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. :-)

Monday, October 25, 2004

Protesting the Kerrywankers

Sorry for the delay folks. Blogger ate my homework.

After cleaning house all day Thursday and Friday in my underwear because it was so friggin' humid and our 20 year old A/C can only chug so hard, and after I cried like a little bitch because Jethro said it wasn't good enough, he finally agreed to go with me to the protest if the Kerrywankers.

The Kerrywankers have sponsered a "Run Against Bush" at Memorial Park in Houston every Saturday. I felt like they needed to a little competition, so I organized a group of people to go there with either Bush/Cheney signs, or anti-left-wing signs.

Jethro and I awoke painfully at 7:00am, dragged ourselves out of bed, drove into Houston. We were meeting everyone at a Starbucks. None of the protesters had ever met each other, so we weren't sure who we were. I saw a man standing outside who I would have sworn was a yuppie Kerry guy. He seemed to be waiting for someone. I thought, "Oh crap - what if "they're" meeting here too?!" Finally, I screwed up my courage and asked him if he was waiting for someone. He looked at me closely, and held out his wrist. He asked, "does this mean anything to you?" It was a blue rubber band with the words "Bush/Cheney" subtly incribed on it. It reminded me of some kind of clandestine drug deal. I laughed and said, "Sure does," and went inside to meet his wife and two of the most adorable little girls in the world (besides mine). One was all decked out in red, white and blue, and the other was holding a sign that said, "I love Condi." Adorable.

More and more people started showing up and finally, one young guy who had been sitting there the whole time, said, "Are you the Bush people?" Receiving an affirmative, he got all excited and told us that he'd been there since 7am just waiting in anticipation. It was precious.

We made out way to the park and set up shop right in front of the Kerrywankers - highly visible because of their pasty white skin, and confusingly short runnig shorts. We definitely had the "diversity advantage" - not that it means anything to us, but the left always seems to make such a big deal out of it. It wasn't anything elaborate; we just hoisted our signs and started waving at the non-Kerry runners going past.

The park, on a Saturday morning, is jam-packed with a constant stream of runners. I just have to say that we got a whole lot more love than the Kerry folks. We are in the South and in a very Republican state, so it wasn't surprising. What was surprising was how demoralizing it was to the other side. Most Southern conservatives are very polite. They were raised on it. If they disagree with you politically, they will not acknowledge you as opposed to actively confronting you. What I think shocked the anti-Bush runners was the number of high-fives we all were getting from the ordinary runners in the park. I don't think they realized the extent to which people did not support them.

There were a few incidents of interest.

1. One of the "runners" ran by us and said, "I was only going to run 3 miles today, but you all have inspired me to run 6!" That was baffling because it wasn't like they were raising money. One of our guys yelled, "Way to take initiative for your own healthcare! Good for you!" The rest of us cheered him on.

2. A man wearing a Vets for Kerry button ran up to us confrontationally and asked sarcastically who he needed to thank for serving in the military. Let me just state for the record that from a logical standpoint, this is not a wise question to ask a bunch of Bush supporters. There were cries of, "Two tours of duty in Afghanistan and Iraq." "My brother is in Iraq right now." "My father fought Vietnam, and my cousin and uncle are in Iraq." "My husband is in Iraq." He said a belligerant thank you and stalked off.

3. A grizzled old woman with long, greasy grey hair walked up and started reading our signs. She peered at us rudely, looked at our signs again and said, "Well you all look normal" and walked off. "Too bad you don't," I muttered under my breath. Then everyone laughed.

4. When we first got there, about 10 of the Kerrywankers whipped out their......cellphones. 2 minutes later, the cops showed up. They patrolled for awhile just to make sure that no one was going to go nuts. I gave them a smile and a small wave just to assure them that we weren't there to cause any trouble. The driver gave me a professional smile back, but the passenger cop gave me a wave and a surreptitious thumbs up.

5. But by far the best thing was the amount of military personnel who gave us thumbs up or high fives. They were awesome. I guess there are a lot of military and ex-military who run in the park. Boy, were they happy to see us. And boy, oh boy, did that make the lone "Vet for Kerry" mad. He got all red in the face when a (and I don't mind saying it) TOTALLY HOT marine waved at us, punched his fist in the air and pointed to his military license plate. We all cheered.

