Friday, December 31, 2004

Mohammed the Charitable

Is it any wonder why Muslims are so beloved throughout the world?

This is from Little Green Footballs who has it from Live Fatwa:

Name: Mary

Question: It is permissible for us, as Muslims, to
make du`aa’ for those human beings afflicted there even if those people include
Muslims and non-Muslims?

Answer: In the Name of Allah, Most Gracious, Most
All praise and thanks are due to Allah, and peace and blessings be
upon His Messenger.

Thank you.

There is no harm or prohibition to pray for those people who lost their
lives in that natural disaster. However, your beloved Muslim brothers and
sisters deserve more and more of prayers and du’aa’. They deserve your moral and
financial assistances. You should share their sorrow and difficult time and do
invoke Allah to accept them among the Shuhada’ or martyrs on the day of

Name: Hakim

Question: Can we give those afflicted people a portion
of our zakah money even if they are non-Muslims? How about giving them

Answer: In the Name of Allah, Most Gracious, Most
All praise and thanks are due to Allah, and peace and blessings be
upon His Messenger.

Thank you.

The receivers of Zakah money are clearly mentioned in the Qur’an. Among
them, the poor and needy people. Looking at the situation of those people who
are afflicted, one can conclude that the Muslims among them fall under the
category of needy people.
In this regard, those Muslims deserve to receive a
portion of Zakah. As for non-Muslims, they might deserve donation or any other
form of assistance but not Zakah.
Thus, Zakah should be given to poor and
needy Muslims. Some non-Muslims may receive a portion of Zakah if there is hope
that by giving them Zakah that might lead to their conversion into Islam. They
would be then considered under the category of mu’allafati qulubuhun or those
whose hearts are inclined to accept Islam.

Are you thirsty? Convert and I'll let you have a sip.

Wednesday, December 29, 2004

Non-Violence/Other Bits

I am not an overly violent person. Sure I can stand up for myself, but I'd prefer to be reasonable and courteous and I expect the same from other people.

So I have no reasonable explanation for the fact that everytime I see a picture of Justin Timberlake's face anywhere, I want to smash it with a brick.

And from the "Celebrity Idiot of the Week" file, I present: Ms. Anna Nicole Smith. Actually, she presents herself as utterly and completely unwell, as she attempts to present someone else whose name I couldn't make out, but whom I feel extremely sorry for.

And from the "Ordinary Idiot of the Week" files: This one might even make "Idiot of the Month."

Incidentally, one of the only thing worse than having "fag" carved into your forehead, is to have it carved backwards into your forehead. And the only thing worse than that is having to tell people that you did it yourself.

And finally, I think the phrase "people of color" may be on the way out. Is it just me or does it strike anyone else as a wordy way of saying "colored people?" I don't like it. Why, if we are supposed to be "color-blind" (I hate that word, but can't think of a better one), do we have to label non-whites? And every race is guilty of it. In my opinion, race identification should only be used when dealing with suspects in crimes to facilitate their capture, and we should all be properly ashamed of them, but only after they are convicted in a court of law.

(If anyone is offended, please tell me so that I may pour myself a celebratory pint).

Although it's slightly unrelated, I just want to state, for the record, that the day I refer to myself as a "European-American" is the day I will drink a bottle of wine, take a steam bath, and slit my wrists wide open.

Tuesday, December 28, 2004

The Professor

When I was at the more-intellectual-than-thou college in New Hampshire, I had a professor there named Dr. Arnault. He was awesome and I had a heart-wrenching, weak-kneed, school-girl crush on him despite his gray hair, beautiful wife, and seven children.

He was a tough grader of my papers, but a C with a compliment was worth more than an A from any other professor I have had before or since. And he was so cool. It's hard to explain his coolness, but I'll give it a shot. You know how when you are about 18 or 19, you tend not to have much of an intellectual sense of humor? Sure you can drink and laugh it up, but it was really hard (at least for me) to write anything amusing, and almost impossible to read anything amusing and get the joke. (Aside: I'm pretty sure I'm not alone in this.)

We were doing a class on William Faulkner whom I considered not funny at best, and horribly depressing at worst. It was hard for me as an 18 year old to see any humor at all in Faulkner. But when Dr. Arnault would read exerpts aloud in class he'd start chuckling at something then start laughing so hard he had to wipe his eyes. And suddenly, instead of depressing, Faulkner became 4 dimensional. So I credit Dr. Arnault pointing out the humor in literature (which I have always taken waaaaaaay too seriously).

One of my proudest moments came at lunch one day. A group of professors plopped themselves down at our table and asked us how we were enjoying The Great Gatsby which we were studying at the time. Everyone else started toadying up and saying how much they liked it and pointing out metaphors and all of the rest of the idiocy that comes when people try to prove their intelligence.

When I got a chance to speak up, I said it was alright, but I thought it was kind of overrated. I told them I hadn't read the book previously and it had always been built up to be this masterpiece, but upon reading it, it seemed a little dull.

I wasn't saying any of this to be different or to stand out. I rarely do things like that. I know it may not seem that way, but you'll just have to take my word for it. Anyway, it was my honest opinion. Dr. Arnault nodded his head and said something along the lines of, "I feel the same way. It's alright, but it's not the masterpiece it's cracked up to be."

For Dr. Arnault to agree with you was, among the students, the undisputed intellectual feather in one's cap - the holy grail, if you will. As long as enough people heard about it, it could cement your reputation as an intellectual contender, at least at that college.

I fully and freely admit that I was not and am not any kind of intellectual powerhouse. If I were to define myself in the intellectual sense, I would say that I was quirky with just enough edge to be mildly interesting. Not the stuff of genius exactly, but it's as much as I have a right to expect.

What I'm long-windedly boiling down to is that I'm not going to finish college. I could, but I won't. It is really depressing to me because I wish I could set a good example for the girls. But I won't go back to school on principle. It is too expensive, and any degree I'd get wouldn't amount to JACK SQUAT.

Sunday, December 26, 2004

Wouldn't Have Believed It If I Hadn't Seen It With My Own Eyes

In Houston, TX, we had snow on Christmas, 2004. Mark the day.

To most Northerners, this is not something to get excited over. To most Southerners, it's something major. But to a transplanted Yankee, who hasn't had a white Christmas since childhood, it is something that has the potential to bring tears to your eyes. Not that I would admit to it.

The snow is gone, but it's still in the 30s which is bitterly cold for Houston.

We went to my parents ranchette near Katy, TX and had a lovely time. I cooked, my sister cooked, and my Jewish grandmother, who likes to come down for Christmas just to torture my mom, made chopped liver. We drank lots of wine/Frangelico.

My little sisters decided to play Santa for the girls, and ended up scaring Emma so bad she wouldn't go to sleep. They got Gwen and Em into bed, then crept outside their window and one of them, in her deepest voice, said, "Ho Ho Ho, Merry Christmas!" Poor Emma. She didn't even cry or speak she was so frightened. She just ran out of the room and clung to me. I couldn't pry her off with a crowbar. I was pretty steamed. It set back my Christmas set-up by about 3 hours.

Jethro and I went to bed at about 3am on an air mattress we had set up in my step-dad's office. We had sex. It kept us sane. Besides, there is something so lovely and forbidden about doing-it in your parents' house (my parents' house at any rate).

This morning, poor Jethro was awakened by an eardrum shattering rendition of Joy to the World. The room we were sleeping in housed the speakers heard all over the house. They were right above his head. My stepdad turned on the stereo while everyone gathered to open presents, forgetting that Jethro was in the room sleeping. Poor man has been a little deaf all day, but that could be selective.

I bought the girls a ridiculous amount of presents, but their favorites seem to be these little barking dogs I bought them. Emma's is a chiuaua she calls "Pinga", and Gwennie's is a pink poodle she calls "Poodle".

Gwennie ripped through her gifts like a dynamo, her eyes bright and squealing with glee. Emma opened hers slowly, hugging each toy tightly before moving on to the next.

Gwennie had asked me for everything she had seen on TV this year. I spend most of my pre-Christmas thinking about what Gwennie would like. Her happiness makes the whole endeavor worthwhile, just because she's such a stinker when she's miserable.

Emma asked me for one thing. She saw a commercial for The Littlest Pet Shop and came up to me and asked in her wee little voice, "Mommy, can I have that puppy?"

I said yes and told her she could have a pony too. That kid can wrap me around her finger like no other.

All in all, it was a good day. Aside from a few tiffs with my ragingly bitchy sisters, it was quite pleasant. I hope everyone else had a wonderful holiday.

Friday, December 24, 2004

Merry Christmas Y'all

I have many relatives of different religions and non-religions. When I was very small, I grew tired of having to say so many different things around the holidays to different people, so I made up a farewell that included it all. I used it all year 'round.

Merry Christmas, Happy Channukah, Good Tidings, I love you, Bye-bye!

I think that may just cover it all.

