SLEEPING UGLY: The Life and Adventures of Zelda and Jethro

Warning for the Gentlemen: Pregnant Lady Stuff In Which I Mention Vomit and Urine. Like That Would Stop You Pervs.

2011-12-20T10:29:00.000-06:00

Well when it rains...

I can't seem to catch a break. In spite of living in a hermetically sealed cocoon for the past three months due to the fact that if I move or think about moving I vomit outrageously, I've managed to catch a cold. I do not enjoy being sick (not that anyone does) but being sick when I'm pregnant makes me extremely anxious. I do not like to take medication when I'm pregnant, and I'm forced to if I get a headache because if it turns into a migraine, I will end up in the hospital on their medication. Bear with me. I'm miserable.

On the plus side (kind of), I went to the midwives for a monthly check up and they called me back after they checked my urine sample and said I needed to come in for an IV because I was extremely dehydrated. I knew I wasn't quite up to speed, but I was in denial since I was still actually able to pee (albeit in only trace amounts). Last time I'd stopped entirely.

But that brings me to the plus side which is the midwives. I don't think I mentioned it, but I'm going to a birthing center instead of a hospital. With my first two, I didn't have time for an epidural or medication, so honestly, what's the point? If I'm going au natural anyway, I might as well be able give birth on all fours in a swing if I take a mind to. They're very tolerant. And so kind and sympathetic. When you are just perfectly miserable and even blinking makes you sick, it helps to have someone who simply understands and does whatever they can to make you comfortable. When I went for the IV, they put me on a comfy couch, got me three blankets, a fluffy pillow, and a bunch of magazines along with snacks and juice, and they just stayed and talked with me. It was almost fun. We tossed around ideas as to what was causing my incessant nausea, and I made them laugh, which is always nice. The midwife that day said she wanted to be the one to deliver my baby which I took as a compliment.

At the birthing center, they have 8 or 9 midwives and you try to see every one of them before you give birth. If you establish a special rapport with any of them, you can request them for the birth. Other than that, it's whoever is on call. With how fast I deliver, I know better than to pick favorites. But so far it's even. Every midwife I've seen has been an angel.

So things are chugging along. I'm 4 months in. I've probably lost some 20 lbs, but I had it to spare (and then some). I'll probably lose a bit more, but that will only be a silver lining at the very end. A new baby plus hotness. Pretty cool.

I'll update again when I know what the baby is. I'd love to be all secretive and surprisey but that ain't happening. I have too big a mouth.

Big News

2011-11-14T23:41:00.000-06:00

So finally something to blog about.

I'm pregnant.

And almost on purpose this time. Jethro and I had been talking about trying for a boy for years. Recently, the talk became a little more proactive, and God said, "That's it! They said yes!" And boom. Here we are. Expecting a sweet little baby sometime in June.

We won't know if Jethro will have a son and heir until February, but as he said on his facebook status, "May the third child be a masculine child." We are going to hope that translates into a boy and not a lesbian.

So that's the good stuff. Now the bad stuff. I'm sick as a freaking dog. I don't know if I've ever mentioned this, but I handle pregnancy about as well as an Occupy Wall Street protester handles baths. Among other unpleasantries, I am nauseous constantly and I throw up so hard and often that I worry about detaching my retinas (hypochondriac that I am). I've always wanted more children, but I just didn't have the strength to be pregnant, especially after Gwen and Em being so close together. And I was young then.

But after a 10 year hiatus, I've worked up the nerve to have another go. And it's just as bad as I feared, so this will have to be the last even though I wanted 4. I just can't do it.

But it will be worth it. I don't even have to just tell myself that. I know it. Gwen and Em are proof. They are so helpful and sweet and excited, I could cry. I'm a horrid bitch from the belching depths of hell when I'm sick, and they have been so patient and good. They must have really, really wanted another sibling.

Catching Up

2011-09-16T23:35:00.000-05:00

Well yes, it's been awhile. Not too much in the way of news, except that the swinger couple broke up in dramatic fashion, which was fairly predictable. She was a diabetic who would have weird, blood sugar related outbursts flinging wild accusations of physical and sexual misconduct and vile profanity. The swinger gentleman decided that the opportunity to stick his dick in a cage containing the volatile creature was probably not worth the potential of having it bitten off. In jail.

Other than that, things are going well. That's good for me, but obviously terrible for the blogging.

But as Jethro says, "I've got a beautiful wife, adorable children, a great house, a great career, my dream car, and Gears of War 3 is coming out next week. Can't ask for more than that."

And should I be content? Yes. I should. But as usual, I'm not. I'm trying to take credit for my kids who are quite lovely, but they were pretty much just born like that so I want a career of some kind to take credit for and make a little scratch at. Yes, I help Jethro at the clinic, and yes, I do graphic design on the side, but I really would like to make either of them just slightly more lucrative. What's that you say? The economy is shit? All the more reason to suck it up and do something. I am ambitious for both of us, but I don't know how to take the first step in really launching either of us. It's annoying. But enough of that. This is boring.

So what else is new? Oh yeah. Jethro bought a car. A blue 2008 Audi A5. We can't afford it, but we did it anyway because he was driving a beater and it didn't make him look successful. Or competent. Or sane. So we will continue our diet of beans and gruel cooked on an increasingly hostile stove for a little while longer. Not that we're that poor. We just have a lot of debt that we would like to pay off sooner rather than later.

In other, not so pleasant news, both of Jethro's parents have suffered strokes. His mom had one over a year ago and refused to get diagnosed for over 6 months. Now she is continuing to refuse to go to physical therapy, so she is getting weaker and weaker and there is nothing we can do with her unrelenting stubbornness. It sucks. Jethro's father is almost as bad, but fortunately his stroke, while not as serious, had more obvious side effects so he went to the hospital and got treatment. Unfortunately, while there, they discovered his platelets are low and his white cell count is high, so they are trying to figure out what unknown condition he has on top of having had a stroke. And it would not be an exaggeration to say that he is a reluctant participant in his own healthcare.

Jethro, confronted with the genetic red flags of stroke, has begun a rigorous exercise regimen and I offer him thoughtful and well-timed encouragement from the couch while drinking a nice red wine with cocoa undertones and eating Dryers French Silk ice cream. I'm nice like that.

Now for anyone who has read me for a long time, this is going to blow your mind. My eldest is 12 years old. She was 4 when I started this horror show. She is everything a 12 year old should be. Insecure, awkward, sassy, and beautiful. So much of a child still, thank God, but darting towards a womanhood she greatly anticipates and utterly fears. Boys are complete mysteries to her, but she knows she kind of likes them. Her heart is kind. Dogs and babies love and obey her with complete devotion. She geeks out on anime, but loves playing basketball. I look at her all the time and still can't quite believe that this spunky, delicate little creature is mine to love with all my heart.

Swinger Weekend

2011-05-01T19:58:00.000-05:00

I have had an interesting weekend. A friend of mine from Houston came to visit with his girlfriend. They are swingers.

It seems we had a miscommunication somewhere. When I say I'm open minded, that means I'm not going to judge you too harshly to your face about anything short of child-molestation. That doesn't mean I want to make out with your girlfriend or watch you feel her up or see a picture of her clitoral piercing, much less a live view.

And when we discuss your swinging lifestyle and I say "The only way I would do that is if I paid someone," that literally means I WOULD ONLY DO THAT IF I PAID SOMEONE. That does NOT mean I am toying with the idea of having fun sexy times with people I actually know. When discussing the idea with Jethro (and I do this only to string him along the rocky trail of holy matrimony), it is always with the understanding that I am not interested in some broke, schizophrenic college student with daddy issues. I want a professional who will do whatever I say, in a place so far away that I would never have to make small talk with them while having flashbacks to their sex noises if they cough in a funny way.

Yeah, I know I can talk, but that is all it is. I am ALL TALK. No action. Never have been, never will be. Most people understand this and humor me as long as I amuse them.

Now I'm not really mad at my friend. They're new at it, and it's very very exciting to them. I wasn't interested, but if I had been, I really would have needed some warning. Because my bedroom was nowhere near orgy-ready. And I was on my period - something I did not plan on announcing.

But I am loathe to make people uncomfortable in my own home, so I found myself politely commenting on the photographs of the clitoral piercing, the cage in which girlfriend was stripping awkwardly with the friend's penis thrust encouragingly through the bars...

I smiled and yawned when girlfriend asked me to come lay down by her so she could play with my hair, which was actually tempting because I love to have my hair played with. Fuck, I have no balls.

Some Movies

2011-04-19T00:46:00.000-05:00

I tried to watch an old movie on Netflix called "Those Redheads from Seattle."

My family has a thing for old movies, probably because we only had a VCR growing up (no tv) and our mom would rent old, silly movies so as not to warp our morals. Fat lot of good. But in spite of us now practicing all manner of heathenry, she did manage to instill in us a love for old, cheesy films and their accompanying soundtracks.

The description was mildly intriguing:

Determined to reunite her scattered family, Mrs. Edmonds moves her daughters north to the Yukon to be with their father. But the man's been murdered, and now the penniless women must make ends meet while finding the killer.

It sounded a little noir-ish with the twist of a mainly female cast. But it's a damn musical. And it's horrid. They are going to find their father's killer and do a very modest can-can, exclaiming all the while about how daring they are to let anyone catch a glimpse of their bulky pantalettes. I haven't finished the movie, and I doubt I will, but I have no doubt the killer will be drawn in some way to those bulky pantalettes. They always are, you know.

Which brings me to another movie I watched earlier today. It was a very stupid French film called "Emmanuelle." I'd never heard of it, but I feel certain it is well known among connoisseurs of early 70s erotica.

Not being a connoisseur of early 70s or any other kind of erotica, I'm not sure what I was thinking. I thought it would be stylish, I guess. But it wasn't. It was about a wealthy, hedonistic band of white people upholding the dignity of their respective countries by screwing around Thailand; and Emmanuelle, the nice French girl they wanted to corrupt for their own gratification. For a film which contained a sex act in nearly every scene, including a young girl masturbating to a picture of Paul Newman, and a flexible Asian chick lighting a cigarette with another cigarette from the part of her anatomy you'd expect her to light it with if you were in Thailand, it was boring as hell.

The last quarter of the movie had Emmanuelle, at the insistence of the hedonists, being escorted around Bangkok by a patriarchal old pervert attempting to rid her of her inhibitions and convince her to accept the tenants of eroticism by making her smoke opium, having her forcibly taken by natives in the opium den, offering her as the prize to the winner of a very lame Thai boxing match (which the winner, remarkably free of bruises or cuts, gleefully accepted on all fours in front of the entire gathered assembly), and then giving her a new dress. All the while, the pervert remained clothed in a dark, somber suit, and lectured constantly as to what she should be thinking. It was like being raped to a sermon.

I guess it was supposed to do something for you, or at least make you uncomfortably sure that you'd be heaped with scorn by the sexual sophisticates for thinking Emmanuelle looked kind of silly with her skirt over her head for most of the film. Mostly what I took away is that hedonists are just as humorless about sex as puritans.

Oh For The Love Of...

2011-04-15T18:48:00.001-05:00

I visited the eye doctor yesterday and got the spankiest new pair of eyeglasses.

I also found out I have something called Pigment Dispersion Syndrome, which is where the pigment in the colored part of your eye flakes off into the fluid which can clog in the drainage ducts of your eye which increases pressure and can lead to glaucoma.

Now of course, the second I get the news, my hypochondria kicks into hyperdrive and I'm convinced I have blind spots and I feel like my eyeballs are about to pop out of my head.

And even more pathetically, I'm worried slightly less about the glaucoma and possible blindness than I am about having a milky eye. I don't want a milky eye. I may not win the blue ribbon at the county fair, but I'm a little vain about not having a milky eye.

I just don't know how I'd handle being introduced to people and having them not look at my milky eye. I'd probably do something awkward like say, "Hi, my name is Zelda. I have a milky eye, and I'm totally fine if you want to stare at it. Or not. I'm cool. Just because I have a milky eye doesn't mean I'm not cool. Fucker. You try living with a milky eye and see how you like it."

But it might be totally worth it if I get to look at Jethro seductively through a colored contact and ask "with or without?" That poor man. I'll have him up to his eyeballs in midgets and glue (and chocolate for me) yet.

And to top it all off, doing anything that jiggles your eyeballs around can cause more pigment to dislodge, so I was told that I am not supposed to exercise. I have been waiting all my life to hear those words, but of course they come just after I find an absolutely flipping fantastic sports bra

and began draggin' my wagin around the block so I can do a Warrior Dash in November. It really is almost epically bad timing.

2011-04-11T22:24:00.000-05:00

Ok so the new blog was short-lived. It gave no more incentive than the old one, so back to the devil I know.

It seems Chris Noth has some stern, meaty thighs. NSFW in case the adjectives weren't enough of a clue.

So how is everyone else doing? Anyone out there?

Fresh Start

2011-02-22T13:36:00.000-06:00

I think I need a new start. I'll still post here, but I must have something completely narcissistic to write quickly. Like facebook. But not.

Things I Won't Say On Facebook

Goldigger

2010-12-09T01:35:00.000-06:00

I have this friend - well not friend exactly - but a friend of friends who I liked well enough in the past along with her husband. They are now divorced along with the friends who knew them in the first place. Do you now have anger towards me because I confused you?

Anyway, this chick divorced her husband - a nice enough fellow - and married an older man with what appears to be enough money to support the lifestyle she craved desperately, but couldn't have with her much younger ex.

Now having an thoroughly developed sense of justice, I think it's only right to hate her. I feel morally obligated to hate her. And yet I don't. I don't know why and it has been bothering me ever since she friended me on facebook and I accepted. I can't stand gold digging. On the ladder of contempt, I find it to be a rung lower than prostitution.

And I liked this girl's husband. He had a decent desk job with plenty of room to move up and quite comparable to other guys his age. He was a bit dorky, but endearingly so, and he was a good father to their two kids.

She, on the other hand, was a profligate spender. Back when credit was easy, she racked up over half a mil in bills. They bought a house they absolutely could not afford, she decorated it within an inch of it's life, and she bought a horse so she could travel the rodeo circuit giving exhibitions with a bunch of other cute girl riders. And I'm pretty sure this is what led to the downfall of her marriage. I don't think they could buy one more thing with their utterly destroyed credit, and her ex couldn't support the debt they had. So she divorced him, stuck him with the house (a $300,000 debt) and some of the credit cards, and found herself a sugar daddy.

Sounds horrible right? So why can't I hate her?

Firstly, she has personality. And I'm a sucker for charm. Male, female, canine... make with the laughs and the good times and I'm in, however unwillingly.

Secondly, she was no good for her ex. And there is no way on earth she was ever going to change. As sucky as it is for him, and I'm sure he's bitter, he's better off. He might even have gotten off lucky. But I'm sure it isn't fun to be in love with someone who is no good. My sympathies lie with him, certainly. If I was a judge (and I'm imagining myself to be an older male judge who smokes a pipe and thinks up interesting sentences for juvenile offenders for some reason), I would saddle her with all the debt, but then after it was over, I'd ask to be her escort for an evening of steak and big band at the Elks Club.

Thirdly, she has gotten what she wants out of life. Rotten as she is, I have a sneaking respect for shredding your reputation and dignity, and risking everything for a chance at getting what you want. No, it isn't fair to her nice ex. But she did it and seems happy with the outcome. Also, her new husband seems happy with the outcome. And maybe he deserves it even if she doesn't.

I think the last one gives me the most satisfaction with my odd feelings. I don't know that her new husband is miserable and until I do, I don't think I can judge her as harshly as I would like.

A Little Trip and a Little Nephew

2010-10-13T10:47:00.000-05:00

I'm so busy. Like a little worker-bee buzzing, buzzing, buzzing except that while he is part of a well-organized colony of like-minded individuals, working at maximum efficiency until he dies, I am more like one who has had his head bitten partially off and been unceremoniously booted out of the collective.

But I did want to blog a little. It's fun. It helps me get organized. No, not really.

But we went on a mini vacation this past weekend, and it was so great I just have to tell. We went to Port Aransas, TX, which was so flipping fun. The day we got there, we just threw on our swimsuits and went down to the Gulf. Jethro and I had some nice drinks and watched Gwen and Em play in the surf. They love the beach, but we haven't been for a long time. And when we used to go, it was down in Galveston, which is a little yucky. Port A was much nicer. I'm not sure if it was just the time of year, but the water was clear and not brown, and the beaches were white and gorgeous. It was the most relaxing thing we have done in years.