All in all, it was a wonderful day. The group we were with didn't agree on every issue, but the one driving force was that everyone believed that promoting democracy in every country around the world is paramount in fighting terrorism.

I'll end on a direct quote from an Iranian woman who was there with us. She said, "The people of Iran are watching very closely the situation in Iraq. Elections there will give them hope like never before."

Thursday, October 21, 2004

No Blogging Today

Must clean house. Jethro said I can't go to a protest of the Kerrywankers on Saturday morning unless it's clean. That should put feminists in a quandry. Husband refuses to allow wife to protest the pro-feminism candidate unless the house is clean. How to handle that one.......

Tuesday, October 19, 2004


Bear with me if this post is nonsensical. It is 4 am, and insomnia has taken over my life in a very unhealty way.

I used to have no fear of death. At all. I have sprained my ankles more times than I can count jumping off balconies, or out of windows. Once, in a state of complete inebriation, I very nearly jumped off the third story of an apartment complex into a pool. Some random wisp of common sense floated past my alcohol-soaked brain and saved my life.

In college in NH, I had snuck into the boys' dorm one night to hang out. This was extremely forbidden. The RA started making rounds and I decided to leave the building via a second story window. I climbed out (without my shoes in the dead of winter) and skidded down the side of the building kicking a light and shattering glass all over. Luckily the fire escape and the glass broke my fall. I had bruises corresponding to the stair steps up my entire left leg. I couldn't walk for a week, and I was picking glass out of my toes for a month.

I ate a calf-brain burrito in the midst of the mad cow disease scare.

I told a fat girl in Boston that her ass was fat and her fat ass was blocking my view of the stage (where a bunch of bands were giving a free concert) and to move her fat ass out of the way. Luckily she was a liberal who didn't believe in violence, otherwise I might have ended up with my arms broken instead of a black eye. It was cool though. She got arrested. I was drunk, so it didn't hurt until the next day.

In fact, inebriation played a large part in all of my follies.

I also thought the Jackass boys were pussies.

Then. Two children emerged from my pussy, and I turned into a fucking girl. I can pinpoint the moment. I was pregnant with my first and wanted to wear dresses. I'd never worn dresses in my life. The desire dissipated somewhat after the first was born, but after the second one was born, it was there to stay. When I was pregnant with the second, I painted the house in all pastels. PASTELS!! What the hell was I thinking? Fortunately, that was a temporary phase from which my poor kitchen has never recovered from. I can't afford to give it the antidote.

Anyway, since I had the girls, I've become paranoid. A back-seat driver, ever watchful of danger stalking my family. I don't think I've had a good night's sleep since the kids were born. I wouldn't trade it, mind you, but every once in awhile, I get an urge to go get smashed and do something moronic. Nowadays, that translates into going to the Mexican restaurant a few blocks away and drinking margaritas until it is time to slosh our way home.

But what have I traded all the death defying excitement for? A really great guy, and two daughters who crack me up on an hourly basis at least, and who are already showing the genetic predisposition to adventure. I just hope it will be more constructive for them, than for me.

Is it worth it? Yup.

Jethro likes to take the credit for "feminizing" me. Bull fucking shit, man. Being a tomboy was what attracted him to me in the first place. That, and I beatdown 7 guys in a keg stand. And I flashed him.

Monday, October 18, 2004

Jethro's and My Very Laid-Back Relationship

Sometimes I think Jeth and I were frat brothers in a former life. Case in point, our Friday evening: We put the kids to bed and stayed up half the night drinking rum and cokes and playing one of the goofy penguin games Fleece got us addicted to. It was the one where the Yeti uses a flamingo as a golf club and the penguin as the ball. We had a fine time getting smashed and bashing the penguin, screaming "mulligan!" when the first hit didn't go the right way (which, obviously, happened more and more often the more we drank).

We woke up the next day thoroughly hungover, and went fishing (even though Jethro should have been studying).

I swear. If I were a boy, Jethro would be gay.