Wednesday, December 22, 2004


We were right in the middle of marital relations when I blurted out, "NAIL IT, BABY!!!"

Does that strike anyone else as uncouth?

Tuesday, December 21, 2004

Day Two

I hauled a vomiting Jethro out of bed to meet the group Protest Warrior of which I proudly serve as the East Texas Chapter Leader. It is a pro-democracy and freedom advocacy group who fundamentally oppose the left-wing reactionaries. Really cool people. The boys were so hot and there were only a few other girls. If I were single....

Anyway, we all met for brunch and talked politics for about two hours. We were in heaven. Then we all met for paintball, and Jethro ascended to a higher plane. He's really good. Embarrassingly good. All of the others were newbies and Jethro is pretty aggressive. Fortunately it won him respect as opposed to resentment, but he now has 5 massive purple welts all over his body - 2 of which are perilously close to the "facilities."

The field was pretty cool. I would have loved to play, but I don't fancy getting hit anywhere on my precious person by a stinging paintball, so I stayed by the bonfire they had going.The day was beautiful and chilly, but the fire was warm. I sat there and relaxed. Emma fell asleep and Gwennie found a little boy to play with. I just sat there with my eyes closed and waited for Jethro to finish.

Then I said something So Incredibly Stupid.

A man had rolled up to the fire in a wheelchair. He was paralysed from the neck down. Being drowsy and a little hungover, I didn't notice that he couldn't move his hands. I asked him if he was going to play. He looked at me with the sympathy with which you would view a blind person, and politely said his paintball days were over. I contemplated throwing myself on the bonfire.

Night Two

I conned my sisters into staying with the kids again and Jeth and I, once again, headed for 6th. We were supposed to meet the Protest Warriors at a bar called The Gingerman. My sister works at the one in Houston.

It was a great place, and Jeth and I got there first and were able to snag a lounge section. We had just ordered all our beers and were settling in, when someone mentioned that there was an underage member roaming the streets looking for a place that would let him in. Not wanting to leave a fellow member out in the cold, we all left the nice cozy Gingerman for a ghastly dance club that would allow him entrance. I considered calling Trashman to see if he wanted to meet us for a drink, but then I thought how shitty it would be if he left his wife with a sick kid on their honeymoon.

The dance club was amusing. I used to be so intimidated by clubs when I was 18. Now, they bore me to tears. I did get hit on though. That was cool. I had just consumed my 4th or 5th long island iced tea when a guy slid up to me and asked if I was here with anyone. My speech was pretty slurred by this time, so I jerked my thumb towards Jethro and kept drinking. Jethro asked what was up and I said, "He wanted to know if I was here with anyone." The look on the poor guy's face was terrible - a combination of sincerity and fear.

Jethro said, "Were you hitting on my wife?"

The guy said, "No, I wasn't."

Jethro laughed and said, "It's cool."

The guy said, "Thank you."

I chuckled evilly into my long island iced tea.

Yeah. I know. We left the club shortly after.

The last thing I remember is grabbing what I sincerely thought was Jethro's arm. It turned out not to be and I realized that I was fondling the bare arm of Someone Else who, surprisingly didn't pull away. The second I realized it, Jethro grabbed my arm and led me to the bar to pay. I was pretty embarrassed and never got to explain myself to the young man whose arm I'd slobbered over. Nice way for the East Texas Chapter Leader to behave.

We got home, and it was my turn to vomit. We left the next day. I thought I was going to float away on wave after wave of nausea. But I didn't and we're here, and I'm blogging all about the fun we had. I think I want us to move there.

Monday, December 20, 2004


We left 6 hours later than we had planned, but Jeth and I are easygoing people so we had only reached Bitter Divorce stage as we pulled out of the driveway.

Once on the road, the tension dissippated somewhat. I tried to call my sister in Austin, but I ended up calling Trashman by accident. I'll try to explain the mistake, but I may fail. I don't have my sisters' #s programmed into my phone, but they had been calling me so I hit the list of recent calls so I could get in touch with one of them. I don't have their numbers memorized, so I called the first number with the correct area code. Apparently, Trashman had called and I didn't pick up my phone since I was too busy slamming my head into a shelf in my haste to get out of there. If I had known it was Trash's number, I would have called it sooner. I know I sound like a flake as I write this, so I can only imagine how I sounded to Trashman when I called him asking for my sisters.

I probably sounded even more flaky when I squealed like a gay man at a Justin Timberlake concert after discovering that I was talking to Trashman (after he told me that I had the wrong number and then called me back). I found out his real first name, and he found out Jethro's. I know I'd feel weird calling him 'Trashman' if I ever met him in real life, but I can't possibly think of him as his real name.

Anyway, he told me that he was trying to talk Jack into meeting us too, which, for some reason, instantly made me wish I'd stuck to my diet and lost 10 lbs.

We chatted a bit about how there was a possibility that we knew more about each other than actual live friends did, and then he told me he and Jen had gotten married. I felt so priveleged to hear about it firsthand, and once again offer my congratulations.

We made tentative plans to see the light show, but if you read his blog you'll know that it was not meant to be. Damn flu season.

Austin Night One

If you've never been to Austin and you like to travel, I suggest you put it at the top of your list. It's a small, quaint, bohemian city. Very artsy with a lovable weirdo on every street corner. It's hard to find your way around at first because the streets are referred to as two different names. By the way. Would someone please tell me how one is supposed to infer from a sign that says TX-1 that it is really Mopac? And while you're pondering that, please tell me how one is supposed to know that Research is really 183?

We finally made it to Austin. As prearranged, one of my sisters babysat and Jeth and I hit 6th street. We went to pub called BD Riley's. They had the best Texas Irish band I've ever heard. I know our family is Irish somewhere in the Euro-soup. My sister and I couldn't keep from jigging. Jethro thought we were nuts, but was so hypnotized by the jig my breasts were doing that he didn't say anything.

I ended up pretty well smashed and left, but Jethro stayed out with my sister who hooked him up with free Mojitos all night. I was pretty gone by the time I left, so I can only imagine how drunk Jethro was after drinking free Mojitos all night. When he got home, I was still kind of bombed. Things happened. Jethro will blog about it.

to be continued....

Friday, December 17, 2004

A Post with a Use

I'm writing this post because Jeth, the girls and I are going to Austin this weekend, and I didn't want to leave the post about masturbation up the whole time.

I can't wait for this trip. I have sisters who have agreed to babysit the girls for at least one of the nights we'll be there, so at some point I plan on being scrape-me-off-the-floor-and-pour-me-into-bed drunk. If we're very lucky, Trashman will utilize the cell phone number I courageously emailed him and we'll have the pleasure of a meeting in the flesh.

(Did that sound dirty?)

Jack can come too if he is not out busting the trollops for taking his picture.

Anyway, have a pleasant and safe weekend, and pray as always for little Savannah.

Wednesday, December 15, 2004


When Jethro and I were first dating, he was in his last year of college and living with three roommates. They were all a little strange, but Hung To was definitely the strangest. He was a little fellow, aged 19, but literally looked about 10 or 12. The mere sight of him behind a steering wheel was enough to scare the bejeezus out of you. He was Asian (of course) had lived in France for most of his life, but spoke English with the worst accent you have ever heard. I spent hours with him trying to help him say his L's and R's correctly, just for my own amusement. He could say them correctly, but he always, without fail, mixed them up. To this day, I can't figure out why they are mixed up so easily by Asian folks. He was so dyslexic about it that I finally told him just to reverse the letters in his head. Every time a word was spelled with an r, he was to think l and vice versa. This approach was marginally more successful.

I do digress, however.

Hung was a perverted little shit, but he worshipped Jethro with a devotion that can only be understood by small Asian men who have hero-worshipped taller Asian men with girlfriends who were putting out.

And all his hero worship didn't prevent him from trying to catch Jethro and I in the act. He was devoted to this mission. Jeth and I would close the door to the bedroom and lock it and hear the little "scritch scratches" of him trying to pick the lock. On one particularly disgusting occasion, we heard a zipper unzipping. Actually, that was pretty funny.

One night, Jethro and I were in the room, and we heard Hung outside the door.

"Make some moaning noises," said the intrepid hero.

"Oh God, oh God, right there, OOOOOO, oh Jethro, yes, yes......"

Jethro tiptoed to the door and flung it wide. Hung practically somersaulted into the room, grinning adoringly at Jethro with his little hand in his little pants.

Gross, but really funny especially in the retelling.

I paid him back though.

One afternoon, I was off of work and Hung and I were alone in the apartment. Pretty in Pink was on tv, so Hung and I watched it together.

Now if there is anything I took away from Pretty In Pink, it is that it was a totally innocuous movie. The plot was minimal, the characters shallow, and it was oh-so-dated. The last scene in the movie is a rather chaste kiss between Molly Ringwald and Andrew McCarthy. Nothing to write home about.

The movie ended, and Hung tore out of the room.

