Thursday, November 30, 2006
Now I have been reading in the comments about people throwing up a little in their mouths (as opposed to somewhere else?) from viewing my links. Contrary to what might be popular opinion, I have no intention of causing anyone any kind of gastric upset/blindness/screaming night terrors, so I have a couple of solutions for those who have been so afflicted.
1. Don't look. If it says NOT SAFE FOR WORK, NOT SAFE, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS GOOD IN THIS WORLD, DON'T LOOK, or any variation thereof, I can guarantee that it won't be pretty.
2. Self-Censor. If your curiosity is such that you are compelled to look against your better judgement, I have a tactic that might spare you upset. This works for me whenever I go to Big Dick's. Close your eyes. Put your hand over them. Click the link. Wait for it to load. Keep your mouse on the back button so you can click it immediately if need be. Then slowly spread your fingers making sure your eyelashes are veiling the computer screen. Slowly open your eyes until you get the gist of what you're seeing and can tell if you want to see it in full color or not.
3. I don't know that there needs to be a third. If you are brazen enough to click on links without taking any precautions; searing those nauseating images into your brain for all eternity, my hat's off to you. But don't come complaining to me about it when you can't eat or have sex anymore.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Three things that scare me:
The possibility of waking up next to a dead person.
tubgirl (***NOT SAFE***)
Paris Hilton's vagina
Three people who make me laugh:
this guy (H/T: Big Dick)
Three things I Love:
hockey players (teeth intact)
Three Things I Hate:
Watered down booze
When I'm going down and choke on a pubic hair
Three Things I Don't Understand:
People who desire either condition
Three Things on my Desk:
an empty yogurt container
a pencil holder made by Gwennie
Three Things I'm Doing Right Now:
Attempting to breathe through both nostrils
Thinking about what I'm going to say to the mom of the two boys I watch after school for not getting them until 8:00 pm
Feeling one nipple (bad habit from childhood)
Three Things I Want to Do Before I Die:
Learn to dance as well as my grandmother
Finish something I start
Jethro in the Honda Pilot
Three Things I Can Do:
(I'm a fucking hippie)
Three Things I Can't Do:
Swallow (in the slutty sense)
Three Things You Should Listen To:
Old Crow Medicine Show
A woman in labor
Things You Should Never Listen To:
"Spandex is so slimming!"
Three Things I'd Like To Learn:
How to dance
How to shoot
How to slap an ass so the sound reverberates
Three Favorite Foods:
Bacon and Mashed potatoes mixed together with some cheese and sour cream
Three Beverages I Drink Regularly:
Three TV shows/Books I Watched/Read as a Kid:
Shakespeare (no lie)
The Bugs Bunny and Tweety Show
The Little House on the Prairie series (books, not the tv show)
Three Blogger Friends That I Am Going To Tag:
Tags die with me.
Saturday, November 25, 2006
Jethro says that if I'm going to go around saying he has a 3 inch cock, I have to put my money where my mouth is and succumb to the pleasures of sphinctral copulation (there is just no refined way to refer to butt sex, but I did my best). He has a point and since I don't particularly care for the practice, I will state now for the record that Jethro is a normal, healthy male with everything being as it ought, at least for the purposes of giving the ladies breathless, twittering satisfaction.
So anyway, Thanksgiving was nice. No family issues, no fighting, just eating. One of my sisters' boyfriends is a Brit who has taken up fishing with a single-minded devotion. I think he and Jethro might take up residence together in a tent on the banks of my parents' fishing pond. They fished while I made the turkey and my sisters destroyed the rest of the kitchen with various vegetarian concoctions. In the middle of all the preparations, there was a commotion at the back door. Brit was flailing around with fire ants crawling all over him.
"GET INSIDE!!!" My sister screamed.
"Well, I don't want to get them all over the place," said Brit, hopping around with a frantic, pained expression on his face.
Now I've been swarmed by fire ants before. I'm surprised he didn't strip down nekkid and streak into the shower. But those Brits are so proper - stiff upper lips made stiffer by stinging insect bites. Still, he is such a sweetheart. I hope my sister keeps him. There aren't enough nice boys in my family. My sisters have a way of eviscerating them and tossing them on the ever-increasing ashpile - kind of like the lady and the dragon all rolled into one.
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
I love racial humor, including risque racial humor, but this doesn't qualify because there was no context and it was very, very weird.