Friday, October 15, 2004

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Bathroom

I was dragged from a peaceful sleep at 5:45 this morning by crash from outside, followed by complete darkness, followed by giggling from the bathroom. Someone had blown the neighborhood transformer which had left Jethro in the pitch black, in the middle of a #2.

He had gotten up early to study for a test he has today. As I tried to orient myself in the darkness, Jethro's voice called me plaintively from the bathroom asking me if I would find him a candle. I wasn't fully awake, so I handed him the glowing remote to the television and got back into bed.

It must have been enough for him to wipe by because the next thing I heard was some bumps and shuffeling noises in the kitchen. Feeling guilty, I got out of bed. I had to pee really bad.

Now, I have an irrational fear of snakes. My worst nightmares all involve either drowning, flying too high in the air, or snakes. Snakes are the worst though, because they haunt my days as well. I always check surreptitiously under the girls' bed just to make sure there is no 40 foot python waiting to make Gwennie and Emma his next meal. And every time I use the toilet, I look to make sure there is no snake lurking in it. Shut-up. Pitch-blackness is not conducive to this effort, so I peed in mortal fear for my ass every second.

When I was done, I groped my way to the linen closet and found an extra blanket for the girls. The long promised cold front had moved through and I was afraid they were chilly. They were. I actually thought one of them was missing - a victim of the 40 foot python - because they were snuggled so tightly together.

Then I made my way to the kitchen, quite possibly breaking a toe in the process. Jethro was searching for matches by the light of his cell phone. I helped him until I remembered that there were some in his car. We lit the candles and Jethro decided that since he had lost precious study time, he would skip his first class.

Well, what would you do if the house was quiet and candles were lit, and you didn't have to be somewhere for over an hour? I ask you. Study Abe Lincoln style, or do it doggie style (in honor of Tinyhands)?

We actually did it missionary, but it was quite nice.

Thursday, October 14, 2004

Zelda and Emma and the Blustery Day

It is a blustery day here in the beautiful suburbs of Houston, TX. I have finally figured out the trick to getting Gwennie moving in the morning. Buy her a new outfit. I bought her some cool weather clothes last night since a cold-front was expected. She was so excited to wear them that she rose and shone and brushed her teeth before my lazy ass was even out of bed.

New Topic: I have a potty mouth. No, it's true. I don't know where I picked it up. My parents didn't swear except in moments of extreme duress and my sisters don't swear half as much as I do. Most of my friends swear, but few with as much verve and gusto as myself. I enjoy swearing. I revel (some say wallow) in it. In moments of near death on the Houston roadways, nothing relieves my angst as much as calling the moron who cuts me off the foulest string of dirty epithets. And in an election year? Forget about it. If cuss words were true, Kerry and Edwards would be unabashedly in favor of homosexual marriage, gay polygamy, and maternal incest.

Needless to say, Jeth is none too happy about this aspect of my personality. Unless we're having sex. Then I can cuss all I want. His deal is that he doesn't want our dainty little girls picking up my potty language. Despite the obvious hypocrisy, I will concede the point. It isn't good to teach your little kids to curse. But secretly, I think it's cute when they do. I heard Gwennie say, "Son of a bitch," the other day. I was torn between amusement and shame. Oh well. I can't waste my time feeling guilty when I feel there are more important matters to be discussed.

And speaking of more important matters, Seeker is apparently impressed with my feminine endowments. I'm charmed. Apparently they are such that he has put aside his ass fetish briefly, to pay them homage. So I now ask this question: What kind of man are you in particular? Ass, tits, legs, feet, knuckles, etc. Women are free to answer this as well. I'll start. I'm a tits woman. Not just because I have them in spades either. The sight of a pretty pair just turn me on for some reason. I can see why men like them. Your turn.

Wednesday, October 13, 2004

Chronic Tardiness

I was late bringing Gwennie to school twice last week. The second time I was only late by 1 minute (I'm not even kidding) and they made me sign her in and they gave her a tardy slip and made her sit out 10 minutes at recess, even though it was my fault. I asked if they couldn't just let it slide this once, since I was responsible, and the front desk cows said it was out of their control. I said, "fine" (huffily), and wrote down "Mommy started her period" as the reason we were late. I won't lie. My goal was to irritate the "Powers That Be." Didn't happen. The front desk ladies have earned my good-side by reading it and cracking up. Not quite the shocked and appalled reaction I was hoping for, but gratifying nonetheless.