"Weird little fucker," I thought.

I headed down the hall to the bedroom, and there I saw. Hung had flung himself on his bed, and covered both himself and what appeared to be a hummingbird, with his blanket.

"What the....?"

The "hummingbird" was moving faster than I had ever seen one move. Hung's eyes were closed and there was a pained expression on his face.

He isn't. He COULDN'T BE. He IS. Oh geez.

"HUNG! What the hell are you doing?"

The hummingbird activity ceased abruptly. Hung sat straight up in bed.


"Well then shut the goddam door!"

Monday, December 13, 2004


#1. I took my eldest daughter to a birthday party the other day. It was at a pottery studio. All the kids got to pick out a piece of pottery, paint it, and have it glazed. Loads of fun. I stayed there with Gwennie the whole time, and we painted a butterfly box. We had to leave it there for a few days, and I was going to pick it up on Monday. I guess the party girl's parents picked it up for us, because Gwennie comes home Monday with the box. But it isn't the one we painted. This one was ugly. I know it shouldn't be that big a deal, but we had such a good time painting it together, that I'm really disappointed we don't have it. I suppose I could make a big cry baby out of myself and talk to the girl's mom, but I don't want to. I just hope Gwennie doesn't notice.

#2. I had a lady call me last Thursday to schedule an appointment to list her house with my stepdad. Fine. It was set for Friday at 1:00pm. She calls 10 minutes prior, and cancels. Not so fine. She calls me 10 minutes ago, and says that the realtor she had called first had finally gotten back to her and she was going to use them instead. Not fine at all. She took 5 minutes of my life to tell me that she was going to use some loser realtor who didn't even have the common courtesy to return her call promptly. ARRRRGGGHHHH.

#3. Gwennie's school rainy day dismissal is chaos, bordering on panic. I sloshed all over the outside of the school in the pouring rain looking for my daughter. Even with the umbrella, we were soaked. When we finally made it back to the car, we found a little girl crying in the pouring rain. She had walked across the street by herself to look for her mom. I asked her if she was lost and she said, "No, my mom is."

I laughed and told her we'd find her. I walked her and both my kids back across the street in the pouring rain to look for the kid's mother. When I go to cross the driveway of the school, the teacher who monitors traffic screamed through her bullhorn that we had to use the crosswalk. I'm not lying when I tell you that the crosswalk was less than a foot away from where we were crossing. "You've got to be kidding!" I screamed back.


No good deed goes unpunished.

I've never come so close to giving a teacher the finger.

We moved over a few inches and crossed at the crosswalk. As we walked inside the school, the girl saw her mother talking to another lady about some nonsensical social function. "Mommy!" yelled the little girl. The mom absently put her hand on the little girl's head and continued with her conversation. No acknowledgement whatsoever. Her first grader was literally wandering the street by herself in the rain, with no protection. A stranger had to help her, and the stupid cow didn't have the common courtesy to even acknowledge the situation. Hanging's too good for some people.

#4. Seven, after reading my blog and not seeing my picture, cast his vision of me as this: Medium brown hair, tallish, medium build. Voice=bold and brassy, almost bossy, but pleasant.

If I were to take the description literally, it means I'm completely nondescript except when I open my mouth to boss people around, possibly in a maternal way. Not exactly flattering.

If I were to take this description figuratively (which I'm very much afraid it is), I'm visualized as a 300 lb, bossy bar wench, screaming obscenities and tossing beer. Pleasant, maybe if a mob has held me down long enough to give me an elephant tranquilizer.

I don't hold any of this against Seven who can't help what my writing conjurs up in his mind, but DAMN! EGO KILL. It's my writing. I swear too much. Maybe I should brag more instead. Or talk about how I get hit on by men of the Latino persuasion on a regular basis. Nah. Jeth would start practicing his Tae Kwon Do and cleaning his gun, and I see him little enough as it is.

3 more days 'til sweet liberation (Jethro's exams will be over).

Sunday, December 12, 2004

The Mermaid

OK, I love folk music. Not the hippie tambourine junk, but the folk trios/quartets from the late 50s early sixties. The Limeliters are my favorite. I know. It's probably a gayer genre than the hippie crap. But I like it. It's innocent and comforting. Here's a sample:

Read it through, it's funny. Promise.

When I was a lad in a fishing town
My old man said to me,
"You can live a life, such a jolly life
Sailing on the sea."
You can search the world for pretty girls
'Til your eyes are weak and dim,
But don't go swimming with the Mermaids, Son
If you don't know how to swim.

For their hair is green as seaweed,
And their eyes are pale and blue,
But I'll tell you now before you start,
You may love that girl with all your heart,
You're just gonna love the upper part.
You're not gonna love the tail.

So I signed on to a whaling ship
And my very first day at sea
I seen a mermaid in the waves,
Smiling up at me.
"Come live with me in the sea," said she
"Down on the Ocean floor.
I'll show you a thousand wondrous things
You never seen before."

So in I jumped and she pulled me down
Down to a seaweed bed.
A pillow she made of a tortoise shell
And placed beneath my head.
She served me shrimps and caviar
Upon a silver dish.
She was just my taste right down to the waist
But the rest of her was FISH!

Oh her hair was green as seaweed
And her eyes were pale and blue.
And her face it was a work of art,
But I only gave her half my heart
For though I loved the upper part,
I could not love the TAIL!

So into the tide, I sat and cried
And sang to the clams and whales,
"How I loved her eyes and her seaweed hair,
All but her silvery scales."
Just then her sister swam on by
And set my heart a-whirl!
For her upper part was an ugly fish
But the rest of her was GIRL!

Her toes were round and rosy,
And her knees were thin and pale.
Her legs they were a work of art,
And I loved that girl with all my heart.
I didn't give a damn about the upper part
And that's how I end my tale!

Friday, December 10, 2004

...And So the World Turns

Hooray for Savannah!!! God bless her and may she make a full and speedy recovery. It's funny how blogworld can give you such a giddy high. I can't wait for pictures of her running around, as healthy as a little horse.

I ask also for prayers/good thoughts tonight for my best friend, Kristy's, niece and the granddaughter of my godmother. She's a beautiful 17 years old, and had just started college on a full scholarship this year, when she was diagnosed with spinal cancer. It is inoperable and chemotherapy is her only option.

From a personal perspective, I've known her since she was born. I know her family and this is extremely devastating. The family has suffered tremendous tragedy in the past, losing several friends in car accidents, a father/grandfather to a heart attack, a brother/uncle to an asthma attack at 29, a niece/cousin who died from liver failure last year at 26, and an uncle/brother-in-law who was found dead just a few months ago from what they believe was a heart attack. He was 35. This is just one more terrible thing on their already overflowing plate. Even though she would never say it, I sense from talking to Kristy, that the family is very stressed and worn down by seemingly endless suffering. They are a really special family - as kind and generous and good-hearted as you could ever hope to meet. Please ask God to be with them and give them the strength and courage to see this through.

I was going to write more, but I'm kind of upset right now. My godmother has been through such hell, and I can't stand to think of her having to suffer this pain. I'd give up my right arm if no one in their family would ever die again before the age of 75.

I know this will sound morbid, but Kristy and I used to jokingly compete as to who'd had more deaths in their family. Keep in mind we were dumb teenagers at the time. It was just black humor and a way of coping. But there's no humor when it just doesn't end.

So please keep Rebecca in your thoughts and prayers.

Wednesday, December 08, 2004

Operation Nekkid and Available

Aside from one quickie, Operation Nekkid and Available has largely been an unnecessary mission. Stress from work and school has rendered it practically undoable. Damn shame. I was looking forward to it.

Note: Operation Nekkid and Available is the name I have coined for the stress reducing mission during the last two weeks of Jethro's schooling sessions. Basically it entails compulsive sex and very little conversation.

If my sex life is the reason why you read this blog, look for satisfaction on December 17th, 2004.

Gentlemen, I give you fair warning:

I've been to many gynecologists in my life. No particular reason, I've just moved around a lot. I have come to the personal conclusion that men are better at it than women.

Now, I've heard arguments from both sides of the equation. Some say women are better because they actually possess a twat, and can empathize. I say that women are worse for precisely the same reason.

For example, when you're scratching someone's back, you instinctively scratch where it itches on your own back.

Lady gynecologists, in my opinion, have their own lady parts in mind when they are probing yours, and with all things being equal but different, it may not be the most comfortable proposition.

When all is said and done though, I like visiting the gynecologist if for no other reason that to know that everything is OK with that most sensitive and tempermental part of my anatomy.

God, those things are high maintenance.

On the Totally Disturbing front:

Someone found my blog by searching for "Black Republican Slut"

I think, perhaps, someone is not a Condi Rice fan.

Tuesday, December 07, 2004


I've stayed away from politics for awhile, but I've been reading some blogs where commenters have complained that the blue states are subsidizing the red states. I wanted to address this because logically, it is not a well-thought out gripe.

