Friday, December 30, 2005

I've written a children's story and I need an illustrator. The pictures will be the most important part of the book as they will convey the TRUTH. If anyone has a talent for drawing what people tell them to draw, you can email me at I will be shopping the final product to publishers, so it may be an opportunity for some special, talented person. Or it could just end
up being good practice.


It's been brought to my attention that haloscan is not letting people comment. I will be putting up blogger comments until I can get the situation resolved. I haven't written about my tits and masturbation habits just to be denied feedback.

Now, since I have very low self-esteem, I read my comments about 4-6 times a day. I KNOW WHEN I GET SPAMMED. There is no need to waste valuable, Zelda-flattering space telling me about it. I will remove it as I come upon it.


I was watching a news program where they were talking about the lady teachers who have sex with their students. The reasons they gave were probably valid, i.e. the boys give them attention they don't get anymore as married women, the boys worship the ground they walk on, their sex drives are more compatible, blah, blah, blah.

But when they got around to talking about solutions, one of the panelists (who were incidentally all women) said that the husbands of these ladies should be treating them "like goddesses," obviously infering that if they did, these women wouldn't fall prey to aggressive, hormonal, teenage boys.

I couldn't believe it. I agree that these women aren't predators and that these boys are not violated in the same way that girls usually are, but for crying out loud. These women are not right. They are doing very bad things that, as adult, married women, they ought to have some control over. These poor men, by all accounts, have been hard-workers who loved their wives. So say that responsible, wage-earning husbands and fathers are in some way to blame for their wives' outrageous behavior is nauseating.

One two-minute conversation ending your marriage is all it takes for you not to be a cheating bitch who sleeps with children as opposed to just a bitch who sleeps with children. And why didn't these panalists suggest that these women are selfish sluts who simply want to have their exciting, illicit romances without giving up their meal ticket? They droned on and on about older women being sexually compatible with teenage boys, but didn't mention how very foolish it is to think with one's genitals.

Sometimes women make me sick on so many levels. Men do too, but since I am a women, I refuse to be caught in a web of feminist hypocrisy. It's the least I can do.

Wednesday, December 28, 2005

Because I Could

I masturbated at work today. I wasn't really in the mood and it took a long, long time. But no one was here, so I thought I wouldn't waste the opportunity.

Tuesday, December 27, 2005

The Worst Christmas Ever

First of all, I want to apologize for not getting over to everyone's blogs to wish them good tidings. I've been insanely busy with what was possibly the worst Christmas ever.

I'll start at the beginning and apologize in advance for the length.

The day after Thanksgiving, I had to tell my mom about my stepdad's indiscretions. I didn't come to that conclusion lightly. I had warned stepdad that if I so much as suspected he was up to something, I would be telling my mom. The day after Thanksgiving, he disappeared for hours and my mom couldn't find him. She told me she thought he was cheating. Still, I didn't say anything except for her to get proof if it. By lucky coincidence, she called my stepdad who gave her some bullshit story and then forgot to hang up his cell phone. My poor mom ended up hearing a sordid conversation between him and another woman.

So I told her about the email and apologized for not telling her sooner. Well needless to say, my mom was furious at stepdad and he was furious at me. And seeing as how he was my boss, it left me in quite an awkward position.

Now as it always happens (at least in my family), the situation is far more complicated than just an ordinary case of adultery. In order to explain it fully, I have to go back through my own family's history to before I was born.

Back in the 60s and 70s, my parents were hippies. My stepdad and his ex were also hippies. And they all became hippie converts to Christianity. They joined a cult called the Children of God. I won't even condescend to give them a link, but there is a lot of information on the internet about them.

Before I go any further, I just want to make clear that my vitriol against this cult is in no way an indictment of Christianity in general.

Part of this cult's schtick was that the world was going to end and America was going to be destroyed, so everyone better hightail it for parts unknown. My parents ended up in the middle east. I was born in Greece, but only just missed being born in Turkey. My sister was born in Iran.

