Monday, December 31, 2007

The Year In Retrospect And A Brief Anecdote

It's been quite a year for us, this 2007 - a red-letter year in so many respects. Jethro ditched his widow-maker of a boss in a unexpectedly timely manner. That in and of itself makes the year worthy of note. But on top of that, we bought our own business, moved cities, and renovated our tiny monstrosity of a home. It will definitely stand out for many years to come for all the wonderful things that came out of it.

And yet I'd trade every good thing in an instant to erase the one bad thing.

Jethro and I went to the cemetery to visit Charles again on Christmas Eve. There were so many things we needed to do that day, but that just seemed to be the most important. And am I ever glad we did. His mom and fiance had gone the day before and put up a wreath and an ornament which the wind had blown down and strewn all over. Jeth and I collected it all and put it back. I found some Christmas ribbon in the car and tied everything down so the wind couldn't knock it over again. I felt better knowing that his grave would be the way his mom and his girl wanted it for Christmas. It's funny the comfort we take in such small things.

Ah well. I don't love ending the year with such a somber post, but I must remember our friend. He is definitely worth it. I'll make up for it with a funny story about him, or actually just involving him. It's mostly about a large girl who was another friend of ours.

I'll call her Tina, and I'll say it again. She was large.

When we were in college, Tina used to throw these crazy parties. We'd fill a Rubbermaid trashcan (designated solely for that purpose) with Trashcan Punch, buy a few cases of beer, and have some fun. We had several awesome parties there including one where we watched the Rockets sweep the Magic in the '95 NBA Finals, loaded 20 people, a keg, and a couple of brooms into the back of someone's pick-up......but I digress.

Tina's apartment complex was in a shady part of town, and not terribly well kept. But it did have a swimming pool. And swimming pools have a bad habit of luring in drunken young college chicks. And drunken young college chicks have a bad habit of removing their clothing, once succumbing to the lure.

On this particular occasion, being a chaste and virtuous maiden, I had passed out in a pool chair after having only removed my top.

When I came to, I found myself alone except for Tina who was happily cavorting in the pool all by herself. Since it was her apartment complex, she was afforded the luxury of a swimsuit, and so had not felt the need to return with the others. Apparently I was chopped liver. No one had bothered to wake me up to go get dry.

I had misplaced my glasses as was usual for me at these parties, but had enough clarity to realize that I was pretty drunk and all alone with a 300 lb. girl who was similarly inebriated. I was pretty sure, should she start to drown, that I could not save her. And I wanted to save her. I liked her a lot, and her parties were great.

"Tina!" I called. "Come backatha party! I need nonother drink. Drinkiepoo. Y'know. Drink."

"But I'm having fun out here," Tina said, floatily. "Tell the others to come back!"

It took a minute or two for this to sink in, but I was pretty sure by the time I thought of a good reply, I could go back to the party and bring a few more people out.

"'Kay, Tina. I'll bre righ-back," I shouted as soberly as I could. "Shtay by th' pool shteps an' I'll go bring 'um back here."

I wobbled back to the party where I procured the help of Charles and tall, skinny girl named Kara. Charles, having lost his own glasses (he wore glasses back then), let Kara lead the way. We chatted merrily, if not coherently, until we got to the pool.

Suddenly, without warning, Kara stopped short and flung her arms out. Charles and I were nearly clotheslined.

"Stop," Kara said in a low voice. "Y'all turn around right now."

Frightened, we obeyed.

"Tina! Tina, sweetie!" Kara chirped in her most endearing southern twang. "You might want to put your swimsuit back on now, honey!"

"But I'm free! FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" sang Tina as she splashed joyfully through the white water of her own wake.

Charles and I clawed at each other for a minute in a mutual frenzy of horror and mirth, and immediately congratulated ourselves not only on having lost our eyewear, but on having need for it in the first place.

I don't remember much after that. I think Tina ended up putting back on her swimsuit, but not before someone called out an order to "man the harpoooooons!" which I thought was very rude. I do know that not once did Charles so much as squint in her direction - a temptation that surprisingly few were able to resist.

Just one of many strange, fond memories...

Saturday, December 29, 2007

The Recipe For Zelda
3 parts Success2 parts Flirtation1 part Devilry
Splash of Class
Limit yourself to one serving. This cocktail is strong!

Friday, December 28, 2007

Emo Post

Life is so unfair. For Christmas, one of Jethro's sisters asked to take the girls to Florida to swim with dolphins at some dolphin swimming place.

The plan was that we would leave the girls with the in-laws Christmas day night, drive back to New Town, spend the whole week nekkid (except for when we were at the clinic), put on some clothes for the weekend and party, then finally drive back to Houston on New Year's Eve to pick up the kids.

It was going to be fantastic.

But I am still sick. Feverishly, bloody sinusly, ear infectiously, swollen neck glandsedly sick.

So I am sitting here shivering and glowering, feeling like a two-year old who hasn't gotten her way. I would stamp my feet if I thought it would make me feel any better. But it won't. It would just make my head ache more.

Good bye, cruel world.

Wednesday, December 26, 2007

The Magic 8 Ball

It was a nice Christmas. No major dramatics (miraculous for a family consisting of 12 females and 2 sperm donors), just the heartfelt observation that we could use some men in the family. Jethro cannot carry the load by himself. Every time we leave my family's estrogen plantation, I see just a few more gray hairs on his head. It's already driven my stepfather to insanity.

I am still not feeling well. I was doing better yesterday, but seem to have had a relapse. I have the energy for one funny story, but then I'm spent.

Gwennie and Emma had themselves a great Christmas and got a pretty nice haul. One of Gwennie's presents was a Magic 8 ball. It was a last minute present because Emma was getting a high school musical poster, and Gwennie's Pokemon poster hadn't come in yet. They have to have an even number of presents. Be quiet, they just do.

Anyway, Gwennie had left her Battleship game all over the floor and I asked her to pick it up. The third time I asked, I didn't ask nicely. She snatched up her game in a manic huff and nearly threw it at me.

"What is your problem?" I asked, nonplussed.

Tears formed in her eyes. Real, legitimate tears.

"My family doesn't love me," she said simply.

"What on earth would give you that impression?"

"I asked my Magic 8 ball if I like pie and it said "yes." Then I asked it if my family really loved me and it said, "no." Her voice broke.

"Oh my god. I'm going to smash that thing into pieces. Gwennie. Look at me. You can't ask a piece of plastic important questions like that. It's just a game. You're only supposed to ask it questions like, 'Should I wear my red shirt today?' You know, things that don't really matter. You know I love you. I love you and Emma more than anything in the world. The day I had you was the happiest day of my life."

She brightened considerably.

"Do you understand what I'm telling you, Gwennie?" I asked seriously.

"Yes. I feel much better now that I know it's just a game."

A mischievous look came into her eyes. She shook up her Magic 8 Ball and asked, "Am I going to get presents next year?"

She turned it over and read: "Outlook not good."

She frowned a little and said, "I'll ask it again."

She turned over the 8 ball and read: "All signs point to no."

She sighed. "I'll ask it one more time."

Once more she asked the question and shook up her 8 ball: "My reply is no."

She looked at it for a second, then said cheerfully: "Well, that's it for today."

Merry Christmas

I know it's a little late, but I had to say it. Now I'm going to bed.

G'night.

Saturday, December 22, 2007

Got Tagged

Still feel like shit, but I was fortunately tagged, so I don't have to do any great thinking.

I guess I must post the rules so here they are:

1) Link to the person who tagged you. That would be Sohos.
2) Share Christmas facts about yourself.
3) Tag 7 random people at the end of your post, and include links to their blogs.
4) Let each person know that they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.


1. Wrapping or gift bags? Wrapping. I like difficulty.

2. Real or artificial tree? I prefer a real tree, but have had an artificial one until this year. The artificial one actually broke at the base the first year we got it and we've jerry-rigged it for seven years now. Last year if fell over three times, so we decided it's time had come and gone.

3. When do you put up the tree? Whenever we get the chance, but not until the beginning of December.

4. When do you take the tree down? Again, whenever we get a chance. I once left it up until February.

5. Do you like eggnog? Oh yes. But definitely with rum in it.

6. Favorite gift received as a child? A Barbie Dream House. We'd just finished with the Best Christmas Ever in the way of loot, when I looked over and saw this strangled look of delight on one of my sister's faces. My dad had pulled off a sheet exposing a brand-new Barbie dream house. We were really into Barbie, but never expected the dream house for even a second.

7. Do you have a nativity scene? Yep. Two actually. Gwennie broke Mary and Jesus last year with a yo yo, I think, and I was quite peeved.

8. Worst Christmas gift you ever received? Haven't really received a bad one. I've liked, or at least appreciated them all.

9. Mail or email Christmas cards? I ought to mail them, but I never do. This year I emailed them.

10. Favorite Christmas movie? A Christmas Story. "FRA-GI-LE. Must be Italian." Cracks me up every time.

11. When do you start shopping for Christmas? I always say I'm going to start early, but I always end up starting after Thanksgiving.