Then came the apology on Letterman. Dear God in Heaven. He is all kinds of crazy. He invokes Hurricane Katrina. He talks about the war. He pays homage to a list of pseudo-liberal catch-phrases and then demands that we believe he is not a racist after chastising the audience for giggling at the awkwardness of the entire situation. I was about to faint from the sheer lunacy of it all.
And this condenses everything that embarrasses me about pseudo-liberalism. It isn't that it is racist, but that it isn't NOT racist. I believe that Michael Richards is truly bewildered at how such things ever came out of his mouth. The problem, in my opinion, is that he has been steeped in liberal sanctimony for so long ("I oppose the war," "George Bush doesn't like black people," etc etc), that he instinctively felt he had risen above such niceties as refraining from expressing a longing for the days of lynching. What people like him fail to notice is that one thing has NOTHING to do with the other. They are anti-war, anti-Bush, anti-"conservative" for their own selfish interests as opposed to any true interest whatsoever in minority communities. They have convinced themselves that if they subscribe to the usual mantra of peace, love and social diseases, they are automatically immune to racist thoughts and feelings. "I'm a liberal. I can't possibly be a racist. Look. I'm going to call Condi Rice a house-nigger. See? No racism. I'm a liberal."
But they are racists. They think everyone but white people need a hand up and white people need to keep their superior mouths shut in order to level the playing field.
Nowhere was this more evident to me than NYC. I had a picture of Gwennie and Emma that I would show people. It was embarrassing to the point of squirminess the way people would try to ask me what race their father was without coming right out and saying. I can't tell you how many times I almost said, "He's a gook with a 3 inch cock. Small, I know, but it's better for anal" just to see their faces melt. Even worse was when Jeth and I were together and people would try to tell us how cool they were with us being married and try hard not to sound surprised that we were from TX. Although no one asked, I know they were wondering if we'd ever had a cross burned on our lawn (it was just a little one). The saddest thing is that I think they would have asked except that they didn't want their preconceived notions of the lands outside their myopic 12 mile radius obliterated.
Now it isn't that I have a problem with people being polite. I greatly appreciate courtesy. But there is something so weird and fake about tip-toeing around race issues. For God's sake. I am aware that my husband is Asian. I'm pretty sure he knows I'm white (although I can honestly say I don't know if he's ever looked above my neck). If you have a question, fucking ask it. But this hyper-racial awareness and condescending racial pandering is like a pressure cooker and it's going to blow in scaldingly unfunny ways, just like Mr. Richards.
Anyway, the hat tip for all of this info goes to Blowing Smoke. And if I haven't shilled for it yet, I've been remiss. This is a great blog. You can link it and check every day since they post quite often and their cultural commentary is sharp, merciless, and really funny - a truly beautiful thing. Jim Treacher is a daily contributor and he has the dubious distinction of making me run for the bathroom with trickles of mirth streaming down my legs more than anyone else on the internet. (That was hyperbole.)
Monday, November 20, 2006
So we purchased the turkey and the requisite $20.00 worth of crap to go along with it so we could get it for $0.39 per lb, including the Cajun Injector (which is a needle and syringe with which you stab the turkey and infuse it with whatever jar of goo comes with it) of which I am not a huge fan. I bought it, however, because everyone else seems to like it (Mmmmmm...it's so juicy!) and I can make my own goo.
We arrived back at the house and I grabbed as many bags as I could. As luck would have it, I had to pee really, really badly. In my haste to get the bags to the kitchen and myself to the can, I tripped and dropped the bag containing the Cajun Injector which subsequently broke to smithereens. I crossed my legs, did a little dance and started to clean it up. Jethro came in and said he would put the rest of the stuff away so I could use the restroom. I did. It was heavenly.
Then we went out for the evening to party which we did. It was fun. Some drunk guy told me that I "have great breasts" and high-fived freaking' Jethro. I said, "What am I? A fucking orphan?" And he high-fived me too with his apologies. I mean really. I'm the lucky one. They're the idiots who will do anything you say just to talk about them in front of you.
Fast forward to this morning.
I lost my keys. I looked for them everywhere, even the pantry. There I made The Discovery. In the tumult of cleaning the Cajun Injector goo, peeing, and leaving the premises to have my breasts ogled, the turkey had been stored in the pantry instead of the 'fridge. It was almost like finding a dead pet.