Now, as it turns out, there was a great deal of conflict occurring in Iran in the year of 1978. No one was really hanging out the welcome mat for Westerners and my family and I had to leave under much duress. I don't remember being frightened, but something must have heightened my senses because my first memories are of airplanes in the dead of night, and watching a clock in what I think was a train or a bus station. It had a black and white tile floor.

My parents concluded that perhaps the cult leader had it wrong and it was everywhere but America that was going to be destroyed, so they came back to New York and had the rest of my sisters in quick succession. Eight in all. I should, perhaps, state right here that they no longer wanted anything to do with the cult. And it was the year they left that the cult began to get malignantly crazy, as opposed to benign, hippie crazy.

My father was diagnosed with leukemia when I was 11. We moved to Houston when I was 15 so he could get treatment. But he died when I was 16 leaving my mother with almost no money and eight daughters to raise on her own. A few months after my father died, my stepfather came out to pay my mom a visit. He and his ex had just divorced. They had eight children also. Against everyone's wishes but their own, they married just over a year after my father's death.

Resentment reigned supreme. To my stepdad's credit, he put up with all of it and managed to establish a successful real estate business. This of course has all been done with my mother waiting on him hand and foot and encouraging him the whole way.

Now to the present situation. Stepdad hasn't been cheating on my mom with some skanky native. No. He has been seeing members of the cult. They call themselves The Family of God or simply The Family. They are up to their same old tricks which include having the women (married and unmarried) sleep with men who have money and bring them into the fold. A more parasitic group never existed. I could go on and on about the mind games and house of cards logic these deluded individuals practice, but I'm sure you can guess.

Part of the problem is that it is very appealing at first. It appears to be a laid-back, whole grain, patchwork skirt kind of atmosphere. Women are allowed to sleep with anyone for the purpose of "conversion." And they justify it all in their morning bible study. Honestly, what man wouldn't jump at that opportunity?

But that well dries up pretty fast and once you're involved, it degenerates quickly into petty power struggles and a deep, overriding fear of damnation. Your free will is sapped into the collective and suddenly you are no longer an independent, autonomous person, but a powerless, defensive member of a cult. It becomes a drug and you become an addict. You may think you've left, but one day you hear someone call you by your cult name and suddenly you belong to them once more.

I'm rather afraid this is what has happened to stepdad. He doesn't want to divorce my mom, but I don't think he wants to stop seeing these people either.

So the current situation is quite tense. My mother, in an understandable but foolish fit of rage, told my sisters everything. Most of my sisters haven't dealt fully with our father's death and our mother's hasty remarriage, so as you can imagine, stepdad was persona non grata for the holidays.

Two of my sisters wanted absolutely nothing to do with him and said they wouldn't come down for the holidays if they had to step foot in his house. So I offered up what seemed to me the only workable solution. Have everyone except stepdad over to my house before Mass. Stepdad could then meet my mom for midnight mass and then go home with her and the kids who live there. But Stepdad didn't like that idea and insisted on going to the early Mass. My mom, who can't say no to anyone but me, tried to talk the recalcitrant sisters into letting stepdad into the house just for a little while. My sisters didn't budge, and stepdad, possessing the maturity of a coked up adolescent, decided to come in anyway.

Knowing the shit was a millisecond away from the proverbial fan, I took him outside and tried to gently persuade him to go have a drink for a few hours, then come back. He said no. My sisters came out in full on fuck-you-in-your-cult-loving-ass mode, and everyone said the fuck word at least 11 times apiece at 7:30 pm in a quiet little family neighborhood on Christmas Eve. I've seen more refined homeless shelters.

Stepdad, drove off in a royal snit, my mom jumped in Jethro's car and screamed at Jethro to follow him, which, bless his precious heart, he did. So, if I may wallow a bit in self-pity, I was left with The Bitches, my Jewish grandmother, my German grandfather, and without my husband on Christmas Eve. I had spent hours making a pretty cool hors d'oeuvre supper which went uneaten, and I had the added misery of knowing that my dear husband was hungry and stuck with my insane, grief-stricken mother.