Is it true? In short, yes.

Whose fault is it? Liberals and the residents of the blue states who vote for them. Democrats, empowered largely by the urban populations of the blue states, saw fit to tax them into subsidizing the farmers and the highways and byways of the red states. The red states didn't vote for the Dems, the blue states did. So it's their own fault.

I wonder if Bush repealed the tax cuts of every blue stater, would he start winning them over? As I see it, blue staters aren't happy unless they are being thoroughly, fiscally abused by their government.

If you can believe it, I'm actually bored with politics.

New Topic I won't give them a link, but they're easy enough to find.

Fucking yikes.

I mostly laugh at it because as far as I'm concerned, mail order brides will only help to seperate the wheat from the chaff, as far as men go. I think it's kind of funny how many mail order brides end up realizing what losers they're married to and get the good old American divorce post haste. Women will always be women, and there is only one thing that ensures our power over men. We can say all the pretty, intelligent things we want, but it isn't our minds (...and Zelda chuckles evilly, maniacally, and at great length).

However, floating in the cesspool of bitterness, resentment and sexual frustration, there were a few turds of truth.

"Traditional marriage balances different privileges and obligations for men and women.

Traditional Western culture balanced special privileges for women with special obligations, and the same for men.

Equality states that no one get special privileges, and that responsibilities and rights should be equally shared.

Either system is balanced and fair.

The problem with modern Western culture is that many women want only the positives from both systems:

They want special privileges from the traditional system (men paying, being "gentlemen" by using special deferential manners and language to women, being the main breadwinner, etc) but not the old-fashioned obligations (being modest and ladylike, being a housewife, etc).

They want the positives of equality (rights, equal access to work and education, etc) without the responsibilities (paying your own way financially a full 50% for life, taking risks with no safety net, and taking your lumps without complaint like men do...not expecting to be protected or sheltered from harsh reality, etc)."

I rearranged some of the paragraphs for the sake of clarity, but the words are all theirs.

This whole article frightened me somewhat. I see my some of my friends behaving in this way, and I get all uppity about it, but then I always start to assess my own marriage just to make sure I'm not being a big fucking hypocrite. I'm kind of a stickler for fairness. I don't want to take advantage of anyone, yet I'm not exactly an equalist when it comes to my marriage. I wouldn't call myself a traditionalist either. I think I'll start off by being totally honest. Good things first:

1. I never deny sex to get my way.

2. Money has never been my first focus, or even a terribly high priority.

3. I don't just love Jethro, I genuinely like him.

4. I'd never want a nanny.

5. I'm reasonably intelligent, a decent conversationalist, and mildly amusing when I'm not being totally inappropriate.

Bad Things:

1. I am a terrible housekeeper.

2. I have no ambition.

3. I have sex sometimes in the hope that it will get me my way. Actually, if I were to be totally accurate, I would have to say that I try to use the sex that I've already had to get my way.

4. I get distracted easily. This accounts for both #s 1 and 5.

5. I am a terrible housekeeper. And I hope Jethro makes enough money someday that we can afford a housekeeper a couple of days a week.

There. My best and worst marital qualities.

I have to say in my own defense, I would rather spend time with Jeth and the kids than do housework. It's never done, and if I were to spend all my time taking care of it, I'd never have another conversation, or play another song, or eat another piece of pizza, which has, incidentally, ruined my diet. I'm going to be mythical if I don't quit eating so much.

Where was I?

Oh yeah. Actually, I'm pretty much through. It's been cathartic. Yet somehow, I think it was dangerous to start with the red state, blue state shit and then post bad things about myself. I'm asking for trouble. Oh well. Trouble and I have long been aquaintences. I'm trying to phase him out, but he's quite persistent.

I could ramble on for hours, but I'm going to pack it in. I have to wake up early to give the little 'uns a bath. The youngest has wet the bed and I am faced with the moral and ethical dilemma of either waking them up in the middle of the night to bathe them and change the sheets ensuring a most unpleasant time trying to rouse them on the morrow, or letting them sleep in pee pee and bathe them in the morning. Tough call. I know.

Friday, December 03, 2004

Gwennie and Emma Funnies

That rap music has really filtered too far down the school ladder. Gwennie asked Jethro the other day, "Daddy, what does 'rhyming' mean?"

Jethro said, "It's when two words sound alike."

She said, "Like 'ho' rhymes with 'toe'?"

"Where did you hear those words?"

"And 'yo' rhymes with 'ho'? "

Gulp? I have no idea where she heard that. Jeth and I don't listen to a whole lot of hip hop. And the stuff we do listen to isn't exactly filled with yo's and ho's. I'm not upset about it because she said 'ho,' but I'm kind of concerned that I have no idea where she heard it. Maybe she was just picking random words. I just hope she doesn't figure out what rhymes with 'pink', 'tigger', 'flick', 'speedo', or 'light revel'. She can already swear like a professional.

Now that I've (hopefully) offended everyone at least somewhat equally.....

Emma was changing her clothes yesterday. Right in the middle of the process, she ran up to me and said, IIIIIIIIIIIIIII'M NAKED! I guess you had to be there, but it was really cute. She has been staying home with me lately, and I've enjoyed having her around. The older one is wildly entertaining, but she's very demanding. Emma is way more easy-going.

New Topic


While looking at porn
Jethro caught me and queried,
"Are you having fun?"

Thursday, December 02, 2004

If You Missed It.....

...too bad. It means you need to come read my blog more often. I think something is wrong with the cool comments. The comments and audioblogger, apparently in a conspiracy to frustrate me to levels unseen since the presidential election, have decided to thwart my blog and render it incapacitated while both are active.

Refer to comments for a description of what was missed.

The Sound And The Fury

This is why I am up at 3am. Somehow, he never saves the best ones for when I'm trying to record proof of the sound. But I have been known to kick him in my fury.

Most of the time I am left staring off into space like a madwoman with wide, dry, bloodshot eyes, hoping against futile hope that cessation of all sound will not mean the death by asphyxiation of my dearest love.

Monday, November 29, 2004

The Bottoms Of My Feet Are Bruised.

Jethro has a foot fetish and likes to beat them with wire hangers. Just kidding. The real reason my feet are bruised is because I seem to have a hundred appliance cords on the ground. I left the vacuum plugged in, and the girls had covered the cord with a blanket. I walked on all of it. I kept trying to escape it, but everywhere I stepped, there was more. I did the same thing in the garage. An extension cord was covered by, what else, laundry. So both of my feet are bruised on the bottoms. It isn't terribly unpleasant, but it is a strange sensation.

Show & Tell

Gwendolyn had Show and Tell at her school today. She brought these two funny little dolls. I coached her in what to say, and when she got home I asked her what she said. It wasn't exactly what I taught her, but I'll repeat it here.

Gwennie: "These are my two dolls, Lola and Secret Friend. Ong Noi [grandpa in Vietnamese] gave them to me and my sister. If I lose them I won't be able to play with them ever again. Lola has a purse and Secret Friend has a tummy shirt. I don't like tummy shirts. Their legs are bendy and I can cross them like this [bends their legs]. Me and Emma don't fight [over them]anymore 'cause otherwise, my mommy said she will throw them in the garbage."

I thought it was kind of funny.


My diet isn't going so well. I have figured out that I overeat when I get nervous or excited or anxious. I suppose I will have to get rid of everything in my house that I even remotely enjoy eating, and stock up on celery and alfalfa and cabbage. Joy. However, I really want this sexy-sexy garter/lingerie set for Christmas and I refuse to wear it if I look disgusting.

Sunday, November 28, 2004

I Trust Everyone Had A Nice Holiday

Mine was better than usual. I only fought with one sister, (Wraith) and she is basically certifiable. I gorged on food, and wine, then I happened to glance down at my thighs.

I don't normally contemplate my thighs, as they are my most offending feature. But I inadvertently did, and now I am paying the consequences in the form of a rigorous diet. The diet so far involves only eating half my weight in carbs and avoiding someone's ice-cream birthday cake. Oh yeah, and eating a chef salad while staring longingly at Jethro's plate of all-you-can-eat fried catfish.

The Hell You Say

I went to the mall the day after Thanksgiving. I know. What the hell was I thinking? Well, I'll tell you. The day before Thanksgiving, I had to pick up a few warm clothes for Gwennie and Emma. A cold front came through, and in a city which never gets below 75 degrees, winter clothes can be a little hard to come by. I went to the local mall, and was informed by the salesgirl that they were having a massive sale on Friday from 7am to 10am. She also mentioned that the mall would be open at 5am because the toy store was going out of business and they had discounted everything.

Now, being half-Jewish and half-Scottish/Euro-mutt, it only stands to reason that I would be rather tempted. The day after Thanksgiving dawned cold but humid. Really disgusting. I kissed the slumbering Jethro, and headed out the door at about 7 am. There was no way I could move myself before that.

