sex with someone who just happens to cross your path. I do that ALL THE TIME. It's sick. It's never anyone I know, it's always random men. They aren't necessarily good-looking, they're probably married, and their pants are always of a polyester/acid wash variety. Nevertheless, I always wonder just what it would take to get them off.

Big Dick reminded me of home improvement stores. This is where the curiosity strikes hardest. I always wonder just what might persuade a guy to do it in one of the display bathrooms - right up against one of the display toilets.

The best part about this is imagining the look on each guy's face after I make the proposal.

And while I'm being honest, I've always wanted to do Jethro in a men's bathroom. I don't know why. Ever since a colleague of Jethro's was caught doing his girlfriend in a men's room at the Christmas party, I've always wanted to do it too. It really is baffling because it's not as if that poor girl's reputation was enhanced by the incident. "Slut" was probably the mildest thing anyone said about her afterwards.

I suppose I just don't care. Maybe I can add manic depression to my ADD and OCD. That would be cool.

Tuesday, May 16, 2006

To Europe: Good Night, And Good Luck

European Nations May Give Iran a Reactor

This seems smart.

In other news of European fondness for self-immolation, Holland is stripping Aayan Hirsi Ali of her citizenship. The brightest, bravest woman in the world shines too brightly for the dim bulbs of Europe. Rumor has it she will come to America, but I don't know that she doesn't shine too brightly for us as well - or at least for our politicians. I hope with all my heart that she does.

I updated Payasita with a post that you'll never find on Google. But it's in the Koran.

Monday, May 15, 2006

Wilt Thou Leave Me So Unsatisfied?

I want to thank everyone who commented on the last post. It's refreshing to hear from so many people who think I'm raising good kids. Only time will tell, I suppose.

It was late when I wrote the last post and I don't think I was as succinct as I would have liked. I am happy. Truly happy. So happy that I feel (given my lack of accomplishments) that it is undeserved. My sense of dissatisfaction is with myself only. By saying my kids are not an accomplishment, I don't mean they aren't my greatest blessing. I just feel as if they are the reward of a good life that I haven't really earned.

That being said, I feel like starting a whole new blog. My life has taken a slightly more serious turn and this blog has been so fun up until now. I hate to kill the mood, because no one can make me laugh harder than myself at myself, so I may start another one so as not to let the serious stuff interfere with the fun.

I tend to compartmentalize. I think that is why I'm not a neat person. I tend to be really nit-picky and I work very very hard at not being nit-picky. Plus, I get overwhelmed when I don't have exact places for things like toys and by that I mean specific toys must have specific boxes and if they don't, they have to be where I can see them until I have a specific box designated only for that specific toy. I've been like that since childhood and I remember almost the exact moment when I gave up and got lazy.

I was about 5 and my mom called me a perfectionist. She meant it as a compliment and to tease me a little. But at that moment, the need for order suddenly came crashing down because I realized that it would never be perfect and that I was going to go mad eventually. But the obsession never went away. It just sat around and festered and developed into a deep, personal dissatisfaction. The realization that perhaps I am not quite right, may be a catalyst to greatness. Who knows? I'm also an optimist.

Sunday, May 14, 2006


It is a really good thing that Mother's Day is so close to my birthday. While I haven't exactly been lamenting turning 30 (unless you count weeping giant tears into heavily fortified lemonades and cokes that no one even asks to see my id for anymore); I have been brooding slightly more on my accomplishments, or lack thereof over the past 30 years.

My contempt for higher education nonwithstanding, I was at least pretty sure I'd have a college degree by now. But I went another route and had children. And as much as I would like to think of them as an accomplishment, let's face facts. Any lazy-eyed idiot can have a kid. Just ask Trash (just kidding, man. I love you). Plus it seems stupid to claim a kid as an accomplishment since all you have to do to get one is get some. Like that's difficult.

But the little buggers have a way of making life quite satisfactory. I suppose it's pointless to go into any great detail, but they just have a way of making everything better. One of their favorite things to do is climb up on me and get me to say, "I'm covered in babies!!!" This is always good for a laugh. Friday night we took them to hear a band play at City Hall. They both started dancing, Gwennie in a rather wild Mr. Bojangles-on-speed style, and Emma in a funky little groove. I guess the musical style could be called Texas swing, so you can draw your own mental picture from that.

It's the coolest thing to be their mom. But it makes me absolutely paranoid that I'm going to fuck it up.


And in case anyone is interested, Jethro's gifts for both the momentous occasion of my birthday and Mother's Day, have consisted of a great deal of tongue. The man has a talent, a strong work ethic, and an utter lack of fear. I commend him for this. He's passed out and snoring as I write this. He bravely attempted to cuddle with me afterwards, but it is Houston and the humidity is somewhere near 300,000%. Plus his spikey hair was poking my nipple in an unpleasant way. So I jabbed him in the ribs, kissed him on the mouth, and rolled him into his usual fetal position. He seems happy.