Christmas morning was a blast though.

Gwennie and Emma loved their presents. I think we hit one out of the park on those. And I got Jethro a couple of shirts, which he need badly. And he got me a gorgeous bathrobe and slippers. I liked the slippers so much, I had a nightmare that I accidentally wore them outside.

And now to wax unforgivably sentimental. My greatest gift is always Jethro. Somehow he saw through all the drama and found something good in me - enough that he wanted to share himself with me forever. I couldn't dream of more, and there is nothing more to be had.

Tuesday, December 20, 2005

The Downside of Having Your Jewish Grandmother for the Holidays

Setting: all fours on the living room floor

Zelda: "C'mon. Live a little. She probably won't be back for hours."

Jethro: "But just our luck and she walks right in."

Zelda unzippers frantically

Zelda: "Well make it fast then."

Jethro: "But the repercussions of having someone of that age..... ah fuck....

tittie fondling and dry humping ensues.

Jethro: "Oh, hi Bubbie."

Zelda scrambles psychotically for the sofa.

Zelda: "We were just trying out a new adjustment."

Bubbie (with a New York Jewish accent): "Oh you'll have to try that on me later. I've been having this chronic lower back pain. I can't even stand 15 minutes. And my feet! Forget about it.......

Sunday, December 18, 2005

Bathroom Attendants and Other More Enjoyable Wastes of Skin and Air

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Friday, December 16, 2005

The Home Stretch

Jethro: "Just think. You're a doctor's wife."

Zelda: "Yeah. Now I'll have to give you head and stuff."

I love making Jethro laugh so hard he falls on the floor. But it could have been the margaritas.

So Jethro's finished. All his adjustments are done just in time for graduation TOMORROW!!! I can't believe it. I simply can't believe it. I've been in survival mode for so long, it's hard to adjust to the idea that we will soon have normal lives again with Pop going off to work and Mom putting out hard-core to make up for not having or wanting any kind of career except that which is largely unattainable.

And speaking of careers, Gwendolyn is telling everyone she wants to be a chiropractor. Or a policewoman. Personally I think she'd make a great prison warden. But the other day I took her and Emma to a toy store to get an idea of what they wanted for Christmas. There was little ironing board on display and some stuffed animals on a shelf. I watched them take the stuffed animals and give them adjustments on the ironing board. The cashiers were looking at them perplexedly and I explained their dad was a chiropractor. They thought that was pretty funny.

Y'all, I've never seen Jethro so happy. We went to a little party for his class last night. He was already out there, so I got a ride to it with some of his friends who live near here. When I saw him he came up and gave me the biggest hug I've had in months, lifting me off the ground - no small feat, and a dangerous stunt for a chiropractor.

Have I mentioned lately how ridiculously in love with him I am?

Wednesday, December 14, 2005

The Sacred and Profane

My family and I were in Iran when the Shah was deposed and Khomeni took power. We had to flee for our lives.

Jethro and his family were in Vietnam when the North Vietnamese took Saigon. They had to flee for their lives.

It's interesting to watch the history channel and see our lives intertwined with international events, but I fear it may also give one an exaggerated sense of one's place in history. Is it any wonder I strive so hard for a kind of depraved mediocrity?

The question is, what do Jethro and I do with those experiences? Somehow, I don't think we were thrown together just to bury them. I keep thinking there is a story that needs to be told, but I don't know how to tell it. Every time I try, I become accutely aware of my sex life or something comedic (or both). Why do I seek out the profane when there is something more to be said? It's not that I feel guilty, it's just that I feel pressure to do something more. There are so many pieces of me struggling to make it to the page, but winning the battle every time is the large-bosomed, foul-mouthed, pseudo-slut. I'm beginning to have a wee bit of contempt for her. She's just so pervasive.

That's all. It's time the meds. Not that I take them, but if I publish this (as I have been debating with myself for 10 minutes as to whether I should), I probably ought to.