I arrived at the mall, which didn't seem too crowded, and I headed off to the store where I had bought Gwen and Em's clothes. The sale was less than spectacular. It was pretty much ugly sweaters for 25% off. I was sorely disappointed and stalked off in a little bit of a snit. I figured the toy store would make the trip worthwhile. So fucking wrong.

I got to the toy store, which was bursting at the seams with humans and toys. I decided that at least 50% of the mall's inhabitants had squeezed their fat asses into a store roughly the size of my living room. I squeezed my own fat ass in just to see what the fuss was all about. Dear God Have Mercy On The Soul Of The Person Who Decided It Was A Good Idea To Entice Every Sweaty Ghetto Mom On The Southwest Side To A Non-Existent Toy Sale.

Being meticulous about spending money, I had researched the prices of toys on the internet. The store was naturally sold out of all the toys that the girls wanted, and nothing else was on sale enough to justify standing in a line that wrapped around the entire store twice over. There were signs of a riot when I oozed my way out of there.

I found a sale at a usually quite expensive store. They had marked their usual "so far out of my league I'd need a telescope to see them" prices to "just outside of the high end of my price range" prices. I bought a few things for the Eldest since she is in big school now. Baby still paints on her clothes, so she gets the scruffy hand-me-downs. Sorry kid.

Anyway, it was a day worthy of note in that I will never again be tempted to uphold the ridiculous tradition of getting porked by Capitalism the day after Thanksgiving.

Tuesday, November 23, 2004

It Doesn't Reek

Something is wrong with the new comments, so everyone will have to go back to the old blogger comments. Very sorry.

OK. Subject At Hand:

There is one other thing that bothers me greatly. Several bloggers have done this, and I hate pointing out typos, but it is 'wreak havoc', not 'reek havoc'. Wreak means to inflict, or cause. Reek means to smoke, steam, or fume, or to give off or become permeated with a strong unpleasant odor. I have never encountered a typo that has driven me so bonkers. Anyone who has done this can take consolation in the fact that I don't remember who you are. I just remember the typo.

I know, I know, I can't talk. I mix up your, you're, their, there, and they're (*cough* Tinyhands) on occasion when I'm really excited about something. But even though the typo is funny, it really does drive me crazy.

Anyone else have a typo that drives them nutso?

Monday, November 22, 2004

It must be something in the water, or it could probably be the sex, but babies are just popping up everywhere. Jay just found out he was so blessed, and two other couples we know are going to hear the pitter-patter sometime in July. Jay and Jazz and the Other Couple (Benton and Shauna of previous posts) are unmarried. Same as Jethro and me. Same as quite a few bloggers/bloggers' parents/etc.

Which leads me to my source of irritation. Self-righteousness.

They come from two kinds of people. The holier-than-thou religious types and the uber-liberal-only-the-condoms-of-morons-fail types. Their politics may differ, but their bitterness and narrow-mindedness are exactly the same. For the sake of this post, I'm going to lump them altogether and call them... let's see...what's sufficiently insulting... how about twats?Example of a religious twat's blog comment as left on one of Angi’s posts about her financial woes, and her husband's salty complaints about them.

"Sorry Angi but I’m a little shocked at all the bad language. I’ve been known to swear too if I’m really mad but I’m not “flippant” about it and would never post that kind of language to the world. Kinda disturbing if you ask me. Tommy seems really mad! And I would be too if I were him. Have you dealt with the reasons WHY you were wracking up all that debt? THAT’S the real issue…"

She added fuel to the fire after she was called on it:

"Sorry guys that you’re offended that I’d be shocked by Tommy’s post. I’ve really come to like and appreciate Angi but that doesn’t mean I have to agree with everything…I’m not exactly holier-than thou. I’ve just changed a lot since coming to the Lord in my twenties and I don’t expect the same kind of language and behaviors from Christians as I expect from those not professing any faith. That’s all."

At Jay's site, upon the announcement of impending fatherhood, he (and all the bloggers who were congratulating him) received this comment:

"Does ANYONE practice safe sex anymore? C'mon, this can't be all that big of a surprise. You take a gun out and start shooting, at only one target even, you're bound to hit it some time. I won't say congratulations until I know it's in order. I will say good luck."

I could write a whole diatribe about these comments being self-righteous, but my point is, they're fucking RUDE.

I mean, people, including myself, may have been a little premature in offering their congratulations on Jay's site, but not one of us had a malicious intention, or a wish for anything other than good for Jay. And none of us would have been such twats as to presume to lecture someone on the creation of their baby.

Honestly, what normal person says such things? It's like the second someone admits to a mistake or is caught off guard, there has to be someone there to pour lemon on the paper cut. These people come in all shapes and sizes and politics. I know they should be ignored, but I'd hate for them to get away with it without someone calling to their attention what ridiculous twats they're being.

And I'm spent.

Sunday, November 21, 2004


I am a nervous person - a worrier, if you will. I lay the blame for this squarely on my Hebraic heritage. My grandmother is the world champion. She's worried about everything from my ribs (which poked out when I was little because I was scrawny) being cancerous tumors (try that for keeping you awake nights!) to a second holocaust brought about squarely because my dad married a shiksa who was secretly in league with the Christian Gestapo to bring about the destruction of the entire Jewish race.

Now I love my grandmother dearly. And getting that chronic worrier to laugh is a mitzvah all on its own. When I can accomplish it, it is like the weight of the world is lifted from this poor woman's shoulders (and mine as well).

My fear of thunderstorms, however, has been passed down directly from my mother. Which brings me to my point.

(Quick Aside): I'm trying not to write about sex so much. I almost have a degree in classical literature, and here I am writing about mundane marital naughties. But sometimes it's just funny.

Anyway, Jeth and I were copulating this morning, in the middle of a thunderstorm. Normally, I could ignore the thunderstorm, but this one was a "thunder-popper." Bursts of white hot light and popping thunder at the same time. Very disconcerting. I have to wonder how it felt for Jethro when I jupmed out of my skins everytime one would go off. I am guessing at the very least, it wasn't too distracting.

Change of Subject:

I bought the girls' Christmas dresses yesterday. Oh-my-god. I made them try on several before we decided. Honestly, they look call-heaven-there's-an-angel-missing-want-to-eat-them-all-up cute. We spent too much on them, but they were at Foley's Red Apple Sale marked down from $72.00 to almost half that. I couldn't resist. I'll post a picture, and I challenge anyone to tell me they would have had the willpower to refuse. Incidentally, they were all sold out of Christmas dresses at the yuppie mall out where we live. We had to go deep into the ghetto to find these. Incidentally, I've always wondered why people make such a big deal about shopping in the ghetto. Nothing ever happens, you get to see interesting people who you normally don't see, and you find great deals. Sure, you get ripped off a little if you don't know Spanish, but it's nothing compared to how the nice, smiley, trendoids rip you off at Yuppie Mall

New, but Slightly Related Topic:

I want to take the girls to see The Polar Express at the IMAX. So much money and effort was put into this movie, it would be a real shame if it didn't do well. I know money doesn't necessarily buy quality, but (from what I've seen) in this case, I think it did.

The End

Friday, November 19, 2004

I Have a Question for Jack

I have a question for Jack, the police officer (if he happens upon this post). Is it impolite for an ordinary citizen to call a police officer a "cop" right in front of him? My car stalled out on the highway, and a police officer came and helped push me to a parking lot. I borrowed his phone to call Jethro and told Jethro that, "A cop had pushed me into the parking lot." It didn't occur to me until later that 'cop' is kind of slangy. I did thank him profusely and shook his hand, so I hope he won't think badly of me if I did, in fact, say something rude.

New Topic:

I took a page out of Tinyhands book and started clicking on next blog just to see what comes up. I hate to be judgemental, but most blogs do, in fact, suck. And it is good to point out that random is a terrible word to use in a blog title or description. I came across one that was titled something like Random Musings of Null Thoughts. Obviously you want people to read your null thoughts or you wouldn't be publishing them. You're just trying to beat people to the punch, and trust in their good manners not to be insulting.

No point to that, except that it makes me glad to have found this little niche of great bloggers. Although my ego gets crushed a little every time I read them. They make my marital anecdotes seem a little null.

New Topic:

Gwennie asked me this morning why mean Indians ate people. !? I asked who told her that. She said her teacher.

First of all, I don't believe for a second that her teacher said any such thing. But I'm dying to know what she heard that gave her that impression. It sounds like it may be amusing, and I'm nothing if not a connoisseur of humor. I'm wondering how I can frame the question to her teacher in a way that doesn't sound accusing.

New Topic:

I worked out my butt yesterday. It is rock solid. This is unusual because it is never rock solid. I honestly think it is the stiffest it has ever been. The weird part is that I don't know what I did to give my ass such a workout. I don't do much in the way of exercise. I guess it might have been the quickie, but I'm really not sure.