12. Favorite thing to eat at Christmas? Marie Callenders Razzleberry pie

13. Clear lights or colored? Colored

14. Favorite Christmas song? Fairytale of New York by The Pogues and Merry Christmas from the Family by Robert Earl Keen

15. Travel at Christmas or stay at home? I usually go to my parents' house.

16. Can you name all of Santas reindeer? Yes, thanks to Gene Autry, the Christmas Cowboy.

17. Angel or star on the top of your tree? It's a nativity tree topper that should have a star over it, but it broke. Gwennie again.

18. Open your presents Christmas Eve or Christmas morning? The adults open theirs' in the evening, but we make the kids suffer until morning.

19. Most annoying thing about this time of year? Lunatics on the road.

20. What do you leave for Santa? Cookies and milk for Santa, carrots for the reindeer.

21. Least favorite holiday song? Let It Snow. It's just cruel to play it in Texas.

22. Do you decorate your tree with any specific theme or color? Nah.

23. Favorite ornament? A silver martini glass. It's just cool looking.

Anyone who wants to do it is more than welcome, but I'm specifically tagging Angi and Jeanette to be answered at their leisure.

Wednesday, December 19, 2007

What A Night

I'm going to try to explain the night I had last night, but I was feverish, so there is a good chance this post will make no sense.

Nope. I changed my mind. I don't feel well, so I'm just going to sum it up.

A skunk set off our smoke alarm.

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

*SSSSSSNIIIIIFFFFFFFF*

I'm not feeling very well. I have a runny nose, an earache, and a sore throat. I'm dripping on the keyboard as I speak, so I'm going to bed.

Everyone have fun and avoid the malls.

Sunday, December 16, 2007

After catching a glimpse of my reflection in Jethro's laptop screen, I have since decided to revise my come-hither look to exclude the sticking out of my tongue from between my teeth.

It's a goddam miracle I've ever gotten laid.

Friday, December 14, 2007

Something To Make Your Head Explode

I read this courtesy of Michelle Malkin. I just want to cry. I can't even waste thought on those two pieces of raw sewage who gave her up. Just give her to me. She can be my little girl and she will never have to worry about fitting in with disgusting eurotrash.

Thursday, December 13, 2007

Ignorance Is Bliss. Damn the Internet.

Gwennie is supposed to write a little paper on Johnny Appleseed, so I helped her look him up on Wikipedia. I thought it prudent to skip the part that discusses his views on marriage.

Which leads me to the bad part of the internet. There is so much I never wanted to know. I didn't want to know that most of the Riders of Rohan from the Lord of the Rings movies were women. I didn't want to know Errol Flynn's friends propped him up in a hotel lobby after he died so people could get a look at him (actually, I don't really mind knowing that for some reason). And I most especially didn't want to know that Grandpa on the Waltons was a bi-sexual. I don't even like thinking of him as a unisexual. I hope it's a rumor.

Wednesday, December 12, 2007

The Spectres From Our Past Never Die

I have not encountered anyone on this planet who has the capability of annoying me more than Jethro's former boss. 'Annoying' might be too mild a word, but I hesitate to reveal the psychotic depths of anger to which that ugly, stupid bitch can drive me.

It could probably go without saying, but she owes Jethro a not insignificant amount of money from when he worked there. Knowing her as we do (she is tighter than the asshole of a straight man who isn't into that type of thing), we have not exactly been expecting it to be paid. It doesn't change the fact that she still owes it.

But now to the part that makes me want to ruin her self-esteem (puzzlingly intact for such such a boring, witless, unattractive woman).

She wrote Jethro an email explaining why she was not going to pay him. Dumbass Bitch would have been better off not bothering. Her reasons were that 2 people he referred had not panned out according to her expectations and she had trouble collecting from one of their insurance companies - neither of which have anything to do with the fact that she owes him money.

Now I, in my haste to injure her emotionally, would have sent back the following email had I been Jethro:

Hey Dumbass Bitch,

I expected some kind of excuse from you regarding the money you owe. You are quite predictable in this regard. Luckily, it is quite well-known that you are not a person of her word, so we didn't rely upon it. Hopefully you will use whatever you've screwed us out of for a complete physical makeover - a benefit to all who cross your path in the future.

Best Regards,

Jethro

Jethro, being somewhat less hot-tempered than I, actually responded with a cheerful, positive email detailing how happy he was to be on his own, how pleasant it is here, and never once mentioning the money.

Upon reflection, this was the best type of email to send. There is nothing in this world that would chap her ass more than knowing Jethro is doing well on his own, and better than she was doing when she was first starting out. She is a very jealous person.

No doubt she'll try to convince herself his comparative success is due to the fact that he has a penis, or because he knows Asian people, or because he bought an existing practice, or because his hair swirls in a particular direction on his head. She'll do everything but acknowledge it's because he is a far more pleasant person, a far better doctor, and not physically repulsive. But she'll know.

Monday, December 10, 2007

Little Bit of Nothing, Little Bit of Elvis

I guess it's hard to top a post about dream bestiality, but I really don't want to leave it up any longer.

Not much to talk about. I start classes on January 7th. I'm borderline excited. There is a lot I want to do with it, but anything specific is as yet unformed in my mind. Regardless, Jethro had his turn in school, and now it's mine. Mine won't be nearly as long or as expensive. If I may be serious for a second, I feel like I have an overload of creativity and no outlet. Certainly no market. We'll see where it goes.

I really don't have much else, so I'll leave you with Elvis jamming my favorite Dylan tune.

"I ain't sayin' you treated me unkind,
You could have done better but I don't mind
You just kind of wasted my precious time
Don't think twice it's alright."

Thursday, December 06, 2007

I Had A Dream

Yes, it's a dream post, but before you run away screaming, I must inform you that it will probably be the most embarrassing post I've ever written, perhaps with the exception of this one.

I must preface this by saying that I'm the world's most masochistic dream-cheater. In the dream state, I can be about to copulate with the hottest of BLY(M)HwLSE***, when suddenly, millimeters from pure bliss, I'll remember I'm married, and virtuously put a stop to it; whereupon I will wake up and ravish Jethro.

However, when I'm about to copulate with some hideous troll of a man/woman (yes, I said woman) or some other person with whom a sexual interlude would cause eternal social discomfort, I don't remember I'm married until after the fact. Or worse yet, I do remember I'm married but I'm too consumed with lust to care.

I'll have to blame the dream I had last night on the unhealthy combination of watching Naruto, and reading Trashman and Jim Treacher all in one day. It's too much for anyone.

So, to be concise, I dreamed Trashman was a giant toad who gave it to me good with his tongue. And it was pierced (the tongue, that is).

And there was no remembering I was married. Even if I had it would have done no good. The tongue was waaaaaaay too sticky.

***Barely Legal Young (Male) Hottie with Low Self-Esteem.

Wednesday, December 05, 2007

It Seems I'm Lacking Development

I did some testing at the school of graphic design I'm going to attend in January, and I had to write a stupid essay. The computer (yes, I said computer) graded and critiqued the essay as soon as I had submitted it and informed me that I had excellent sentence formation and grammar, but that my content needed development.

What was particularly galling was that it was true, but how much could I do with a 600 word limit? However, there is no arguing with Com-Pu-Tor, so I had to deal with my 9/10 score on the essay.

I also discovered that I am retarded in Algebra. They won't even let me take a class until I pass some remedial program. It's a bit humbling. Jethro makes fun of me. He seems to think that just because he can read, I should be able to add letters and numbers as if that makes any sense whatsoever.

I told him when he can read without moving his lips, I'll learn to multiply letters. It wasn't really fair. Jethro doesn't move his lips that much, but I'm sensitive about my lack of mathematical skills, and I'm pissed because he shaved his face and it makes me look like a child molester.

Monday, December 03, 2007

Bits

This is hilarious. Especially if you like Shakespeare (or were forced to read him ad infinitum in college).

H/T: Phlegmfatale

William Shakespeare

He that sleeps feels not the Zelda

Which work of Shakespeare was the original quote from?

Get your own quotes:



So things are rolling along here. Jethro had a spectacular day at the office today, and I am going back to school.

I don't dare get my hopes up though.

One day at a time.

Keep on keeping on.
It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven.

Roses are red, violets are blue, my husband's johnson is an ungodly hue.

Sunday, December 02, 2007

So I was going to get a serious buzz on last night, but Emma came down with a stomach ache so bad, she was writhing and crying and I had to give her a Fleet, or as she put it, "some butt medicine."

I knew it was bad when she asked me to give it to her.

Turns out she was constipated on top of having eaten a great deal of broccoli and some onions.

Poor baby.

She was fine this morning, so I feel justifined in having consumed nearly a bottle of chianti and one of Jethro's fabulous Bloody Marys.

Now I'm going to watch Tombstone and get laid.

Ciao, y'all.