Monday, December 12, 2005

Friday, December 09, 2005

Reason # 4,906 Why Zelda Does Not Belong In An Office

"Hi Janet," sez I to a woman who was not Janet, but who bore a striking resemblance. Janet is not attractive. The woman glared at me and did not say "hi" back. I pretended I was talking to my hand, which is actually named Charlston A. Winthrop VII. He's a little uptight, but he's loaded.


Those Dreams We Dream

I had the best dream last night. There has only ever been one guy who dicked me over. We were friends and he had no right to do it, but he was a Bastard so he did anyway.

I dreamt last night that he came into the living room wearing a kilt. Now normally I love kilts. They make me hot and creamy or however you else you may want to refer to sexually piqued. Perversely, part of the reason I love Jethro is that he will never EVER indulge this fantasy.

But in my dream, Bastard sat down with his legs akimbo and I got a good look. Nothing to write home about. But when I pointed out to him that he was giving us all a free show, he scooted closer to the dude he was sitting next to and started rubbing his leg.

I fucking knew it.

Thursday, December 08, 2005

"Jingle Bells, Mommy smells
Emma laid an egg.
Daddy is a chicken bird
And Gwennie rules the world!"

And that's how Gwennie takes us all out without even having to reload.

Wednesday, December 07, 2005


So much family crap. I'm inundated. Posting will resume when Jupiter aligns with Casper the Friendly Ghost and everyone either drops dead or decides to go on about their lives.

Monday, December 05, 2005

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

So my neighbor, the wife of the child molester, asked me if I could pick up her boys after school. Her husband, the child molester, doesn't have a job but he can't pick them up because he isn't allowed within some yards of a school. I don't mind doing it since I pick Gwennie up anyway, but when we're in the car, someone said something about the tooth fairy and the little shit with the big schlong said, "There is no tooth fairy. Your mom is the tooth fairy." Gwennie's face fell and then the little brat went on. "Yeah, and Santa is dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Your Mom and Dad are the ones who give you the presents."

I almost beat the kid then and there. I don't think I've ever come so close to cracking a kid across the mouth. I told him he was stupid and had no idea what he was talking about. Yes I did. And I don't care. What's the worst that could happen? The child molester's wife won't let me pick up her brats anymore? I'm fucking heartbroken.

I don't think Gwennie believes him, but what a sad way to learn the secret. I hope I can keep it until she's at least 8.

Friday, December 02, 2005

What Goes Down Must Come Up

Normally, I do not discuss my own bowel movements or other defacatory processes. Jethro's are up for grabs (in the literary sense), but I'm a lady and ladies do not take dumps. At least until two days ago. I ate some bad edamame. Edamame are soybeans the Japanese cover in salt and eat like a snack. Very nutritious except for the ebola virus.

I came home and was pretty hungry having skipped lunch. So I boiled some frozen edamame, salted it and ate it by the fistful. Pretty soon thereafter, I started feeling sick and nauseous. Then I started vomiting, and then I started vomiting from another direction. I had to go pick up Emma, but every time I tried to leave, I had to throw up or go poo. Finally, I had to call my sister-in-law to go get her. Gwennie had never seen me sick like that so she was kind of frantically running around and begging me not to throw up on her. I told her to stay out of the way and I wouldn't, but I think I did a little bit. When I'd finally thrown up everything I had eaten from three weeks back, it quit and I felt light years better.

But the saddest part of this entire story is that while I was in the middle of turning my asshole inside out, I was thinking, "Should I blog about this?"

Wednesday, November 30, 2005

"Go on. Skin it. Skin that smokewagon and see what happens."

Jethro's pants fly happily off.

Tombstone is relevant on so many levels. And any quote counts as foreplay in the household of Zelda and Jethro.

Tuesday, November 29, 2005

So by now everyone's seen Jethro's picture of me. He likes it, I hate it. I mean I'm all for keeping things lifted, but it looks like I'm trying to wear my boobs as a collar. And I was slightly intoxicated.

