Tuesday, July 31, 2007

Blog Lint

Gwennie and Emma are head over heels in love with Pokemon. Emma insisted I watch a show with them because it would teach me "how to battle." They draw the different pokemons, cut them out, then duel. Gwennie always wins, but it is hilarious to hear Emma shout "DODGE" and really try to remove her pokemon from the path of Gwennie's pokemon's imaginary assault.


So if you've read Jethro's blog, you'll know that Jethro turned in his resignation and we're in the process of buying our very own clinic. In actuality, nothing has been finalized, but we decided that even if everything falls through, Jethro would want to quit anyway. He's simply not getting paid enough and there are about a million things he is qualified to do which would pay a whole lot more. So that's where we're at. It's all topsy turvey, but I feel very peaceful about it. When it gets to the point where uncertainty is better than working for a crazy, hairy boss, it's time to go.

The clinic we're buying is in Another City, so we'll be saying adios to the good ol' Houston swamp which cannot be soon enough as far as I'm concerned. I'm sorting and packing shit, and discovering all manner of crazy stuff I'd thought was long gone. I have discovered several hidden caches of condoms, which was obviously a futile attempt to maintain some type of privacy from the children, so we probably won't have to buy any for awhile. Buying a clinic is financially daunting, so we must save where we can.

*note to self: check expiration dates

Blogging may or may not be sparse during the transitional period, but I will let you know if I find anything else of interest.

Monday, July 30, 2007

Mrs. Pence

I want to be his Mommy.

Tuesday, July 24, 2007

Dork Alert!!!

I stood in line to get the last Harry Potter book at midnight on Friday. The Barnes and Noble was where the fluffers went (and waited until 3am for their book). The hard-core found a 24 hour Kroger. As I stood in line at the Kroger, a healthy, speckled adolescent male started skanking and singing a little song about Severus Snape. The worst part about the whole excursion was that I couldn't make fun of him because I was ahead of him in line.

But I finished the book at 10:00am on Saturday morning having read through the night. I've been somewhat disoriented through the weekend. Jethro has been surprisingly understanding. I think it's because we had some intercourse. Amazing what that stuff can do.


My friend Lyllia recently showed me an article in the Houston Press about circumcised men yearning for their long-lost foreskins. This led to an internet search which led to lots of men using any excuse to post a picture of their Beloveds. I'm thinking most of these men need to think less about regrowing their foreskins and more about regrowing their penises.


We're going to be out of town for a few days. Fun for us, but unfornate for anyone who checks back and is forced to see the foot nipple yet again.

Friday, July 20, 2007

I'm Headed For An Early Grave

Gwennie: Hey Mom? Do you have some whipped cream and a feather?

Zelda (blinking madly): Uhhhhh..... Why on God's green earth do you want them? And what makes you think I would have them?

Gwennie: First of all, Emma is asleep and I want to put the whipped cream in her hand and tickle her nose with the feather. And second of all, I'm just asking.

Wednesday, July 18, 2007

Is It Weird That I Want One?


Whoopin's & Wedgies

I have two bruises on the inside of my knees - gifts from my pole dancing exploits. My SIL bought a pole and set it up in the living room. She told my in-laws she was taking an acrobatic class kind of like Cirque du Soleil. Her dad isn't buying it.

But he is amused at G's and E's antics on the pole. Gwennie shimmies up that thing like a monkey. And by that I mean she really looks like a monkey. I was not previously aware of what hand-like feet that child possessed. Emma is a little more cautious, and her toes aren't quite as long. Gwennie tried to shove her behind up the pole and she tooted on Gwennie's head. It was hilarious.

And speaking of hilarious, Gwennie and Emma had a bet going yesterday that the other couldn't go 24 hours without watching TV. Gwennie even wrote up a contract. She said, "The loser has to dye their hair red."

Emma replied, "Dying your hair isn't bad. Whoopin's are bad. And wedgies. Whoopin's and wedgies."

They decided to bet a dollar each. They lasted until 4:00pm, then it started raining.

They mutually agreed to end the bet and Gwennie ritually destroyed the contract.