I have been accused by Johnny5 of being a Republican. He's right. I'm not registered as such because I am not a gigantic supporter of a two-party system. If the absolute honest truth were to be told, I don't care for most Republicans on a personal level. I find them snobbish and unappealing. On the flip side, I also don't care for most Democrats on a personal level. I find them shrill, paranoid, and mind-numbingly hypocritical. But I absolutely adore Libertarians. Real Libertarians though, not the crackheads who want to legalize drugs and kiddie porn. No, no. If the Libertarians could get it together and go after the laws that really criminalize ordinary people (such as speeding tickets and seat belt laws for adults), they would have a whole lot more support from me. Instead they want to focus on drug laws. I see the point, but it is so far down on my list of priorities that I can't support them.

This topic is probably better suited to my
politics blog. It's harder to keep them separated than it may seem.

Tuesday, October 12, 2004

Sometimes I go back and read my old posts. Usually I can't believe how boring they are, but sometimes I can't believe I actually wrote what I did. Example:

"My husband is gyrating in front of me, wiggling his limpness, probably hoping I will do interesting things to it. It is strangely seductive in an Old Elvis kind of way. Think I'll go give it a shot. Sorry if I have offended, but this is my blog. Onward and Upward."

That was just after Christmas last year. I stuck that at the end of the most boring post in history. Sometimes I am under the impression that I may be a complicated and strange individual.

And speaking of old stuff, I decided to republish
my political blog. I just don't want any comments from one to cross over to the other. It's a dreadful temptation to start arguing how one's personal life has shaped one's political thought. Far too time consuming. I pretty much gave the reason for why I wish to keep them separate in this blog's first post.

Friday, October 08, 2004

The Lighter Side of Racism

A few posts back, I said that Jeth and I had never, as a couple, been subjected to any racially insensitive comments. That is mostly true, but there was one time where someone said something ignorant. It was so dumb though, that I forgot to mention it. Actually, it's pretty funny. There was this lady (and I use the term loosely) who worked in the same real estate office I used to. She was an agent and a raging whore. Most real estate agents are old and unattractive ladies, but there is a small yet noticeable minority who are somewhat younger and extremely slutty. This agent is one of them. She is so gross that she actually turned a handsome young man gay after he'd slept with her in drunken one night stand. I know people say it can't happen, but it's no lie. At the very least, he came out of the closet much sooner than he might have otherwise. I guess he figured that there was less shame in being with a man. He was right. I'll call her Raging Whore.

One day, I brought a picture of my family into the office. Raging Whore stopped in to do her usual phony schmooze act and happened to see it. Loudly, so everyone in the office could hear what an intellectual she was, she exclaimed, "I didn't know you were married to a CAUCASIAN!" I'm pretty sure she meant Asian, but she was an idiot, so I'm not positive.

I said, "I'm not. My husband is Vietnamese." She said (loudly still, so everyone would know her as a genius), "Yeah, I can tell because of the eyes. But I always thought the men were kind of small." She spread her thumb and forefinger about 3 inches apart and held it at waist level.

Now, I'm not in the habit of discussing my husband's penis size in front of large office crowds, but I've also never been one to flinch at impropriety. I laughed (because really, it was funny) and said, "I don't know how many ASIAN guys you've been with, but my husband's just fine, thank you." I spread my palms about 12 inches. A slight exaggeration. Sorry Jeth. :-)

Raging Whore's eyebrows shot up as high as her skirt. One thing I'll give her is that her bigotry (?), racism (?) (I have no idea what to call it) dissolves at the rumor of a big dick.

Poor Jethro has been the victim of her curiosity for awhile and he has learned to avoid her like the walking corpustle she is.

Like everyone else, we'll probably be gone for most of the weekend. Have fun everyone!

Thursday, October 07, 2004

Just How Dumb Are You?