I'm just going to let it go and be grateful I got a somewhat funny story out of it.
Friday, November 17, 2006
And speaking of cold, I forgot to bring a sweater to work. So the whole office is now blessed with the vision of my nipples poking out of my shirt like horns on a Viking helmet. Lucky them. No matter how hard I poke them, I can't get them to stay down. I'm rubbing them real hard trying to warm them up, but to no avail. It's a good thing I work alone. I look like a lunatic.
Anyway, several amusing things happened at work yesterday. Fortunately I started my period, so I can see the humor in them as opposed to cold-bloodedly desiring the torture and death of the perpetrators.
Part of my job entails calling people who have, at one time or another, expressed interest in purchasing home. They email us with their contact phone numbers and we call them and try to convince them they want to buy a home with us. I get a lot of answering machines, and I pride myself on being able to see through a very irritating practical joke where the owner of said machine records a greeting in which they attempt to make you think you are talking to an actual person. It usually goes something like this:
Answering Machine: "HELLO?" (cheerily)
Dupe: "Hi! This is Zelda, from Dearest Stepfather's office. Is Ms. Cocksucker in?
AM: "HEEELLLOOOOOOO?" (in a slightly more irritated voice)
Dupe: YES, This is Zelda from Dearest Stepfather's office. Is....
AM: "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! We're not at home right now but I bet you thought we were. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! It's too bad we didn't think about the fact that we aren't home to witness your idiocy and discomfiture, but just knowing that it might possibly happen keeps us amused for hours. Well, back to brain surgery! Have a nice day!"
I've had that joke played on me about 5 times before I could tell. I won't lie when I tell you that every time I have wanted to stab someone in the neck.
But now I know. Except for yesterday.
Dupe: "Hi. This is Zelda with Dearest Stepfather's office. Habla InglÃ©s?
Dupe: "Si. Soy Zelda con la officina de Dearest Stepfather..."
AM: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! La gringa stupida! Viva la Reconquista! Orino encendido tu Alamo, Puta!
I did laugh. I couldn't help it.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
And now for some help that only the blogworld can provide. I need to by some cowboy jeans that aren't too tight in the crotch. I've decided that's what I'm going to give my stepdad for Christmas, since the jeans he has are atrocious (way too short in the legs and waaaaaaay to small in the waist) and he fancies himself a cowboy. But the thought of buying him sexypants is enough to make me regurgitate a small amount in my oral cavity. Any thoughts?
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Long story short, I don't have the attention span to give everyone the details of our trip they are so desperately craving.
Let me direct you instead to tCj's video of her and I licking and sucking the shit out of Jack's critter pops. tCj is the cute one on the left. I'm the one with the facial tics on the right. I would recommend stalking her for the eventual details. Jethro too. He also has video but I don't think he'll post it. He's a little self conscious about his legs.
And if anyone has a chance, go pester Trashman for his story about the plane. It will crack you up.
I'm going to go play my guitar and think about anal sex. Giving it.
Monday, November 13, 2006
I'll give you a couple of highlights before Jethro snatches it away from me.
1.) I ate a cricket.
2.) tCj licks a mean sucker. Big Ed (her lovah) is probably a believer in God.
3.) I saw marines. Hot marines. And I managed to get them to look at my tits while they were encased in an inadequate orange bikini.
4.) Fuckingmachines.com. Thanks, Trash.
5.) Jack wore a hat and boots, then cruelly insisted that I not look at his ass. Just try and stop me there, Cowboy.
Friday, November 10, 2006
I was awakened this morning by a plaintive little cry from the central restroom. It has obviously been going on several minutes.
Emma (in a sing-song voice): "Mooooooooommmmyyyy! I have the diarrheas again! Mooooooooommmmyyyy! I have the diarrheas again! Mooooooooommmmyyyy! I have the diarrheas again! Mooooooooommmmyyyy! I have the diarrheas again!"
Zelda: "Garrrumph!!Hmmmph..chrrrckle...chrrrckle...M'KAY. You can stay home from school."
Emma: "Mooooooooommmmyyyy! I have the diarrheas again! Mooooooooommmmyyyy! I have the diarrheas again!"
Zelda: "Mommy no wakee. Mommy sleepeee."
Emma: "Mooooooooommmmyyyy! I have the diarrheas again! Mooooooooommmmyyyy! I have the diarrheas again!"