Other than that, I don't have a whole lot to say right now except that we are poor, oh so poor. We're talking beans and rice poor. We're beans and rice as Christmas presents poor. Why? Taxes are due. And Jethro is almost out of student loan and I just don't make enough. I am seriously considering taking a job at night at least until after the holidays.

I hate being poor. At least, I hate being poor when I'm expected to be somewhat less than poor. I could be frugal and miserly, but we don't live in an area that is conducive to economical living. I think a second job is most definitely in order. It's either that or set up a paypal account on my blog and beg for charity. Or sell the really good pictures of my tits.

Sunday, November 27, 2005

Karaoke Wedding

The longer I'm married to Jethro, the more I realize that I will never even begin to understand Asian culture. Sure, some superficial things have become slightly less baffling - such as why they would keep the coffee on the same shelf as the jelly in the grocery store - but the culture itself largely remains enigmatic despite my having been married to him for more over 6 years.

Jethro, the girls and I went to one of his many, many cousin's weddings last night. It was a karaoke wedding. They had a karaoke machine and whoever wanted to sing could go up there and belt one out.

I know this inspires thoughts of being serenaded by Yoko Ono, or some little tiny Asian man trying to sing "Stayin' Arive," but it wasn't that bad. The only person to sing in English didn't have an accent and he wasn't any worse than the soloist in church (which actually isn't saying much).

But when the bride and groom cut the cake, some lady went up there and sang something in what I think was French and Vietnamese and apparently a little Latin, because right in the middle of these incomprehensible words and techno tune, came an "Ave Maria." Let me just say that you have no idea of the quality of how bad someone is singing unless you understand the words. Ladies and gentlemen, she was no Roseanne Barr.

But this reminded me of last year at Jethro's parents' house. They were watching a Vietnamese holiday extravaganza on video and it was the weirdest thing I'd ever seen. It was a variety show and had everything from swordplay in traditional costumes, to incomprehensible skits that I don't even think Jethro's parents understood, and weirdest of all they all gathered at the end in skimpy little outfits to shake their booties and sing "By the Waters of Babylon" in English. That was the grand finale.

"By the Waters of Babylon" is a bible verse in Isaiah, I think. It says, "By the waters of Babylon, we lay down and wept for thee Zion. We remember thee Zion."

Don Maclean sings a mournful version and it doesn't exactly put you in the holiday mood. But here was a group of smiling Asians singing it with gusto while they shook their moneymakers to a disco beat. Honestly, it was then that I decided that everyone should marry outside their race because when there is nothing left to talk about, there is always that.

The enthusiasm with which Asians adopt American culture is nothing if not infectious, even if it does result from a huge cultural misunderstanding. Watching Asians assimilate really puts all the flaws of American culture under a microscope. But it also shows just how much fun it is. I sincerely hope Asians are as amused by us when we visit their countries.

Thursday, November 24, 2005

Happy Thanksgiving

The potatoes are mashed, the stuffing is...stuffed and we are on our way to Grandma's house for Thanksgiving with the Bitches.

May all of you have a blessed and happy Thanksgiving.

*Payasita update for anyone who is interested.

Wednesday, November 23, 2005

I just got a frantic call from my stepdad asking me to go online and check a news site. He'd heard a story about a murder/suicide and thought we knew them. We did. And it's worse than he thought. The father killed his wife, his two kids and himself. He was our inspector.

When you buy a house, you need to have inspections done to make sure you aren't buying a money pit. Mr. Belding was the man we called. In this business of people you don't want to have anything to do with, Mr. Belding was an exception. He was such a genial man, it was always a pleasure to do business with him. I never got that teeth-grinding, stomach churning feeling I get when I have to call most of the other people we deal with. He would talk about his kids all the time. He spent a lot of time with him. This is such a tragedy. I have no idea what could have made him do this.