How dumb do you have to be to visit a gynecologist offering free exams, who has set up shop out of a storage unit, and advertises in the back of an "alternative" newspaper? I think they should prosecute the "patients."

I mean really.

New Topic:

People were wondering why I called Jethro, "Jethro." No special reason. I put less than no thought into it. I happened to be listening to my stepdad's Jethro Tull CD when I wrote my first blog entry, and I never expected to go public which is probably why I didn't mention his race in the beginning. When I did go public, I kept the name because it had come to mean something to me. He grew up first in Texarkana, then in Humble, TX. No matter what your background, race or culture, you can't grow up in those places and not end up a little bit of a Jethro. As I've stated, Cracker is a hard culture to ignore. Besides, it is kind of funny to see an Asian guy named Jethro. Plays into (or against) all kinds of whacky stereotypes, which appealed to me. I'm amused, dammit.

New Topic:

Emma (the baby) has a stuffed tiger she calls her "Jagwater." She means jaguar. She brings it everywhere. Last night, I had to convice her to leave it in the car while we ate at Luby's. She cried and cried and said, "Bye, Jagwatew" in the most plaintive, wrenching little voice (she can't say her "r"s). The child could make you jump off a cliff.

Gwennie is a stubborn little fighter and just like me in temperment. We are constantly at odds, but Jethro is her slave. Emma is just like Jethro. A heartbreaking little manipulator. Jethro is somewhat immune, but I can deny her nothing.

Love 'em. Love, love, love 'em. Can't wait to have more. I actually thought we might be, but it was a false alarm. I was disappointed. Jeth was so sweet, though. He really doesn't want to have more, at least not until he is out of school. I can't say I blame him. Our house is too small, the cars are too small, and we have no money. For some strange biological reason, I was still disappointed. Jethro knew it, and gave me a hug, and promised we'd try for a boy the second he got a decent job. Made me horny all over again. Damn him.

Wednesday, October 06, 2004

The Most Humiliating Moment of My Life To Date

Jay is responsible. If you are a good looking guy, and you write "Damn!" under a picture of another man's wife, it stands to reason that the husband will:

a) take it as a compliment, no matter how it's meant,
b) consummate the matter as quickly as possible even if it is an awkward moment.

Jethro, being consumed with lust, just had to have it. I, being the dutiful, horny wife said, "Bring It On." We sat the kids in front of Alice in Wonderland with a bowl of pretzels and proceeded to the boudoir. We locked the door and put one of Jethro's 35lb weights (which he only uses for that purpose) in front of the door.

Then...{insert porno music}....we mated. About 6 different ways. Suddenly, mid-hump, with Jethro standing and me on the bed with my arms over my head and my legs around him, the door is flung wide. For the second time in a week, our eldest is a witness to the act of love. Gwennie is standing there calmly informing us that Emma is crying. She wasn't. But Jeth and I were fucked. There was no blanket this time. There was only a pair of Jethro's jeans which we fought for; each madly attempting to cover our extremes with a pant leg. (If jeans could talk...). We both yelled in unison, "GET OUT, GET OUT, GET OUT NOW!!!!" Didn't phase the child a bit. She just stood there possibly in complete innocence, but more likely fascinated by her two naked, bellowing parents. Oh, and Emma was there too. If she wasn't crying before, she was certainly crying now.

Although it is too late to spare Gwennie and Emma the sight of their copulating caregivers, we discovered that Gwennie knows how to unlock the doors from the outside. (All of our doors do that because the girls once locked themselves in the bathroom when they were in the bath while I was getting their towels). And apparantly 35 lb weights against the door are as nothing when compared with a 5 year old's determination.

Perversely, Jeth and I started laughing. You can't help it. Part of it is nerves, and part of it is the amusement that invariably ensues when you have literally been caught with your pants down. Gwennie started crying, believing we were laughing at her.

"No no, honey. You just frightened us, that's all. But now you know not to come into Mommy and Daddy's room when the door is locked. When the door is locked, it means Mommy and Daddy are busy and you should wait until we are out of the room before you ask us a question. Or just knock on the door. But don't open it if it's locked. Ever. Ok, let's go get pizza."

We didn't mention the nudity. She didn't ask. I think she knows.