Thursday, November 18, 2004

Afternoon Delite

Today was extremely hectic. The girls had ballet. This always involves a whole lot of me running around like a chicken with my head cut off. I'm a very disorganized person. No, really. I am a lousy housewife. I swear.

Anyway, I had just taken a shower and was running around trying to dress myself and Emma at the same time, when Jethro burst through the door, scaring me witless.

I stood there, topless, like a deer caught in the headlights (actually that better applies to Jethro although he wasn't topless). Jeth just raised his eyebrows and said, "Hi babe."

"Uh...Hi. What are you doing home?"

Jeth didn't answer, he just gave me a kiss and slipped me the tongue. Hmmm.

I'll just say that I'm retracting my previous argument with Jeanette that you can get your pants off almost as fast as you can get a skirt up.

Tee hee hee.


I've always prided myself on the fact that I'm not terribly sentimental over pets. I mean they're animals. They have short life-spans, and their demise is just a matter of inevitability. Surely, you wouldn't want to go before your dog or cat?

But I forgot about Tot.

One time when I was about 5 or 6, my dad let a neighbor give me a kitten which I inexplicably named Buttercup. She was a pretty calico cat and I loved her. She grew quickly and became an excellent mouser. She was an outdoor cat and being such, we didn't bother to get her spayed. Quickly, she became a mother and a grandmother.

After a few years, a litter of kittens was born to Buttercup's daughter, Calico. They were the cutest kittens in the entire world. There were two almost identical ones which my sisters and I named Lumber and Mill in honor of our father's place of employment. There was another one we called Stubby. She was the cutest thing. She was chubby and hyper and she bounced when she ran. We adored her. Then there was the runt. He was the sweetest. He was so small and slow and frightened, with slightly deformed ears and feet. The other cats didn't pick on him, but he was always by himself. He quickly became the favorite. He didn't grow at all, but stayed tiny and helpless. We named him Tot, and we'd feed him and baby him and love him.

One day, as things like this always do, my sisters came running in, with tears pouring down their little faces, screaming, "Mom just ran over Tot!" We owned a big Suburban. She never knew, and Tot didn't have a prayer. I ran outside in what felt like slow-motion and saw the lifeless body of the little cat in our driveway. My sisters were sobbing and begging me to do something. I walked over to him and told them to go inside. My second-to-oldest sister got the rest of them inside and I got a shovel. I couldn't stand to see him just lying there, and I didn't want my mother to see. She loved Tot too, and she would have been devastated.

I scooped up his poor little body with the shovel and carried him to the hill behind our house, where he never got to run with his brothers and sisters, and buried him. I don't really remember how I handled it, but I remember my mom getting all teary when she found out. I was glad she didn't have to see him. I think I put on a brave face, but I definitely remember silently crying for him late at night when no one could hear.

It all seems so silly now. I mean, he was just a little cat, and he probably wouldn't have lived very long anyway with all of his health problems. It was probably more humane this way. But no matter what I tell myself, I still feel a pang of sorrow every time I think about it.

Wednesday, November 17, 2004

The Ears of a Snowman

When I dropped Emma off at daycare today, a little boy came running up to me with a snowman he had made out of blue and pink and green clay. It looked fine except for two lopsided, cone-like things sticking out of his head. I knew better than to ask, but I did anyway. He looked at me like I was mildly retarded and informed me that they were his ears. Dumb me. Incidentally, he and Emma are pretty tight. I think the "get" each other.

New Topic

I play the guitar a wee tiny bit. Not well, mind you, but I can eke out a few chords and play for the girls. I'm glad I learned because some of my best childhood memories are of singing to my Dad's guitar.

Now being the ever-intrepid, I got the bright idea of using audioblogger to record me singing with the girls. I was alone when I had this idea, so I decided to try it by myself first.

Let me just state something for the record to you people out there who think you have a good voice. You don't. At least not as good as you think it is. Surprisingly the recording came out ok. But I discovered that I don't play the guitar very well at all, I sound slightly congested when I sing, and I mumble a little. Very disheartening. No American Idol for me.

So, in short, if you see an audio blog, it will most likely be the case that sheer ego has won out over any type of common sense.

You have been forewarned.

Tuesday, November 16, 2004

A Letter to Jethro in Honor of His 30th Birthday

Dear Jethro,

Let me start off by saying Happy Birthday. And you deserve one.

Do you remember how old we were when we met? You were 19. I was 17. We've been through college, depression, lost virginity and babies. You have the distinction of being the only friend I've never badmouthed at some point. Remember when we couldn't make up our minds whether we should date or not? Remember how we tried not to, but couldn't keep our hands to ourselves? Remember watching The Muppet Movie and Austin Powers on Tammy's couch? I don't. Remember racing out the door and leaving me on the couch because you were afraid you were going to have sex with me whether I liked it or not? I realize it's a little late, but I'm sorry for being such a cocktease. I can only hope now that it was worth it.

Remember our wedding? It was beautiful, but redundant in that I already knew in my heart that I would love you until I died.

Remember the bad time right after Gwennie was born? Remember how thin and pale and haunted we looked? Remember how you were constantly annoyed at everything, and how I thought nothing would ever be the same again until I saw you checking me out when I was putting on my nightgown? Remember warming up to fatherhood when I put Gwennie on top of you and she'd wake you up by drooling and smiling into your face. I felt a little guilty about it, but I knew you were a goner.

Remember the night Emma was born and you went to go drink beer in the hospital parking lot while I was in labor? I still haven't forgiven you. Remember when she chased you in a rage on her skinny little two-year old legs because you stole her doll?

Remember when we were at our wits' end about your future? Remember when you got into TCC? It was like a weight had been lifted. Remember that first trimester? I never thought we'd make it. But you did and now you'll graduate with honors.

As you start your 3rd decade and when you're dealing with all of the pressures that come with it, just know how much I appreciate every moment I've spent with you, and how very much I love you.

Love always,


Monday, November 15, 2004

Touch My Head

Ok. Tinyhands has just put the most dreadful thoughts in my head. Apparently guys fantasize about the ladies who cut their hair (if they're good looking). Jethro has been getting his hair cut by the same person for the past few years. She's a very pretty Vietnamese girl, and I know she thinks Jeth is hot. And he's going to be a chiropractor. And she doesn't like me that much. I can tell. I let her cut my hair a few times, and she always fucks it up. And she does it subtly so I can't tell until I try to fix it myself. The last time I let her touch my hair was the day of my SILs wedding. I ended up looking like a cross between the Cowardly Lion and Shirley Temple. And inbetween singing "On the Good Ship Lollipop" and buttonholing people to tell them, "Courage!," I vowed never to let her touch my head again.

Not the same with Jethro. I teased him about her little crush, and gave him my permission to marry her if I die. Am I just fucking stupid? The gal is so dainty and coordinated. It doesn't help that one of my boobs is bigger than her whole fucking head. Hell, it's bigger than my whole fucking head. I feel so clunky around her. She always gives Jeth a free shampoo and gently scrubs his head with perfect little nails. My nails are short and scruffy because I bite them when I'm nervous. And, as I mentioned on Tiny's blog, I don't have a chair that leans into the sink.

I guess I don't mind Jethro having fantasies about other women. I've never minded him going to strip clubs. But strip clubs are places of fantasy. I can handle it in that context because you can just leave it there. Beauty parlors are another matter altogether. And Ann is so damn accessible and available, plus she doesn't even try to hide it.

I'm not mad at either of them. I don't blame Ann at all. And I trust Jeth to at least be physically faithful. But neither of that keeps me from feeling just a little fucking insecure.

Grrrrrr. I feel moody and grouchy.

Saturday, November 13, 2004

Briefly Revisiting Submission

Look what I found - from a UK source no less - on the precautions being taken by Dutch politicians in the face of islamofascist persecution:

"Also hiding is Somali-born Ayaan Hirsi Ali, a conservative legislator, who collaborated with Van Gogh on Submission, his latest film that criticised the way Islam treats women."

Notice here she's called a conservative. So much for the "European" definitions. Then again, the Dutch liberals are all starting to sound like conservatives now that they are faced with increasing violence from these particular barbarians. I'm begging the entire press - American and European - stop using these pointless labels until the threat from the Islamic death-cult is gone. There can be no liberal and conservative in the face of these psycopathic murderers.

Friday, November 12, 2004

Bits 'n' Pieces

I ran into a friend from high school yesterday in the supermarket. Our families were close and I had a wee bit of a crush on him until I met his older brother. I had a wee bit of a crush on the older brother until I met another older brother who was considerably older. He wore Wranglers, and boots, he also had a mustache and sported a golden mullet. Don't ask. It was inexplicably real and the deepest, darkest secret of my young life. Being a pragmatic person, I was aware that I stood no chance whatsoever. I was no cowgirl. But realizing that crushes know no practicality, I decided that keeping it a secret was of paramount importance. My sisters were torturous and astute little wenches. They could ferret out a secret crush from miles away, and make your life miserable from miles away.

