Wednesday, January 31, 2007

If Anyone Wants Me To Tell Them Where They Stand, Let Me Know

I've been working on this list for awhile. The various subspecies of man have been in dire need of classification. Men try in their unsophisticated ways to classify women all the time, but what usually emerges are overgeneralizations about shoes and maternal instinct. I was going to do women too, but I'm too close to the issue, and I know I would end up trying to make the coolest women sound like me which wouldn't be honest. Men are easier in every sense of the word.

Just a quick note before reading: It is possible and even likely that most men fall between classifications. For example, somewhere between an Asshole and a Real Man is a Real Asshole.

And I would dearly love some feedback.


Asshole: Universally hated, but doesn't realize it. Has a way with damaged women. Uses any means at his disposal to get laid. Thinks this makes him a stud. Likes manly things to the point of obsession, but is not terribly proficient in their use. Thinks sympathy is for pussies. Has a bad temper due to feelings of inadequacy. Chronically broke. No one will hire him long enough for him to make any money. Very stingy except when he's trying to derive power; then he's grandiose. If you are unlucky enough to be obligated to him in any way, look to have your life made miserable for it's duration.

Real Man: Not mean-spirited, but sometimes insensitive. Usually good-looking, but not always. The ugly ones make it seem tough. They are good at business and comprise the Good Old Boy Network. They like women in general, but often mistake high-maintenance for confidence. They go for trophy chicks, but will slop a pig if that's what's available. Usually has quite a few to choose from. They like guns and dogs and working out and steak and beer. Usually pretty even-tempered as long as he can play with all his toys in relative peace. He sows his wild oats, but usually settles down in the end because women in general confuse him and one is less confusing than many.

Gentleman: Smart, good manners, well dressed, always polite, generally good-looking. They usually have quite a panty collection. They're probably total perverts and if they're rich enough, have whole rooms dedicated to nasty sex. They are good at business because of their smooth moves, so they have money too. They have to fight off gold-diggers, but unless they're very unlucky, they don't end up with them. They like calm, smart, sophisticated women - someone who can challenge them without taking advantage. But they still like to win. They like taking trips into the outdoors and buying the latest equipment to facilitate their sojourns into nature, but they use it to enhance their urban existences as opposed to actually enjoying it for anything more than a week. They get along well with other men, but are not immediately trusted.

Good Guy: Sensitive, unselfish, and indecisive. Tougher women like to keep them as pets. They aren't terribly exciting, but they're kind and simple and reliable. They are highly employable, but tend to get passed over for promotion. They do regular boy things, but usually aren't very good at them. They are fairly intelligent and make better artists. They probably draw comic books and design video games in their heads. The ones who play guitar get laid more. They're good at the supportive aspect of relationships, but not very good at romance. They usually get along well with everyone.

Dandy: They are completely intimidated by other men, but try to hide it by insisting they are sophisticated as opposed to weak. Their voices are usually a little higher-pitched and softer than most other guys. They get under people's skin because they brag in those effeminate little voices almost without stopping. They drive complicated cars, get manicures, like fancy drinks and club music, and live far beyond their means. Gold-diggers will clean them out and leave them to die, strangled with their own gold chains and wallowing in vomit and blow.

Mama's Boy: Thinks he is a Good Guy, but he's not. He's slovenly, bad with money, probably grossly overweight. He whines a whole lot about women only liking assholes, and how good guys never get a break, but it usually falls on deaf ears. Usually gets taken advantage of by extremely large, brazen women who degrade him to anyone who will listen. Always begging for loans or handouts and always has a beautifully thought out hard-luck story to go along with it. When he works, it's usually in movie rentals or pizza delivery.

Nancy: Gay/Bi. This would involve a whole other set of classifications and I have neither the time nor the knowledge.

Tuesday, January 30, 2007

Slice of Life

I don't think I am a good person to have sex with if I'm in a certain humorous-type mood.

Over the weekend, I was dicking around on the internet while Jethro lounged in bed. He awoke in a state of excitement, and requested some alleviation. Sex was the farthest thing from my mind since I had been looking at coat racks on ebay (come to think of it, sex should not have been very far from my mind), but being the kind, acquiescent wife that I am, I agreed to the suggestion.