P.S. According to the AP (which I have yet to take with anything but a grain of salt) Chavez lost.

Saturday, December 01, 2007

I'm Not Think About What I'm Writing, So Whatever Comes Out....Comes Out.

I think I'm turning into a dirty old gay man. Barely legal young men have been kind of working me over lately.

I love Naruto. I hate my husband for turning me onto the program, but I love it. Better than Harry Potter.

I hate Windows Vista. I want to get rid of it and go back to whatever it was we had before.

I'm going for an interview at a school for graphic design on Monday. We'll see.

Is anyone else turned on by their own boobs? Men? Lesbians?

I'm gonna go get another beer now. Have a great weekend.

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

Creepy vs. Stupid

So I've been sitting here trying to decide which world leader is the most creepy/stupid.

Shut up. It's what I do.

Anyway, it's down to Ahmadinejad of Iran, and Chavez of Venezuela.

I'll start with Ahmadinejad since I will never be able to spell his name correctly, at least not without cut and paste. I'll get him out of the way first.


Creepy:

1.) He doesn't think homosexuals exist in Iran. But he wants to find them so he can "study" them.

2.) (I realize it's been hammered to death, but) his continued desire to debate whether the Holocaust really happened is always good for tingle of incredulity.

3.) The fact that the former U.S. hostages, taken during the Carter administration swear that he was one of the kidnappers.

4.) He wants nukes. For energy.


Stupid:

1.) He thinks homosexuals don't exist in Iran.

2.) The beard

3.) The dinner jacket

4.) He wants an Iranian envoy to monitor U.S. elections in '08 so he can see for himself if we really want to vote for the Bush administration again.

I'm guessing he's a bit ignorant of the Great Satan's political structure. I don't know if it's possible for him to conceive that a President would peacefully and voluntarily step down after his Constitutionally mandated 8 year limit in the political grinder. But I suppose we should make exceptions for him since he comes from a land where they routinely assassinate political opponents, outspoken journalists, and rebellious teenage girls.

Now for Chavez.


Creepy:

1.) Wants to amend the Venezuelan Constitution so he can be "elected" indefinitely.

2.) Threatens to have the government take over the businesses whose leaders disagree with him.

3.) Wants to be just like the Socialist Paradise of Cuba (!?)





(Happy Contented Cubans on a Delightful Proletarian Cruise to America)




Stupid:

1.) His face

2.) His fat, fucking face.

3.) Insists CNN and GlobovisiĆ³n were sending subliminal messages to have him assassinated.

4.) He told a women's group that "they should drink coffee, eat chocolate and stay awake through Saturday night -- just like the nights when they gave birth -- to ensure they were up early and getting backers to the polls en masse."

I actually can't decide whether this last #4 is creepy or stupid.

I originally thought it was stupid, but the thought of Chavez imagining a horde of coffee-drinking, chocolate-eating, completely addlepated females giving anything resembling birth to his plans for a totalitarian dictatorship has a definite creep factor.

Decisions, decisions.

Tallying the numbers....6+6+14...carry the 1....-2.7314...............

Okay. It's close, but the Iranian midget is the creepiest and the Venezuelan Oompa Loompa is the stupidest.

There. Now I can sleep.

Although the homosexual thing will no doubt cause some second guessing.....

Tuesday, November 27, 2007

Bubbie

I'd never burn down my house with my grandma in it.

I've been wanting to write about my grandparents for some time now, but I've never been sure of what exactly to say.

All four of them are/were interesting people, and all have had a profound impact on my life.

I think I'm going to start with my grandmother who is currently renting my old house. I don't think I'd be doing a disservice to my other grandparents by stating that she has probably had the most impact on my life. This is due in no small part to the fact that she has been around through thick and thin, never allowing us to withdraw from the family no matter how much we craved solitude in times of crisis.

When I was 15, She lost her husband and two sons (my uncle, my grandfather, and my father in that order) within a 6 month time frame. As terrible as it was for me, I can't begin to imagine the cold brutality of her loss.

I won't say I gave anyone in my family an easy time of it back then. That included my grandmother. All of my sisters and I gave our mother and grandmother our fair share of grief. But she remains to this day, steadfast in her love for her family.

I don't want to give the impression that she is a tower of strength. She is fragile and rather delicate. But she has a her love for all of her children and grandchildren, and now great-grandchildren, that has never been shaken, no matter how hurt she has been.

I was looking through some of her old photos while I was supposed to be helping her move in. She was everything I am not. Gorgeous, glamorous, with an impeccable fashion sense, and home decorating/design skills that have yet to be matched as far as I'm concerned, she is everything a woman ought to be. Even at 79, she is elegant and sophisticated beyond compare. For example, she turned my dreadful old house into something wonderful. I hated that house. I couldn't imagine this woman, accustomed to such beautiful homes, living there and being happy. It has none of the charm of her other residences. Yet somehow, she has transformed it into an enchanting place, full of memories, treasures, and comfort. It's a rare gift. And so is she.

Monday, November 26, 2007

So in case anyone couldn't tell, the NaBloProMo thingy isn't going all that well. In fact, it isn't happening at all.

Tough titties, I suppose.

We had a long Thanksgiving week in Houston. Jethro went back for three days of last week to work at the clinic. I missed him.

I was very much looking forward to not going back to Houston for at least a month, but at the last minute, we realized we'd have to back next weekend because my grandmother, who is renting our old house, wants us to get rid of the paint cans in the garage which can only be done the first Saturday of every month. Why she cares, I have no idea. They're not bothering anyone, she's never going to use the shelves that they're on, and finding a place to take them has been a collossal pain in the ass.

And although making numerous 3+ hour trips for small, bullshit details is better than listening to her constant nagging, I don't think she's realized how close I've come to burning the whole house to the ground with her being in it of little to no concern.

I exaggerate, but still.

Anyway, perhaps the weekend after next...I'd like to get our Christmas tree at some point.

Oh, and I have decided against purchasing a Nintendo Wii for the kids. Firstly and most importantly, we can't afford it. Secondly, and rather less importantly, we've come into posession of an Xbox 360. Corin gave Jethro his (which he got from a friend who owed him money) to use while he's in Iraq.

We decided that we'll "give" it to the girls for Christmas and just get another one by the time Corin comes back. As long as the girls can play Dance Dance Revolution until they're as good as all the other little Asian geeks in the arcades, they'll be happy. That, and anything related to Pokemon. I think they could also use some warm pjs too.

In the spirit of NoBloPriMo, I will try to write more, but I'm releasing myself from the Treaty.

Friday, November 23, 2007

Spent a lovely day at the family homestead yesterday. We ate a lot, drank somewhat more, politely discussed both religion and politics (a feat made possible by the copious consumption of turkey and spirits), and had our step-brother take a picture of all the girls jumping on the trampoline in the back yard. My bosoms obscured my face. This was a good thing.

I always take on at least one impossible task during the Christmas season. Usually it's making one extra dish that leaves me stressed out, sweaty and pressed for time. This year it's going to be finding the Nintendo wii for the girls at a retail price. Actually, I'm hoping to score two so I can sell one on ebay for double the retail price. The mere thought is giving me irritable bowel syndrome, but I still plan on going through with it. Wish me luck. If I am successful this week, I will report my strategy.

I hope everyone had a happy Thanksgiving.

Monday, November 19, 2007

Corin's Night

I've been trying to post about Saturday night, but I haven't been able to start for some reason. Some very funny things happened and I want to do right by them, but I guess I'll have to settle for just getting them on the page. So excuse me a minute while I get a glass of water, grab me some Buc-cee's Beaver nuggets, touch myself in all the bad places (including the really REALLY bad place), and think very hard about me, Jethro and King Leonidas from 300 (they will never touch or see each other).

Okay. I'm back.

We were at our favorite tavern Saturday (and by favorite I mean the only one that would let us drink there when were in college before we were 21, so we feel a certain nostalgic loyalty) sending off our friend, Corin who leaves for Iraq on Tuesday.

As luck would have it, the Houston Rugby Team had it's Liquid Golf Tournament that day and decided to congregate at their favorite tavern (and by that I mean the only tavern who will allow them to continue drinking there after such an event).

Let's just say that if Griff's were a woman, she'd be a saggy bosomed gal in her late 50s, blue eye-shadow on her crows feet, pink lipstick on her teeth, with a skin-tight, leopard print camel-toe. Possibly dying of lung cancer.

So we were all sitting at a table minding our own business, listening to our friend and his friend tell a few marine jokes (they're Army), when a stocky woman in a golf hat adorned with an idiotic looking pom-pom, quite drunk, lurched up, demanded to know where our friends had served, and insisted that they cease and desist picking on marines (before they could respond) because she had fought in Desert Storm.

Have you ever found yourself in the middle of such a paradoxical situation? I was vacillating between avoiding her gaze like one does with the deranged homeless, standing up and punching her in the nose, and laughing my ass off because truly, can you imagine anything more comical?