Wednesday, May 10, 2006

Gwennie On Her Father

(spelling is corrected).

My daddy is 32 years old. He weighs 34 lbs and is 40 ft tall. His hair is black. His eyes are brown. My dad loves to relax by sleeping in bed. He likes to wear office clothes. He loves to cook nothing. His favorite house chore is lying in bed. His favorite tv show is the news. Daddy always tells me I won't die. It makes him happy when I clean up. When my dad goes shopping he loves to buy food. I really like it when my dad screams like a girl.

by Gwennie

Tuesday, May 09, 2006

The Aftermath

Blogmeet 2006 was a resounding success. Everyone was just as funny and cool as their blogs.

Brighton - As always, the sexiest little trick in shoe leather. She has a very special talent, and it has nothing to do with a pole (although she is quite proficient in that as well). She can gather a group of people and make them feel right at home with each other as well as crack them up. It's a rare charm.

Inanna - The peachiest little peach in beaded earrings. I've never met such a good natured consumer of spirits. I felt a little bad that she gave me the blue ring. At least she tried to give it to me. I made Jethro pay her a paltry little sum, but I still felt like I'd rolled the nicest drunk in town. Let me shill for her for just a second. She is the most gifted beadwork artisan I've ever encountered. She is the real deal with imagination, patience and pure talent. We will meet again, and I will get you drunk, and I will roll you for more sparklies. Conscience be damned.

Tinyhands - I didn't get to talk to him much, but as we do get to see him every so often for dim sum, I didn't feel the urge to flog myself over it. I did compare my hands with his yet again, and gave him mad thumbs up when he gave a giggling Nanner a little twirl under the stars. Jeth and I both had our fingers crossed and indulged in a rousing chant of "Go Tiny, Go Tiny, GO!"

Kristin - My girl. I felt like I'd known her for years. It was sheer joy to make her laugh, and I enthusiastically gave it my all. She can cuss with the best of them, and I greatly admire anyone who can put four letter words to such good and appropriate use. I enjoy using them, but I don't think I'm as polished about it. Maybe she can teach me during our three-way.

Jeanette - The dimples! The humor! And the Giant Cock! [link removed] She is the master (mistress) of innuendo. I loved it. Lu-huu-huuved it. She was quieter than I expected, and I hope my loud, sweaty ass didn't frighten her. But I think all is well since we got to discuss the causes and effects of vaginal farting. In front of men, no less. Shut up, assholes. It happens. And it's fucking funny. She has some very funny pictures (start here [link removed]) of her trip which include several ones of me in which I look rather lumpy. For the life of me, I can't figure out what exactly those lumps are.

Sam and Stephanie were beautiful as always. And as always, I sweated profusely in their presence. I'm resigned. It seems to be the weather which will simply not accommodate my Yankeeness. So I have to settle for Skankiness. I rhymed. That was cool.

And last but not least, my dear friend Jen and her husband Vince. They couldn't stay long because they had gone out with us the night before for my birthday and two nights away from their beloved chilluns was a little too much. We bar hopped and had a blast. At least I did, and I was too intoxicated to tell if anyone else did or not.

My intoxication (fortunately) did not manifest itself in the form of vomiting as it did in college, but rather in a little bit of indigestion, namely gas. While Jen and I were waiting in the car, observing the aftermath of a bar brawl at the stage where the two combatants were hugging each other and declaring their undying love, and waiting for our husbands to finish paying the tabs, I let one go. I had to do it. It was very important. I politely opened the car door to release the vapors, and courteously informed Jen that I had "let an air biscuit fly and it wasn't poppin' fresh."

Oh. My. God. I have never heard anyone laugh harder at anything that has come out of my fool mouth. She screamed with laughter and repeated my line to our husbands who didn't seem quite as amused. They were sober, afterall.

I was slightly embarrassed that my little air biscuit was the cause of so much mirth, but I'm glad I could lighten up someone's evening along with my own colon.

Friday, May 05, 2006

Blogmeet 2006

Jethro bought a new laptop for work. He was so funny. The UPS employee delivered it, and Jethro tore it from his hands making what I call "ethnic sounds." In other words, he sounded a little like Bruce Lee after a particularly impressive ass-whooping.

The UPS guy and I laughed at him for a few minutes, but I don't think he even noticed.

Later that evening, he managed to put it down long enough to give me birthday oral, but I saw him eyeing it lovingly in the afterglow.

So here I am at 30 replaced by an inanimate object (granted with a really cool swiveling screen, but still).

Incidentally, I entered my 30th year with an (outer) snatch full of depilatory cream. I thought it was fitting.


Blogmeet 2006 is at T-bone Tom's in Kemah, Texas.

The address is 707 Highway 146, Kemah, TX 77565

Their phone # is 281-334-2133.

We will be meeting at 7:00 on Saturday, May 6 - tomorrow.

Any blogger/frequent commenter is welcome. You will know us by the preponderance of large bosoms. See you there!