I got nekkid and said, "Proceed, sir" which is a line from Tombstone. It was funny and made me laugh. It didn't help tremendously with the proceedings. Jethro asked me if I wanted my vibrator. Now this part is accidental. I said, "Do you want me to have my vibrator?" which unintentionally came out like The 40 Year Old Virgin saying, "Do you want me to be retarded?"

I started laughing. Jethro grinned and rolled his eyes. I asked him if he minded if I blogged about it, and he said "Anything. Just shut the fuck up already."

Friday, January 26, 2007

Caffeine/Advil PM Induced Mania. Buckle Up

I'm currently working on a post categorizing men. There are plenty of lists that categorize women (because women are fond of analysis), but very few for the male gender. It should be fun.

But I can't concentrate because first off, I'm terribly busy at work, I have a massive headache, and I have an enormous erection which is weird because I don't have a penis.*

I am also worried about Jethro's and my financial situation. I have very little job security and I am beginning to think his boss is somewhat unwell in the emotional sense. I hate like the devil being dependent on others for an income. It is bullshit, especially when I know that Jethro can do better on his own.

So right about now I want to bash my head into a wall, except that it would hurt and I don't much care for pain except in certain controlled circumstances involving neckties, a couple of hair clips, some mentholated petroleum jelly, and an insistant verbalization of 'LEGITIMATE' (highlight the entire linked post for explanations) when things go a little too well.


*I don't actually have anything resembling an erection. I'm too sick to even be horny. But I've always wanted to say it, so I did. Like I care what anyone thinks.

Wednesday, January 24, 2007

Swing Low

The Lord hath apparently stricken me with Plague, and cursed me with a voice that blends the melodious tones of James Earl Jones with Bobcat Goldwaithe, which, to combine the gratutious insults of two dear friends, would be sexy if you were into elderly black men and harbored secret prison fantasies.

The upside is that I am now able to sing Swing Low Sweet Chariot as never before.

Monday, January 22, 2007

On Loaves and Fishes

I was reading my FFNH's (friend from New Hampshire) blog today. I wish I'd been able to put it that way a year ago. (But then again, if I was registering no suprise at Emma shitting diapers at 5 years of age, it would indicate that I had somewhat more severe psychological problems than originally suspected).

I wish I could properly explain my feelings on religion and faith. I have faith. I am even pretty sure I'm a Christian. But I don't go to church anymore. I get nothing out of it. Nothing. I sit there and I think, "even if this is the actual, literal body and blood of Christ, what is the point?"

Streamline things for me. Please. I used to think the ritualistic aspect of Catholicism was cool. I thought it was a connection to the Ancients with the Answers. But really it's just the World's Largest Secret Handshake Club (not my own phrasing, unfortunately). I know every trick of the trade. The True Believers will tell me that The Devil is putting those thoughts into my head to keep me from partaking of the Divine Grace of Our Lord, blah blah blah blah blah. More likely, it's The Devil convincing Them that it's okay to lie as long as there is one more ass in the pew guiltily handing over their money.

And don't any Protestants think they're off the hook because they've "streamlined" things. You haven't. If anything you've made it worse. Don't like what the peacher said? Start a new church. Don't like the new one? Start a new one. The phrase "Are you a Baptist?" is a trick question.

Jesus gave up the carpentry business, so I don't see any reason to force him into a building every Sunday.

I'm going to do something different on Sundays. I'm going to make dinner and have some conversation. It's an ambitious project for someone such as myself for whom sloth is almost an art. But why not? Take a seat. Have some loaves and fishes. Drink some wine. Talk about God. That's old school, baby.

I don't know if I'm going to Heaven or Hell. I honestly don't. And frankly, I don't see how it is any of my business anyway. I didn't ask to be here. I am the sole responsibility of the Great Intellect.

Don't get me wrong. I'm glad to be here and I'm not out killing anyone yet. But what comes next is Their decision.