Drunken Moron (for a moron she was) rounded on me for rolling my eyes and told me she had served so I could have the right to be a bitch.

I'm sure she was living out her fondest hippie-slaughtering fantasies, but reality was not quite the tableaux playing in her head.

I told her I appreciated that, and I respected her service, but our friends had both fought in Afghanistan and one was about to be sent to Iraq and I didn't appreciate her "dissing" them. Yes, I said "dissing" which upsets me greatly. Sometimes I revert to my '80s dork-self under pressure.

I was very concerned about getting hit in the face, but she ambled away after doing some more incoherent mumbling, and the evening progressed as smoothly as possible for having 100 drunken golfers in silly hats trying to get into each others' Bermuda shorts.

Later that evening, I was explaining what happened to one of my girlfriends while we were waiting in line for the restroom, when we were confronted again by Drunken Moron and her much larger, drunken sister who happened to be in the two stalls we were waiting to use (I'd have no luck but for bad). It actually ended quite simply with my friend timidly saying, "I'm a Republican" and watching the look of comprehension very slowly spread across Drunken Moron's Mongo-esque features.
I had some drinks, danced with a lesbian (who told me a great Halloween story about my sister which I will save for a later date), let Jethro videotape me and a few other girls dancing a little dirty with Corin, and talked to a great guy with an awesome tattoo.


So all in all, it was a fun night.

Keep Corin in your thoughts/prayers so we can do it all again when he returns in 15 months.

Friday, November 16, 2007

To My Husband On His Birthday

Dearest,

I just want to take this moment to tell you what twittering delight I get out of birthday boning. It doesn't matter whose birthday it is, and the fact that I like boning in general shouldn't weigh into it either.

Happy birthday, darling.


~Zelda


Funnily enough, I gave it up this morning before I remembered it was his birthday. I've never been good at remembering, but I am pretty good at giving it up.

Anyway, we're off to Houston again this weekend. Everyone have a good one.

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

Internet Derangement

I don't often read and far less often comment on the shitty things people do to each other on the internet, but in a story reminiscent of what the utterly deranged high school teacher, Eliot Stein did to columnist Cathy Seipp and her daughter as she was dying of lung cancer, this story was so horrible, I just can't let it pass.

What kind of shallow, lifeless, damaged creatures would pick on an overweight child suffering with depression for the idiotic purpose of discovering what this poor little girl might be saying about their daughter? What hideous disease in their hearts would cause them to do such a hateful, deranged thing?

I don't understand it. I simply don't understand it. I am utterly bewildered. The girls had once been friends. Megan's family had done favors for them. And then these grown adults go and emotionally abuse their poor little girl? I can't even begin to say how these people should be punished. It's obvious they will never comprehend the guilt they ought to feel. It almost sounds sociopathic.

People talk about making new laws, but what about the community having its say? Maybe a good old-fashioned tarring and feathering? Riding them out of town on a rail? Reminding them daily that the lies they told Megan about people not liking her are now actually and eternally true about them? Since they seem to be people who are unhealthily obsessed with what people are saying about them, I like the last one.

Monday, November 12, 2007

To All Our Vets: Thank You.

















I wanted to post something yesterday, but I didn't have access to this picture which I wanted to use. It was taken by the Houston Chronicle at Charles' burial. I thought about him all yesterday especially because I flew back to New Town on Southwest Airlines where he used to work:





God speed, friend.

Friday, November 09, 2007

Lovely Random Bits

Oh so many things to blog about.

I'll start with my Lesbian Environmentalist sister who slept with a guy a few days ago. She emailed me and said it was awesome and that she was a bad Lesbo. I could have told her that, and in fact did tell her that quite frequently. I was also baffled as to how you could grow up in a house with all girls and still like them. I don't.

Next I'll move on to the best celebrity story ever - George Clooney and Fabio cat-fighting over who is the handsomest. Apparently Clooney thought some women were taking pictures of him when they were really taking pictures of Fabio. Clooney told them all to fuck off, and Fabio told him to fuck off, that they were taking his (Fabio's) picture, and to "stop being such a diva." I think then they puffed up a little and made some gang signs at each other but didn't actually engage in fisticuffs. I think faces in the celebrity world are like groins in the boxing world - off limits. But I can't believe it was Fabio who got the one-liner.

And then I read this story on the Italian police's discovery of the Mafia 10 Commandments upon the arrest of one Salvatore Lo Piccolo, mob boss extraordinaire. It reads like lines from a bad mobster movie, and isn't particularly interesting, but towards the end of the article, they started talking about the various bosses they've captured fairly recently. The last paragraph says,

"Investigators believe that the 65-year-old Lo Piccolo could have eventually emerged from a power struggle as the Mafia's new top boss following the capture of Bernardo Provenzano, the reputed No. 1 of the Cosa Nostra crime syndicate. Provenzano was arrested on a farm near Corleone, Sicily, in April 2006, after more than 40 years on the run."

Corleone, Sicily. Had he not seen The Godfather II? I would think that would be the last place a mob boss would go to hide. I mean Don Ciccio was eviscerated there, and that was just in a movie.

Wednesday, November 07, 2007

Here's some Nothing

Yes. I know I didn't post yesterday and today, and I was supposed to. But I didn't have anything to say, and as we all know, I provide only the most insightful and witty of blogging entertainment.

That being said, I still don't have much. So here's a picture of the clinic.




Cute, isn't it?
And Jethro has some pictures up from Halloween. You can see a boob.

Tuesday, November 06, 2007

Did you ever wonder what a 300 lb, $2 whore from a country near the equator smells like the morning after a wildly profitable evening?

Me neither. But I think I know.

We spent all weekend painting/cleaning/fixing our old house in Houston. It was hot and dirty and not in a good way.

But most if it is completed aside from a little detail work. Now all I have to do is sell our crap in a massive garage sale. Our neighbors had one this past weekend and I bought a steel string guitar. Everyone has a steel string but me. My folks never bought me anything but nylon growing up. They wanted me to play hippie Christian music. But I wanted to rock and roll, man. And now I can at least try really hard. Deep down, however, I really am a hippie. And the stench this weekend would have proved it.

If you have an extra moment, go read how Trashman kicked someone's ass for money. It's cool.

Saturday, November 03, 2007

1 minute

So I joined the NoBloProMo thing or whatever it's called where I have to write something every day of November. I started a little late, but I've only missed one day so far.

Let's see if I can make it before midnight....

So hmmm. What's happening?

Jethro and I are almost finished painting our old house. It looks frightful. It's just a shitty house and anything you do is like putting lipstick on a pig. But the floors look great. Our brother-in-law did them. He had a helper during the week, some 20-something year old guy. My mom went to check on the progress and the 20-something year old guy fell in luuuuuuuuuv. He told Brother-In-Law to tell her he would be her boy toy anytime she wants. Then he chanted, "MILF! MILF! MILF! MILF!" over and over until Brother-In-Law punched him in the back of the head.

I relayed the message to my mom who twittered a little. I told her it was nothing to laugh at and if I were unfortunately widowed, I'd pick me a healthy younger male if I could find one with low enough self-esteem.

More tomorrow.

Thursday, November 01, 2007

Really, It Was A Lot Funnier Than It Sounds

Jethro and I were walking through the grocery store buying Halloween candy yesterday, when we happened upon an old lady hawking soup.

We obliged her by trying some and purchasing a can.

She asked Jethro if he "spoke another language."

He affirmed that he spoke Vietnamese.

She asked if we were married.

We said we were.

She asked if we had children.

We said we did.

She asked us if they looked like either of us or something altogether different.

Jethro pulled out a picture, so she wouldn't be imagining children with green skin.

She then said she was learning to speak Mandarin Chinese.

We politely raised our eyebrows and congratulated her.

Then she said she had always been raised to think that American culture was superior to other cultures, but...

I cut her off and said, "It is."

She looked confused for a moment and then said reproachingly that she had lived in Mexico City for awhile and that Mexicans were wonderful people.

I said, "They are," and refrained from adding, "But you don't have to live in Mexico to know that."

She said even though there is crushing poverty, it doesn't mean their culture is worse than ours.

I said, "Yeah, it kind of does."

Jethro mediated and said it only meant their government is worse than ours.

I refrained from asking what kind of culture would support a government who insisted on remaining corrupt amidst soul-crushing poverty...

She then said it was a good thing to learn about other cultures.

I said, "It is. That way you know for a fact that ours is the best."

Then I saw the look of hurt and confusion in her eyes, and pussied out and told her I was just teasing.

But really, she was barking up the wrong tree. I know she assumed that Jethro and I, as an interracial couple, would automatically be accepting of, and interested in other cultures. And that would be true if we weren't then required to turn on the culture of the country in which we live - which made and continues to make our life together possible.

Wednesday, October 31, 2007

Just When We Thought Nothing Could Be Gayer Than Menudo

Hamas appeals to Palestinian masculinity with a Creepy Bearded Boy Band.