I called him just the other day to see if he would do an inspection for us. He never answered either of his phone lines and didn't return the calls, which was quite unlike him. I figured he was on vacation, but as it turns out, he was already dead along with his wife and children. I simply can't believe it. He loved his children. I can't imagine he was having money problems because his prices for inspections were so reasonable.

I'm sorry for how disjointed this post is. I feel kind of numb and hysterical at the same time as well as sick to my stomach. All of the stupid things run through your head - like I could have done something. I know I couldn't have because I didn't know, but what if one of us missed doing one thing that could have prevented this? I know it's dumb. But when I remember him talking about his kids... I just don't know. Pray for their families. They were supposed to visit them for Thanksgiving. This has got to be a nightmare for them.

Monday, November 21, 2005

Irritating Moment in Real Estate

Have I ever made clear just how much I detest real estate agents? If I haven't, let me be perfectly blunt. I hate them. They're mostly useless individuals and out of the hoardes, only a tiny percentage have any idea what they are doing. Perhaps 1 in 300 have any clue about anything at all and they are not the ones who have their idiotic faces on billboards. I have never seen a realtor yet who has a catchy slogan.

Much of an average moron realtor's time is taken up with the most useless exercises in futility. For instance, I get a call the second I walk into the office from a lady who wants us to sell her niece's property. Not a problem. I work for a realtor and we sell houses. I asked her all kinds of information about the property which she happily gave to me. Then the money question: Is it listed with another realtor?

There was a pause and she said, "It's listed with me!"

What the fuck?

It took me a second to realize that this was not a prospective client, but an agent who was simply cold-calling other realtors to tell them about a property she had listed. And what a pointless waste of time. If we have a client and they're looking in that area, and the house is not too beat or priced too high, we will show it and it will sell. But to call up agents to tell them about your property that hasn't sold since March - as if that is going to help - is beyond stupid.

Some people need to find religion or take up a craft instead of filling up their lives with pointless human contact.

That was 5 minutes of my life I could have spent pinching my nipples. I'll never get that back.

Friday, November 18, 2005

At the risk of beating a dead horse, here's a picture my illustrious seatmate on the bus to Dallas.

Ain't he a beauty?


Now onto something health related - there is a medical theory about breast cancer that Jethro told me about and I think it's too important to keep to myself.

Around 90% of all breast cancers are located in the quadrant of the breast closest to your armpit. Breast cancer has been on the rise for quite some time and a theory is being advanced that it could be due to anti-perspirants. The theory is that blocking the sweat glands causes your body to retain waste products that are absorbed by the surrounding tissue.

Taking this into consideration, as well as the fact that I am at a higher risk for breast cancer because of the big'uns, I have started using only a deodorant. It contains salts which kill the bacteria that causes odor. It works. My pits have been nonsmelly since I started using it (not that they were before). The drawback is that it isn't an anti-perspirant, so there will be some wetness. Fortunately it's almost winter and I rarely sweat in the winter. But when faced with the risk of breast cancer, I'll take the damp underarms. The only other drawback is that it stings a little if you've just shaved. But it's entirely dealable.

So there you have it. Feel free to use the information as you see fit.

Have a great weekend.

Thursday, November 17, 2005

Trip To Dallas Part III: Conclusion

I suppose I might as well finish this, although nothing much happened. I mean, we had sex and stuff, but no one wants those details, right? We porned it up good, but no one is interested in that, right? I sucked that...nevermind. But it was like a rock star, okay? I practiced a few stripper moves in front of the mirror in the hotel. I have a nice ass. It's not often I have the time to look at it.

The only other thing that happened was that some moron pulled the fire alarm while I was in the shower and I had to run through the hotel like a drowning rat. Bastards.

It was a great trip though. Dallas is just like Houson except more conservative and less traffic.

I have nothing funny to write about. It's killing me. Everyone is sick with Jethro's plague and I'm looking at everything through phlegm colored glasses. Plus blogging about the mundane is dull after tattooed winos and real, live, wiggling coochies.

I think Jethro and I need to go to a tent revival with Trashman.