Tuesday, October 05, 2004



OK, that porn-monkey of a husband posted all the pictures first, so now I'm forced to post twice in one day and the wisdom and beauty that is my previous post will go unnoticed when compared to my boobs. Yes, they are real. Yes, they are quite large. Yes, even one of them is bigger than my head. Yes, Jethro likes to suck on them. Yes, I'm still pulling college boys out of my cleavage.

So here I am. Zelda. I just figured this picture was a decent compromise for those who wanted to see it all, and me who wanted to show as little as possible.


After reading my last post, I just want to thank everyone who posted a comment. That was a lot of self-congratulations to slog through.

I like Wal-Mart. Yes, I do. The corporation can go hang itself, but I love shopping there. There is no better place to people watch.

There are two Wal-Marts both within 3 minutes of where I live. One is Yuppie-Mart, and one is Ghetto-Mart. I like Ghetto-Mart best. I also only go between 11 pm and 3 am. I have insomnia. When Jethro and I used to live in town, there were any number of coffee shops and diners that were open all night. Out here in suburban limbo, there is only Wal-Mart. So I pay them a visit whenever I can't sleep. Aside from finding things I want at sweatshop prices, I like watching the people that crawl in.

Gangs of boys, red-eyed and high on pot, wander dreamily through the grocery section looking for snacks. Half of them don't wear shoes.

The Mexican workers torture the one little old white lady on shift by directing every English-speaking person to her when they can't find something.

There are bleary-eyed parents who have forgotten that one little item for their kid's lunchbox that they just have to have. They probably overpay at the register.

Girls, in all stages of hoochie, eye the red-eyed boys and buy still more clothes that their mothers shouldn't let them out of the house in. The red-eyed boys make comments. The girls take them in stride.

Then there are the high-school couples. I never know what they're buying, but I'm always pretty sure they've just finished some business in the backseat. They guys affect nonchalance and the girls look at them affectionately and try to squeeze their hands into the back pockets of their wranglers. They have trouble if there's a comb back there.

I heard the most beautiful thing there. I was looking for tights for the girls' ballet class when I heard the most amazing voice. One lady, all alone, was singing to the Muzak. I can't even remember what the song was, maybe Celine Dion or Whitney Houston. She didn't jazz it up or sing it gospel. She sang every note high and clear and perfect. I didn't think she would have noticed me, but I hid anyway. After the song was over, she stopped. Perhaps it was because they started playing Shania Twain. Anyway, it was a rare moment. Amid all the excesses of the chubby hoochie girls and the men who love them, was one clear voice redeeming all of our existences.

Monday, October 04, 2004

More on Being Married (Which Includes Sex)

I was asked by someone a few months ago why mine and Jethro's marriage is so good. I'm sure I gave some simple-minded answer like, "head." But I've been pondering the question for awhile. We had so many strikes against us. We were way too young (I was 22, Jeth was 24). I was pregnant (never a good reason to get married). We were from completely different cultures. And we were completely broke.

There are several factors in keeping our marriage together.

1. Neither of us uses sex to get what we want.

It is completely off the table. Actually sometimes it's on the table, but only on special occasions.

2. We have sex frequently.

When we first got married, I was really sick from being pregnant. I threw up so much I almost detatched my retinas. I also lost an obscene amount of weight. It is a miracle that my kids were healthy. And of course after the baby comes, sex is kind of on hiatus for awhile. But it was always a goal of mine to get back into it. I figured that if we were single, we'd be getting it regularly, and I wasn't ready to give it up at 23, especially since I'd only been having it for a little over a year. So, even if I didn't quite feel up to it, I did it anyway. Eventually, it was less a chore than it was an addiction.

3. Jethro never pressured. Ever. I discussed with him how I felt about post-marital sex, in that I really wanted to resume an active sex-life but just to give me a little time for the old hormones to finish fluctuating. He was awesome. He took me completly at my word and never even asked. After I had the second, I was really frustrated and upset because I wasn't bouncing back as fast as I thought I should. Jeth just said, "Calm down, honey. It's just hormones. Give it a little more time and you'll be fine. He now has his reward.