It's just too damn sexy.


















Take that, Infidels.

H/T: LGF

Tuesday, October 30, 2007

Tell Me Someone Didn't Do That On Purpose

I was reading this article about Olmert having prostate cancer on yahoo news and I noticed an interesting turn of phrase:

"The disclosure came at a sensitive time in Mideast diplomacy, with Olmert and another one-time prostate cancer patient — Palestinian President Mahmoud Abbas — struggling to bridge gaping differences ahead of a U.S.-brokered peace conference."

Normally, I'd just chalk it up to me having a dirty little mind, but the article is about prostate cancer. Cancer near the asshole. In the asshole. Up the asshole.

And of differences between the Israelis and the "Palestinians," I wouldn't exactly use the word gaping. Vast, extensive, comprehensive, considerable, prodigious, limitless, astronomical, among others, but not gaping.

It fits about as well as a dry thumb in a straight man's....well....asshole.

Monday, October 29, 2007

Who Knew That Russians Swedes Had A Sense Of Humor?

NOT SAFE FOR WORK

Coinkydink

I have a favor to ask all of my friends. Could y'all do me a favor and not die or get divorced for at least 10 years? I'd prefer never, but I'm a realist. Thanks.

Anyway, we had a very interesting weekend. If you haven't read Jethro's post, we went out to a bar to see two friends who are getting married. There was a girl sitting there who was introduced to us as the bride's maid of honor. Jethro recognized her instantly from somewhere, and I thought she looked very familiar. We puzzled over it for a few minutes, and then I got ADD and started drinking.

Jethro was nearly silent while he ate his chicken wings. Suddenly, mid-conversation, he looked up and asked her if she had been to a wine-tasting party. Since neither Jethro nor I had been to a wine-tasting party anywhere near recently, I was totally confused.

It seems Jethro recognized her from a picture on a blog taken at a wine-tasting party. Soho's and Count's wine-tasting party, to be exact.

Don't ask me how the boy did it. I saw the picture later on and it looked nothing like her at all. I think I saw her in another picture though, which was where I recognized her from. But I wouldn't have put two and two together in a million years.

----------------------------

We went to Charles' memorial service earlier that day, and we brought the picture. His parents got to see it and it didn't disturb them too badly, so now I feel like we can give it to them without causing them any undue pain. We told them we would as soon as we could get it engraved, hopefully by Christmas.

-----------------------------

Anyhow, I wish I had more interesting things to discuss, but I'm all out for now. But don't worry, something will come to me.

Thursday, October 25, 2007

Slickness

I consistently underestimate my husband. Everyone does. He's so mild-mannered, he just slips under the radar. But that's the way he wants it, so I oblige.

But yesterday, he got a random telemarketer to make an appointment at the clinic, which the gentleman kept. He's a real slick willy, Jethro is.

Everyone have a great weekend. We're going to be back in Houston. Since we moved, we've seen more of Houston than we have of New Town. It's depressing. Hopefully November will see us relaxing a little more.

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

Bits 'n' Pieces

http://www.youtube.com/user/JohnMcCaindotcom

John McCain is such a badass, I haven't ruled out voting for him despite McCain/Feingold.

H/T: Blonde Sagacity

----------------------------------------------

It's a gorgeous day here in New Town. The best part about not being in Houston for a cold front is that it doesn't blow the winds from the refineries and ruin your day. In Houston, a gorgeous cold front will blow through, you'll step outside ready to enjoy life, and then you'll smell it. It's somewhat of a buzz kill.

But as much as I love New Town (and I really do), I miss Houston a little. You have to have lived in Houston to appreciate it, but there were some cool things like bars and restaurants that I am missing a little.

Funnily enough, I'm not missing family.

----------------------------------------------

We'll be back in Houston for the next two weekends. This weekend is a memorial service for Charles where they will dedicate a paver at the chapel of the college we all went to. It will be nice to see all our friends again, but I'm still sad about it. His parents will be there. I don't want to cry in front of them. I'd break my knuckles on something if I had to come to grips with the thought that there wouldn't be a Charles B. Kitowski IV in my family. I suppose I dwell too much on it, but such is my nature.

Friday, October 19, 2007

The Origin of Sea-Monkeys

"Mommy," said Emma with an air of affected nonchalance. "Could you read this?"

I took from her hands a paper entitled The Origin of Sea-Monkeys, which had come with said sea-monkeys.

I read the first paragraph:

Sea-Monkeys are a true miracle of nature. They exist in suspended animation inside their tiny eggs for many years. The instant-life crystals, in which the eggs are enclosed, preserve their viability and help to extend still further their unhatched life span! Sea-Monkeys are real Time-Travelers asleep in biological time capsules for their strange journey into the future.

I glanced up at her. She was trying to appear casual, but her eyes were wide with excitement.

She had obviously read the paper, and while I was impressed that my first-grader had read all of it, she was impressed by the idea of sea-monkey time travel.

I did my best to explain what they meant by calling them "time-travelers," but I don't think she really listened. The big words, and the fact that I had read it out loud, convinced her of the absolute literal truth.

Now both of my children have a habit of loving animals, including tiny, time-traveling brine shrimp, to death. So it was with very little surprise that I discovered the little tank full of water which should have contained three sea monkeys, but didn't.

Jethro quizzed the girls about it, and Emma finally said she thought she spilled some water from the tank onto the floor. But she couldn't explain how the carpet was dry, and she had no idea what happened to the sea-monkeys. Gwennie earnestly denied any participation whatsoever. It was all very mysterious.

Later that night I was tucking Emma into bed.

"Mama?" she whispered as I was about to close the door. "I didn't see them leave, but I think they did."

"Who leave?" I asked, knowing full well.

"The sea-monkeys."

The light from the hallway shone in her eyes and they were strangely bright.

"Good-night, Little Emma," I said.

"Good-night, Mama."

Wednesday, October 17, 2007

Business

Jethro and I went to a business networking meeting yesterday. I have dreaded going to those things for two reasons. The first is that I hate speaking in public. I mean really hate it. I tend to get clammy and turn bright red and I can't think of a thing to say.

The second reason is that all my observations of business networking events have found them to be pretentious, humorless, brown-nosing affairs, the worst of which was run by a televangelist whose idiot, televangelist wife sang the Star-Spangled-Banner after tantalizing the crowd with a Christian pop medley.

This group was completely different. I actually enjoy it very much. They are laid-back, realistic, concise with their points, and have an actual sense of humor. No one snickers when the plumber gets up to speak, but the plumber isn't such a douche that he doesn't realize there is some humor associated with his profession.

There are probably a few more men than women in the group, but it isn't a good-old-boy network at all. Even the interior designer gets full attention when she's speaking, and if the men can't use her services, they acknowledge that their wives can.

I realize I'm speaking from the perspective of one who now owns a business that will be largely dependant on referrals, so there is the possibility that I'm being more open-minded. But I simply can't ignore the fact that at no time during these networking events has a woman in a backless, peach pants-suit ensemble sang "This Little Light of Mine." This has to be a good sign.

Monday, October 15, 2007

Aggravation

We drove back from Houston last night, loaded up with crap from top to bottom. We were a little nervous driving with the U-Haul trailer attached to the Pilot, so we made sure to drive very carefully. We made it back by 2:00am making wretched time, but safely so we didn't care.

Today, as Jethro was driving back to the clinic after lunch in our second car, he was rear-ended at a red light and sandwiched between the car who hit him and the car in front of him. He's fine, but the car doesn't look so good.

I went to pick him up with G and E and they started crying when they saw Jethro and the car. I think that made him feel better. Nothing like little girls weeping over the thought of you possibly being injured to make you feel special.

This is quite inconvenient, but on the bright side, neither of the kids were with him, he wasn't hurt, and it wasn't the Pilot.

Anyway, I have a headache, and my buns are killing me from all the heavy lifting. I might be hot by the time all the moving is complete, which would be awesome.

Friday, October 12, 2007

Headed back to Houston this weekend for a marathon cleaning and packing session. I'm having pains just thinking about it.

I've also been working on several blog entries, but they require more time than I've had to devote to them.

I was writing out my grocery list this morning. When I read it over, I discovered I'd written

6. Butter
7. Twat spray (I enjoy a certain amount of dryness at certain times of the day, and I couldn't think of excatly what it was called).
8. wine

Quite the unappetizing list.

Have a good weekend.

Wednesday, October 10, 2007

Exercise

Jethro: Do it for me.

Zelda: I am. (huff huff) (puff puff)

Zelda: You totally deserve a hot wife. (huff huff) (puff puff)

Zelda: But at this point..... (huff huff) (puff puff)

Zelda: I'd rather divorce you and let you start over.

Friday, October 05, 2007

Danny Bonaduce Never Disappoints

So while my labia minora have been growing back, I've had a little time to peruse the internet.