Gwen and Em woke us up early on Sunday, begging to go back down to the beach. We did, and managed to cram a whole lot of interesting stuff into 3 hours. The tide was crawling back out leaving tide pools and sandbars all over. We watched little crabs swimming around, saved a minnow from death on a sandbar, Gwennie found a shark's tooth, and we saw a water spout far out over the water. In spite of the fact that 90% of my nightmares involve tornadoes or snakes, I was not frightened. It was pretty far away.

It was over too quickly and I want to go back. And I think I might want to live there one day when I'm old. I guess we'll have to see.

And now for a slight change of subject. I don't know if I've mentioned it here, but after years of being the only producer of offspring in both our families, Jethro and I are now the proud Aunt and Uncle to 3 nephews. Here is one of them, just to make your day a little brighter. Tell me he is not adorable. Please. I'm just dying to prove someone wrong today.

I Accidentally Touched A Man's Penis The Other Day

2010-10-06T13:06:00.001-05:00

The odd event took place at Emma's school. I was walking in, and there was a man right behind me whom I never saw. I was opening the school door and in a way that can only make sense to me but that I couldn't accurately explain in a million years, my arm swung behind me and my hand gently touched the front of his pants where I felt his penis. I think he was trying to open the door for me. Do you think I thanked him properly? A little excessive, maybe?

Thoughts on Current Affairs

2010-09-13T21:16:00.000-05:00

Just some thoughts on the battle of the extremists in the Muslim world and ours.

We are embroiled today in the weirdest of controversies. Muslims want to build a mosque uncomfortably close to Ground Zero, in a building 2 blocks away, but close enough to where a piece of one of the hijacked planes tore through it (which, as far as I'm concerned, makes it Ground Zero). And they do this in the name of tolerance and peace, which it would seem, yet again, must come from the side of non-Muslims. They want to build a 13 story monument to their religion which inspired the murders of 3,000 innocents. For us. To tolerate. No really. It's generous.

The man behind the project did an interview on Larry King and threatened us with the unleashing of more radicals if the mosque was not built. I'm beginning to see how this goes. Muslims will do whatever they goddamn want, and non-Muslims will tolerate it - with their buttocks spread helpfully apart - or Muslim basket cases will start killing people. Again. So there you go. A cup of infidels causing problems for a Muslim investor, a quiet teaspoon of threat, a dash of spittle-flecked Islamic insanity and voila: Instant Tolerance.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch... we have a whackjob preacher in Florida who wanted to burn Korans as a symbolic...I don't know. Something. This irritates me to no end. Burning something - anything - in a symbolic gesture is the way of those who lack the ability to argue. They're slow of speech and slow of tongue, so they burn things. It's like monkey sign language instead of human speech - impressive the first time you see it, but in the long run, what? We know monkeys don't like poo in their food without them making hand gestures. And in this case, we know whackjob preacher and his miniscule congregation have problems with Islam. So they want to burn something.

It's not a rational argument. It's not even original pointlessness. It's been done to death. And what is setting the Koran on fire really saying? You burned our towers and killed 3,000 people, so we're going to burn your book? If you're going to compare the two in terms of shock value, the deranged Muslim primitives fucking win. They've flung their poo the farthest.

And if I may digress somewhat, how about reading the Koran? I promise you won't be swayed by the text to become a Muslim. Parts of it are pretty, like the bible, but basically, it's the 10,000 extremely confusing commandments plus bonus war manual and additional revisionist history. I don't think it would be terribly inspiring unless you live in a backward, superstitious culture. Maybe that's harsh, but as a member of the most advanced culture on the planet, and having been forced to observe large bits and small chunks of almost every Western religion, I simply can't see the appeal of Islam. It's cruel. And it's especially cruel (and worse - arbitrary) when it becomes the law. So read the Koran. We live in a free country. It isn't a banned book. If you've gotten some nutty urge to engage Muslims on the subject of their religion, at least know what it says and use that knowledge to your advantage.

But that was a digression. Back to the point. I think.

The whackjob preacher, at the gentle yet insistent request of our Dear Leader (who can expound with eloquent, pointless redundancy on the legality of building of a mosque at Ground Zero by a bunch of foreign investors, but not so easily defend the right of a citizen to be an idiot), eventually decided against burning the Korans, saying his point has been made. The Muslim investors did not decide against building a mosque at Ground Zero and instead, Muslims in Afghanistan, upon hearing the rumor of the Koran burning, went insane for the seventeenth time in an hour and ended up burning American flags in a highly agitated, monkey sign-language protest. So, in the battle of the extremists, what do you know? The whackjob preacher actually made a point by keeping his poo where it belonged. Lesson? Probably not.

I Am Not Dead. Again.

2010-08-17T16:21:00.000-05:00

Yeah, I know. I don't want to talk about it. To be fair, I'm trying to do too many things at once which ends up being nothing at all, and earn money from not doing them. You know how it goes.

It's been an interesting summer. I spent two weeks in Houston which were so nearly insufferable that I went again for another week; Jethro nearly murdered my sister and one of the pale, slender youths she's sleeping with, and I discovered that I am a 15 year fugitive from justice.

I will just say because the red tape has had that long to entwine itself around my out-of-state warrant, you can imagine how supremely difficult it is to refrain from saying swear words to people who could extradite me. I'm trying not to let it get me down, but the way I found out caused an almost out of body experience of humiliation. Here goes:

I tried to renew my drivers license online, but discovered I could not. All it said was that I wasn't eligible. Fair enough. I've changed my address plenty of times and renewed it once online before, so it seemed reasonable that I'd have to go to the DMV so they could make sure I hadn't lost an eye or something.

So knowing the state of most DMVs, I decided not to go to the one in the city but opted instead to make a slightly further drive to a small town DMV where hopefully the lines would be shorter and the establishment cleaner. I knew I was taking a chance since the likelihood of a DMV being a DMV regardless of location is very high, but in this case my instinct was quite happily justified. While it wasn't the most stellar model of efficiency, it was clean and there were places to sit. I struck up a conversation with a friendly older gentleman sitting beside me, never letting on that I wasn't the most upstanding and wholesome example of wife/mother/small business owner.

Finally my name was called and I daintily trotted up with my unusually organized folder of personal information. This must have deceived them because they never guessed for even a second that anything might be wrong. They looked at my birth certificate and my old drivers license, administered the eye test and took my picture while I grinned like a vapid, aging debutante. I had just handed over my cash for the fee when the DMV employee took a second look at a paper that had printed up. She looked at it, blinked, moved it further from her eyes and squinted. "Have you ever been to the state of New Hampshire?" she asked confusedly.

Now right there, the wee demon who is currently renovating his hip urban loft on my shoulder gave me a sharp poke with his little pitchfork and said "LIE. IF YOU HAVE EVEN THE MOST PRIMITIVE BRAINSTEM AND AREN'T THE MOST USELESS CREATURE TO EVER WADDLE THE EARTH, YOU WILL LIE."

I figured he probably had good reason, but before I could get a good, firm bite on it, my morally over-trained tongue blurted out the truth.

"Yes. I went to college there," I said while mentally grabbing the invisible pitchfork and aiming it at my eye.

"Hmmm. It says here that you have some kind of restriction on your license in New Hampshire."

"But I never had a license in New Hampshire," I pleaded uselessly.

"Well, I'm not sure what the problem is, but it says here that you are ineligible to drive in the state of New Hampshire, and Texas has reciprocity with all 50 states."

"But I've renewed my license before and I've never had any problems. I haven't been in New Hampshire in 15 years." I was whining a little, mostly because the devil was slapping me in the face with his dick.

"I'm sorry. We'll give you your money back," she said appeasingly.

"Will you? Oh will you? Oh thank you for letting me keep my money. No really, you are too kind," I said sarcastically in the vain hope of cobbling together a few shreds of dignity. Not my finest hour.

Long story short, I'm still driving (carefully) with an expired license and have talked to the police prosecutor who said the warrant (which stemmed from a citation for possession of alcohol as a minor) expired in '96, but had somehow never been cleared off the books. She seemed to think this explained things perfectly, but it doesn't help me at all.

Hopefully I won't be so long in posting again. I'll whore for comments and see if I can't stimulate a blog recovery.

I Am Not Dead

2010-06-13T10:54:00.000-05:00

I'm just horribly busy. I'm trying to organize my house which anyone who knows me knows requires herculean effort on my part. Plus we've been back and forth to Houston for various family events like weddings (down to 6 5 no 4 eligible Zelda sisters. I forgot one was sort of a lesbian) and a baby shower for my second youngest sister who is about to make me an aunt of a nephew for the third time.

And Jethro and I have decided to get us some business coaching so we can make some money, and my mind is full of things like "Stop Making Excuses" and "Why are you telling people what insurance you take when you should be telling them they need what you are selling?" All good things to have in your head if you are trying to run a clinic, but very bad for blogging.

Plus, I have been crippled with envy of Jack and tinyhands who are visiting or have just visited amazing countries with significant others or mysterious companions.

I am looking forward to two weeks in Houston without my significant other. I'll probably take up reading and calisthenics.

But I hope everyone else is having a nice summer, and I mean that far less bitterly than it reads.

Mounting the Ever Increasing Crescendo of Crazy

2010-04-12T19:18:00.000-05:00

The A/C puffed out it's last wheezy breath just as the weather turned warm enough to need it. So I'm drinking a cold beer and doing a little blogging. It's too hot to do much else. It's too hot to do this, but I will anyway.

My temper tantrum over Obamacare has abated and now it's just business. It's a silly bill. Obama has no idea what he's doing.

My massage classes are almost done, but due to more tardies than I care to detail, I have about a month's worth of hours to make up. I don't care. Once the class is done, I can make up hours any time I want and they will just happen to coincide with the times when the Round Instructor is not there. I have so dreaded his class that I am chronically late. It's usually almost half an hour into it before I can psych myself up enough to go. Suddenly anything becomes more interesting - washing the windows, scratching that impossible spot between one's shoulder blades, seeing how far one's spit can dangle before one loses control of it...

Some funny things have happened in class, though. We were doing some role playing the other day (shut up, pervs) because at some point we're going to have to massage the general public and we need to be able to tell them to take off all their clothes without laughing or throwing up - two actions to which I am quite susceptible. I'm nervous around naked, unattractive people. Or even attractive people. So I muddled through my lines without too much trouble, but the same could not be said for one of my classmates.

What you are supposed to say is, "Please disrobe to the level you feel most comfortable. Down to your underpants is best for us, but we will work with whatever is most comfortable for you." Or something to that effect. This poor girl was so flustered, she blurted out, "Please take off everything from your underpants down." My partner and I had to hold onto each other we were laughing so hard.

And Round Instructor has continued to make a fool of himself. You can tell he's very insecure and unsure of himself by the way he brags of things he can do that cannot be proven, such as channelling the healing power of Christ into the bodies of people he touches. He tries to refer to himself as a 'conduit' but when he says it, it comes out 'condit.' It causes me to doubt. Of course one wonders why the healing energy he channels can't dissolve the vast, quivering amounts of fat from his own body, but I guess he doesn't think anyone would be indelicate enough to raise the question. And I'm not. Yet.

But things are degenerating quickly. His crush on one of my classmates reached a crisis when he corrected her Spanish. She is Mexican. Spanish is her first language. He is white. He can barely speak English. Don't ask me what he was trying to prove. Maybe he thought she liked assertive men and has no idea how to be assertive. Honestly, he's the type to leave a dozen roses and a picture of himself whacking off to a picture of you on your car while you're at the grocery store or some place that he would have had to have followed you to in order to know you were there.

But his crush was understandably offended, and she let him know it in spite of her very sweet nature. He turned about 40 shades of purple and began apologizing (and sweating) profusely, which only made it worse. Finally one of my other classmates told him to shut up and he did. But it made him aware that 5 people had witnessed his humiliation and he decided he doesn't like us anymore, especially his former crush, which really is unfair. All she did was not love him.

So he is trying to make the last few classes a nightmare and it's a testament to his chronic failure as a human being, that no one cares in the least. He is openly mocked by my classmates and he has no skills to wage a good comeback. And while it's somewhat awkward, it's better than squirming through his tasteless jokes and mispronunciations in silence for fear that he'll take it out on only you. He can't fail all of us.

I know I sound like I'm complaining, and I am a little bit, but it is actually really funny. I'm trying to think of an actor who he's similar to. Maybe Ned Beatty in Deliverance right after the squealing scene and if he'd had his balls cut off. Not great, but that's the best I got.

Embracing the Suck

2010-03-21T16:25:00.002-05:00

I'm not going to lie. I hope this healthcare bill passes. I'm ready to embrace the suck just for the pure, evil pleasure of reveling in the agony of the blighted morons who voted for Obama, and the lazy-eyed douchebags who stayed home because McCain wasn't "conservative" enough. I'm going to enjoy watching your suffering, and you will suffer.

In a loosely structured order, here's what's going to happen:

1.) Nothing. For 8 years, nothing at all is going to happen, at least not in terms of tangible benefits. That's because the government is going to tax you like you've never dreamed, in ways you have never dreamed, before anyone will receive any benefit at all.

2.) In the meantime, the cost of private insurance will rise dramatically. If insurance companies are going to be forced to cover those with pre-existing conditions, you will pay mightily. Then you're going to waste all kinds of time trying to get government coverage that doesn't even exist. Then the feelings of dread will set in when you realize how utterly fucked you are.

3.) This monstrosity cannot be funded no matter how much they tax. The profits of every insurance company, including bonuses for their bigshots will fund this massive abortion of a plan for about 30 seconds. And if there are no profits, there are no insurance companies. So after paying exorbitantly for years, say good-bye to your private insurance. And in an economy that will continue to suffer, don't look to other businesses to take on the burden. And if there are no businesses to tax, say good-bye to the government plan. Get ready to be taxed for nothing, and then to pay out of pocket for your medical care.

4.) You will never qualify for the government plan. If they decide you can afford private insurance, you will not be able to get government insurance in 8 years. You're going to pay for it, but you will never benefit.

5.) Doctors will leave general practices for fields of specialty. There is no money in general practice. They already can't afford to take Medicare/Medicaid. No matter what insurance you have, you will have to wait months for an initial diagnosis and only then will you be allowed to see a specialist. God forbid you have cancer. You have my full sympathy unless you voted for Obama or stayed home. Then I hope you don't ask me to care.

So there it is. You can make your O faces and scream "Yes We Can" while you whack off to the Dear Leader's picture, or you can prance around with your conspicuously displayed firearms declaring you're gonna take back your country from fucking pussies like McCain. Meantime, I'm going to sit back and enjoy the ass-pounding you all are going to give each other.

Jack's Back...

2010-03-09T13:21:00.000-06:00

and he's responding to comments! Bloggyworld just got a little more interesting. Again.

School is still occupying my time, but I'm almost done, at least with the classroom portion. In the continuing, dimwitted saga, the round instructor's wife is leaving him, which is no surprise to me, but might account for the Inappropriate, which increases with regularity as does his lack of grooming. His head is shaved now and he looks like an escaped convict-monk. He's coming on to one of the ladies in my class with such zealous desperation and lack of skill that I am constantly reduced to a cringing mass of unwilling sympathy. I can't even look him in the eye anymore, although I did the other night when he suspended class so we could all have the opportunity to consult with his 12 year old psychic. I was furious, but held my temper in check so at least I could leave early.

On the plus side, I'm designing all my classmate's business cards. I'm doing it for free as a graduation gift, but hopefully they'll tell people about me. And it's fun. I'm having more fun with that than I am with massage.

But I did get to utilize my massage skills on Jethro's and my eleventh anniversary. We booked a hotel room and spent a lovely evening together. We brought the portable massage table we use at the clinic, and I did all the naughty things that massage therapists are never supposed to do. I don't like to brag, but Jethro said my $5,000 tuition was totally worth it.

So that's what's going on here. Not too much. But if anyone still reads this blog, go leave a comment on Jack's. He's in Iraq, so you're doing it for your country.

Snowboarder Complains About Peers' Pants

2010-02-16T05:20:00.000-06:00

That headline just looked really odd. You can click on it for a link to the story.