Zelda (and this is where the poor morning decision skills come into play): "Gwennie, would you take care of that for me, please?"
Gwennie: "Are you kidding? What makes you think I can do that?"
Zelda: "You're a big girl now. You have a loose tooth."
Gwennie: "Just great. Now that's two things I have to do. Get dressed and wipe Emma's butt."
I realized this might not be the most advantageous way to deal with this particular situation, so I hauled myself up and went into the bathroom.
Zelda: "Do you need help wiping your butt?"
Emma: "Yes. But don't look at it."
Zelda: "Why not?"
Emma (ducking her head in shame): "It's green."
Zelda: "That's okay. You probably just ate something that was green. It's no big deal."
Emma: "It's disgusting. I don't like green poop."
Zelda (smiling): "What kind of poop do you like?"
Thursday, November 09, 2006
I am trying to rectify the wagon tumble with pumpkin seeds and lemonparty.org. Don't click on that link.
Other than that, I'm just getting us ready to go to Austin. I am really looking forward to it, but my main focus is seeing that Jethro has a good time. So if I have to leave everyone to go buy him a hooker or something, just deal with it, okay?
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Now on to more pleasant topics. We are going to Austin this weekend for Jethro's birthday. We plan to do a little partying with a few bloggers. We'll let you know how it goes.
Monday, November 06, 2006
It is a wet, dreary day, and I'm kind of at a loss for things to write about. Anything of interest to me would be incredibly boring blog fodder, and anything of interest blogwise requires more mental exertion than I am willing to give at this point.
So in light of this, let me point you in the direction of my very favorite political blog: Blonde Sagacity. Vigorous debate and no censorship. If you have a burning desire to tell a liberal their brains are the equivalent of cannibal monkey feces, with the feces being the slightly better smelling of the two, then go for it. Just expect the same. It's great fun once you get used to it, and the number of military personnel who let their guard down and say what they think is well worth it.
Friday, November 03, 2006
But it is funny.
So the midterm elections are drawing close with the Democrats receiving the ringing endorsements of Islamic Jihad, Hamas, and the al Aqsa Martyrs Brigade. In other words, those groups who still have enough living members to make comments. Call me patriotic, but I really don't feel like making these assholes happy. (H/T: Blonde Sagacity.)
In other strange election news, I've come across a very interesting tactic. The Democrat gubernatorial candidate has spent a great deal of money on a mail-out flyer disparaging, not the Republican incumbent who is leading him in the polls, but an obscure write-in candidate. "Hmmm," I thought to myself. "Why would they waste their money to run against a write-in candidate that no one knows?"
Then I read the flyer. It said things like, "Write-In-Candidate would build a fence on the border and halt all illegal immigration," and "Write-In-Candidate would vote to lower all taxes and cut state spending by 1/3."
Now having lived in Texas for awhile, I think I can speak for the majority when I say that these are not exactly the issues that would cause the population to flock en masse to the Democrat Party. So why would the Democrat draw attention to the fact that he wouldn't reduce taxes or curb illegal immigration? It took me an embarrassingly long three minutes to figure out that he was trying to split the vote between the Write-In-Candidate and Rick Perry.
And why not? It's not like anyone in politics ever engages in anything dishonest.
Thursday, November 02, 2006
I asked Emma to do something for me and she huffily assented. I said, "Excuse me, young lady. You say 'yes, ma'am' not 'fine.' "
"Say 'jawohl, Mommy.' "
"Ya whore, Mommy."
Anyway, not much is going on. I completely scrapped my Lifestyle Change for the day yesterday and ate what was likely the equivalent of three Snickers bars. I'm paying for it today in that I feel really sick to my stomach and the mere thought of candy makes me want to vomit copiously.
Gwennie has pneumonia and has been out of school for the week. The poor kid is really sick. I've taken the time off work to clean my kitchen which is now.... well, I won't say clean, but I no longer require a Hazmat suit to cook dinner. Shut up. It's an improvement.
I decided to do Nanowrimo this year. I think I'm just going to have to string together some short stories. I'm not much of a novelist. My ADD kicks in and I can never make anyone do what I want them to for more than a few seconds. I'm much better at anecdotes. O. Henry was my favorite author in the whole wide world and I started reading him when I was about 8 years old. We didn't have television. I think he influenced my writing ideas more than anyone else, and he probably would have made a phenomenal blogger. But we'll see. I don't have terribly high expectations.