However, two or three minutes into my perusal, I was totally cock-blocked by Danny Bonaduce tossing a writhing Johnny Fairplay over his head. Luckily for Johnny, his teeth broke his fall. And he lost his shoe, which was the funniest part of all.

http://youtube.com/watch?v=b9wK2hFmxT4

As is typical, Johnny Fairplay filed a police report against Danny Bonaduce for assault.

Now I've watched this video over and over, tears of mirth streaming embarrassingly down my face, and I don't see where Johnny Fairplay was assaulted. I can see where his dick was forcibly removed from Bonaduce's neck, but somehow, I'm not seeing the assault. I wouldn't go so far as to say Fairplay assaulted Bonaduce, but he did jump on him and start humping him without permission and with no prior warning. It wouldn't have warranted a deliberate beat-down, but a thrust over the shoulders didn't seem out of the realm of possibility. It's called roughousing. Sometimes people lose eyes. Or teeth. Better not to engage in it if you aren't ready for the possible consequences.

Regardless, I haven't laughed so hard in years. And this was before I knew that Fairplay was the survivor who told everyone his granny had died so he wouldn't get voted off. It doesn't bother me that he did that, but it makes his face plant seem all the funnier. He should probably learn to keep his mouth shut.

Monday, October 01, 2007

And It Burns Burns Burns...

So I am lying here in bed, pantsless, knees apart, typing on the laptop, listening to Jethro frustratedly try to help a completely unwilling Gwennie with her homework, after a series of events that are somewhat unbelievable even as I lie here in some pain.

I was depillitating myself (and that's not half as sexy as it might sound. I really should just go ahead and shell out the $35 for a Brazillian, but I'm cheap and addicted to mess and inconvenience) when Gwennie opened the door to my bedroom. She had resisted my help with her homework until the minute I was indisposed. I hollered at her to get out, and she threw one of her patented little hissyfits which aggravated me somewhat. I had called Jethro to see if he was on his way home from work, so I could go ahead and get started on my beautification (de-revolt-ification) processes. He was on his way, but hadn't quite arrived.

I'd managed to get Gwennie to exit my bedroom after threatening to make Armageddon look like a circus parade, and with only a minimal amount of cream having dropped onto my clit, when the doorbell rang.

I heard Gwennie and Emma stupidly unlocking the deadbolt without asking who was there first, so I threw on my bathrobe and bolted into the living room. Naturally, it was only Jethro carrying the mail, but one can't be too careful. However, I am wondering whether it was really worth the snatch full of burning I received moments later, which has continued on through the evening.

Thursday, September 27, 2007

In The News...

Isn't this taking "turn the other cheek" just a bit too far?

STOP PAYING FOR HOSTAGES!!! START USING THE PRESS TO DRAW ATTENTION TO THE BARBARITY OF THE MURDERING HOSTAGE TAKERS!!!

I don't think other countries realize how these assholes play the press. This article should never have had to contain this sentence:

"The South Korean hostage crisis proved to be a windfall for the Taliban, winning them face-to-face talks with South Korean government delegates."

Since when do hostage-takers win anything?

Not that I plan on being that stupid, but if I ever fall prey to hostage-takers, DO NOT PAY ANYTHING FOR MY RELEASE. AND MAKE SURE THE ASSHOLES WHO KILL ME DON'T LIVE TO GLOAT ABOUT IT.

But you have to be tough and ignore my pleading. Because I guarantee you I will plead like a little bitch.

Thanks.

---------------------------------

In a surprisingly good article by the Guardian, the reporter didn't bother to tally up those ever-so-objective-courtesy points, and instead noted how creepy the Iranian dictator's actual words are.

"Ahmadinejad was at his most chilling when asked about the current crackdown on academics, journalists and intellectuals in Iran. He denied there was any generalised persecution, but added that eggheads could not be above the law.

Academics "could be involved in an accident", and so would have to go before the courts, he warned. Or, from time to time, "one may be invited by the police to answer some questions".

Most spookily of all, he smiled and said: "Everyone is under surveillance - the surveillance of almighty God."

....An Iranian-American journalist asked him to clarify his extraordinary claim on Monday that there were no gay people in Iran, pointing out, "I know a few myself."
"Seriously? I don't know any," the president replied, in apparent surprise. "Give me some addresses so we're able to go to visit them and learn about them."
[all emphasis mine]

Yes. Give me their addresses so we can study these so-called ho-mo-sex-u-als. We'll put them in a nice cage and watch them play.

The article goes on to say (and I couldn't have put it better myself):

"Given that sodomy is a crime punishable by death in Iran, it was a particular chilling offer."

Hear that, Queers? Still think Bush is your problem?

Monday, September 24, 2007

Goddamnit, Marcia...

I was having an innocent conversation with Jim Treacher while he contemplated a rumored liason between Marcia and Jan Brady (please read link).

The result:
No, I didn't actually molest Mr. Treacher. My drinkable, organic yogurt came on my face. And my shirt. And the knee of my jeans.

Fluffy

Sometimes I enjoy listening to Gwennie and Emma chatter.

Jethro and I took them to the circus the other night and I bought them a stuffed tiger and a leather whip during the intermission. The following conversation ensued:

Gwennie: What do you want to name him? We both have to agree.

Emma: I think we should call him Fluffy.

Gwennie: What?! He's a vicious tiger. You can't call him 'Fluffy.'

Emma: But he is fluffy.

Gwennie: But he isn't trained yet. We haven't even whipped him yet. He's still wild. You can't call a tiger 'Fluffy' if he's wild, even if he really is fluffy.

They ended up calling him Rory, which I thought was hysterical. You might think it's clever, but I don't think they know that Rory is really a name.




We went to church yesterday. Gwennie became possessed by the Devil. We were standing during opening prayers which went on for a bit. When we sat down, Gwennie breathed loudly and said, "Finally!"


I told her I was going to beat the starch out of her if she didn't keep her mouth shut for the rest of the time, in as low a voice as I could manage. She didn't talk much after that, but she did kick the lady sitting next to us, reached over me to hit Emma, and attempted to sit on the back of the pew in front of us.

I don't really want to go back to that church.

Thursday, September 20, 2007

Haiku:



An owl resides in

Our backyard. He is quite disrup-

tive while we have sex.

---------------------------------


Jethro and I made a little trip to the Verizon wireless store in a mall close to our house to see if they would do something about an extremely high phone bill. This was the coversation on the way:


Zelda: If it's a chick, you go in. Ditch the wedding ring, talk in your deep voice, and tell her your a doctor.


Jethro: Do you want me to ask her out on a date?


Zelda: If you think it will help...


Jethro: And if it's a dude?


Zelda: That shrimp I ate last night was pretty salty. I don't know if I can get my wedding ring off. But here. I'll hoist up the girls a little and he won't even look for a wedding ring. I suppose I ought to put on some make-up. I look like a poorly aging goth reject.


We arrive at the mall, and see there is a gentleman manning the store.

Jethro: I'll go in. You don't know any of the details of the bill.


Zelda: This is unfortunately true. I'll be in Express. Is it wrong that I'm hoping he's gay?

Jethro: Yes. Very.

Zelda: Thanks for not allowing me to whore myself to the Verizon man.

Jethro: You're welcome.


----------------------------------

I can't believe how busy we are. We could still use more patients (and they could use Jethro) but I'm finding myself with very little time on my hands anyway. I haven't even shaved my legs in over a week, and I've gone quite retro, pubic-ly speaking. If I go naked for Halloween, the kids will think I'm a scary monster walking on his hands. I'm not sure what kind of insults I'm setting up my face for, but I'll risk it.

So on that terrifying note, have a great weekend.

Monday, September 17, 2007

Current Events

1. I'm about to be stymied by the QuickBooks tutorial. That is how bad at Math I am.

2. The clinic is running smoothly.

3. The front desk girl is a talker. And she's the worst kind of talker because she is interesting and you get sucked into her stories and forget what it is you're supposed to be doing. I like her.

4. I miss Charles.

5. Gwennie and Emma took a RadKids self-defense class this past weekend. Gwennie got tricked into giving her password and Emma can't fight worth a damn. Hopefully they learned that they need to run fast.

I learned that I need to have them surgically tethered to me at all times.

The suited-up instructor got kicked in the balls twice by these giant 12 year old boys. He had to take a few breathers. Those boys seemed likely to actually be predators one day. One seemed quite homeschooled.

There was another kid with Down's Syndrome who was fantastic. The kids were supposed to practice walking past the "bad guy" and then running away from him when he tried to get them to come with him and wasn't able to tell them their password. The kid with Down's started what was supposed to be the nonchalant walking, but he was punching his fist into his other hand while he was doing it. It's hard to explain just how cool that was.

6. I think we are going to stay put for a weekend. We've been back to Houston for the past three, and we're about done-in. And one of my sisters is coming up, so we might as well give the poor pilot a rest.

7. Scrubs are comfy. I'm annoyed I didn't discover them sooner. The only problem is that the hotter looking ones are cut fashionably (which is not to say it aesthetically pleasingly) below the butt crack. I have no intention of giving anyone more than for what they paid. Well, maybe a little. But I do want them to return. It's all about balance.