Thursday, January 18, 2007

If You Can't Be With The One You Love, Bash In Their Skull And Hope They Only Remember The Good Times

I'm not one to leave loose ends. I wish I was because it would make me far more interesting and sexy. But I like things wrapped up in tidy little packages, tied with tidy little bows. Or maybe knots. So for anyone who thought my last post was too cryptic (*cough* Trashman), allow me to clarify.

Two lovely people who are married and with whom I am rather closely acquainted, have decided to part ways. This did not come as a huge shock to me because a few years ago I was at their house staring in rather horrified surprise at the songs the husband had downloaded from Kazaa.

There was only one song on their list.

The refrain has a certain charm, to be sure. But if you're just loving "the one you're with" I can assure you that "the one you're with" will be the appendage attached to your wrist (barring any unfortunate harvesting accidents) in fairly short order.

Human beings just don't settle. We'll construct any number of intricate delusions in order to convince ourselves that the ones we love are indeed the ones we're with. And if you aren't doing that, then you are kind of scummy. Slightly more honest perhaps, but still scummy.

Lest anyone get the idea that this is a reflection of a personal nature, it isn't. Well it is, but it has nothing to do with Jethro or me. I have to put that out there just in case there are lurkers who are concocting fantasies that they have a shot with either of us. Because as you all know, people are just beating down our door.

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

I went to an Asian business networking association "mixer" with Jethro last night. Big mistake. Jethro is great at that kind of thing. Me not so much. He's the James Bond to my Old Elvis.

Anyway, there were quite a few young Asian professionals looking to make some business contacts. And since I don't do anything more professional than fluffing my husband when I want to eat, I was a bit out of my element. So I started drinking. I only had three, but I hadn't eaten much and they were pretty strong.

It's a bad thing when I drink alone. I'm not meant for it. I get tunnel vision and I only see the glass. I sip the cranberry juice and vodka through the straw to watch it wind it's way in rivulets, against gravity, through the ice cubes,. This does not make one's drinks last as long as one might think. So I end up dispatching with them pretty rapidly.

I was finishing my second one when the bartender came up to me and asked how I was doing. I told him I thought I was being discriminated against. He humored me.

So I think I'll leave that kind of thing to Jethro from now on. He's far more likeable and has far fewer disorders.

Quite Possibly The Most Dangerous Song Ever Written

Stills, 1970

Love the One You're With

If you're down and confused
And you don't remember who you're talkin' to
Concentration slip away
Cause your baby is so far away.
Well, there's a rose in a fisted glove
And the eagle flies with the dove
And if you can't be with the one you love
Love the one you're with
Love the one you're with

Don't be angry, don't be sad,
Don't sit cryin' over good things you've had,
There's a girl right next to you
And she's just waiting for something you do.
Well, there's a rose in a fisted glove
And the eagle flies with the dove
And if you can't be with the one you love
Love the one you're with
Love the one you're with

Turn your heartache right into joy
She's a girl, you're a boy,
Get it together make it nice
Ain't gonna need anymore advice.
Well, there's a rose in a fisted glove
And the eagle flies with the dove
And if you can't be with the one you love
Love the one you're with
Love the one you're with

Wednesday, January 17, 2007

I Think I Have Pretty Small Nipples

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H/T: Angi who exhorts me to count my blessings.

Monday, January 15, 2007

Emma Funny

Emma just told me (in reverential tones) that "Martha Lutin King Junior turned the whole world gray."

Fluffer

I hurt my lower back after having had some intercourse last night. My head and shoulders were off the bed and I thought my stomach muscles were getting the workout since I held the position for more than 10 minutes. I guess I'm not in good enough shape for those kinds of antics. It was worth it though.

I am having family problems which I would like to blog about, but it's a little bit of hush hush. Never a dull moment. Ever. And it seems that everyone would be miserable if there were.

And some winter weather is moving through The Great State. It should be fun. I'm going to lay in provisions because I don't like driving even in nice weather. Ice just may kill me.

To prepare for 3 days of frigid temperatures, I bought a hat. Gwennie told me I looked like a Mommy burglar. Lately nothing has made her and Emma happier than putting on hats and pretending to be burglars. That and breakdancing.