Tuesday, November 15, 2005

Trip To Dallas Part II: At The Nudie Bar or Defining Duality

With Carlos laughing his ass off at me trying to massage my ass and put on my seatbelt at the same time, we headed for the Wild Turkey, where Jethro and his classmates were.

There we met up with Big Dick and tCj who were quite fun. Big Dick is hysterical. Totally inappropriate, and not a PC bone in his body, he is guaranteed to offend, but you will enjoy being offended.

tCj seemed a little shy at first, and she didn't say much, but when she did, you worried a little for her safety because she was so darn cute.

So we had a few drinks and talked about our blogs. Dick said he couldn't figure me out because he got a different impression of me from my blog. Carlos, who's known me almost as long as Jethro, said that I defined duality. I guess, to put it bluntly, no one can tell if I'm a lady or a tramp, particularly blog readers. I was largely unaware of this dichotomy, but I suppose I should clarify as much as possible. I'm pretty much a good girl in public. I mean, I was raised to be polite and inoffensive to strangers and others who have given me no cause to be anything else. But I have a strange sense of humor and no fear of any subject. And I have found that almost no subject is really taboo if you can find something humorous in it. It may offend a little, but humor takes the sting out of it.

But I think the thing that gives the most erroneous impression of me is the swearing. I swear a lot in private, but I almost never swear in front of people I haven't met before. I mean if I step on a nail or something I'll probably say "fuck" loud and proud, but not as a general rule. But blogging is different. I have a different persona. I didn't set out to create it, it somehow created itself. It's kind of bar slut/philosopher persona, not unlike that of a *shudder* politician. This ekes its way into my real personality a little, but only just enough to confuse the hell out of Carlos, which could keep me amused to the end of time. Jethro understands me better than anyone else on this planet. There is very little I can get by him and that's why he gets laid. A lot.

Boy did I go off. Back to the nudie bar. The reason we went was largely tCj (although none of the guys needed their arms twisted). She didn't have her id, so we had to go somewhere 18 and up. None of the Dallas natives knew of a regular club and no one wanted to drive very far, so as luck would have it, there was an all-nude strip club very close by. Carlos knew all about it. You can't serve alcohol at all nude places, so they'll let in 18+. Fortunately, you can bring your own alcohol so we paid some guy to bring in a 24 pack of bud light. Big Dick complains about the cover charge and the price of sodas, but I guarantee if we were at a dance club we would have had to pay a cover, then pay 6 or 7 bucks a drink which would have been watered down, and there would have been no nekkid ladies. And everyone likes nekkid ladies. I mean, isn't that the whole point of going to any club at all?

So we walk into what I know management hopes looks like a classy Cabaret. It's hard to pull that off with dudes whacking off in the shadows, so I don't hold it against anyone. I thought all the girls were beautiful, but some of us *cough* Dick were slightly more discriminating.

With my honor at stake, and after several beers, I went up to the stage to give a girl a dollar. She was very cute and smooshed her boobies in my face. If I'd been a dude, I would have gotten a lap dance. But I really had no idea what to do. I wasn't sure if I should stick my tongue out and pretend I was into it, or just stand there like a heterosexual mother of two. I did the latter. I mean, it's largely wasted money for me, personally, but the charge it gives guys to see a naked chick rub her boobs in another chick's face, is almost worth it.

The only one to get any real action was our friend Jon. He was one of Jethro's classmates who never passes up a strip club. Jethro, Carlos and Dick are the types of guys who want girls to do their booty shakin' because they like them and not for the money. Jon doesn't care why they do it, so long as they're doing it in front of him.

I don't judge either men who go, or ladies who strip, but it breaks my heart a little to see pretty, naked girls crawling around a stage for dollar bills.

Jon got a lap dance from a gorgeous girl who had a teeny little C-section scar. The guys noticed it and their opinions ranged from "children = bad" to "she must have worked really hard to get in shape after having a kid. I'm going to pay her money to have her canoodle with me a little." She sat with him for three songs, so I hope Jon got his money's worth.

I figured out things about all of us that night.