And this video has nothing to do with it, but was too funny not to post. (NSFW)

Just a side note, this wasn't at the Olympics. It took place a couple of weeks ago.

PWN'D!!! (Or However They're Spelling It These Days)

2010-02-10T01:03:00.002-06:00

Zelda: "My vertigo seems to be gone. Sorry you had to take the kids in yesterday."

Jethro: "And I'm sorry I was so grouchy. Don't take it personally, I'm just not a morning person."

Zelda: "I understand...."

Zelda: "Of course, you don't accept that PMS makes me grouchy, so I'm surprised at you using your aversion to mornings as an excuse ...."

Jethro: "Well I'll try to control it."

Zelda: "That wouldn't be good enough if I were saying it. Somehow you're allowed to be grouchy and I'm not?"

Jethro: "Yes. Because I'm the man."

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Zelda: "That's not what your mother said."

I love myself sometimes.

Many Thanks, Mr. Salinger

2010-02-02T02:03:00.004-06:00

I wasn't exactly sad to hear of JD Salinger's death because if you've had the desire to hang on until the age of 91, you've probably lived a pretty good and fulfilling life. But I felt an immediate sense of apprehension because I love Salinger and I've always felt protective of him. His reclusiveness never bothered me, having the occasional desire myself, and I always felt resentful on his behalf whenever anyone talked of it disparagingly.

Catcher in the Rye is one of my favorite books. I read it when I was one year older than Holden and out on my own for the first time. But I can't say I related to Holden exactly. I didn't have anywhere near enough sense of self to judge anyone else a "phony." But it also never occurred to me that exposing the phonies was the point of the book.

It seems that it's popular to dismiss Holden Caulfield as a spoiled upper class brat or an unrealistic purist. Even the compliments reduce him to a rebel without a cause in the silly, over-glorification of teen angst, à la The Breakfast Club.

I never saw him as any of that and patiently waited to find out the cause of his disenchantment, which it seems was death of his little brother. Of all the things that were causing him to despair, that one was the one thing he couldn't just leave. Moving to that cabin in the woods would take him away from all the phonies, but it wouldn't take him away from that great pain.

An event like that would cause anyone angst, not just a sensitive teenager, so by the end of the book, it seemed that Holden was simply trying to find beauty and truth in a world that was so relentlessly unsparing as to no longer contain someone who had been so dearly loved, and the agonizing search was paid for with his sanity and to an extent, his freedom. Whether he found enough beauty to redeem the world is irrelevant; it would seem that he hadn't by the book's end. I think he showed it to us, but hadn't found it himself. Truthfully, I don't think it was that important. I think it was more important just to hear what he had to say while he was looking. There's no reason to demand the character reach the same conclusions we have.

I also think it was important for Holden to be a teenager in the story because it's unforgivable for a rational adult to go 'round the twist like that. A teenager is old enough to not need his hand held as he roams the city, and we are able to examine the intricacies of grief and despair and the psychological trauma surrounding them without having them filtered through the complications of adult responsibilities which easily stunt such an examination. If Holden was an adult, inevitably we would have to see how his grief affected those with whom he was forced to interact, and we'd judge him harshly for not controlling himself for the sake of others. But with Holden being a teenager, we can see that grief and the accompanying vulnerability as the intensely personal thing that it is.

But Catcher, even though it's one of my favorite books, isn't even my favorite Salinger book. That would be Franny and Zooey. This was the book I related to. Franny and Zooey are the youngest of 7 gifted and talented siblings. One of the main themes of the book is confronting ego. Too deep an analysis will not make a good blog post, but the request to "do it for the Fat Lady" made me want to cry. My love for this book is only heightened by the fact that I consider Franny to be a female literary creation on par with Brett Ashley from Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises. I know I'm being enigmatic, but I don't want to rehash the plot, and would really just enjoy discussing it with someone who has read it.

I'm probably going overboard in the way breathless fans do, but it bothers me not. I guess I'm too old to pretend to be unaffected by that which I genuinely love.

I'd welcome a literary discussion if anyone is up to it. If not, I'm sure I'll have sex soon or find myself in an awkward situation. I'm very much aware that literary criticism is not my true talent...

For Sale: One Asian Doctor Husband. Cheap.

2010-01-29T16:33:00.000-06:00

Jethro's killing me. I suffer from hypochondria. It's genetic. So when I become afflicted with an ailment, it is the perfect time to take advantage of me. Case it point.

I have vertigo. Right now. I think it's inner-ear related, but that doesn't mean I couldn't have had some kind of head trauma in my sleep. Shut up. So I go to my husband - a doctor - for reassurance. This is his purpose in life. He solemnly conducts several tests and then says he's going to test my gag reflex. I dutifully open my mouth and he unzips his zipper and laughs at me.

And a couple weeks ago, I asked him to work on my arm. He stood behind me to the right and kept pumping my arm up and down and telling me to relax. I tried for about 5 minutes before I realized he was rubbing my hand vigorously against his crotch.

He's killing me.

I'll Spare You Further Sight of the Testicles

2010-01-23T13:35:00.000-06:00

Well I don't really want to leave a picture of testicles up as the signature post for too long. People might get the wrong idea about me.

This election in Massachusetts is the first time an election has had any real and direct bearing on my (and Jethro's) income. Insurance companies have been totally spooked by what that horrid bill in Congress represented. Insurance companies, sluggish even in good times, have become positively churlish about paying anything. If I told you how much we had in accounts receivable, you'd have the vapors.

So I am quite happy that Mr. Brown will vote against that nightmare of a bill in Congress. It's no long-term solution (insurance companies are almost as corrupt as the government) but maybe now we can get paid enough to keep afloat.

Enough of that. I'm trying to think of bloggable events, but everything has been pretty mundane lately.

Massage therapy classes are killing me, and I am desperately trying to write a resume, which is sucking in the extreme. Not only do I have to find a way to make my disjointed career seem coherent and somehow applicable to graphic design, I also have to design a resume. Graphic designers are not supposed to just hand in some MS Word template resume. They are supposed to add design elements to it, which is logical. Of course this is much easier said than done. Too much and you run the risk of looking disorganized and trying to pad a thin resume. Too little and you look like you have no imagination. Throw into it the fact that you are trying to design something for yourself, and suddenly everything becomes a Big Fucking Deal.

And I'm trying to stop swearing and start exercising regularly. It is uphill work. Sometimes I think I was born to a life of gluttonous hedonism. Fat people can fuck too if they have enough money. Er....excuse me...engage in debauched acts of coitus. Not that I have enough money.

And I hurt my arm. I've never had a more fucked up....er....excuse me....douched up appendage. I keep begging my chiropractor husband to fix it, but I keep forgetting to make an appointment and he doesn't like working when he gets home. I can't blame him, but it is the arm I use for hand jobs....er....excuse me....acts of coitus I engage in using my.....fuck it....hand jobs. I would think that would be some motivation. Pussy still works though, so I guess that's enough.

Anyway, that's what's going on here. Even when life is dull, it isn't.

(NSFW)Hey Obama

2010-01-20T02:01:00.002-06:00

OPEN WIDE

Sad Subjects

2010-01-18T14:27:00.000-06:00

Jethro posted. It was one of the saddest stories I've ever heard. She had 4 children and three of them were killed in a car accident that occurred because her friend fell asleep at the wheel. Her oldest wasn't in the car.

I don't know what I'd do. I really don't. I'd want to kill myself, but I wouldn't want to leave the surviving child without a mother. It would be easier if everyone was gone just so I could slit my wrists and be done with it. I like to think I'd have the strength to go on, but I really don't think I would if I lost my children. I see every bit of good in the world in them, and if they were gone, there would be nothing. I would be nothing. I love my husband, but our kids are the best thing about us. I can't lose the best thing.

I watched Steve Harrigan break down in Haiti while showing a mom who had lost all 5 of her children in the quake. Usually I'd hold that against a reporter because they need to be brave and get us information. But in his case, I don't blame him much.

Anyway, dreary subject, but it's that kind of day.

Bits 'n' Pieces

2010-01-13T11:53:00.000-06:00

I've been forced into a blog update by multiple circumstances. It's okay, but with my schedule, it will take awhile to get my blogroll back and a design that will make me happy.

My husband finally gave in and said we could have a threeway, but now I don't want one anymore.

Here is a song I like:

And finally, Jim Treacher got himself a sweet gig in D.C. at new website launched by Tucker Carlson called The Daily Caller. He's now in charge of that blog, which is known as The DC Trawler. I wonder if he's tired of bow-tie jokes yet? And I wonder if he'll write another review of The Aristocrats? Anyway, it should be enjoyable and I am already enjoying it.

Haven't Laughed This Hard In Weeks

2010-01-07T01:04:00.001-06:00

Happy Holidays Folks, Wherever You May Be

2009-12-28T15:05:00.002-06:00

Sorry for the belated holiday wishes, but I haven't had much computer access, and if I were to be completely honest, when I did, I just didn't feel like writing.

It was a psychotic tempest of a holiday for me, but what else could it be? At least it wasn't like the Worst Christmas Ever - a post which I feel the unhealthy need to read every so often.

We have been in Houston since Christmas Eve and just came back tonight. No major family feuds or anything, but definitely some interesting turns of events, one of which I will blog about at a later date, and another of which was Jethro's mother springing upon us the news that she was going to have a complete hysterectomy the day before she did. The girls and I stayed in Houston after Christmas while Jethro went back to New Town to support us. He came back in on New Years Eve and we went to a party at a friend's house.

Now that was a bloggable event.

Our friends are great. They just bought a new house and they quite understandably wanted to throw a New Year's party. Jethro and I arrived around nine. The karaoke machine was just getting revved up and a drink of pomegranate champagne punch combined with some pseudophedrine was enough inducement for me to sing Angel of the Morning in a duet with some chick who's name I still don't know. I sang harmony.

I wish the other guests were as cool. Sadly, one of our friends from college, who was a last minute invite, decided to bring two of the most wretched humans on earth. They didn't know anyone, but had no problems asking where the beer and the refrigerator were (because they didn't like any of the food that was set out). They were already pretty drunk when they arrived (or high, or quite possibly just very very slow-witted). I don't know. I didn't care. I just wanted to not talk to them, but who gets buttonholed? Me. The wretched humans were a couple. And the female of the species kept me for 5 whole minutes of my precious life to tell me about a money-making scheme involving our friend sexually assaulting me, which would invite my husband to punch his lights out, which could net us some cash by betting on the outcome of the ensuing brawl. Maybe this made more sense in her head, because I couldn't see the point of organizing a betting event where the only thing we knew for sure was that I would have my boobs manhandled. I mean of all the variables, that was the only sure thing. This just strikes me as witheringly bad logic. But just so you know, this is why the poor stay poor. If anyone tries to tell you differently, punch them in the face for the backwards, incompetent, malcontent, communists that they are.

And just for the record, I was not in bad form that night. I wish I was thinner, as always, but hair was good, make-up was great, boobs were buoyant. I was feeling pretty hot until that very weird interlude.

But still in all, it was a fun night. There were tons of fireworks (which I don't actually like much), my friends' house was beautiful, and I got good and buzzed. So mostly a win.

I hope everyone else had a fantastic holiday. I'm sorry I didn't get around to the blogs, but I hope to make up for it by visiting more this year.

2009-12-19T12:04:00.002-06:00

You know you might be overwhelmed by the holiday when you are having relations with your husband and visions of sugar plums (and christmas wreaths and candy canes and wrapping paper) start dancing in your head......and they get you off.

Joys and things

2009-12-17T19:27:00.003-06:00

Oh how my little blogs suffers. Boring life has taken over this rich, colorful tapestry of imagination and progress.

First off, my massage class of all women and one rotund, progressively slothful instructor is going only as well as can be expected. I stuck my neck out for one of my classmates whom I don't even like, but was being mercilessly picked on by the fat, annoying classmate who didn't like me. And now Fat Girl is gone, so it was much ado about nothing. How I managed to get involved is beyond me. I yearn for a simple life which includes no cunts, male or female, and yet I find myself surrounded. Did I tell you my non-sexy instructor told us all about how his testicles had not descended when he was born? It was all I could do not to sarcastically ask if everything was okay now. And he is shaving less and less. I think he is being overworked, but it could just be that he feels comfortable enough to not bother trying to impress us with minimal hygiene. And he's becoming increasingly inappropriate. My classmates can be pretty crude (there is something about putting your hands all over other people late at night that lends itself to the unseemly), and I admit that I indulge as well (although I try to be as clever with my vulgarity as possible), but I expect my instructors to have some control in this regard, or at least be wittier than the average slattern. But the non-sexy instructor, or the NSI for short, is somewhat slower with the banter. Yes, yes. I did know that head can be a double entendre. Perhaps it is hypocritical of me, but I feel an instructor should rise above, or sink so far below that he or she cannot be touched in any way. Which brings me to inappropriate touching. There is a girl in class who is pregnant. She's married and this is her second baby, but the NSI is always touching her stomach. I find this squirmingly uncomfortable to watch, mostly because he reminds me somewhat of Lenny from Of Mice and Men. Pregnant Girl is polite about it, but I have to look away so I don't vomit. I guess it's just weird because his stomach is bigger than hers which causes me to wonder why if a belly is so fascinating, he doesn't just touch his own. And then I remember that he does and I have to look at the pictures of the STDs so I don't think about it.

Other than that, it's going well.

I feel that I have a handle on the Christmas shopping, except for one present. We draw names in my family because no one can afford a present for everyone even if they're cheap, and I ended up with my sister's girlfriend. On one hand, this is impossible. But on the other hand, it's a challenge. And sometimes I enjoy a challenge. However, all I've got so far in the way of ideas is a customized t-shirt stating: "Carpet Ninja." But I think that might be in poor taste.

George Soros???

2009-12-10T08:01:00.004-06:00

If the press is going to quote this man as if his unelected, unsolicited opinion means something, shouldn't they be revealing his ties to the Democrat party and his other organizations each and every time? Shouldn't they reveal his notoriety in wreaking havoc on financial systems the world over?

This man is corrupt to the core and we are now being given his point of view without any kind of counterweight.

Check out all the AP and other press articles quoting and aggrandizing him while barely touching his political affiliations.

George Soros Urges Use of IMF Gold-For-Green Loans

George Soros Warns Against Rebuilding Same Humpty Dumpty Financial System

With Big Money and Brash Ideas A Billionaire Redefines Charity

(check out the bizarre correction at the end. Since when is the Times that detail oriented, especially when the story wasn't initially wrong? It would appear someone's taking marching orders from the subject.)

Stimulus Thinking, and Nuance

This last one is mind-blowing. Check out the headline. Nuance. That holographic code word. The article actually defends fascism (think of it as a governmental system in terms of the economy, not concentration camps) as implemented by the NAZIS and quotes Soros in defense of it. Even if Germany never started its genocidal death camps, fascism is still a terrible form of government.

This is the one article I found that gives any real information on this man. In spite of the headline, it's actually quite balanced and informative. Of course it was published back in '98 when the press wasn't his bitch...

He's Seen The Enemy. It Looks Like Him.

These paragraphs cut right to the heart of the matter:

"Still, many observers wonder about Mr. Soros' straddling of so many fences in the worlds of finance, economics and politics.

''I think there's a built-in conflict between making money in public markets and improving the world,'' said James Grant, editor of a newsletter, Grant's Interest Rate Observer, and the author of several studies of financial markets. ''Soros is out there telling you what he's done, what he's going to do and how he'll save the world. I think there's a conflict because those goals seem at cross-purposes.''

''It raises questions about inside information when you're able to talk to central bankers and policy makers at the same time that you're involved in financial markets,'' Mr. Grant said.

For his part, Mr. Soros, dapper and attentive, defended his probity in a wide-ranging interview last week, saying he has always strived to keep separate his roles as a hard-nosed trader placing global bets and a financial guru able to rub elbows with the highest of the high and mighty. Though he had run-ins with American regulators in the 1970's and 80's, he has never been accused of insider trading or similar financial wrongdoing." [emphasis mine]

He's "tried" to separate his roles? Tried? Come on. If Martha Stewart went to jail, I'm guessing there's about a billion ways to send Soros there, not that I'd necessarily advocate that.