Thursday, January 11, 2007

RIWherever Saddam

This is probably going to come as somewhat of a surprise.

I was not pleased with Saddam Hussein's hanging. He deserved it, no question. But the manner in which it was preformed was not, in my opinion, optimal. From the taunts and the jeers behind cowardly masks, to preforming it on a holiday, it was not a carrying out of justice, but a bloodthirsty act of vengeance. There were a few things about it I didn't realize, since I didn't understand the language being spoken. I didn't realize that they didn't allow Saddam to finish his recitation of faith. And I didn't realize that right after the drop, they were shouting Muqtada al Sadr's name. Please read the following post by The Sandmonkey. He completely nailed down my misgivings about the entire event.

If you haven't been following the happenings in that part of the world, Muqtada al Sadr is a radical Shiite cleric. He hated Saddam (a Sunni), but he is also allied with the Iranians who hate the U.S. and are behind most of the sectarian violence in Iraq right now. Their goal is simple. Take advantage of the U.S. removal of Saddam and extend the Islamic revolution to Iraq.

I remember the old argument for not removing Saddam during the first Gulf War: If we had removed Saddam, someone worse would have taken his place.

No truer words were ever spoken if we're talking about al Sadr. Saddam was bad. There was no reason to leave him in power, especially when Iraq is so valuable to us strategically. And he got the death he so richly deserved. But there is no time or reason to revel in his death. al Sadr and the rest of the nuts over there are just a different side to the same evil coin. Al Sadr will be worse than Saddam if he is left unchecked because he will have more followers with the Shiites, plus he will have allies in Iran and Syria.

Knowing the psychosis brewing in Iran, it bothers me to no end that we let al Sadr's people hang him. We shouldn't have done that.

Wednesday, January 10, 2007

An Interesting Dichotomy

I live in a very Republican town. Think of the most irritating stereotypes of Republicans and you will have an idea of what 90% of the population which surrounds me is like. The only difference is that 50% of the population is non-white. But they're still Republican.

I must digress briefly. There is one thing I may not make entirely clear in my political ramblings. I detest stereotypical "conservatives." I tolerate them simply because I find stereotypical "liberals" infinitely more obnoxious. Incidentally, I don't understand why "liberals" call themselves liberal. The true believers subscribe to the most crippling, nonsensical, hypocritical, irrational brand of austere morality, which they then try to impose on everyone else. It's like a new, unnatural, and even more joyless religion - one where (at it's most extreme) eating meat, driving cars, and working is violently opposed, but where killing your unborn children is a new baptism. And having finally shed the last vestiges of the morbidly apocalyptic morality of my parents, I am not about fall over that precipice again.

Religious conservatives are almost as odious. But luckily for me (as opposed to most self-proclaimed liberals) I don't give a shit what either camp thinks. Or at least I don't when it comes to living every day life.

But back to the original topic. I pass by the city tax office every day after work. There is no parking and it's on a one-way street, so mostly I just try to get past it without crashing into elderly Asian women. But today, in my obnoxiously Republican city, a few unhygenic men had set up a rickety card table on the lawn of the tax office replete with typical leftist slogans and accompanying caricatures of different members of the Bush administration, including Condoleeza Rice wearing a head rag.

Why is it they insist upon forcing their cartoons on everyone? They can't possibly think that anyone with even a minimal ability for critical thinking is going to say: "Oooo! Someone drew Bush as a Retard with Big Ears. He must be the evil genius mastermind of 9/11 because when it comes right down to it, Muslims are really such a peaceful and loving people."

I mean if I carried around a sign depicting President Clinton getting sucked into a Giant Felching Cunt, while al Qaida plotted in the background, would anyone take me seriously?


I watched them idly while I waited for the light to turn green. They were pretty soundly ignored by everyone. I didn't even have the energy to give them the finger.

Which brings me to my point. Here we have a lone hippie, surrounded and outnumbered by evil, capitalist, war-mongering Republicans. He is left unmolested. Yet when I was surrounded by wholesome, peaceful, anti-war Meat Snobs, I was screamed at through a bullhorn, clobbered with a sign, and pushed into traffic. It can't just be because I smelled better.