Monday, July 16, 2007

An Interesting Weekend

My sister-in-law talked me into and signed me up for an introductory Striptease/Pole dancing class. She decided to take it awhile back, and she loved it so much she has continued on and convinced an untold number of women to give it a try, myself included.

I enjoyed it even though there were a few reasons I might not have.

First of all, the group I was in were all work out partners. I haven't really worked out regularly since high school. I know. It's a miracle I'm not 400 lbs. They were all in shape and used to following instructions.

I wasn't.

Secondly, I'm jaded. This is a sad consequence of spending too much time on the internet. You hear all the good one-liners, inside jokes, and sexual innuendo, before anyone else does. And since I have the attention span of a child who is being punished without tv, I get bored quickly with redundancy.

It was a good class, though. I can see why women would really enjoy it and how it could be a huge confidence booster especially for women who have been in bad relationships or have mother issues. It is not the workout class for me, but it made me see the importance of regular exercise. The sexual empowerment, however is not something I need. I have my shtick worked out for the most part, and it tends to be more cerebral than overtly sexual, although I use my knockers as bait frequently. They make intelligent discussion more palatable somehow.

Anyway, the class itself was a riot. It was a lot of sexy Pilates/yoga for the most part. The instructor was a sweet, silly, maternal woman, hell-bent on seeing our hoo-hoos in the air as much as possible; and she mentioned our sexy asses frequently.

My position on the floor was not conducive to the spread eagle she wanted us to do at one point. I had to do a half spread eagle while my other leg rested against the wall. Finally I had to face the instructor with my spread eagle and since I had been sweating for about 20 minutes by that point, I wondered if I was going to make her rue the day she ever decided this kind of thing was a good career choice.

The worst part for me was a move where we had to stick our asses in the air and lie, boobs down, flat on the floor. Everyone else's faces were touching the floor and I was still a good few inches above it.

The best part was *Raquelle. She was a teacher in training who was so beautiful, you couldn't even remember to be jealous. You just kind of thanked God He'd seen fit to make such a amazing creature and that you were privileged enough to catch a glimpse.

She was quite tall with long, flowing dark hair, perfect skin, big, dark eyes, and the sweetest face.

Her body was amazing. She had gorgeous boobs. Not too big, not too small, high and perky - probably just over a handful. I'm pretty good at guessing, and I'd say they were real too.

Her waist was narrow and her stomach was completely flat without looking overly toned.

I'm no good at describing women's tushes, but hers was luscious.

She had legs that went on for miles and she wasn't even wearing heels.

At the end of the class, the instructor and Raquelle did a demonstration of their art. God bless the instructor, who was lovely even in her gigantic knee pads, but I wanted her to move her granny-pantied behind out of the way so I could watch Raquelle. She was so incredibly graceful. She did all the sexy moves we'd done during the class, but she actually made them look sexy. And when she swung her perfect ass around the pole and wrapped her legs around it, well... all I can say is that the gentlemen (and ladies of a certain persuasion) of Houston better get down on their knees and start praying she goes public.

Yesterday, was a whole other story. I. Was. Dying. My butt hurt. My abs hurt. My arm muscles hurt. The untouchable place between my shoulder blades hurt. A good hurt, no question, but I was moving a little slowly and walking a little funny. Today is more of same. Maybe I'll break out Carmen Electra and see if that dumb slut can help.

*name changed

Friday, July 13, 2007

Why Don't We Do It In The Mess?

I have made a disturbing discovery.

My desire to have sexual intercourse is directly proportional to how clean my house is.

I'm sure there are limitless fascinating reasons why a messy house moves me (in the strictly god-fearing, marital sense), but it makes no difference for all practical purposes. All that matters is that my house is nearly spotless, and not even the hottest doctor with the warmest speculum is interesting me.

Go figure.

Wednesday, July 11, 2007

Hang All Chads

If you don't know enough English to read: Hillary Clinton - Democrat, should you really be voting? Really?

H/T: Michelle Malkin


I'm exhausted. I stayed up all night cleaning and packing. And I still have more.