Thursday, May 04, 2006


I started this post back in February after a visit to the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo BBQ. I enjoyed writing it, but I didn't have time to do much editing, so it never got posted. So three months later, here it is in all it's glory:


I have a difficult time explaining the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo. As long as I've lived here, I have not yet assimilated enough to give any kind of insider's perspective on the event. So to any natives who might take offense, and any outsiders who may take me seriously, I offer the previous sentences as full disclosure.

The first time I went to the Rodeo, I had just moved to Houston from Skanky-little-shithole-where-everyone-was-on-welfare-and-taxes-were-more-than-your-house-payment-twice-over, NY. It was as close to a life-changing event (where no one died) as I'll ever experience. There were people wearing cowboy hats that actually looked as if they served a purpose. That was my first impression and the confirmation of the Myth of the Cowboy was thrilling. There are no cowboys in NY.

Over the years, my impressions have become slightly less myopic. I can see now that the rodeo is like the Renaissance Fair for rednecks. They can don their fancy cowboy duds and pretend they don't work in construction, or auto mechanics, or software testing. Sure there are authentic country folks who live the life, but mostly it's just ordinary Texans getting their cowboy on. And that's fine. Most of them have history in the country anyway, so it isn't as if it's a total sham.

I'd been to the Rodeo only a few other times before. I went during the first year we had moved here. I remember feeling awkward and out of place because I didn't own any cowboy paraphenalia (not that I wanted any).

The second time I went was with Jethro. Someone had given us tickets to Alabama's last show. I loved Alabama even though I am a Yankee. A teacher had turned me on to them when I was in fourth grade. Imagine being a kid in the middle of the '80s listening to Alabama.

This past year, a friend of ours who works for a beer distribution company, got us tickets to the BBQ. It was a pretty cool set up. All these corporations sponsor tents where privileged members of their workforce and their friends get to eat BBQ and drink all night long. They have bands, and liquor, and more liquor, and tarty cowgirls, and more liquor.

The tent was crowded, and everyone was drinking and dancing. There was hardly room to move, so everyone was kind of wedged into groups around tables. That didn't stop the good folks in front of us from doing some dirty dancing. It actually would have been impossible to dance anything other than dirty. I had to do dirty dancing just to get to the port-o-lets.

But the folks in front of us are what kept me amused all night. There were four or five men in cowboy hats all drinking MGDs. One of them was really hot. Couldn't have been more than 21 or 22. He had sandy blonde hair and blue eyes, and you could tell he was ripped even though he was wearing long sleeves. He was wearing the cutest little cowboy hat you've ever seen. He was too pretty to fuck, but the gals were trying.

There were three of them dressed in varying degrees of sluttishness. And they were doing what drunk girls usually do when four or five guys are standing around drooling over them. They pretended they were lesbians. When you think about it, it's really the most ingenious way of playing hard to get without looking like a prude. I've done it myself and very nearly ended up going home with a woman. Unintentionally, of course.

One of the girls was wearing mardis gras beads decorated with penises and testicles. One of the other girls used it as a prop. I must say, there is nothing like a girl sucking little plastic penises less than an inch away from another girl's nipples to make men thrusty. They were, of course, delighted, and one even high-fived me over the penis sucker's head.

I had a pretty good time. And while I don't get drunk and suck plastic penises too much anymore, I still think it's fun to watch other people do it.

Monday, May 01, 2006

First thing, read Jethro's post. The incident was worth about 10 solid minutes of gut-busting-can't-catch-your-breath laughter for me.

Secondly, I want to thank everyone who commented on my last post. Each of them helped tremendously and I feel much better. I quit my job and I am staying at Jethro's parents during the day so I can watch grandma and finish my real estate classes. My folks will just have to get along without me for awhile.

Thirdly (and unrelatedly), my grandmother was a geneologist. She did much of our family history concentrating on the Irish/Scottish/Welsch branches of the family. I remembered hearing her bandy about the name of Snodgrass saying that we were direct decendants and could wear the tartan honestly if we wanted to. I've always been curious as to what that tartan looked like and now I found it. God bless the internet.

I looked up some history on the Snodgrass family, and I don't think they were ever a clan. I don't even think they ever had a tartan until fairly recently. Disappointing, but still interesting.

They were Lowland Scots, who were apparently darker, older, and less hyper than the tow-headed Highland Scots. But William Wallace was a Lowland Scot too, and his clan lived in the same vicinity as the Snodgrass family close to Ayrshire and Irvine. Perhaps the lowlanders just used their vigor to more specific purposes.

Anyway, it was an interesting discovery and my grandfather's side has more Scottish, I believe of the Highland, clannish variety. That probably accounts for my ruddy complexion. I'll find their family name and see if their tartans aren't prettier. I want Gwennie and Emma to learn about it. They get to wear Vietnamese stuff all the time, but I've had very little to offer them in the way of culture. Besides, I think they would look cute in kilts. But they have to wear their underpants.