So there would be no hearts and doodles on notebooks for me. After pondering a plan of action, I decided that it would be best to keep them thinking that I had a crush on the other brothers. This required just the right amount of denial and nonchalant interest. To this day, I don't know how I pulled it off. I think it was probably because we didn't see too much of him. He was older and did his own thing.

Eventually it faded, as they all invariably do, but it amuses me to look back on it and all the time I spent on it. If I'd applied as much time to anything worthwhile....who knows?

Have a safe weekend.

Thursday, November 11, 2004


Please find a way to watch this film. A man died for it, so the least we can do is watch it. It is Submission by Theo Van Gogh, who was murdered by an islamo-fascist in Holland. Mr. Van Gogh, who was a relative of the artist Vincent Van Gogh, was shot and stabbed through the neck for making this film. His murderer pinned a note to his body with a second knife.

He made the film with a "liberal Dutch politician Ayaan Hirsi Ali, a Somali refugee who fled an arranged marriage." (BBC News UK Edition)

Take note of the differences in the labels given to Ms. Ali. The CNN report refers to her as a "right-wing Dutch politician who had renounced the Islamic faith of her birth". (

Liberal, yet right-wing. Get your useless labels straight, folks. Liberal because she's a woman fighting for the rights of women against an oppressive religion; right-wing because it is Islam she's fighting not Christianity?

I think we're witnessing a fundamental shift in political world view. There is always a fleeting transition where up is down, and down is sideways. We're witnessing it as we speak. It will either unite all Americans in the common cause of fighting religious extremism, or it will divide us into groups of those who are willing to submit to the most violent factions of religious fundamentalism, and those who will stand up to them.

If you read both articles, notice also how they mention that Mr. Van Gogh had, in the past, also angered Christians and Jews. Also note how they leave out the fact that Christians or Jews did not threaten his life, and that neither Christians nor Jews shot him, decapitated him, and stabbed a gloating, malicious note into his body.

I don't care what religion you are or aren't, what belief system you hold or don't. Anyone with even a shred of humanity must stand up to this barbarity. If it is given any legitimacy at all, even by silence, it will spread and kill more.

Wednesday, November 10, 2004

My Twenty-Something Answers

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Monday, November 08, 2004

My Twenty Questions

The victory sex went off without a hitch. I'll spare you the porny details. I know, I know, it is what people read my blog for, but I feel ridiculous writing about it. I mean, who really wants to know that we made sure the kids were asleep, double locked the bedroom door with our new deadbolt, and made it like bunnies? I'd feel dumb telling people I don't know how Jethro grabbed me around the waist, pulled me to him, and kissed my throat. I don't like saying how I got down on my knees and sucked his dick, or about how I licked it all over like a lollipop, then took him gently and quickly into the back of my throat. I won't tell how he cradled my head as I took him deep and deeper into my mouth. I won't tell you how after about three minutes of that, he tossed me on the bed, removed the rest of my clothes, and proceeded to make love to me with a wildness that transcended even the "Four More Years." I'd feel even sillier telling folks about how his hands found my breasts (like you could miss them) and pressed my nipples between his fingers, and how his mouth covered mine and I arched into him as he pushed deeper into me. I just don't want to talk about how, with his mouth over mine, I moaned cuss words as I came over and over.

And I certainly don't want to talk about how the next day, when the kids were awake, we locked ourselves in the bathroom and did it on our pile of laundry. That's just too gross.

Anyway, I'm out of ideas. I WANT TO PLAY TWENTY QUESTIONS TOO! So you ask 'em, I'll answer 'em.

Go deep.

Friday, November 05, 2004

Victory Sex

We haven't had it yet. I imagine it will be this weekend. I expect it to be decisive. Pure Missionary with a little bit of doggie thrown in. Just kidding. I have no idea what it will be like which is what makes it so exciting. All I know is that I want my nipples pinched. I can't believe I wrote that. So much for my political aspirations. But I won't remove it. Free Speech and all. Regardless, I'll let everyone know how it goes. I've had no less than 4 gentlemen request or imply that I stop all political wankering and get back to the issues, i.e. Tits and Nookie (Gooch). Ha! And women are supposedly the shallow ones!

There. I've just annoyed Jethro in the middle of a test to demand The Intercourse immediately upon his return. To be fair, I forgot that he had a test.

The Weather: A beautiful cold-front has moved through. Not to ruin anyone's mental image of me (exaggerated to a ridiculous degree by a few good, no great, pictures), but I would be unrecognizable this morning. It's cold, dammit.

I've decided I'll post a pic of me in the corset. It's as much for
The Tease as it is for Jack (much respect to Jethro).

Ta for now. I'll write more when I've gotten ....more.

Wednesday, November 03, 2004

I Beg Indulgence And I Will Probably Bury This Post

Okay. First of all, I am not gloating over anyone who voted for Kerry. You had your reasons, Bush voters had theirs, Bush won. It's over.

However, this will not stop me from gloating gratuitously, copiously, and at great length over the following individuals/powers that be in no particular order:

1. Osama bin Laden. May Allah grant that he be beheaded. Genitals first.

2. All terrorists. And despite those who feel ambiguous towards the term, you know who they are.

3. Fat Fucking Seditious Slob Whose Name Will Never Cross My Lips Or Fingers. The only documentary of his I will ever pay money to see is the one he makes from the spit he'll be roasting on in Hell.

4. Dan Rather. May he lose his day job and never utter another metaphor again as long as he lives.

5. The Halls Of Europe. The world is safe once again from their policies of cowardice and appeasement.

6. Kim Jong Il. Congratulations from the Nader camp on another year of keeping N. Korea corporation free.

7. Charles Rangal (DEMOCRAT from NY) - No draft for you.

8. The U.N. May it choke on the oil of Iraq that they kept that murdering, fascist dictator in power for. The blood of Iraq is on their hands.

9. The Vote For Change Tour. May they crush under the weight of their inflated, uneducated egos.

10. Bruce Springsteen. Boss of his wanker only.

11. Al Gore. You sold your moderate soul for failure. Congratulations.

12. George Soros. Money can't buy you Socialism.

13. The NAACP.
Crack can't buy you votes.

I may add more to the list, or my appetite for things political may finally be sated. I doubt it though.

I'd also like to thank and congratulate the following:

1. The Bush Voters. Jeeze oh man did we get out the vote.

2. John Thune. Ding dong The Obstructionist is Gone!

3. Halliburton.

4. Iraq. You deserve our full attention.

5. Australia. Thank You.

6. Poland. Thank You

7. Great Britain and Tony Blair. I won't forget.

Tuesday, November 02, 2004


There is a whole lot more politickin' on my other blog. I may even try my hand at live blogging there, if I am not self-medicating.

I voted. My polling place is in the cafeteria of Gwennie's school. I asked her teacher if she would excuse her to watch me vote. She said yes.

I was waiting in line for my ballot, when I noticed a few people with Kerry pins on looking around defiantly. Ignoring them, I asked my daughter who we were voting for President. She's kind of quiet, so she hesitated giving the answer. I said, "We're voting for George Bush." She gave me a puzzled look and then said, "No, mommy. We're voting for George W. Bush." Everyone around us laughed. The Kerry folks set their jaws and looked outnumbered.

I had considered voting straight Republican, but there was one Libertarian candidate that I wanted to vote for, so I filled out all of the little circles. Most of the races were uncontested Republicans. This is serious Bush country. Democrats don't even run anymore. I think there were more Libertarian candidates than Dems.

Anyway, I'm very proud to have voted, and I'm very proud that my daughter stood up to the Kerrywankers.

Sunday, October 31, 2004

Night Errors/More Protests

First things first. I've tried to separate my politics from my personal blogging. I will continue with that effort, but with the election so close both in time and in polls, I will have to be indulged in some political wankering (for lack of a better word) on my personal blog. Not that it will do a whole lot of good to ask, but please don't say anything too controversial in the comments. As I am sure regular blog readers are aware, I can't resist an argument especially to something insulting, and I have other stuff to do.

But I want to start off with probably the funniest thing I have ever witnessed in my life. I will hold it over Jethro until the day I die. It is so coincidental that it occurred right after my post on sleep-humping.

We went to a Halloween Party Friday night at Jethro's school. I'll have pictures to post shortly. I drank quite a bit of trashcan punch. We made it home, attempted to make love, but passed out before it was possible. Let me preface this by saying that we had fallen asleep on the opposite sides of the bed from which we normally sleep. I woke up when Jethro got out of bed. I jolted upright when I heard Jethro whizzing on top of a pile of clean laundry in the corner of the bedroom, exactly where the toilet would have been if he'd been sleeping on the other side of the bed.

I whisper-shouted (gasping for breath because I was laughing so hard), "Jethro! You're peeing on the floor!"