4. The kids don't take priority over our sex-life.

I know that sounds harsh and selfish, but in the long run I think we're doing them a favor. Kids thrive the best in two-parent households, and we're keeping the two-parent household together. You aren't doing your kids any favors by placing their temporary wants or desires over your marital sex-life. Obviously we would postpone intercourse if they were on fire or something, but if all they want is pretzels or juice, it can wait until after we're done. It is a little harder when they're very small, but you have to realize that some crying never hurt them, and that their needs will not go unmet. Think of it as putting on your kid's oxygen mask after you put on yours. Please don't any of the mom's get on my case. My kids are fine and happy and we love them.

Also, it is hard to enjoy your kids if you resent them. Moms don't face this problem as much as dads do. The old maternal instinct usually kicks in for moms. But dads, without the love hormones, remember and miss a time when you could just pick up and go. Or drop everything and fuck on the living room floor. Good times. If he feels as if none of that is ever going to happen again and worse, that his wife has no interest in that ever happening again even on a smaller scale, he can get resentful. And I really don't blame him. I don't blame moms either, but I definitely don't think sex should be shelved after you have kids.

5. Jethro and I have so many things in common

In case it has escaped anyone's attention, Jeth and I share similar political views. I brought him around to my way of thinking. It was work, but it was worth it. We also like, no love, food. We will try anything at least once, and aside from sex, it is a central part of our lives.

6. We have quite a few seperate interests.

I like to read. Which is quite an understatement. Reading is as close as I get to religion these days. Jethro reads when required to.

Jethro loves paintball. I am ambivalent at best.

Jethro loves guns and shooting them. I am terrified by them.

I like home projects. Jethro doesn't like spending the money.

Zelda's Proverbs: Ladies, the same force that doth polish the knob, doth also grease the family wallet. Now before I piss off any of the gentlemen, I'm not advocating that ladies use sex to get what they want. I'm just advocating a new perspective on the golden rule.

But Jeth and I both learn things from each other and really try to make the other happy. We both genuinely like each other as friends and want the best for each of us. Sure we get on each others' nerves. Quite often. But none of that is going to make us kick over our marriage.

Only cheating, abuse, child-molestation, or a criminal act resulting in someone's death would cause us to get divorced. But since we don't have any murderous or pedophilic tendencies that I am aware of, I think we are safe.

This post is way too long, and forgot to mention what a strong role both of our families played, and I wrote it mostly just to get some thoughts straight in my own head. Don't anyone take this as preaching or anything. This is just my own perspective on my own marriage which is going quite well.

Saturday, October 02, 2004

A neighbor boy who is in first grade has a crush on our Gwennie, who is in Kindergarten. He wrote her a letter that went:




I read the letter to her and asked if she wanted to marry him. She said, "Sure, he's my brother."

Not having any idea how to respond to that, I let the matter drop.

The other day, I was driving the little boy, his brother, and Gwennie to school. Gwennie, with her characteristic candor said (at full volume), "HA HA - YOU WANT TO MARRY ME, DON'T YOU, TOMMY"

That poor kid turned tomato red. He looked at me pleadingly, silently begging me to shut-up my daughter. No way in hell. It was too damn funny. I was enough of a good sport to pretend I didn't hear, though. And even though she totally humiliated him, he still likes her.

Friday, October 01, 2004

Ok, so I was a little drunk

I was a little drunk last night when I blogged about the debate. I read over my last post and felt as if I had just woken up next to an ugly, naked woman after a night on the town. And seeing as how I'm not gay....

I am, however a fool. I just realized with a sick sense of doom that I have been emailing other bloggers with an email address that reveals my full name.

Inanna I completely trust, if for no other reason then that she wouldn't want to give Wiccans a bad name.

Jay cares naught for serial killing, as he is too busy trying to find a doctor who will remove his ribs so he can lick Big Jay at will.

Trashman seems to have renounced a life of crime and sin (well maybe not sin) and is now best friends with a cop.

And Seeker wants me to worship him as a god. That would be problematic if I were not living.

If I am found dead suddenly, I'm leaving this entry as a clue. But aside from me being the victim, wouldn't that be the coolest murder mystery?