But how about letting in the sunshine? Let's pretend this is '98 and Soros hasn't bought off the press. Let's find out more about him and his intentions for our country. He has billions, his influence is everywhere, he sponsors the left-wing, free speech/information squelching orgainzation "Media Matters" as well as the highly partisan, left-wing MoveOn.org (among others), which the mainstream media quotes without fact-checking, he is being quoted willy-nilly in the press without question.....something is very wrong with this picture.

Zelda...

2009-12-08T02:28:00.002-06:00

....briefly considered mixing the scotch in her mouth with soda directly from the bottle, but in gazing upon her husband's stern, somewhat nauseated visage, thought the better of it.

The Tale of Two Rabbits

2009-12-06T21:46:00.000-06:00

Wow. It's been a long time since I posted. And I was just starting to get back into the swing of things too. All I can say is that I've been busy. I'm still working on the house, I'm still in my massage classes, and I'm trying to get ready for the holidays.

But I have loads of stories, and I did want to tell of the rabbits.

Our friends gave the girls one of their rabbits. His name is Phillix. He has brought much joy and cooperation in the mornings, as in the girls no longer meet their day with groggy thrashing at the unkind morning world and instead leap from their beds to care for their silent, cuddly friend.

The second rabbit is not so cuddly. And it belongs to me.

The august Trashman made contact to let me know he had a present for me. Jethro and I picked it up from his place of employ - a convenience store directly off the freeway. He was busy with a short line of customers when we walked in, and it gave me time to reflect on just where life's path had led me. If anyone were to have told me it would lead to a convenience store off 35 to pick up a bright orange sexual accoutrement, I would have.....well....probably believed them, but it doesn't change the delightful absurdity of the situation.

When he was through with the customers, we went to his car where he presented me with a multiply layered package. Had this been witnessed by law enforcement, I'm sure I would have had a far more exciting tale to tell.

Now I think I'm supposed to give a review. Trashman has heard of women leaving their husband's for this inanimate object. But I think I must disagree. Since it vibrates, I'd be hard-pressed to call it inanimate. I don't know how interesting the porny details are since we're just a married couple doing what married people do, so I'll give it my patented 9 word review. "It can go ahead and quit it's day job."

2009-11-18T05:01:00.002-06:00

I really didn't like The Virgin Suicides. My parents were exponentially more strict.

Ft. Hood Shooter Paralyzed From Waist Down

2009-11-14T11:08:00.002-06:00

Good. Now he'll die a contemptible virgin.

Happy Veterans Day...

2009-11-11T12:06:00.003-06:00

...to all our vets. I'm alive and happy and free in a wonderful country because of you. Thank you.

12 13 Dead, But Let's Not Forget To Thank Fucking Ken.

2009-11-05T17:46:00.006-06:00

He is such a douche. Reminds me of his idiotic comments after the Virginia Tech massacre.

Oh, and they were killed by a Muslim. The media is twating out, as expected, but someone has to say it. There's a rumor that Muslims don't like us much.

Oh So Many Things

2009-11-04T11:33:00.001-06:00

I was going to post about a certain present gifted to me by the resplendent Trashman (who is posting again like crazy fun) but I have contracted some plague that rendered me a font of spewing magnificence within earshot of my entire massage class, so I will have to postpone.

I apologize for the delay.

How Does One's Garden Grow?

2009-10-21T10:01:00.005-05:00

I can never decide whether it's more fun to be cheerful or more fun to complain. Since I can't decide, and the last post was a complaint of sorts, I guess I'll post a cheerful one.

This is the view from my deck.

Since it faces directly west, we get to watch the wild Texas sunsets, which pictures hardly do justice. But they're my favorite part of the house.

I know the backyard needs a lot of work, but considering it was not taken care of for over a year, and we are just coming out of an extraordinary, extreme, mega-unheard of drought, I think it's manageable. I'm mostly going to put in vegetables and zeroscaping anyway. I've never seen the point in not using native plants in one's landscaping. Trying to keep a lawn of unnatural grass in the climate we have just seems like an exercise in futility and time that could be better spent on growing something productive. I intend to chop down and de-stump every last cedar tree (we're all allergic), replacing them with peach and orange trees and maybe a lemon tree. I would like some berries too.

Now I just have to learn about growing things in Texas. Every bit of knowledge I've retained as far as plant growing, is from my childhood up north. And I can't explain just how, but things grow differently down here.

Clotus

2009-10-14T01:56:00.002-05:00

My massage therapy classes are boring. I think I've mentioned that. The only redeeming factor was the fairly cute instructor who could at least provide some eye candy while I debated the merits of poking out said eyes. So of course they fired him. There wasn't any good reason I could see, but the ignoramuses were looking for an excuse for their constant failure, and he was the scapegoat. I wonder what the school will say when their grades don't actually improve.

So as luck would have it, his replacement is a portly gentleman of somewhat less than average looks who regaled us on his first day with an exhaustive description of the surgery he had to correct his deviated septum, leaving out nothing including the removal of his nose tampons in all the bloody, stringy, mucousy detail. I don't hate him or anything, but he's constantly saying disparaging things about the other instructor, and he's certainly no beauty.

And I got into a heated argument with him after a test. He marked an answer wrong on my test that was technically correct. It was a multiple choice question and the correct answer was misspelled which made it an entirely different word. One of the other answers was 'none of the above' which was the one I chose. I thought it was a trick question. Apparently he had warned everyone of this question at a moment I was either not in the room or absent. He wanted to mark the answer as incorrect because I wasn't there to glean the information, and I argued that I shouldn't be held responsible for a misspelled test question since I had studied and not only knew the answer, but also knew how the answer was spelled. On top of that, the answer I chose was actually correct. He disagreed with me, and I disagreed with him in a slightly louder tone. He disagreed again and said he wasn't responsible for the test because he wasn't the one who had written it. I said that I wasn't either and I should get credit because I knew the answer. He said it was my fault that I wasn't in class to hear him tell everyone what the answer was, and I said that would have been a valid point had there not been an answer on the test that was correct given the misspelling. If there hadn't been a valid answer, I would have deduced that it was a misspelling. I further added, that it was ridiculous that there were any misspellings on the tests at all, and that it was extremely unprofessional.

He ended up giving me the two points and then shook my hand as if I was a man that he wanted no more quarrel with. That was kind of cool.

Then came the next class on the reproductive system. Judging by the ever changing hues of purple his face kept turning, I don't think it's his area of expertise. We came upon the term 'sexual intercourse' and he asked everyone what another word for that was. We all looked at him as if he was out of his mind. One girl ventured, 'um...sex?' "Sex?" he said, mockingly. "Come on. Don't you know the biological term? I'll spell it. C-L-O-T-U-S."

I was completely befuddled. "Do you mean C-O-I-T-U-S?" I asked.

"No," he said. "Maybe it's C-L-O-I-T-U-S. Spelling isn't my strong point."

"I don't think there's an L in that word," I said.

"No, I'm pretty sure there is," said he.

"I've never heard of an L in that word. And I've seen that word many times," I insisted brazenly and pointlessly.

"Well, let's look it up," he said smugly.

We whipped out our i-Phones, he looking up his version and me looking up mine.

I was correct, naturally. I tried to soften the blow by telling him there wasn't anything I didn't know about coitus, which I think didn't make him feel better because it made it seem as if he knew nothing by comparison. It's probably true, though.

Jethro's Been Eating His Wheaties

2009-10-07T15:29:00.004-05:00

Or rather these new manly vitamins that make him, for lack of a better word, EXTREMELY HORNY.

Now I'm as game as the next wife. I am. Maybe more. But these vitamins don't have a female equivalent and sometimes I need to sleep. The second I get into bed, it's hands, hands, hands. The other night, after futilely defending myself for about 10 minutes, I exasperatedly reverted to cliche.

"You're like a kid in a candy store," I said, to which he replied, "Or a grown man in a pussy store."

You can't block teleporting hands when you're laughing.

New Topic:

Jim Treacher, a lovely, clever boy, and one of my favorite political satirists and just generally funny people of all time ever, got his Top Ten Reasons To Accept That Job Offer From David Letterman read by Mark Levin and Dennis Miller.

He also does funny things with cartoon bubbles.

Really, he's a treasure, especially for the right side of the political spectrum who tend to miss mockable moments in their haste to express outrage.

But Is It Art?

2009-09-30T00:07:00.005-05:00

Hey remember when Mel Gibson said mean things about Jews and called a female cop "sugar tits" and everyone said he was a giant fucking douchebag?

He was.

Roman Polanski drugged a 13 year old girl and stuck his dick in her ass.

Funny Video

2009-09-26T21:15:00.001-05:00

Quite possibly, I've never laughed so hard at a youtube video in my life.

2009-09-22T11:49:00.003-05:00

I know I have a post in me somewhere. It's not as if amusing things aren't happening. For instance, Jethro and I were attempting a quickie this morning and the alarm went off blaring something with a heavy club beat just as I got mine. So it turns out that I can never again say I don't get off on hip hop.

And massage classes are going as well as can be expected given the fact that they are as boring as dust on a windless day.

I have discovered, however, that girls don't like me. Or I don't like them in a group, or something like that. Basically, the women I'm taking the class with don't like me much. I'm very much excluded on break, and in other more subtle ways. I can't decide if my feelings are hurt. I guess I think they ought to be, but I don't feel awkward or uncomfortable about it, so they really aren't.

I think it's one gal in particular. She's my age, but she hasn't been to school since high school and she seems to be reverting to high-schoolish patterns of behavior. She's made another girl her minion and she includes people in their intrigues at her discretion, as if it's an honor of some kind. It's been interesting to watch how power is gained through this scenario. Or at least it's more interesting than the endocrine system.

But I'm not sure how excluding me serves her purpose unless she just really doesn't like me at all, which is probably the case. Sometimes I feel like a boy with ADD in that class, and she seems like the type to be irritated by that especially since I can cut up and joke with the instructor and still know almost every answer.

That's a problem too. I'm not sure what to do. The instructor does a review of the information for each test and we're supposed to call out answers to the questions. I can answer most of the questions before he even finishes them, but it takes everyone else a long time. So I'm not sure what to do. Usually I wait what I think is a decent interval and then answer the question. If someone gets it before, then great. But it's mostly me answering them. This is annoying both to me and to everyone else. There was a guy in the class who could have given me some competition and wasn't afraid to answer all of them, but he dropped out. So it's just me.

If none of this is interesting at all, welcome to my world.

I also switched Gwennie and Emma's school. Emma didn't want to switch, but Gwennie didn't like it, and what Gwennie wants, Gwennie gets. I transferred them to the school they are zoned to at the new house. They started yesterday, and Emma, lucky little dragon-baby, got into the same class as our next door neighbor who she's already made friends with.

Gwennie, on the other hand, has a teacher I already detest and I'm sure Gwennie will come to detest. She's a manic blonde, probably a former cheeleader, and was rude to Gwennie when she couldn't decide where to sit after stupidly being given a choice. I grudgingly forgave that one, but she was rude again when I picked the girls up from school. Gwennie's attention wanders easily, but I'm not really keen on anyone snapping her fingers in her face, especially in my presence. I felt my deadly silence come on and I just stared at her in disbelief. The woman yammered on about what Gwennie needed to catch up to the class, and I did not answer a word. One more incident and Wrath will be my deadly sin.

Update: Just picked Gwennie and Emma up from school. Bitch teacher let everyone chew gum except Gwennie because she didn't have my "permission." That was really fucking nice. I'm about to get pissed off. If I think she has it in for my kid based on one moment of indecision over a stupid fucking desk, I'm going to make her life miserable. Just for fun.

Little Bit of Politics

2009-09-17T13:22:00.002-05:00

The IAEA says Iran can now make a nuclear bomb.

I guess we scrapped that missile shield just in time.

Today is September 11th

2009-09-11T09:36:00.001-05:00

I had no intention of going to ground zero while I was in NY. I don't need to go. I know what happened. I remember those buildings and the thousands of people inside. My daughters aren't going to get much out of looking at an excavation site because they never knew the buildings that used to stand there.

But we took the West Side Highway back to Brooklyn from Manhattan and we went right past it. So I snapped a picture and felt nothing.

My friend died trying to give these backwards death-cultists a chance at a better life, and we've elected someone who apologizes for our country and wants to prosecute the people who kept us safe.

So here's the picture and I hope it means something more to someone else today.

Back to My Old Back Porch

2009-09-10T09:33:00.009-05:00

I am sitting here without my pants and I have no idea how that happened. One second I was wearing pants (shorts) and now I am not. And I don't even see them anywhere nearby.

Anyway, we're back from NYC. It was a really great trip. I stayed with my friend of 20-something years at her condo in Brooklyn. She lives near Brighton Beach which is now all Russian. It's so Russian, the shop signs are in Russian. It really was cool. So many of the ethnic enclaves disappeared as the city became more gentrified. And while I'm never one to render judgment on natural progression, pockets of diversity is what the city is known for, and it's a little sad to see them vanish in favor of the generic eclecticism every city seems to be striving for.

Anyway, it was a great time. My cousin's wedding was so much fun. They had it at this very, very Hebrew restaurant called "Bubby's" in Brooklyn, situated just between the Manhattan and Brooklyn bridges. The food was fantastic. Salmon or fried chicken, with a side of baked macaroni and cheese, and green beans. You might think fried chicken is more of a southern dish, but you'd be wrong. It is that too, but the Jews make it as well and it's different. I can't quite put my finger on how, but it is. And it made it onto my list of all-time best wedding food at #2, #1 being my own wedding which was the best food ever.

And my kids got to see another cousin on the other side of the family who is just Gwennie's age and adores them. They all played in the Diana Ross playground in Central Park. We went to the Museum of Natural History which is always cool, we ate dumplings at the speed of light in Chinatown, drank all-you-can-drink wine at another Chinese restaurant by Central Park, toured the M&M factory (and bought fistfulls of M&Ms), rode the ferris wheel in Toys R Us in Times Square, took pictures of Radio City Music Hall (a special request of Gwennie and Emma), went to a Brazillian Festival, took the subways everywhere to the great delight of my daughters who shrieked with delight every time the train started and they got flung, which made even the jaded NYers smile, and even made it upstate for a day to visit my godmother on her little farm. I got to show my daughters the elementary/middle school and church I attended, the house I lived in, and the town I spent 6-9th grades in.

Our last night, we went out with my friend and her husband to a Russian restaurant. It was amazing. I don't even know how to describe it. It was a mix of Asian and Mediterranean and Scandinavian food. You eat, drink, dance, eat, drink, dance, on and on and on until you

And of course there were things I wanted to do that I didn't even get close to doing, like seeing Beth. I also wanted to visit a graphic design museum and The Met, but it was not to be. I did, however, buy a dress at Bloomingdale's for the wedding. I hadn't planned to, but my friend had to pick up a dress there for another wedding, and I thought I would look around and see if there was anything that had a chance of fitting me. There was, and I bought it. It's purple. I think I'll wear it for Christmas, New Year's, and any other occasion that might call for it. It was expensive. But gorgeous. I love it.

Now for a small pictoral:

The M&M factory (where else?)

Radio City Music Hall

Rockefeller Center

View from the subway station in Brighton Beach

Jethro, me, and my purple dress from Bloomies.

2009-09-06T08:55:00.002-05:00

Jethro, the girls, two sisters, and I are in New York City until Tuesday. We had to move, start school, and leave for NY in four days. I love it and I'm dying to write about it but there is no time. Everything is great, though. See you on the other side.

We Closed, and We're Moving.

2009-08-27T16:20:00.003-05:00

Finally. I'm sick of talking, writing, or thinking about it.

I have to get back to moving, but you must see this in the meantime. Hearty chuckles all around.

"Designed specifically for women" because men have no need whatsoever!

"Hey girls! I know how you can get paid to exercise! Send me $19.95 and I'll tell you!"

Feel free to add.

It Must Be Said

2009-08-21T09:40:00.003-05:00

I'm going to admit something that is probably pure heresy to children of the '80s.

I hate Pee Wee Herman.

Even as a child, I detested him. I wouldn't watch his show, I wouldn't watch his movies, I just couldn't stand him. There is nothing about him I found even remotely funny, and I'm not anxious to suffer through a retro resurgence, which I fear is coming. My 14 year old sister sent me a Pee Wee Herman link and asked if I remembered him from way back when.