Monday, January 08, 2007

And Here's To You, Mrs. Robinson...

A couple nights ago, Jethro and I took the girls to dinner at their favorite catfish restaurant. I prudently had the salmon salad and not-so-prudently, a margarita. They were on special. Afterwards, we decided to walk around for awhile. The restaurant to which we went is in a square by city hall and is surrounded by various retail shops and cafes. There is a huge fountain outside of city hall where the girls like to run around. There is also a Sharper Image store close by where Jethro likes to run around. We went in. There were massage chairs.

Now I'm finding it very difficult to get massages out of Jethro anymore. I don't think he cares to bring his work home with him, and I'm too easy to manipulate him sexually.

I succumbed to The Chair and let it do wonderful things to me.

Now these chairs (according to those who hawk them), are quite powerful. So powerful, in fact, that anyone under the age of 18 is not allowed to ride them for fear of them being brutalized and then suing the store. This came as a great disappointment to a young blonde 17 year old boy who wanted to have a ride.

YB: "I'll be 18 in like 3 months!"

Store Nazi: "No. If you get hurt, we're responsible."

YB: "Oh come on. I'm not going to get hurt."

SN: "Those are the rules."

Drunk Zelda in Shiatsu mode with one eye closed: "You can come sit on my lap, lil boy."

Store Nazi gaped in horror and YB giggled sheepishly and shuffled off to look at the paper mache Spiderman.

Dear Heaven, what possessed me to say such a thing? Next thing you know I'll be buying wii games and candy in bulk.

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

Now for a deep, penetrating bitch session that will probably be erased in very short order. If it is gone I will leave my email address up for anyone who wants to read it.

jethrozelda@yahoo.com

Friday, January 05, 2007

The Best Little Hair House in Texas

Whew! I've been so busy. Posting has been appropriately light. But I have a little time now.

Once every 4-10 years (and once every 6 months from the ages of 16-20), I go absolutely batshit crazy and cut my hair.

To be fair to myself, I didn't ask for it to be as short as the "lady" cut it, but apparently the phrase 2 inches meant something entirely different to her. So I now find myself with hair that's easy to wash, easy to brush, easy to style, but phenomenally unattractive. The good news is that it makes me look younger. The bad news is that I now look like a chubby boy with huge chi-chis. In all seriousness, I hated it, but now I'm secretly starting to like how easy it is. Jethro, being a gentleman (despite his ardent fondness of Depeche Mode) of largely heterosexual persuasion, doesn't care for it.

The cutest thing I can do with it is put into two little pigtails. And while I look a bit like I should be slopping pigs professionally, I look somewhat less like Wiley Wiggins in Dazed and Confused, so that's a plus.

You'd think I'd be less vain by now.

*Side note here: Kind remarks regarding my physical appearance are sweet, but unnecessary. I have a monstrous ego that needs no feeding (otherwise I wouldn't blog about myself so much). And while I wouldn't say I have high self-esteem, there is very little possibility I can be insulted simply because I won't believe you when you try.

Tuesday, January 02, 2007

Happy New Year Everybody!

So life is chugging merrily along. New Years was loads of fun. We went to a club with very little space and an insanely rude bartender. He looked like a child of Danny Devito and Meatloaf, so I guess I'd be a little bitter too if I had to work New Years Eve.

The titty bar was much better.

Girls are so pretty and nice as long as they are dancing and not talking. We all have our strengths, I suppose.

Anyway, we topped off the night at our friends' apartment where we ate pancakes and watched pornography. Porn is so lame. Having an addiction to porn is like having an addiction to movie musicals.

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

Anyway, Jethro has been sick, as have many other of my acquaintances. Jethro deals with an increasingly unhealthy public, so it leaves him vulnerable. Sympathizing doesn't stop me from requesting that he fulfill his marital obligations, however. But I know I've reached a new low when I try to stick a nipple in his mouth while saying without a trace of humor, "You know you want it." Now I know how high school boys feel. But it did make him laugh pretty hard. Or pretty hard. Laugh. (thx tinyhands).