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

Sometimes Jeff Goldstein is perfect.

Through the Tears



I'm going to let my friend ALa's post do the talking today.

Monday, September 10, 2007

so much depends upon an orange scooter...

As always happens when something important occurs in Real Life, blogging takes a backseat. As odd as it sounds, and as busy as I am, I don't want to get out of the habit. Blogging is my deal. It's helped me through so many moments in my life where I might have gone crazy from Events Beyond My Control.

And since I have nothing career-wise except helping Jethro with the clinic (and I'm more than fine with that), I'd like to have some kind of outlet. And this, dear friends, is it. It's not a lot, to be sure, but it is me and I need it.

Just had to get that out there.

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Jethro, the girls and I have been running back and forth from New Town to Houston for two weekends now and are planning to go back again this weekend. We have a lot of crap at the old house to clear out, sell, or throw on a bonfire. It's amazing how much junk I considered important and still would if the thought of sifting through it didn't set my ADD into overdrive.

Anyway, this past weekend, Jethro, the girls and I stopped at my mom's house on the way back to New Town to say "hi" to my family and "happy birthday" to one of my sisters.

In the midst of our visit, my Lesbian Sister showed up looking quite eccentric with her hair windswept into a somewhat terrifying coiffure and wearing a bike helmet as well as a t-shirt that said I *heart* Frat Boys. She wears shirts like these to tease men then cock-block them into complete emasculation when she insists that she's gay. She intends the Patriarchy to suffer greatly at her hands. But I digress.

The girl had bought herself a little orange scooter and had driven about 40 miles out to my mom's house on some fairly speedy roads. She then proceeded to take my youngest sisters on it sans helmet, while I clucked my disapproval. And I'm a tool for doing it. I should have just punched her in the face and welded that helmet to their heads.

She then tried to make me let Gwennie and Emma on the scooter.

I said, "no, no, no."

She said I was one of "those" moms.

I said she sounded like a teenage drug dealer.

She said my children were going to be jealous of her children.

I said I was sorry I wasn't a cool Lesbian scooter-rider, but the answer was still "no," and any rebellion on their part would be paid for in belt welts. And I meant it.

She changed the subject. She told us how truck drivers had no appreciation for the fact that she was trying to save the environment and how she'd gotten into a middle-finger duel with one of them on the way.

Since she has converted to Lesbian Environmentalism, I have decided it is prudent to hold my tongue. Pointing out that truck drivers' more pressing concern of not running over idiot scooter-riders, takes somewhat of a precedent over an environmental agenda is like trying to convert a Jehovah's Witness to Satanism.

What is it with my family and joyless sanctimonious ideology? Can't they just relax for awhile? Haven't we been on that train long enough?

Wednesday, September 05, 2007

And So It Begins...

I accidentally dropped a bar of Ivory soap in the toilet. It does, in fact, float.

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For anyone who doesn't know, we closed on the clinic and are now proud business owners. Jethro has worked the past two days and is kicking ass, if I may be so bold.

I feel a little useless now. I've schemed and dreamed for this clinic and I believe it's ours just on the strength of my determination. But now that everything is said and done, I'm not quite sure what to do with myself. I don't know the first thing about running a clinic, and there is a lady who has been there for years and knows everything backwards and forwards. It's a stupid idea to get rid of someone like that, so we'll keep her as long as we can afford her, which will hopefully be until she retires. I say we. What I really mean is Jethro. I keep forgetting that this is his deal now. I'm involved in an advisory capacity, of course, but it isn't my show to run. And I don't want it to be. I just have to keep reminding myself of that.

I guess I'll just try to find ways to market. More patients mean more money and we really really need it.

Anyway, I just wanted to blog briefly and update everyone as to our whereabouts.

Tuesday, September 04, 2007

Question of the Day

Why on earth would anyone put padding into a 36G brassiere?

Thursday, August 30, 2007

A Mounting Anger

The last of the South Korean hostages have been released, secured, no doubt, by one of the huge sums of money that have made hostage taking extremely profitable. I'm happy they've been released, but I know that money will translate directly into the murder of more men and women like Charles. Why we didn't have every media outlet screaming about the barbarity of this depraved act is beyond me. I mean, it had all the makings of a fantastic news story. Pretty, virtuous Asian girls, plenty of blood, a clear bad guy, what more could be asked except for them to be forced to put some panties on their heads (which they are lucky to still have)?

And where were the governments? South Korea is an ally of the West. Why weren't we threatening the complete annihilation of the Taliban and everyone else within a 500 mile radius? That these inbred queers got away with it is nothing short of vomitous.

Meanwhile back at the ranch, we are worried about Muslims having foot baths on publicly funded school campuses. I'd say if we're going that far, let's give them showers and free soap. That way they can be holy, and the rest of us don't have to smell them.

I found out some more of the details surrounding Charles' death. That he didn't suffer is the most merciful thing. Other than that, it's pretty gruesome. I don't want to repeat any specifics here, because it's too difficult to write about. When you talk about it, you can fill in the gaps with innuendo and inflection. No such thing with the written word. And I must stop before I break down and render myself useless for the rest of the day.

Monday, August 27, 2007

Moving Day

We moved!!!

I was sorry to leave Greater Houston on such a somber note, but it has been in the works for some time.

Let me just say right now that I love where we are living. For safety reasons, I'm not going to reveal exactly where we are, but I am so happy to be here. The girls' school is beautiful and brand new, the neighborhood is very cute and there are lots of little neighbor children for them to play with.

Our friends Jen and her husband came to help us move and they were amazing. They've moved a lot over the years, and they have some mad moving skillz. Despite Jen's little girl damaging a corner of the wall with her forehead, their girls and my girls had the most fun ever, I think. The only thing wrong with them coming up here was realizing how much I am going to miss them.

I'm tired though. Jethro had to back to Houston to work one last week, and I am up here alone with the kids. I hate it and I am lonely without him even though it's just for a few days. I simply do not understand how military wives deal with it. Bless them.

I'm just trying to stay positive and busy. Charles' death really threw me for a loop. I find out now, and it isn't exactly being mentioned within our ever-vigilant-of-whatever-half-naked-celebretard-has-shaved-her-head/cooch-and-acquired-herpes media, but there is quite a bit of fighting going on in Afghanistan right now. You know. The fuckers who are hiding bin Laden. Pray for our troops and that our mission is accomplished.

Thursday, August 23, 2007

Quo Vadis?

So for the final farewell to Charles at the bar, Jethro, Benton and I had a picture of him blown up and framed. It was great since he even made it into a few pictures with us, as you can see:

However, not thinking terribly far ahead leaves us with somewhat of a dilemma - one Charles himself would no doubt find hilarious.

What do we do with him?

It's a humongous photo - bigger than our family portrait. I love Charles, but I was thinking of a somewhat more discreet personal memorial. I could make-out with this one. Jethro suggested hanging it on the ceiling over the bed that way he could pretend he was high-fiving him from time to time when the occasion called for it.

Someone else suggested meeting up in August every year and drawing names for who gets to keep it for the next year. It's a sweet idea, but I think it would be too awkward. We don't exactly want to be raffling him off once a year.

We thought of letting them hang it in the bar, but we don't want anyone being disrespectful towards him even accidentally. And as we all know, you can't always count on respect in a drinking establishment.

We are also considering donating it to the college we all attended, but I don't know where they would put it. No one else has a picture like that anywhere and the only place I think Charles would have appreciated being hanged is in the dorms, watching the drunk hotties float by.

So I think we are going to have it engraved and give it to his parents. I don't want to upset them with it, though. It is ginormous.

Any thoughts would be appreciated.

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Pics from Saturday night:




Friends again


Me and two girls

To Charles

These gorgeous photos are courtesy of Jen of Therapy Eggs.

Monday, August 20, 2007

TAPS

The funeral was the most terrible and magnificent one I've ever witnessed. Jethro and I and our friend, Mason clung to each other and sobbed as taps played.

I had never been to a military funeral before. You know what they do, as we've seen it parodied a million times, but seeing it for one of your dearest friends brings a whole new dimension of beautiful pain and overwhelms you with the magnitude of his sacrifice.

I choked out, "Goodbye, Charles" at the casket and that was about all I could handle. Jethro, Mason, and I went to our cars to take a few swigs.

Liquor and sympathy have been about all that's gotten me through the past week.

I must say though, that in our grief, all of our friends have come back together. Petty differences and real hurts have been set aside and forgotten. I made amends with my former best friend and Jethro's ex-girlfriend (Micky) after an 8 year grudge. I loved her through all of it, and regretted our lost friendship, but was far too stubborn and prideful to reconcile. I emailed her on Tuesday evening asking her to forgive my part in our fight and asking for us to be good again. She emailed me back a beautiful response and asked to meet the following day at a mutual friend's house.