Updated: New Topic:

I yelled at the girl at our mortgage company. I told her if we did not have documents today, then I wasn't signing at all. And I mean it. I told her two months of her life will have been wasted if we do not have docs today. I realize they're now at the mercy of the lender, but I don't care. If they don't have the clout to get those docs from the lender, then I am not closing. I will rent a house and buy something else using a competent mortgage brokerage firm. They will not get their fee, and I will spread the news of their incompetence far and wide (which actually I'm already doing).

To go into the details of how incompetent they are would take a very long time and might make a useful artery of mine explode. One of the more minor details was misspelling my name, and putting the wrong address on the initial docs. You can extrapolate from there.

Which brings me to just how stupid Jethro and I are. Especially me. I knew better than to use someone we knew nothing about. I knew better. I worked in real estate for years and have seen firsthand how people get fucked by mortgage companies they use because a friend works there, or they were promised something fantastic and unreal.

Jethro and I used this guy because he was part of Jethro's business network. We felt a certain sense of obligation and took a risk. Any amount of critical thinking on my part and I would have never taken that chance, but I have this bizarre altruistic tendency that rears its ugly head every so often, and I will find myself concerned with someone else at my own expense.

And it really was altruistic. Referrals from this douche weren't nearly as important as actually closing on a house, and we knew it. But the guy was new to the group, and seemed nice (probably is nice) and eager to work. The clinic was doing really well and we thought we'd spread the wealth around.

Such a bad, stupid, moronic thing to do. And I really did know better. I don't like learning lessons and I hate learning them the hard way. But what I hate most of all is learning lessons that I've already learned the hard way.

Typical Life

2009-08-14T15:32:00.003-05:00

I don't want to post depressing things, but that's part of what's going on, and it's part of life.

First, we simply can't close on a house. Our loan hasn't been rejected, but neither is it fully approved. We've been in this limbo for months now. And we have to be out of the house by the end of the month. I don't really know what to do.

The 2nd anniversary of Charles' death/murder was on the 12th. Our friends in Houston went out to commemorate and the evening was hosted by one of Charles' former roommates. I'll call him Cade. He was a wild guy and I have a few funny stories about him, but he is, from what I can tell, nearing the end stages of Lou Gehrig's disease. I suppose it was bittersweet. He wouldn't talk to anyone after his initial diagnosis except Charles. I know people would have been there for him, but I have no doubt he didn't want to be slobbered over. I remember Charles telling me about it and saying that Cade would want people to remember him in better times. I know I would.

But Cade came out of his self-inflicted exile to remember his friend. A whole lot of dust gets in my eyes when I think about it. I saw the pictures. He looks not good, and I can understand someone with any amount of pride refusing to be seen in that condition. But he came out for his friend. I hope death might not seem as frightening to him with someone like Charles waiting at the end. I'm just sad that it was Charles who had to pave the way.

Anyway, it's too misery-inducing to write much more about it.

I'm trying to think of something more cheerful.

Jethro and I got drinks with a former blogger who is somewhat local to us last weekend. It was fun. I felt like getting my drink on, and I did. The $3.00 jack 'n' cokes at the local Coyote Ugly did their part. There were some hot chicks dancing on the bar too. They were neat looking. But there is the ugliest trend occurring. Tube socks with cowboy boots. I saw two girls wearing them, and it was not cute. You have to have one hot little ass to pull off that kind of ugly, and I'll give them some credit there.

Anyway, it was a fun night.

And I'm losing weight again, I'm happy to report. I can't believe I went on a diet at such a stressful time since food gives me such joy and happiness, but Jethro says if I can withstand it through this stress, it shouldn't be so hard when all the stress is over. I see his point. And the healthy eating is probably helping to keep the stress from killing me. And an even bigger plus, I've experimented with some new recipes and they're freaking delicious. And healthy. For example. Shepherd's Pie. I love, love, love shepherd's pie. But it's pretty fattening and full of bad bad carbs from the potatoes. This recipe was different. The South Beach diet calls for cauliflower to be used instead of the mashed potatoes, but I don't really care for cauliflower no matter how much sour cream you use, so I used Great Northern White Beans instead. I heated them up, put in two (heaping) spoons of sour cream and an egg yolk, then fluffed them up with a mixer. I had no idea how they would turn out, but they were really good. Very similar to potatoes, but healthier apparently. For the ground beef mixture, I sauteed onions and garlic in a wee little bit of olive oil, then added the ground beef. When that was browned, I added two cups of edamame instead of peas (which have a lot of sugar), added two table spoons of balsamic vinegar in lieu of Worcestershire sauce which has sugar in it, one can of beef broth (that was too much) and let it simmer awhile. Then I put it in a casserole dish and spread the mashed beans over it. Then I covered the top with low fat shredded cheddar and baked it for 25 minutes. It turned out really well. The only problem was that there was a lot of liquid from using too much broth. I'll just reduce that amount next time.

So big problems are always there, but the little things are good.

2009-08-11T00:58:00.002-05:00

I started massage therapy classes. I don't want to go into the whys and wherefores, but suffice it to say I have good reasons. Unfortunately, they're very boring. The hands-on part is okay - you get a massage each class - but the anatomy and physiology class is going to kill me. I don't care about any of it. It consists of the instructor (who is actually pretty cute) reading the textbook and then getting tested. The highlight of the class is reading ahead waiting for the cute instructor to say 'vagina.' What? You all know I'm not right.

And we're still waiting to close on the next house. I'm afraid. I don't know what is going on and I don't want to talk about it.

So I'm just going to watch lions eat a antelope calf on Animal Planet. I think that will have a calming effect.

On Motherhood and Such

2009-07-29T00:29:00.003-05:00

Sorry for not writing much. The main happening in my life is waiting anxiously for another loan to go through on another house. Until it happens, I'm awash in crippling anxiety manifesting in dizzy spells, ennui, and irritable bowel syndrome. In other words, I'm not much fun.

But for good news, my little nephew is pure sweetness. We were back in Houston to see him two weeks ago, and we got to my sister's apartment just as they were getting back from the hospital. Gwennie, Emma and I were pushing and shoving to be the first to hold him. I won. Finally. They're small, but scrappy.

We spent some time there and then left to go out for the evening with some friends. The next morning, I got a call from my sister who was crying very hard. My heart turned to burning ice and the adrenaline flushed out my hangover but swiftly.

"IS THE BABY OKAY???" I bellowed.

"Yeah, he's fine," sobbed my sister.

Turned out she was just overwhelmed with learning how to breastfeed him. The nurses at the hospital had been such psycho, Nazi bitches about it, telling her that if he didn't eat every three hours, they were going to keep testing his glucose (which involved pricking his heel), so she better cooperate and give him a bottle. I really thought those days were long gone, but apparently not. So my poor sister was terrified that he wasn't eating enough when all the poor little thing wanted to do was sleep.

Jethro and I still drove over as fast as we could and I spent the day just trying to be calm and assuring her that her dear little baby was just fine.

Now I'm not trying to brag here, and I'm not putting my sister down at all for her panic, because she really did have a bad experience with those nurses that I never had, but when I look back to how I did with Gwennie at 23 years old, I'm pretty proud. It never occurred to me that I had done a good job. I have always been sure that I had done a mediocre job. But I actually did well. I didn't enjoy breastfeeding, but I did it until I got pregnant with Emma which was a solid 9 months and I nursed Emma for a year. I have plenty of faults as a mom, to be sure, but I also have strengths. And the best thing I ever did was to ignore every piece of advice that came my way once the baby was born. It's probably the strangest notion, but my rationale was if crack addicts can raise their children past infancy, then I can. And it worked. The thought kept me confident.

Anyway, I'm done here, and must now feed my children as the law dictates.

Words of Wisdom

2009-07-22T12:45:00.002-05:00

Drinking non-alcoholic beer is like going down on your cousin. Sure it tastes the same, but it ain't right....

It's a Boy! A Real Boy!

2009-07-17T09:11:00.004-05:00

I'm finally an Aunt. My little nephew, Phillip Thomas, was born yesterday at 11:42 in the morning, weighing in at a very healthy 8 lbs 1 oz. I've only seen grainy camera phone pictures so far, but I adore him already. He looks like my sister and my father, who he was named for. Jethro and I and the girls are headed back to Houston to see him and I'm sure I will have a hard time keeping Gwennie and Emma from abducting him to become his slaves.

I feel that euphoria one only gets from having a new baby in the family. My arms are just aching to hold him.

That doesn't mean I'm not busy, though. I have to clean the house, pack for the weekend and buy some presents. And my grandmother just called to make sure we'd pick her up when we go to visit. She's already gone to see him, but she's wasting no time piggybacking on whomever hasn't. Can't say I blame her, though. It's her first great-grandson.

I have to say that for being only 5 minutes old, he's remarkably unslimey.

Funny Stuff

2009-07-13T22:29:00.002-05:00

I have yet another decision to make. Jethro and I have been discussing it and he would like it if I got my massage therapy license and worked with him in the clinic. I know I now have my associates degree in graphic design, but I always planned to freelance in that regard, and with a massage therapy license, I could have definite work.

So I went to an open house for a massage therapy school right down the road from the clinic.

Dear, sweet, mother of pearl. Every inch of this office was filled with clutter. From papers, to equipment, to kitschy Asian junk, there was no room to even leave fingerprints.

I walked into this den of hippies trying to keep an open mind, but as soon as I hear "chi flow" and witness the blank, vegan stares, I start feeling my skin crawl and I want to take it off. Jethro and the girls had come with me to check it out, but as soon as Jethro saw the ionic foot bath, he grabbed the girls and hightailed it out of there. I could hear him screaming in his head.

I don't mean to sound so condescending with regards to alternative medicine. It's our livelihood, after all. But so much of it is crap with no evidence (or worse, false evidence) to back up the claims. And even if something is eventually proven, it seems wrong to sell treatments before they are. Telling someone "the Chinese have done it for thousands of years, so you should pay out the schmoobie" doesn't strike me as very objective or scientific.

I know it's hard to imagine some unhygienic vegan in rags bilking people out of money, but they can do it just as easily as a guy in a suit.

Anyway, I'm tired and rambling and I think I'll go to bed now.

Tedium

2009-07-10T02:31:00.002-05:00

Overdue hat tip to ALa of Blonde Sagacity. That was her cake in the picture below. She won a contest with it last year, and her husband won the year before. They seem to have a gift with the fondant. I don't. I tried making it once and it seemed to attract every piece of hair and fuzz and bug in a 5 yard vicinity. Not my best effort.

Things are going. I've been without my husband for almost 5 days, and I'm feeling kind of growly. Jethro is up in New Town, and I'm in Houston with the girls visiting his parents. It's not my preferred way of doing things, but they miss the girls so much and it's no real trouble for me, although I miss Jethro. We seem to be very co-dependent and I guess I'm one of those sick people who think that's healthy.

It's been an interesting week, though. I've seen quite a few people and have plans to see quite a few more including a young man I met at this gay homeschooling christian youth sports thing I went to in high school. I know he liked me back then, but I refused to date him because he was a year younger than me. I had ridiculous standards at 16. I wouldn't date anyone younger, but I would have given my left tit to have had the babies of a local auto mechanic sporting a golden mullet. Honestly, it's such a good thing for me that I'm married to Jethro, because I'm still that freaking weird.

Happy Birthday, America!

2009-07-04T17:39:00.000-05:00

A Nose By Any Other Name...

2009-07-01T14:55:00.002-05:00

I want a nose job. I know, I know. I don't approve of plastic surgery. And I really don't. Find the character to transcend your flaws is what I alway say, and shake what yer mama gave ya.

But I can't stand my nose. I'm pretty sure an ex-ray of it would reveal internal complications so whorled and maze-like and deviant, that a cottage cheese covered, anal sex receiving porcupine fetishist would shudder in ecstatic loathing and revulsion. Half-Jewish, and half-horrid-Scottish-bulbous-rosacea, it's as if the two genes collided then tried to run off screaming before they were frozen in stern, unyielding cartilage.

For such an offending appendage, it doesn't look that crooked. But it is. You should see the nose pads of my glasses. Mind-blowingly off center. One is somewhat straight and the other veers waaaaay off to the side and twists back.

But you should see it when I cry. For most people, women at least, crying is cathartic. But not for me. Actually, I don't know if it is or not because the physical effects of a good cry are so awful. My sinuses swell to the point where I can't breathe through my nose at all and a headache goes without saying. And it lasts for days. At least 4 days after a good cry, you can tell I've had a good cry. It's very aggravating.

Really, there's no point to this at all. I just wanted to write something.

Jon and Kate

2009-06-22T22:44:00.003-05:00

I hate even talking about that show. Gwennie, Emma and I loved watching and cooing over the adorable little children who looked so much like them, and now those stupid parents have ruined it all.

Honestly, the last thing I intended to do was render some high holy judgement on those people. I knew they were getting paid a shitload to exploit their children, and I was okay with that. That's a lot of kids to raise, and money comes in handy, and I don't begrudge people what the market will pay them for anything as long as it's honest. I can understand them exploiting their own kids for the sake of their college educations, and I don't even begrudge them the perks that come with the show like tummy tucks, hair plugs and choppers. Sometimes silly, superficial, material things make it easier to keep trudging through some tough baby years.

But they didn't have the character to withstand the immersion into hard-core materialism and now these spoiled brat parents can't even keep it together for the sake of their little meal tickets. Those kiddies made their fabulous lives possible, and they repay them with a broken home. They suck. There's more I want to say, but that's all I really can say. They suck.

I'm Boooooored!

2009-06-22T14:12:00.005-05:00

I have The Strep. I am taking antibiotics and trying to recover, so I'm dutifully remaining in bed, but I'm sooooooooo boooooooooored. I wouldn't even mind cleaning if it meant I didn't feel so shitty.

I watched 4 movies yesterday. Old movies, so no one cares, I'm sure, but one of them was The Professionals with Burt Lancaster. It was pretty good. It must have been made when people were just starting to say real swear words in movies because when they did use them them, they said them like they knew they're going to shock someone. When Burt Lancaster was asked where a bullet got him, he says "in the ass" in a very unnatural way. Then in the last lines of the movie, the Evil White Capitalist Man calls one of the professionals a bastard, and you could hear the exclamation point in his voice. But then the professional guy delivers one of the best lines in the movie, saying "Yes, sir. In my case an accident of birth. But you, sir, you're a self-made man."

It was a good movie. But if I looked anything like Claudia Cardinale.....

I'd be ruling the world right about now. Seriously, I don't know how she never made it to icon status. She makes Sophia Loren and Raquel Welsch look like horses.

Anyway, my fever's breaking, so I'm going to go sweat for awhile.

2009-06-20T23:15:00.002-05:00

So no sooner do I work past the disappointment of losing the house I wanted, then I get laid out by some kind of plague. Probably swine flu, given my luck. But everything is okay. I have so much. I have two daughters who I love more than anything, a husband who has not only been a comfort to me all while running his business, but who is taking such good care of me while I'm sick. When I'm sure I won't infect his johnson, I'll make it up to him.

So in spite of it all, I'm happy. Not calm, exactly, but happy. I'm gonna go to bed now. I hurt all over.

Sniff

2009-06-17T15:57:00.005-05:00

Not gonna get the house that we want forever 'n' ever. I haven't cried yet, but I have no doubt it's coming.

Update: It came. And went. I'm moving on. And it's not a case of the fox and the grapes, but there were things that were not perfect about that house. The driveway was god-awful steep and hard to negotiate. The yard would have always needed a lot of maintainence and I wilt after 5 minutes past air conditioning. Of course we knew all this and would have bought the house anyway, but remembering these not insignificant drawbacks takes a little bit of disappointment out of the EPIC FAIL of our loan officer.

And BTW, I hate VPs of mortgage companies who used to be sports personalities on television. The only satisfying thing I could get out of this would be to kick him, deliberately, repeatedly and forcefully, in his softest parts until he begs for my dispassionate mercy.

So essentially, we're back at square one. We need to find a house and probably start the loan process all over again because we're certainly not keeping our file with the same preppie, WASPy, effete douchebag we were using. I'm gettin' me a Jew this time 'cause I'm tired of screwing around.

I'll be back when I've had a few margaritas and given Jethro the anger-fuck of his life.