He cut it off, grunted something like, "Oh shit," and stumbled into the bathroom, where he proceeded to take the longest piss I have ever heard in my life - and that was with part of it on the floor of the bedroom! If I could have wiped away the tears of laughter clouding my vision, and been able to breathe, I would have timed it.

As luck would have it, he didn't remember a thing the next day, but the pile of wet laundry was proof of my tale. Thank goodness it was there and he didn't pee on the carpet.


We went to the Park again. We didn't have the element of surprise this time, so the Wankers were waiting for us with much more anger and hate. We got it all on tape.

Let me just give some advice to ANYONE who wishes to engage in political protests. ALWAYS, ALWAYS, ALWAYS bring a video camera and record EVERYTHING - from the second you get there until you leave.

After asking us how many of us were in the military, the Kerrywankers insulted our veteran of two Iraqi deployments as well as our new recruit, and told us many, many times to kiss their asses.

But the crowning moment came when I was involved in a heated discussion with someone who had just insulted our veteran. He called him a peon, and a paid assassin (this, after telling the rest of us civilians, that we should go join the military). You can't insult a veteran within my hearing, or I will call you out. I lit into this guy and I'll admit I was yelling at him pretty hard. He was a huge man, with big guns. I'm a medium woman with no guns. One of the Kerrywankers said he was calling the police because I (medium woman, no guns) had assaulted the insulter (big man, huge guns). Well, I did. Verbally. Jethro said to the Kerrywanker (who was bradishing his cellphone threateningly) quite calmly, "Go ahead. We have the whole thing taped, and you will be arrested for making a false report." Needless to say, the cops never showed up.

I find it amazing that the fundamentalist lefties are so willing to insult police officers, call them racists/nazis/fascists, whatever. But just watch them go running to the cops whenever they are intellectually outnumbered. [Insert lisp] "Officer, officer! You and your nazi thugs must come right away and stifle the free speech of our fellow citizens who disagree with us." It is amazing that those granola-eating, patchouli-stinking weirdos get anything done.

There were a few amusing moments. A chubby little man, who identified himself as a "faggot" (his words), wearing short little running shorts and a Bye Bye Birdie t-shirt ran up to us, began running in place, and for some inexplicable reason started chanting: "Bush-isn't-a-Chris-tian, Bush-isn't-a-Chris-tian, You-are-neanderthals, You-are-neanderthals" I have no idea why he was so willing to make a fool of himself, but since he was, I started telling observers to come "watch the monkey dance." He wasn't too pleased with that, and eventually ran off with his round little heiney bobbing up and down, to our cheerful shouts of "Bye-bye, Birdie!"

The same man who had announced last week that we had inspired him to run 6 miles for Kerry (instead of his usual 3), announced that he had done the same this week and then said he had no healthcare because Bush wouldn't give it to him. He was urged to "move to Cuba." He was actually a rather good sport because he moved his tongue around rapidly, trying to come up with a response, and when he couldn't, he started laughing and said we lived in a great country because we could all stand out here and debate these ideas. We all concurred, and he went on his way after encouraging us all to vote. There may actually be hope for him.

Another man ran up to us and started screaming incoherently. After he was done spewing, he said he hoped the FBI wasn't going to start following him. Jethro told him to watch out for black helicopters and to make sure he wore his tin-foil hat at all times. He looked at us like all of his worst fears had just been confirmed, and ran off. Secretly, I thought it might be wise of the FBI to keep an eye on him. Babbling idiot conspiracy theorists don't strike me as all that safe. Come on people. The nature of the FBI and the CIA doesn't change with each administration.

There was an angry lady who told us all to go home to our families. Jethro said, "This is for my family," to which she articulately responded, "Kiss my ass." She had copious amounts of sweat issuing in a dark line from her buttocks, so I have to say the invitation was even more gross than usual. Besides, you don't insult my husband in front of me without some form of verbal retribution. I (immaturely, I admit it) told her that her butt was small and ugly, and she better keep running for Kerry. She made angrier, and this time unintelligible, sounds and drove off in her so-very-gas-efficient Ford Expedition.

Another lady with a Kerry t-shirt drove up to us in her so-very-gas-efficient GMC Yukon, laden with Kerry/Edwards bumper stickers, and said she didn't understand our signs and that we ought to be clearer. I'll admit that you might have to read some of our signs twice before you fully understand them. I'll give you an example of a few of them: "End Overpopulation. Support Socialized Medicine" and "Say No To War (Unless a Democrat is President) and "Except for Fascism, Totalitarianism, Dictatorships and Genocide, War Never Solved Anything." They are supposed to make you stop and read them twice. It is a subtle concept lost on leftist reactionaries who will always fall for any cheap slogan.

But the better, more productive moments came, as always, in the calm. Most of the Kerry people had gone, and the ones who were left had wisely decided to ignore us. We were all quiet, just holding our signs. I had, as I always do without realizing it, moved towards Jethro, who put his arms around me. I was so happy to be there with him that some of the anger I had felt earlier melted. I was able to smile at people again and noticed more and more people running by with their thumbs up or their fists in the air, calling out, "Bush Rocks!" and "Four More Years!" or simply jogging up to us, shaking our hands, and saying, "Thank you for coming out here."

Wednesday, October 27, 2004

Night Terrors

Occasionally, I will be dedicating, in the manner of Jeff Foxworthy, a line ending with " might need to diet." This is not meant to offend overweight people...but it probably will. If it helps, no one would call me skinny. But if you are offended, don't read.

If you are so fat that your ass blocks an entire Wal-Mart aisle, you might need to diet.

True story. I was forced to go to Wal-Mart during peak hours, and I got blocked in from both sides by women who were the size of a horse trailer and a Ford F150 respectively, and neither fat bitch would move. I thought I was going to suffocate. Finally, after I wheezed out an, "excuse me," (trying not to breathe through my nose), one of the ladies lumbered backwards, eyes rolling the whole time. I swear to God, I heard beeping. I moved as quickly as I could, and finally breathed the sweet air of freedom in the automotive section. I hugged Gwennie and Emma in relief and checked out at the garden center. Target better start stocking more poster board.

On to the real subject.

I mentioned my phobia of snakes a few posts ago. It is real and terrifying, and I have no idea where it started. I'm afraid they'll be in the toilet, I'm afraid they'll be in the lakes or the bayous (which they are), but I am afraid to the point of paralysis that there is a huge, horrible snake lurking in our ventilation system, biding his time, and waiting to swallow the girls. It is not a sane or rational fear, and I will wake up drenched in sweat and I will have to force myself to stay in bed and not go check on the girls. Most of the time it doesn't work, and I will go into their room - feeling like a complete moron - just to make sure.

Jethro and I were watching some nature show about snakes before we went to sleep one night. I told him change it to something else before we went to sleep, or I'd have a nightmare. He said he was too tired, or something, and it ended up being the last thing I saw. Well sure enough, I had a horrible dream that Jethro's arm (which he had lovingly wrapped around me) had turned into a boa constrictor. I woke up hollering at full volume, and beating Jethro's arm with all my might. I even thought briefly that I might be dreaming, but I told myself that it was better to be safe than sorry.

Before you start feeling too sorry for Jethro, he did worse to me on two occasions.

The first incident is a kind of prelude to the second.

Back when we were living in sin, Jethro started twitching in his sleep. His hands kept moving in kind of a hurkey-jerkey fashion. I wondered what was going on, so I shook him and asked him if he was okay. With completely dead eyes, he looked at me - DIRECTLY at me - and punched me in the nose. Hard. I was livid. I punched him back and kicked him, but nothing. He was sound asleep. Bastard.

Fast forward a few years. I had learned my lesson that night and now curled up into a little ball in the corner of the bed whenever Jeth started thrashing around. Then, Emma was born. We were waiting the customary 6 weeks to resume the pleasures of marital existence, and I was nursing Emma in bed. Well, in the middle of the night, Jethro started grunting and twitching. I moved over as far as I could, but he had other things on his mind. He pulled his pajama pants half down and rolled on top of me....and Emma. "Jeth, hon, what are you doing? We have to wait! Stop. I'm saying no. In the feminist sense. I'm serious, cut it out!" I looked up at him, and his eyes had the exact same dead look as before.

I was really scared. I had just watched a nature show (damn those nature shows!!!!) that demonstrated how when male elephant seals wish to mate, nothing gets in their way, including the little nursing baby seals. In their mad, insane lust, they will run right over the little babies and smother them to get to the moms. It was one of the more horrifying nature shows I've ever seen.

I was struggling as best I could while holding the baby. I didn't want to push him because I was afraid he'd pop me one again and I couldn't defend myself while I was holding the baby. Finally though, I gave him a gentle, but insistant push with one hand, and he rolled over and went back to sleep. Crisis averted. Whew.

It is funny now, but at the moment...terrifying. I still wonder though, if I hadn't been holding Emma would I have let him? I think probably. :-)