As I walked in the door and saw her, we ran to each other and hugged tightly and cried. We talked for hours. I found out Charles was the last guy she hooked up with before she settled down with her husband. I told her I once made-out with Charles and Jethro in the same evening. She said that had her beat.

Saturday evening after the funeral, we and all our friends went to Griff's Tavern to celebrate his life. Jethro and I and our friend Benton had gone to Kinkos and had a picture of Charles blown up and framed. We set it up on the back patio and prepared to settle in for a night of toasts.

As we were lighting the candles around it, two young men came out and asked if this was a private party or if they could come hang out also. You know those awkward moments when you don't quite know what to say? It wasn't technically a private party, but we didn't want them to feel embarrassed when they realized why we were all gathered. Somehow I managed to say the right thing. I said, "If you want to come have a drink to our friend who lost his life in Afghanistan, you are more than welcome to stay out here with us."

The young men also did the right thing. They fell silent and walked over to his picture. After a respectful moment, one of them said they'd both be honored to drink to him.

And that was how Charles would have wanted it. Everybody drinking.

Micky and I made sure to tell those guys how Charles was with the ladies. I don't think there was a chick in the bar he hadn't snogged at some point. They were impressed.

Jethro and I spend a quiet day yesterday and I finally stopped breathing out steaming clouds of whisky.

I don't think I will have closure until this war is ended and we have won, but I feel a sense of calm and kindliness towards everyone I know. Everyone from the internet to real life has been tremendously supportive and kind. And I want to thank everyone for their lovely messages and Jack, Dick and Trashman, and Tinyhands for their phone calls. They seriously kept us going over the past week.

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

I guess I don't mind admitting here that I'm not doing so well. Neither is Jethro. Even though we want to be tough, I don't think that's possible. The type of person Charles was doesn't make that possible.

If I had to describe him succinctly, I'd say he was 1/3 class clown, 1/3 party boy, and 1/3 chick magnet. He was the type of guy everyone wants to come to their party because you know it will be a good time even if someone ends up in the hospital, which happened on more than one occasion. There were some great times -mostly involving fire, Everclear, and someone's leftover prescription of codeine. And maybe a ferret or a squirrel.

I found out Monday night. A friend of mine called and asked if I was driving. I said no. She told me what happened and I started screaming. Jethro knew it was something bad. He also knew the girl who called me was very close to him. He mouthed "Charles?" I nodded. Then his phone rang.

When I came back to my senses, I realized I was pounding on the stairs and yelling no no no no no no over and over. My poor friend was near hysterics herself, so I tried to calm down and apologize. We agreed that we needed to contact as many people as we could so they wouldn't have to hear it on the 10:00 news. As bad as it was, that would have been much much worse.

I found that telling someone is just as horrible as hearing it. If I never have to do that again, it will be too soon.

Jethro and I decided the girl who called me shouldn't be alone, so we left the kids with his parents and went to her place. We were all still in shock. Jeth and I left around 3am, but none of us really slept.

Yesterday was bad. I cried in spurts all day. Jethro came home for lunch and we both started crying. Somehow it is worse knowing that the person you love most in the world is hurting as badly as you are.

People called all day. I cried with every one of them. We met a bunch of friends at a restaurant by our house. Jeth and I had a beer dinner. One girl came that I hadn't spoken to in 8 years because of a falling out. We hugged each other and cried and said we were sorry. Then we laughed because she is practically a midget and her head had nearly disappeared between my boobs. And that was the evening. Tears and laughter.

Jethro and I went home and proceeded to get bombed. Not to brag or anything, but we could be professional mourners.

Jeth eventually passed out and I left a bunch of drunken rambles all over the internet. I think I was even in a chat room.

Charles left us a lot to laugh about. He was one funny motherfucker. His nickname was Asshole - given him by one of the many psycho-chicks he toyed with, and worn by him with something like honor - if that tells you anything. I used to curse him for destroying my left big toe when he forced me to kick him once. Now I'm glad and I hope it never heals.

So now I'm going to get up, wash my face, and and press on. Obviously we are not moving until after the funeral, but we are going to have to move eventually, so I need to get going.

Thank you all so much for your condolences. Your words have been so precious to Jethro and me and we treasure each one of them. Keep Charles's family in your thoughts and prayers this week. He was their only child.

Tuesday, August 14, 2007

Carlos

One of our dearest and best friends was killed by a roadside bomb this week in Afghanistan. I've written about "Carlos" many times in the past, but I hoped and believed I'd never have to write something like this.

Everything I try to say sounds so maudlin and wouldn't begin to do him justice.


But the truth is there are a countless number of broken hearts tonight, mine and Jethro's among them.


I am ashamed to say that I didn't take the news with anything resembling courage. I want to be strong and brave just like he was, and I will try, but he was simply on another level.

I know in my heart why he went, and I know in my heart why he fought. And I will carry that with me for the rest of my life. His fight will be mine.


He left his job, his family, his girlfriend and his friends to make a better world for those who had nothing, and he deserves the sleep of the just.


Rest in peace my brother and my true friend. I loved you and will love you always.



More Carlos stories here, here, here, and here.

Jethro shares his remembrances.

And I would like to thank Dick for being around tonight.




Monday, August 13, 2007

Semper Fi

This is awesome.

I will be on haitus until next week at which time we will no longer be residents of the land of Houston, unless of course, something particularly blogworthy occurs or I have a fantastic orgasm.

Friday, August 10, 2007

Fancy

We had a birthday party for my grandmother last night (the Jewish one from NY). She turned 79. Someone brought a Karaoke machine and I must say there is nothing quite like singing "Fancy" in front of a horde of relatives; looking directly at your mom and singing about becoming a whore. I think I hate that song a little bit, but no one can belt it like Reba.

We are somewhat beyond busy, but I did want to take a moment to let you know that "if you just be nice to the gentlemen, Fancy, they'll be nice to you."

Peace. Or War. Whichever you prefer.

Wednesday, August 08, 2007

A Bad Day

I was at the grocery store yesterday with my grandmother and the girls. She wanted t0 stop and pick up a few bagels. We were debating over cream cheese, when I saw an elderly man pass out next to the butter.

I must admit I kind of freaked out. It was not pretty. It looked like he was having a seizure of some kind, and when he had fallen, his back was a little arched and he fell directly onto the back of his head.

The first thing I did was call 911 along with another lady who was standing there. Then I went over to the man. He was clenched up all over - eyes, teeth, hands, and his arm was spasming. Blood was pouring out of the back of his head and pooling all over the floor. I took one look, jumped up and grabbed Gwennie and Emma and told them to turn around and stay out of the way, and that an ambulence was coming. I went back to the man. He was jerking a little, but then he started breathing again very laboredly - gurgling almost. I thought he was going to die right there in front of me.

I had absolutely no idea what to do. I took his pulse, which didn't tell me anything other than that he had one, and basically just tried to keep him still. I wanted to try to stop the bleeding in his head, but the other side of my brain was telling me not to move anyone with a head injury. I simply didn't know what to do. I was praying like an broke televangelist. It just didn't seem like the moment to question the nature of God.

My grandmother was actually very calm. She kept talking to the man and telling him stay still and that help was coming even though he couldn't hear. She also directed the idiot managers to call for anyone in the store with medical experience. A few people came over with a first aid kit, which seemed ludicrously inadequate given the amount of blood on the floor.

The man seemed like he was starting to come to. He opened his eyes and started moving, not in a spasmodic fashion like before, but as if he were trying to get something out of his pocket. We thought maybe he had some medication or someting in there, so I checked it for him. All I got were his keys and some change. We checked to see if he was wearing a medical bracelet or necklace, but he wasn't.

He was becoming more agitated and he kept trying to lift his head. Obviously, he couldn't do what he wanted and it kept hitting the floor again. That was terrifying. I told the first aid ladies who were wearing gloves to put some of the paper towels they'd opened under his head. They told me that they weren't supposed to elevate his head, and I said, "yeah, but he keeps smashing it into the floor. He's going to hurt himself worse." The next time he lifted his head they put a roll of paper towels underneath. I wasn't sure if that was the right thing to do, but I just couldn't see the sense in letting him hit his head over and over.

About that time, the EMTs showed up, and I went back over to Gwennie and Emma. They were hugging each tightly and shivering. We were in the refrigerated section after all. I felt badly that I'd made them stand in the cold. I would have understood if they'd moved toward the aisles, but there was probably that note in my voice that compelled the strictest obedience.

I gave them hugs and told them that it was going to be okay, that the ambulence was there now, and that I was proud of them for doing exactly as I said.

I felt stupid and useless. I suppose I should have just called 911 and gotten the kids out of there. It wasn't as if I had any idea what to do, and I probably needlessly exposed them to trauma. Neither of them wanted to talk about it.

I hope the man is okay, but I think there is a good possibility he didn't make it, or at least won't make it too much longer. But I don't really know anything.

So I'm exhausted today, since I didn't sleep well last night. I'm hoping I can catch a nap after lunch.