I'm Already Going to Hell, I May As Well Blog About It

2009-06-14T03:05:00.004-05:00

First things first. I'm done with school. This means I have Finished Something. It's momentous. Really.

But the real blog fodder is the wedding I attended recently. I mentioned a few posts back that we had a wedding in NY. I was the best woman (I refuse to say matron-of-honor, it makes me sound like a sadistic, but oddly rewarded prison guard).

I had been looking forward to this wedding for months, ever since the bride asked me to be in it. It was in upstate NY, not exactly close to where I grew up, but a lot closer than I've been in years, so I was pretty stoked to go.

I flew into Houston Wednesday evening so I could fly up with my friend Jen early Thursday. The wedding wasn't until Saturday, but I thought I'd go up early and help out and Jen said she'd go up with me. Way back when we purchased our tickets, we found a really good price, except that there was a layover, which didn't seem like too big a deal at the time, but actually was when we finally made it up to Rochester. We were exhausted and then we had to rent a car at the airport and drive the 40 miles to the town where the wedding was.

One day I will tell the bird story. Or maybe I'll let Jen do it. It was bizarre.

By the time we made it to the hotel, we were giddy with fatigue. We hauled our luggage through the doors and were immediately greeted by a large, puzzling sign declaring "NO MORE R WORD!"

Jen looked at me and mouthed "R Word?" Then we looked around. Helmets and motorized carts as far as the eye could see.

Yes. That R word. We were in the midst of a 'tard Convention. And yes, I know I'm not being nice.

We were gasping for air from holding in our laughter by the time we made it up to our room. Mind, it's not that we thought a convention of that sort was particularly funny or mockable, but when you go someplace where a wedding is about to be held, the last thing you expect to see is a parking lot full of short buses and crash helmets. It caught us unawares is all.

But do not fear. This gets so much worse.

Later that day, Jen, Jethro's ex Micky, and I, ended up in an elevator with a young man with CP and his motorized chair. He asked us to push the button for his floor and we obliged. His floor came before ours and we held the door for him as he tried to manage his chair. It seemed he was having a little trouble because he'd go forward and then go back a little, forward, then back, forward, then back. We weren't quite sure what to do. I'd have happily pushed him through the doors, but I didn't want to hurt his feelings or anything. Finally he made it out the door and we let them close just as he went back again a little. The backpack on the back of his chair looked like it might be caught in the doors and we frantically tried to open them, but it was too late and the elevator started moving. We froze in panic (well, actually Jen and Micky did. I think I yelped something and started to climb the walls. I had started drinking by then) and waited for a scream. Fortunately it didn't come, but we did almost have heart attacks.

Now Jen and I were sans kids and sans husbands in a podunk little town in upstate NY. The logical thing for us to have done would have been to go to bed and get a good night's sleep. But that would not have been as much fun as going to the hotel bar.

The bartender was a hapless, 19 year old Indian boy who (as we found out later) didn't eat meat and didn't drink in accordance with his religion. This meant that in spite of a rather well stocked bar, he was not able to do more than pour beer and shots as we discovered when Micky tried to order a dirty martini. She grimaced on the first sip and asked him to make it dirtier, to which he promptly responded by pouring in more vermouth. That was pretty funny.

Then the convention, which had been in full swing complete with band and dancing (I think it was dancing) ended, and the real fun for the poor bartender began. He was doing such a brisk business in milk and O'Douls, that we were beginning to feel neglected. We met some Canadian kids at the other end of the bar and wondered aloud if we needed to wear protective head gear in order to get a beer. But all the conventioneers had partied themselves out around 9:30, and the bartender gave us his undivided attention. He apologized for ignoring us, and complained he hadn't been tipped very well. He took back the terrible martini and didn't charge us, which was nice of him. Jen, being sensible and tired, had a smoke and went to bed.

Micky and I stayed to talk to the Canadians, a very young couple who had come down to Podunkville for a Kenny Chesney concert of all things. The young man was buying lots of shots and teaching the young bartender a thing or two about jagermeister, while trying to outdrink Micky and me.

It didn't work out so well for him.

If you look very carefully, you can just make out the penis I drew in eyeliner on the side of his face. I was drawing upside down, so it's not directly even with his mouth, but you get the idea.

I don't even look drunk in this picture, but I certainly wasn't sober. We talked with the young man's girlfriend awhile (she took the picture) and then toddled off to bed.

The next day was the rehearsal dinner.

The bride and groom were getting married in the garden of one of their friends' houses and having the rehearsal dinner there as well under a lovely white tent. I called them to see what I could do, and the groom said he'd pick me up at the hotel while he went to give the bride's father his tux. Then he'd drop me off at his friends' house.

When I got down to the lobby, there was a gentleman waiting who was not the groom. He stared at me for a second and asked if I was Zelda. I replied in the affirmative and he said he was a friend of the groom's and that he'd been asked to wait for me while the groom dropped off the tux. I asked if the groom told him I'd be the one without the helmet, and he chuckled heartily. That kind of set the mood for the day.

They dropped me off at the rehearsal site, and told me my job was to stuff little clear bags full of flower petals that were to be hurled at the bride and groom as they departed. Then after the stuffing, I was to spritz the petals with distilled water so that they wouldn't wilt overnight.

Then they left. Now maybe it's just me, but I tend to feel a little awkward sitting at someone's house I don't know, stuffing petals into little plastic bags then spritzing them. Luckily, the homeowners were really nice and friendly and after a beer or seven, I was loudly regaling them and other members of the wedding party who had managed to straggle in, including the bride, with the stories of the 'tard convention, figuring that amusing them was the least I could do in exchange for their hospitality. And it was funny. I had everyone in stitches - clutching their sides with my impersonations and hand gestures, except for the bride who was kind of giving me the stink eye. But she'd always been ultra PC, and she knew I wasn't at all, so I figured she'd just roll her eyes at me, call me a peasant, and that would be that.

So there I was, happily working and chatting and drinking, and in the very best of moods when the bride's family arrived. Oh, dear god, let the earth swallow me whole and cast me down with the sodomites.

Three of her siblings had The Challenges. Three. Not one, not two, but three. And one of them quite severely. And her mom was tooling around on a motorized cart.

I don't think I can properly describe the exquisite humiliation. I took the bride aside the second I had the chance and apologized quickly, but profusely. She looked squirmy, and I don't blame her a bit, but I think I might have been an even bigger asshole if I hadn't apologized. I'm really not sure, though. I think I might just really be an asshole and no amount of apologizing will atone.

Needless to say, I was her bitch for the rest of the weekend.

It didn't stop me from drinking more though, and I managed to tie on a pretty good one at the hotel bar later. The young bartender was stingier with his coke than his rum.

The next morning was not fun. I had to be out the door by 7:30 to go to the salon with the bride to get our hair done. I hauled myself up early, took some headache pills, took a shower, and still managed to be 15 minutes late. But I felt like shit and I didn't care. Luckily the bride didn't go bridezilla and we were only 2 or 3 minutes late for the hair appointment.

The other bridesmaid had very, very short hair, so there was absolutely nothing that could be done with it, which meant that while the bride was under the hair dryer, all eyes turned to me. It seemed obvious that something needed to be done. I had discussed this with Jen and Micky and we decided a french braid a la Jennifer Aniston at the Oscars would be easy and doable. No such luck.

This was the 'do I ended up with. I looked like a 12 year old swiss yodeler from the neck up. But I wasn't unhappy. My hair was out of my way and that always makes things easier. And what do I care, really? It wasn't my day.

After the hair and make-up, we arrived at the wedding house to get the bride dressed.

This ended up being somewhat of a Herculean task. The bride is not a small woman, and she had chosen a dress of maximum complexity complete with panels and corsets. We slipped the dress over her head and had begun the process of lacing her in, when she realized she had forgotten to take off her pants.

Given my bitch status, if fell to me to remove them. It was epic.

We huffed and puffed and pulled and tugged and snapped and tied and finally it was complete. I was sweaty and exhausted, but I went around to survey the front.

My eyes filled with tears.

She was absolutely beautiful.

The bride had always been sensitive about her weight and I'm sure she had spent a lot of time agonizing over her dress. And while nothing can make a fat person look skinny, the dress did make her look perfectly lovely. And really, she is the cutest, prettiest fat chick in the entire world.

And that was the highlight of my trip. There was more good stuff at the wedding and the reception later, not the least of which was Jethro becoming enthusiastically drunk and "helping" to clear up afterwards. I finally had to tell the groom to just let him do whatever he thought needed to be done because there was just no arguing with him. That was pretty funny too. Jethro is occasionally unpredictable when he drinks.

But honestly, every other funny part aside, seeing my friend marrying a fantastic guy, beginning a wonderful life, and looking so exquisitely beautiful, was pure joy.

2009-06-12T12:33:00.003-05:00

I got a call from Big Dick last night (he's once again sharing his peculiar brand of humor with the net). It seems he's been without power for awhile and he wanted me to update his blog for him.

So in honor of his predicament, here's some Black Stone Cherry.

H/T to Inanna for turning me on to this neat little band.

Limbo

2009-05-29T14:36:00.003-05:00

Here's a school project I did for a golf resort:

I thought it was funny. My critique ended up being one running ball joke.

2009-05-26T00:47:00.000-05:00

The Perils of Marriage

2009-05-22T11:50:00.005-05:00

A couple of weeks ago, I accidentally did something I'd wanted to do for a long time, but always had the sleepy good sense not to.

I punched Jethro in the balls when he snored.

To be fair, the tv was up as loud as it could go, and I was just about to solve a Medical Mystery. Jethro had dozed off and was snoring apneatically and at certain intervals, I would do him the favor of punching him on the leg so he would start breathing again. But being engrossed in the program, I had failed to notice his body shift and when his epiglottis had sealed long enough for me to become unconsciously concerned, I punched without looking.

I felt a certain thrill of horror shoot through my arm as my fist bounced on something soft and warm and jiggly instead of the muscle and bone I'd been expecting. I drew back my arm in consternation as Jethro's breath whooshed out. He curled, slowly, slowly into a fetal position, and slowly, slowly opened his eyes. I sat there, transfixed as a look of pain and confusion came over his face.

"You racked me!" he said, in a hurt, bewildered, accusatory way, looking at me with his sad, sweet eyes.

And then I laughed. I tried not to. But the more I tried not to, the harder I laughed. I'm laughing now. I hate myself.

House

2009-05-19T15:42:00.018-05:00

The inspections were fantastic. A bit of cosmetic work, but the structure is sound as sound. It's really kind of nice. I don't dare go nuts until the bank approves our loan, but I can't help getting excited. I tend to take disappointment in stride and get on with life, but if everything went kapluey and we didn't get it, I would probably cry very very hard for at least a week.

Because, you see, it's the house I want forever 'n' ever.

Here it is:

Front (no, it's the back, Zelda)

Kitchen

Back yard

More back yard (there's a lot of back yard).

View from the long, steep, curved driveway.

View from the long, steep front steps

Jethro and I didn't expect to find anything great at this stage of our lives. We were planning on buying a small, easy to maintain property, with no emotional investment, and saving up slowly for the house we wanted. But I love this one. It's the perfect compromise for Jethro and me. He wanted a home in a subdivision, close to the clinic and schools, and I wanted land to grow a garden and raise rabbits. The subdivision is nice and subdivision-ey with a community center, school, park, and general convenience, but the yard is almost half an acre. Half an acre of lovely trees and a house on a hill.

And while it's more than we wanted to spend on a little crap-box-eventual-rental-property, I don't think it's too much for a house we'd want to make our home forever 'n' ever.Anyway, I have three more weeks of school, then it will be freedom, blissful freedom.

However, the fact that the end of school and all the madness that accompanies it coincides with what we hope will be the house closing and a wedding in NY, means my stress level is about to hit a peak I heretofore did not know was possible. But my loins are girded. Girded, I tell you. Which probably accounts for some slight spasming.

Indulge me, it's my birthday

2009-05-05T10:38:00.002-05:00

I am not having a good day. My back is killing me. Jethro is working on it whenever he can squeeze me in, but it hurts really badly all down my left side. Also, I don't want to be thirty...gulp...three. Yes I know people are older than me, but I don't want to do it. I pretty much want to be 12 except with my kids and Jethro. And I know that sounds icky, but it's how I feel.

And we're buying a house. We accepted the counter offer last week, and the inspections will be this Thursday. I have cold feet like anything. I mean, it's nearly perfect. It's 2500 sf, 4 bedrooms, 2 and a half bathrooms (you have no idea what a happy thought that is), enough room for our furniture and entertainment center, it's on a gigantic, nearly half acre cul-de-sac lot. It has a gorgeous view from the front door and the master bedroom. It's in a very large, but very pleasant, low-key subdivision, and miracle of miracles, it was in our price range!!!

But I'm scared of it. It intimidates me. It's this giant house on a hill - the first thing you see when you turn down the street. It stands out and I'm not quite sure what to do with it. I was excited to move into a trailer and now I find myself trying to buy a freakin' mansion.

I didn't sleep well all last night worrying about it. What if we hate the neighbors? What if there is a mudslide and the house disappears? What if we have a severe reversal of fortune and go bankrupt? What if I get in great shape from lugging groceries up a hill and up stairs? What if no one wants to buy it when Jethro and I retire? What if I go totally insane with self-doubt and burn it to the ground while I dance around outside, naked, with a martini, screaming Shakespeare and Bible verses?

I have a million things to do. I even have a list. I never have a list, but today, I have a list. I want a drink so badly, but I have to drive a million miles today. I should get going. I should. But I want to write more. I've missed it.

I should write about the bridal shower I helped put on over the weekend. I made this champagne punch that was awesome. I fibbed and said I had a recipe, but really I just made it up. It wasn't on purpose that I made it up. They didn't have the stuff I needed at the store, so I had to wing it. But if it turned out badly, I wanted to have someone to blame it on, so I said it was a recipe. But it actually turned out pretty good, so I should have just kept my mouth shut.

And another time I should have kept my mouth shut was at the shower when we were playing games because I ended up saying "ass cream" in front of the bride's mother. I blame the champagne punch.

After the shower, we went to the bachelorette party. I'd rented a limo driven by a man named Kenneth Cole. No lie. He had a cooler in the limo stocked with Bud Light and Bartles and James pineapple wine coolers.

It was fun.

The bachelorette party was weird because the bride had requested that it be classy. And we were classy. Horribly, boringly classy (for a bacelorette party) and yet we still seemed gauche.

Just think if we'd been wearing penis necklaces!

And I didn't get checked out once. That was even more depressing. Usually I can get someone to glance my way, even if they look away immediately, but not that night. I passed a guy in a very tiny hallway, and not only did he not look at me, he turned his head when I looked at him, as if to say, "I don't want your drunk ass even thinking for a second that you have a shot with me." As if I wanted one! Usually I prefer men who are over 4' 11" and who don't comb their hair into phallic little spikes. And that made me even more sad. I couldn't even get a first look from a fucking midget.

I'm going to go now. The sooner I can get things done, the sooner I can drink.

Happenings

2009-04-22T11:11:00.001-05:00

Madness surely comes through using more than 10% of your brain. I don't say this in anything resembling arrogance since I believe the use of over 10% of ones brain is not a gift, but merely the result of having too much information crammed into it largely against one's will. And the fascinating and horrific result is not Steven Hawking-like abilities, but rather in long, animated conversations (in public) with imaginary audiences about taxes, gardening, or why one would never remarry should one's long-suffering husband finally wise up. "No really, Imaginary Audience. I realize it would be a total waste of excellent woman, but should I be so unfortunate as to lose the one man I can tolerate, I would prefer a life of solitude and intellectual pursuit with occasional bouts of copious alcoholic consumption."

Other side effects include facial tics, hand gestures and twitches of all kinds, and a really base, immature impulse to snicker when an instructor says "rectilinear."

I have one term left of school. One. That's it. And I have senior-itis in the worst possible way. I don't want to do any work anymore for any class. I want to work on real stuff, but stupid class stuff keeps getting in the way.

And we're trying to buy a house. We found one we really liked, but then panicked because we wouldn't have gotten it for anything less then our absolute limit. Then we panicked about panicking because it was in a really good area with really good schools and was the lowest priced house in the subdivision. But in a silver lining kind of way, we found out there was a 14 foot easement past the patio in the back yard. Yeah. No. Sorry. I don't much get along with government these days, and this includes local ones too.