Tuesday, July 10, 2007

IT'S GLOBAL WARMING!!! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!!! (or just listen to Madonna for awhile, whichever you prefer)

I have the worst headache. All the rain we've gotten has turned our normally putrid, humid enviroment, into an even more putrid, humid enviroment, and it is killing me. KILLING ME!!! Damn all vegetation to HELL!!! I want to go to Alaska. I'd love me some tundra. I figure a frozen desert is just what I need. I'll build a sanitorium for allergy sufferers. We'll commune.


So it appears that Live Earth was somewhat of a bust - an aging, drooping Madonna bust. Or was that Al Gore? They're all starting to look and sound the same to me.

I know they've acknkowledged how much pollution they've spewed with these concerts, but they've excused it by saying it's all to "raise awareness." I'm thinking there had to have been a less nauseatingly hypocritical (not to mention cliche) way to "raise awareness." But that's assuming it isn't all just a massive, nerdly conspiracy by Al Gore penetrate the in-crowd. If that's the case, he puts Lauren Hutchinson to shame.


Let's see. What else...nope, that's it for now. See ya.

Monday, July 09, 2007

The Breach

I've never heard of anything like this, and I've heard a lot. My sisters-in-law received an invitation to a bridal shower for one of their high school friends. The invitation indicated it was taking place at a swanky hotel during their afternoon tea. The invitation took great pains in making a big deal out of what amounted to tea and scones. Then, at the end, it asked for $50.00 checks to be made out to one of the bride's relatives. This understandably set my S'sIL teeth on edge. They would naturally be expected to bring a gift, and at this particular venue, pay for parking.

One of my S'sIL is never content to simply acknowledge the vulgarity and move on. She always insists on knowing just how badly she is being hosed. I'm sure it doesn't do much for her digestive system, but it the details she discovers are always interesting. She called the hotel to find out just how much they charged for afternoon tea. It was only $30.00 per person.

I guess it would be pointless to say they're not going.

I Married A Baller

Did you ever find something out about your spouse that you were previously unaware? I knew Jethro was a starter on his high school basketball team. I knew he gave it up to concentrate on his studies. But for some unknown reason, I was under the impression that he scored two baskets total during his entire career. I realize, to my shame, that the minimum amount of analysis would have rendered this notion absolutely ridiculous - you don't start someone who doesn't score - but I just thought he must have been a really good defensive player.

This isn't entirely my fault. Jethro doesn't brag. I remember him describing two particularly memorable shots and this must have been from where my false impressions came. So this makes two types of man I never thought I would find myself wed: a jock and a doctor.


I took the girls to an invention camp today. Holy Roly. Nothing but Asians as far as the eye could see. And a few Jews sprinkled in. The girls should be in good company.

Friday, July 06, 2007


I will be writing soon about the breach of etiquette which is still quite noteworthy, but two things have come to my attention that I feel compelled to briefly mention (and rhyme about).

1.) Our mainstream media are refusing to report a mass slaughter - including the beheadings of children - by al-Qaeda in a village in Iraq. Michael Yon is a freelance reporter in Iraq who has documented the atrocity which took place only 3.5 miles from where he and other reporters are located. So far, he is the only one to investigate.

I've read Michael Yon. He has always been more than fair when it comes to the media, giving them credit where there is little to be had, and defending them when they report something unfavorable. But in this case he is baffled by their unwillingness to report on this horror, and offers them free use of his photos and findings so far. But so far, crickets.

UPDATE: Michael Yon has a new post up that ought to be read and posted daily everywhere on the internet. It details rumors of further AQ atrocity, but it also answers a lot of questions with firsthand knowledge.

Glenn Reynolds threw that question out there, and got a response from a reporter whose name we'd apparently know:

Yon's story doesn't get attention because it is humiliating.

It is humiliating because it is obvious that we media – and our allies in the state department, the legal trade, the NGOs, the Democratic Party, the UN, etc., - can’t do squat about such determined use of force.