And of course this all converged with PMS, a trip back to Houston for a crawfish boil, and a house that could really use a nice wife to take care of it.

Oh and my mom and stepdad are not getting divorced again.

Ketchup

2009-04-01T13:22:00.002-05:00

I finished my portfolio class last week which had been making me craaaazy. It very much confirmed the fact that I have a weird form of OCD because I went off the deep end, tweaking each and every project to within an inch of it's (and my) life, going without sleep just to think about each project, and ultimately hating everything I put into my portfolio. It really brought home the reason why I never engage in large, time-consuming projects like housework or child-rearing.

Anyway, I went to my portfolio review with a feeling of resigned despair. This was the first portfolio review for the school where they had invited people from graphic design firms around the city. Everyone who went before me had come back from their review saying that the critics had ripped their shit to pieces and made them defend each and every thing they did. I was at the point where I couldn't remember why I did anything. I couldn't even remember why I wanted to do graphic design. So I just decided that to any criticism I would just respond, "I hadn't thought about it that way, and I just might have to consider that" but knowing that I might cry or become sarcastic. I don't take criticism as well as I ought.

But I didn't even get a chance to defend my work. They loved it. They had nothing bad to say. Not even suggestions for improvement. I was truly overwhelmed. Probably because I was exhausted. They raved the most over my copywriting and typesetting skills. Copywriting is not technically what I'm supposed to be doing, but I did have a couple of funny ads which made them laugh. And typsetting, while not terribly sexy, is somewhat necessary for work in graphic design that pays. So I was thrilled. Too thrilled to do much more than stammer out a "thank you so much" although I did manage to make a crude hand gesture which I didn't intend. I'll explain that one when I post one of my ads.

Anyway, it was quite gratifying, but now that the class is over, I feel like something is missing. And on top of that, my laptop screen cracked from stem to stern and I had to send it off for repairs. I can't wrap my head around the fact that I don't have any projects left to complete so I'm wandering around like a zombie during the day and my nights are filled with dreams of package designs and logos that simply must be done in 4 hours.

If you'll pardon the crudeness of the comparison, I feel like a man who was in the middle of having great sex, but whose lady friend suddenly decided she is no longer interested and he's left violating the air.

Dream Lover

2009-03-22T13:30:00.005-05:00

It's another dream post.

I realize this might not be the best way to win back the nice people who've read my genius writing over the last few years, but it was one of those dreams which define my utterly twisted sense of subconscious morality. I know. This doesn't sound interesting. And it may not be, but bear with me.

I was driving somewhere with my friend, Jen, in another state besides Texas. I think it was Vermont or something. We were there with our husbands and Jen and I decided to run out quickly to get something. We were pulled over by three cops in a van. The leader of the cops was achingly hot in a Harrison Ford in Blade Runner kind of way.

Looks-wise, very much my type.

His two side-kicks were a thin, gray, silent-looking guy, and a young, fat kid with a scraggly goatee.

The way they approached our vehicle, I knew we were in Big Trouble.

(Que bowm chicka bowm bowm)

Turns out Jethro had left his AR 9,557, 36,000 caliber, Illudium Q-36 Explosive Space Modulator gun in plain view in the back seat, and this kind of weaponry doesn't fly in Vermont.

Hot Cop made that menacingly clear to us with echoes from his chubby friend. They made us both get in the cop van while they inspected the weapon and pretended to shoot it. Then they all got into their cop van and explained our legal situation to us while Hot Cop ran his hand up my leg, igniting every nerve ending.

Jen's arm was being similarly mishandled by Silent Cop, and Chubby Cop was making funny, giggly noises.

I wriggled chastely away and tried in vain to explain that it was my husband's and he'd just forgotten to take it out of the car while Jen said she had no knowledge of the gun whatsoever and that it wasn't her fault that her friends were stupid redneck morons and that if Silent Cop didn't stop touching her she was going to weld his badge to his face.

Hot Cop asked if I was going to cooperate, and I (virtuously) proclaimed that I was married and would rather go to jail. He said that wasn't a problem, got in the van and sat right beside me while Silent Cop drove off.

I was feeling kind of sick because my friend was going to end up in jail because of my husband. Hot Cop was grinning right beside me, so I knew the offer was still on the table.

So I said, "Fine. I will kiss all three of you if take us back to our car and give me back the gun."

He raised an eyebrow and said, "Kiss?" And I said, "Tongue and the whole works for 5 minutes apiece."

I gave him a look that said, "I'll fuck you, and I want the other two to get their hands dirty, but I don't want to fuck them."

Because in dreams you can do that.

That was fine with him, so Silent Cop pulled over.

Now here's where things went wrong.

I decided that Hot Cop would have to go last since I didn't want the others thinking I would have sex with them too.

I pointed at Chubby Cop. "You first," I commanded, imperiously. "You look like you need the practice."

He was clumsy and stupid, like a giant dog. After a few seconds of being smothered, I told him to let me do everything. And I did. I gently sucked on his upper lip first, then parted my lips, slipped him the tongue, and guided his into my mouth where they played a tongue version of tag. He was slobbery and gross, he had just eaten a meatball sandwich, and his goatee was scratchy and fragile, but I put my hands on the sides of his face and made out with him like it was air and I had to breathe.

When the 5 minutes were up, and it actually seemed like 5 whole minutes in real life, not dream time, I pushed him off me and went to the bathroom (there was a bathroom on the bus) where I spit out a gallon of slobber, bits of meatball, and a loosely constructed ball of facial hair.

Then I woke up.

It was unbelievable. My subconscious set it up perfectly. I wasn't trying to save my own skin. I was trying to save my friend's as well and recover my husband's property, and the situation was all his fault.

I was too consumed with lust NOT to get some, but did I have hot porny dream sex with the blisteringly hot Harrison Ford in Blade Runner cop? Did I even make out with him? DID I? Noooooooooo. I dream cheated with an absolutely disgusting looked-like-something-that-fell-out-of-Michael-Moore's-underpants-fat guy.

I loathe myself.

Next time there will be only one cop. ONE. And it will probably be a hairy, carbuncular woman.

We're Back. Mostly.

2009-03-10T21:20:00.002-05:00

We had a fantastic time. I think it may take a few posts to relate everything, but I'll start with meeting Christina LMT.

Let me just say first off, if you are ever in Vegas, do yourself a favor and avail yourself of her services. She is something of an artist.

She was nice enough to pick us up from our hotel and drive us around The Strip where she pointed out the various sights.

The Strip is just pure insanity. My tastes are simple and organic. I felt like a Lilliputian in an enormous haunted fun house full of blinking lights and giant prostitutes.

But it was definitely interesting.

After taking our picture at the Welcome to Las Vegas sign, we went back to Christina's apartment for our long-awaited massages. As we entered, we were greeted by a skinny little sprite of a girl, her daughter, Silver, and two of the funniest little dogs. The hours that ensued were probably the most entertaining (not to mention relaxing) of our entire trip. Talking to Silver was like looking into a mirror that turns back time 16 years.

And Christina was wonderful. Just one of those rare, truly good souls that you'd be privileged to have in your life. They both have an open invitation to visit New Town whenever they like. I know my girls would adore them.

After our massages and dinner with Christina and Silver, Jethro and I went back up to our room to "rest for a couple of hours" before we checked out the nightlife. 12 hours later, sunlight was snaking it's way through the curtains as it dawned on our 10 year anniversary. My first words to Jethro were "Are you mad?" But of course he wasn't. He was in VEGAS, BABY! Woo Hooo!!!***

After cursing myself for wasting that much time, I insisted we have something alcoholic put into our coffee. As it just so happened, the Bellagio has a coffee shop that served several alcoholic coffee concoctions. We ended up with cognac in ours which was fitting since it was what everyone but I drank at our wedding.

That started the day off right.

To be continued...

Go read Jethro***.....

What happens 15 minutes outside of Reno, stays 15 minutes outside of Reno. Unless I blog about it.

2009-02-23T11:48:00.002-06:00

I was going to pose a question to any and all readers awhile back for ideas on what Jethro and I should do for our 10 year wedding anniversary, but I no longer need to because Jethro booked us 3 nights at The Bellagio in Vegas! I'm so excited. Neither of us have ever been to Vegas to speak of (I was there once when I was maybe 3 and we went to the circus at Circus Circus of which I actually have a faint memory). But I certainly wasn't old enough to go to casinos and have actually never been to one. Not even in Louisiana. I don't think we want to do much gambling, but it would be fun to at least go and see.

Anyway, while Jethro and I were looking for shows to watch, we started talking about the legal brothels in Nevada. I've always wanted to see one, but I don't think it's good etiquette to just go there and stare, even though they'll apparently give you a tour for a nominal fee, so we started talking about what we could do if we went. It would be a shame to go and not do something. And really, it wouldn't be too fancy, take too long, or even involve sex sex. Maybe just a blowjob or something. I'm not sure exactly what I would do, but I better not just be watching.

Anyway, long story short, we decided it would probably be too expensive and since I'm much better at blowjobs now that I've had my teeth filed down and my tongue extended, it seems like a waste of money. It's not ruled out altogether, but probably we'd rather just eat. If we do go, I'll blog about it.

Cogito Ergo Cogito

2009-02-18T10:50:00.002-06:00

I have neglected my little blog shamefully and I apologize to it and to posterity for my negligence.

I am taking Algebra and have high hopes of passing. And I'm almost finished with school. Next term will be my last and I couldn't be more excited. For it means that I will have Finished Something. And for a chronic Unfinisher such as myself, this reeks of Importance. It is a Portal, if you will. A Gateway. A Viaduct to a Life fraught with Purpose and Meaning and hopefully Freelance Employment.

Anyway, my continued apologies for my continued absence. It won't be long now.

2009-02-11T11:33:00.003-06:00

I've been trying to work out a little more lately. I'm so busy that it's hard for me to do the things I love, much less things I hate.

I have to say though, that I really enjoy that machine where you step onto these pedal like things and march, kind of. I'm not describing it well. Oh the elliptical machines. That's what I mean. I like those. They're much easier on my knees than a treadmill. So I like doing that, and I've foregone wearing a sports bra. I just can't stand them, so I wear a regular one, go to the ladies' only room, and just bounce a little. I realize women probably don't appreciate it at all, but that's okay. I try to stay away from them.

So I go to the gym, dig out my iphone with the ipod inside of it and my earphones, throw the rest of my scattered life into a locker, and head for the ellipticals.

I spend a few minutes carefully arranging my earphones in my ears so they aren't uncomfortable, and then I start. I always thought working out to music was overrated, but I really like working out to The Pogues, of all things, this song in particular:

I start sweating pretty hard, but then strangely, I want to go out and kick some ass. It's a good feeling.

The Prayer of Harry Reid (So I can't resisit. Sue me.)

2009-02-09T10:10:00.004-06:00

"I Pray to Thee, Lord Obama that Thou continuest to Beam Down Thy Blessings Upon The Senate Leadership...Mothership?...No, Leadership...I was right the first time. And Deliver Us, O Lord Obama, from Thy Honorable Wrath for having Embarrassed Thee by so Mightily Loading Down Thy Stimulus Vessel with Sumptuous but Wholly Unnecessary Quantities of Pork.

Forgive Us, O Lord Obama, for not Trusting in Thy Divine Benevolence. For Jumping the Gun, so to speak, and not waiting until the Unwashed-But-Unfortunately-Necessary-For-Our-Continued-Reign Masses were Distracted by the Unclothed Antics of some Wanton Harlot from the Wealthy, Useful, Degenerate Land of Hollywood in order that our Pork might go Unnoticed.

And Deliver Us Also, O Gracious Lord Obama, from the Bloated Evil Talking Knight, Who though Much Addicted to the Spirits of Oxycontin, has, Nevertheless, Spread his Garbled Message to this Unwashed Rabble Who seek to Diminish Thy Magnificence and Keep Their Own Lucre In Spite of The Great Needs of The Kingdom of DC and Those Corporations On Wall Street Who Must Suckle At Our Mighty Teats in order that They May Continue to support our Reelections. Selfish Bastards.

All this I Pray In the Name of The Obama, and of The Obama, and of The Holy Obama.

Amen."

Copied, pasted and slightly tweaked from a comment I left at Blonde Sagacity.

The Jethro No One Ever Gets To See

2009-02-05T22:06:00.004-06:00

Jethro - "If I can get her to walk, I'm gonna get cocky. I'm gonna go find her MD and be like, *aims both middle fingers downward* Can ya hear this? Can ya hear this? Want me to turn it up? *flips both middle fingers up* Yeah bitch, you like that? Want me to teach ya? Want me to teach ya? *turns his middle fingers 45 degrees* Psych. Fuck you." *grabs crotch, walks off*

I can't say it was the most elegant show of bravado, and not that I'd want him to be like that all the time, but it kind of did something for me.

GO CARDS!!!

2009-02-01T16:01:00.003-06:00

The limes are sliced, the wings are purchased, the Hooters chicks were hot, and we are routing for the Arizona Cardinals this Super Bowl because #92, Bertrand Berry, is a friend of Jethro's from high school.

I've never met him, but he found Jethro on Facebook and asked to add him as a friend. That won him - and whatever team he ever plays for - my undying loyalty. Someone who doesn't forget his friends is really one of the best kinds of humans.

I know they have a tough game ahead, but I wish him and the Cardinals the very best of luck.

2009-01-29T21:28:00.003-06:00

I have to say, in what is a morbidly depressing political scene, I am really enjoying Rod Blagojovich. He could be a parody of a sleazy politician, and yet he's so very very real and so sincere in his sleaze.

He's like Al Sharpton, Ron Howard, and Lindsay Lohan's mom all rolled into one. He's the Anna Nicole Smith of politicians. But alas, he was thrown under the bus with such haste and verve, that I don't believe we will never know how far his tentacles (and follicles) of sleaze extended. Pity.

And President Obama is wasting no time attempting to steal the money to pay off his supporters. Nearly one trillion dollars in the first week. It's breathtaking.

Almost the first thing he does is put a tax cheat and a lobbyist (in violation of his supposed standards) as Secretary of the Treasury (which controls the IRS). I don't get it. Geithner? I thought Obama was full of crap when he pontificated about not allowing lobbyists to serve in his administration, but I never expected my skepticism to be proven correct so immediately. It's dizzying. Geithner must have been owed one powerful favor. I'm curious about who Geithner worked for before this and how much they are getting from the "stimulus package."

And where were the Republicans? Only 4 voted against his nomination. Are they trying to get along or are they complicit?

And then there is the mind-boggling stimulus package we're being whipped into a frenzy to support.

Naturally Obama is going to be absolutely transparent about it. He has a government website devoted to detailing exactly how he intends to screw us - after the theft passes of course, so no one can protest beforehand. He's mocking us, I think.

I'm trying to be glad the Republicans are sticking together on this one, but really it's too little too late and as far as I'm concerned, it's just for show.

Make your big purchases now and make sure they are durable because inflation will be beyond your wildest imaginings in 2 years.

2009-01-27T15:14:00.003-06:00

I'm not allowed to make out with Jethro at the clinic anymore. It seems he has hang-ups about sporting a chubby in front of patients.

:-(

Update:

I was cooking chicken and something popped and splattered hot grease from my neck to the tops of my breasts. I think I'll wear something low cut tomorrow.

2009-01-26T15:41:00.001-06:00

I saw a license plate that said BG PCKR. Do you think they were really trying to say Big Pecker?

The Spelling Bee

2009-01-23T13:01:00.003-06:00

At the risk of Mommyblogging, Gwennie made it to the school spelling bee. We were pretty happy about that because Jethro and I are both good spellers, with Jethro being somewhat better - which irks me to no end seeing as how he's a fucking immigrant - but I digress. I also said fucking. I think that makes this less mommybloggish.

Anyway, poor little Gwennie didn't make it past her first word, which was 'yacht'. I was just glad she wasn't the first one out. But she was piiiiiissed off. It was hilarious in a sad little way. Before the spelling bee, the teacher said the kids who misspelled their words were supposed to sit on the stairs until the round was over and then they could go to their parents if they wanted. Gwennie paid no heed and marched off the stairs straight to me with a scowl on her face that nearly made her eyes disappear. I gave her a hug and told her it was okay and that 'yacht' was a pretty hard word that most of the other kids probably couldn't spell either. "Yeah," she grumbled bitterly. "It's not like it was "cotton," which was a word that got one of the other kids to round 2.