Our words, images, arguments and skills can’t stop the killing. Only the rough soldiers and their guns can solve the problem, and we won’t admit that fact because the admission would weaken our influence and our claim to social status.

So we pretend Yon’s massacre – and the North Korean killing fields, the Arab treatment of women, the Arab hatred of Israel, etc. - doesn’t exist, and instead focus our emotions and attention on the somewhat-bad domestic things that we can ‘fix’ with our DC-based allies. Things such as Abu Ghraib, wiretapping, etc. When we ‘fix’ them, then we get status, applause, power, new jobs, ego, etc.

Please don’t be surprised. We media are an interest group not much different from the automakers, the unions, and the farmers.

[all emphasis is mine]

H/T: Protein Wisdom, Michael Yon, Glenn Reynolds.


2.) Britain's Brave New Prime Minister has finally gone and banned the use of the word 'Muslim' to describe terrorists. Now if he can just convince the terrorists...

My sputtering indignation at this tortured bit of logic was calmed somewhat by Iowahawk's ridicule. I can't recommend a better piece of satire, much less write one, so I suggest reading it with all due haste. And read his previous entry if you want insight into the inner machinations of a failed suicide bomber, who couldn't even light himself on fire long enough to catch a glimpse of his dirty, dirty virgins.

H/T: The Daily Gut via Jim Treacher, Protein Wisdom

Thursday, July 05, 2007

Thus Sayeth Zelda

We had an interesting 4th. First we went out to lunch with Jethro's family who all had a rare day off. We went to an all-you-can-eat buffet in Chinatown which was fantastic.

While gorging, Jethro's sisters told me of an etiquette breach so egregious that I will have to dedicate another post entirely to it. It's worth it.


After lunch we went to my mom's house.

These visits are becoming increasingly uncomfortable. My mom is constantly on edge and cries at the drop of a hat over the most random things. I don't feel like getting into her reasons, so if anyone is looking for back story see here and here and here and here.

My mother's weeping is only part of what makes these visits uncomfortable. Stepdad has rededicated his life to a bizarre version of Christianity. He has religious books conspicuously and strategically placed all over the house, goofy Christian music blaring from his surround sound, and a steady stream of pseudo-theological conversation at the ready. This is for the benefit of anyone who might come over who my mom has told about his cheating. Which is pretty much anyone who might come over - my mom aired her grievances far and wide.

The most frequent visitors are a family whose wife/mom was in a terrible car accident and left with severe brain damage. I wrote about them a little bit here. They are also of the holy Christian variety, and there is nothing so irritating as being lectured by a Christian with severe brain damage. I understand that she is a powerful witness for the healing powers of Christ, since by all reasonable accounts, she should be dead. But I've taken that firmly into account and give her and her husband all due respect for their faith and perseverance. I am not, however, going to scream "Praise Jaysus" every time I see her, which I think is what she wants. I don't actually understand 9/10ths of what she says.

I detest her husband with all the fiber of my being. He and Stepdad are constantly patting themselves on the back for being Christian even though Stepdad is the most hypocritical Christian I've ever encountered. But as long as he says the Magic Christian Words, no one, least of all Brain Damaged's Husband holds him to account.

While writing this, I've had to go back in my archives to find the links. I think I've become a whole lot more cynical towards religion and religious people in recent years. I don't think my views on religion have changed all that much, but I've become far less patient with what I see now as the vain proselytizing of the ostentatiously religious.

It nauseates me now where it merely amused me before.

Wednesday, July 04, 2007

Tuesday, July 03, 2007

Sex Ed for Dummies

My brother-in-law went dumpster diving at one of his worksites and came back with a metal box full of stuff which included almost $40 worth of silver dollars among other various junk. He and I and the girls poured through it and he let me keep this. You can move the gentleman's foot and make him hump as fast or slow as you want.

So simple, yet so mesmerizing. Made in Hong Kong.

I'm thinking of wearing it on a chain and seeing how many people notice what it is.

Monday, July 02, 2007

A Conclusion

After many hours of careful deliberation, I have finally decided that if I was a closing pitcher for a baseball team, my entrance song would be "Pussy Control" by Prince.