I let her send text messages to her father and her aunt and the sting abated. The winner and the runner up got trophies, and all the kids got certificates, which made her a little happier. She likes certificates.

Anyway, I'm off to do mommy things. Catch y'all later.

Chicago Ascendant (God Help Us All)

2009-01-20T11:15:00.002-06:00

So I'm right smack dab in the middle of exercising my right not to be forced to watch that shyster's inauguration.

I'm so pissed off, I could violate someone.

I am paying for classes in order to learn. I am not paying to watch some ridiculous hack and his swarm of inebriates pretend they are something more than politics at its worst.

Fuck Obama, fuck the media, and fuck his slavering minions and useful idiots.

Queen of the Double Wide

2009-01-19T18:18:00.002-06:00

Jethro and I heard a rumor of a 5 bedroom trailer on 1+ acres in a pretty little town 30 minutes from the clinic that the owner is trying to unload for around 20 thousand.

We went to look at it on Saturday, and it wasn't horrific. It needs a lot of work, but it's mostly cosmetic - clearing out junk, repairing sheetrock, painting, cleaning.... those kinds of things. I have to say it's hard to sniff at a home and an acre for less than a new car. We shall see what we shall see. I like the country. And I want to raise rabbits.

Note To Self:

2009-01-16T08:39:00.003-06:00

I really must remember that men's pajama pants shouldn't be worn in public and if they are, absolutely must not be worn sans undergarments. I'm getting funny looks when I flip the switch at bad drivers. I think I'm sending mixed signals.

To Be Or Not To Be

2009-01-14T16:10:00.004-06:00

I'm having trouble deciding whether to be a dick or not. I checked out a book from the library at my school and I kept it way too long. I just didn't have the time to return it or even renew it. Now they want to charge me a humongous fine - more than the book is even worth - and I don't want to pay it. I know what it says in the student handbook and all that, but I consider most things in life to be negotiable. I didn't have a problem paying the fine for it being overdue, which I actually did. The library didn't have change when I went to return the book and pay up, so I have a credit on my account. The problem is that the librarian says I owed far more (and technically I probably do) and only wants to refund me a few pennies.

What it really boils down to is that I'm irked that I keep getting emails telling me what a jerk I am for not having returned the book in a timely fashion even though the library still owes me money. Now I just want to be a dick and get back more money. For fun.

Oh, and I'm sick. I have a cold and the shivers. And I mistakenly referred to the movie "Top Gun" today as "Spaceballs" which was funny and not entirely inappropriate, but I didn't catch it until Jethro had stared at me quizzically for almost a full minute. I'm a little off.

Very Nearly Bits 'n' Pieces

2009-01-09T09:51:00.001-06:00

I've had lots of little stories swirling around, but they've been driven out of my mind by a visit from Jethro's parents yesterday. His sister told us his mom has developed osteoporosis, and when I saw her she looked so frail and weak that I got extremely frightened. She hasn't looked great for the past year, but it was always late at night when we'd see her and I thought she was just tired from work. She works relentlessly. But yesterday she looked worse then when I'd seen her at night. She's had some testing done, but Jethro wants them to do more and the trick is getting his parents and their doctor (who has known Jethro since childhood) to take him seriously. He thinks her bone loss is happening too fast for it to be just regular osteoporosis and what he says makes sense. But the old folks, which includes his mom's doctor, think he's just a youngster. Perhaps if we frame it as "teaching the young upstart a lesson" we can get them to order the necessary tests.

And I'm sure it didn't help her when she saw Gwennie take a header from her bike yesterday. I know it didn't do anything good for me. Gwen was showing off and riding much faster than she should have been. I'm not sure exactly what happened but I think she braked with the hand brakes which only stopped the front wheel, which meant that she (and the back wheel) went ass over tea kettle (in a whirling frenzy of madly gyrating bony little knees and elbows) - in midair - right over the front wheel. She landed headfirst, somersaulted, and skidded a little on her back. From a more detached point of view, it was one of the most spectacular bike crashes I've ever seen.

I've always secretly thought that bike helmets were kind of stupid and why couldn't kids just be kids the way I was a kid, but that hasn't stopped me from religiously making sure that Gwennie and Emma wear them. Maybe maternal instinct won out. Or maybe, deep down, I just know that Gwennie isn't a kid the way I or anyone else was a kid and that she needs the extra protection. I don't even want to speculate what kind of kid she might have been if she hadn't been wearing her helmet. I heard the sound it made when it hit the concrete.

Anyway, she got a pretty decent scrape on her back and some little ones on her elbows and I think there was a little one on her nose, but that's it. She was really really lucky. And my heart has returned to it's usual verge-of-heart-attack state.

The Billboard Campaign

2009-01-02T16:08:00.010-06:00

Not that anyone should care in the slightest, but I did promise, so here it is:

In order to produce these poorly drawn images, I had to scour more porn than could be imagined by even the most debased sex offender. Type in "hot guy abs" in google image finder without the safety filter and you will be led to the most astoundingly objectionable websites that could ever be conceived. I even found a naked Santa, and used him gleefully and shamelessly. The Horror.

The only thing I'm proud of is the fact that I turned it in on time, no thanks to my retarded classmates. One of them was a misogynist (and that word is really too big to describe him) who was disgruntled that a female was supposed to direct the project. He wouldn't do anything I asked of him outside of class, he completely ditched one class without calling me or the other guy, and then had the nerve to tell me to calm down and not take it out on him the day the project was due. I was so livid at that, I actually lost my power of speech. I did not give him any credit in the summary of the project.

The other guy was nice, but didn't really know how to use the programs very well, so the amount that he could help was limited. At least he showed up to every class, though. And he did help me mount the projects in the school which we weren't supposed to do, because using spray mount inside closed spaces does something to asthmatics or something.

Normally I wouldn't have violated the rules like that, but we had 10 minutes to complete the project, and those two imbeciles were running around the school looking for a glue stick. I led them to the stairwell, which no one ever uses. Useless-Idiot-Sexist said, "Oh heeeeeeelllllll, no" and turned around. I said, "Oh for Christ's sake, I will take full responsibility." The other one hopped from one foot to the other like Nervous Nelly the whole time, but at least he stuck around. And no one ever knew.

2008-12-29T18:29:00.005-06:00

When I shortly reveal my holiday schedule, you will forgive me for not posting sooner. I've been like Rip Van Winkle since 9am on Christmas day. But hopefully my narcolepsy will be forgiven eventually.

The one nice thing about being so busy is that I haven't had time to read about politics. But then I come across this article and realize that it's because no one is writing about politics.

I'll leave you with my comment to the intrepid Mr. Colvin, which I am quite sure will not be published in the interest of keeping the public's right to worship intact.

Sweet Weeping Willow. Could Mr. Colvin raise his loins any higher in the direction of Obama's face?

This is bad for a high school girl, but for a professional journalist? I'm cringing for him.

If he wants to write about a bad-ass whom he could never hope to be, he should write about a marine, not this ivory-towered poseur with less street cred than Barry Goldwater.

Hope Everyone Had A Great Holiday. Will Post More Upon Return From Houston.

2008-12-27T14:32:00.001-06:00

Make No Mistake. They're Trying To Take Over The World.

2008-12-21T10:22:00.002-06:00

Chappy Chanukah!

Bustin' Out All Over

2008-12-13T15:18:00.001-06:00

To make up for my lack of posting, I have here a photograph of my sisters and I at our other sister's wedding. It was the end of a long night.

2008-12-12T17:16:00.001-06:00

I'd love to post something. I really would. But I'm drowning in ass. I explain later.

School Daze

2008-12-05T10:41:00.002-06:00

I really do get caught up in my work at school, so sometimes I forget just who I'm going to school with.

One of my classmates, oh, I'll call him Hector, wandered into class the other day, an hour late, completely disheveled, and walking very slowly. He asked if the instructor was around. Someone said he stepped out for awhile. Hector just stood there and finally someone asked him if he was sick.

"Naw, man," said Hector looking pale.

"You don't look too good."

"I spent the weekend in the hospital," said the rumpled Hector.

"Did you have surgery?"

"Naw, man," said the increasingly vacant Hector.

"So WHAT HAPPENED?" The classmate's curiosity finally getting the better of him.

"Oh, I got stabbed, man," said Hector returning to Earth briefly.

"How the hell did you get stabbed?" asked the curious classmate.

"I was hanging out with this girl and her ex-boyfriend came over. You know how shit like that goes down."

Now I don't know about any of you, but I really don't know how shit like that goes down. No human being on earth seems worth the stabbing or the receiving of the stabbing. However, 3/4 of my classmates were nodding their heads sagely.

And then that evening, I was talking with my group for the Starbuck's project, prattling on about various ideas. Finally, I stopped and asked if anyone else had something to say.

I was stared at blankly for a few seconds, and one of them says, "Well, what I think we need to do is find a way to sell the product."

The other one offered his girlfriend up as a prop - a sexy prop - for the photo shoots.

Tears came into my eyes momentarily and I'm still not sure whether it was from mirth or frustration.

I'm doomed.

Appeal to Cleverness

2008-12-02T14:03:00.003-06:00

For one of my classes, I have to do an ad campaign for Starbucks. We're supposed to do 3 magazine ads, 3 billboards, and 1 direct mail piece. This is a group project and the two guys I'm paired with can draw very nicely, but are idiots. I hate putting it so bluntly, but there isn't time to be nice. Anyway, I've been put in charge of the group, which means my grade will be affected more if it turns out crappy. And this has me very, very worried. I don't foresee being able to brainstorm with my group members, so I'm resorting to my good friends in the Blogland.

My instructor really likes sexy (bordering on risque)/funny, which is good because that amuses me too. But Starbucks, to me, is neither sexy nor funny. To me, Starbucks is expensive and pretentious - two nearly unforgivable qualities for advertising. Plus, they don't really have any previous ad campaigns to work from, except some deadly serious tv commercials.

So I need a clever theme that I can carry through 7 different ads. It doesn't have to be sexy, just clever. Starbucks is desperately in need of some kind of retooling with people spending less on things like overpriced coffee, so maybe there's a crack in the door there.

Any ideas would be most humbly and gratefully accepted. The best I can do by way of reward, is post the final project and write your name in blazing color on my blog.

I Feel Rather As If The Turkey Stuffed Me.

2008-11-30T22:25:00.003-06:00

Ok, Trash, ok.

So all my best laid plans were for naught. I meant to give Douchebag his note back on Wednesday, but my class got our early and I wanted to get home, so I kept the note in my pocket and decided to give it to him when I got back from Houston. Alas, and to make a long story short, I washed the jeans with the note in the pocket and it is now but a soggy, shredded memory.

So now it's on to plan B which is to ignore completely. I can do. And if he brings it up again, I'm going to point at his crotch, snicker, and say "I don't think so, jefe."

Problem solved. Except that I might get my tongue cut out in the parking lot.

Thanksgiving went off with only one major psychotic episode involving the use of my grandfather's car, which is probably a record. One good thing about having a million sisters is that one, tiny lesbian girlfriend goes virtually unnoticed. She's a quiet little thing and just for that I like her. Probably better than most of my sisters.

Anyway, there is more, but it isn't very interesting and I have major shit due tomorrow, so I will say adieu for now.

2008-11-25T16:06:00.003-06:00

Okay. I'm going with Tater's suggestion. I'm going to write something brief as in "no, and please don't bring this up again. Ever." on it and give it to him. That way I've given everything back to him and he knows there is no question lingering. I get what people are saying about ignoring him completely, but it isn't a large school, I will definitely have him in other classes, and he would be very difficult to avoid. Also he was a little too persistent to ignore and I really want to avoid any further conversation. It was intensely embarrassing.

I just love blogging. You gain access to such clear thinkers, even if you do have to wade through mounds of troll droppings sometimes.

So enough of that.

What is everyone doing for the holidays? We are going to my mom's house and my "lesbian" sister is bringing her "girlfriend" whom she will be introducing as her "roommate."

*whine* I don't waaanna go home!!! I wanna stay in New Town with my sexy American boyfriend and make my own stuffing and cranberry sauce and turkey. */whine*

Anyway, I am going to finish my logo projects and post them when I'm done. I'm doing one for the Ice Hotel in Scandinavia, which is the coolest thing ever. I can't wait to show off that one.

The Heart Letter

2008-11-24T21:18:00.005-06:00

Men are so frickin' weird. I really think they would molest a wasps' nest covered in broken glass and lemon slices if it looked like it had boobs.

Here's a letter I got from one of my classmates. After coming on to me repeatedly tonight in spite of my gentle, yet consistent negativity, he followed me out of class as I was leaving and gave me this note (spelling and grammar all his):

Zelda,

Hey thanks for talking to me . Just to let you know I wouldn't want to cross no lines

But maybe a little flirtation. I've always found you attractive and I know you situation.

But if you ever become Free let me know. Hope we can talk as friends and just a little Flirting wouldn't Hurt.

well you can answer me back or throw this away. well my email is ---------@-----.com

ok.

I think you are sweet, too Very sexy & Hot. your man is lucky.

Mmmm. Honestly I would love to Be with you. I don't think you can Image what I'm thinking :-) well talk to you later.

Classmate

P.S. Would I Have a chance?

And he put a heart around the word 'love'.

I told Jethro because we promised to tell each other shit like this, and I gave him the letter. Then I ran away and hid my head under the pillows in our room while he read it and laughed his ass off.

I'm not quite sure what to say. It goes against my nature to be harsh or cruel directly to someone's face or even in a letter back to them, mostly because I am rather pathetically grateful that anyone finds me attractive enough to write a cheesy letter to.

Anyway, I'm emailing him back tomorrow and here's what I have so far:

Classmate,

I read your letter and I would never consider the idea. If I wasn't clear about this at school, I'm very sorry and I'm glad for a chance to be direct. I am deeply in love with my husband and my relationship with him means everything in the world to me. There is no one on this earth that would make me put it in danger. You're a nice man, but I know you have a wife and children and I'm sure they need you the same as I need my husband, and my daughters need their father. I don't mind being friends and colleagues, but even a flirtation would be out of the question. I wish nothing but good for you, but there is no good that would ever come of what you suggest, for you or for me.

May God bless and keep you always.

Zelda

I think this is pretty unequivocal without being unnecessarily mean. I think mentioning God might help too. He has a habit of putting somewhat of a damper on sexual fantasy. Maybe it's a little cowardly, but sometimes God comes in handy.

Now I'm just wondering if it isn't too pious/arrogant/overly thoughtful a response to someone who just considers me a warm hole.

I guess I don't care. I'm spelling it out in no uncertain terms.

And I'm not just a warm hole.

Sometimes I get really frickin' cold.

Anyway, feedback would be appreciated, but it will have to be quick because I'm going to send it tomorrow.

Where I Discuss Vibrators and Design. And Capitalism.

2008-11-20T07:59:00.005-06:00

I finally managed to buy a new vibrator after the old one flamed out so grotesquely. I think it's telling and rather sad that I actually took note of the package design before I took note of the product. Learning about design makes you see things differently. I don't know if I like it. I was happy just being brainwashed like everyone else. And that sounds far more arrogant than I mean it.

But I refuse to look at what I'm doing as brainwashing. Yes, ultimately it's about trying to entice someone to buy a product. But there is no way for a superior product to go up against its old, established competition unless they have some good advertising. And that means pretty pictures. And that's the fun part. Really, the capitalism is a lot of fun.

Anyway, I'm swamped with procrastinating on my school projects and carting the kids everywhere. And the house really needs a thorough cleaning especially because Jethro bought me an i-phone for my Christmas present and he thinks that now entitles him to sex and a bed free from clothes, dinnerware and small animals (how can he want the sex and not the small animals?). Honestly, I don't know what he's thinking sometimes. I allow him to provide for me in a manner to which I have yet to become accustomed...isn't that enough?

So this will have to explain my lack of posting, but I did want to show you a logo I am working on. It's not quite done yet, I'm going to make the speed lines less uniform, fix the tail, put a little shadow under the back tire of the bike, and maybe put a little crash helmet on him, but I thought the idea was cute. Everyone in my class liked it. And most of them aren't completely short-bus.