Jon likes girls who work out.

Dick likes girls who make him earn it.

Carlos likes it when girls do something cool. He got a kick out of it when one of the girls was showing her pooter to a guy and was mouthing the words of her song. I don't remember what the words were, but they were appropriate to the situation and it was a cool moment.

Jethro likes me. He also likes saving money. He probably considers me an investment.

tCj likes to tease. And she's good at it.

As for me, I like hanging out with guys at strip clubs.

Sunday, November 13, 2005

Trip To Dallas Part I: The Bus Trip

So I neither slept nor played Zuma on the way to Dallas.

My sister-in-law dropped me off at the downtown Houston bus station. I checked in and sat down to wait like any normal person would do. But I was not a normal bus traveler. I was white. And I wasn't drooling. Most white people who ride the bus are dirty individuals with many piercings and crazy eyes. As I was waiting, a dirty white kid came up to me whining some bullshit story about having lost all his money and his ticket and how his mommy couldn't send him another ticket until 10pm and he didn't know how he was going to eat. Then he started crying like a little bitch. Then he said he was joining the army next week.

Zelda (amid peals of laughter): "How old are you?"

Blubbering White Kid: "21."

Zelda: "Son, do you have any idea what they are going to do to you in the army? You're a big boy. There's no reason to cry. So you have to wait awhile. Big deal. I know it's inconvenient, but when you're in boot camp, you will wish you were stranded in a bus station."

Blubbering White Kid (still whining): "I know, but no one will help me and I don't know what kind of a place this is. They just laugh at me when I ask for money."

Zelda: "That's because you're crying."

After instructing him on the finer points of panhandling, I gave him my change, kept him from hugging me, and sent him on his way. God help us if that is our military. He looked better suited to a legalize pot rally.

I boarded the bus and snagged a window seat because I get carsick if I can't see outside. Bad idea. Most people will allow the single, non-crazy white girl to ride the bus in peace and not inflict their low i.q.'d presence upon her, with one exception. Crazy white men.

I saw him board and knew instantly that he was going to:
1.) Sit with me
2.) Talk to me
3.) Hit on me

He sat down, grinned a boozy smile, and offered me his dirt encrusted hand along with the wine he was drinking out of a soda cup with a straw. I politely demurred and crunched up against the window.

He started talking about his kids, a pleasant enough subject. But with people like him, it always turns to how much child support he has to pay for them. I have a theory that this is how they get to talk about what good fathers they are, coupled with how much money they make. The only problem is that if they are paying $5,000 a month in child support, how am I going to gold-dig any of it?

Guys like that also seem to think that if they have fantasized about something long enough, they are competent to speak on the subject as if they have the actual experience. I was subjected to long, intricate stories about houses he'd built for himself with his own two hands, hot bisexual girls who fought for the privilege of having a three-way with him, and his super-schlong - able to ferry 8 Catholic girls to school and leap tall buildings in a single bound, not to mention giving the most splendid orgasms known to women.

I tried to read. I tried to sleep. I tried to hold my breath long enough to pass out. All useless endeavors. He asked to read my book after telling me that he must have read 100,000 in his academic career. I let him, hoping for the miracle of silence. Not only did he move his lips, he also read aloud. After stumbling over "anarchy," he handed it back.

The more wine he sucked through that straw, the more he started talking about my boobs. Apparently, in spite of the hundreds of threesomes in which he had participated so enthusiastically, he'd never seen bigger ones.

He asked if he could give me more children. He asked if my husband was going to meet me at the bus station and if he wasn't, why? And if I were his "old lady" he'd meet me at the bus station with a Rolls and a dozen roses. Amused by the thought of someone meeting anyone at a bus station with a Rolls, I let him prattle on. At some point he asked to see my cell phone, and like a mother trying to placate an ADD child, I let him. He tried to photograph my boobs with it. I held my book firmly over them. Then, at his insistence, I took a picture of him and the tattoo on his neck. I guess if I had a tattoo on my neck I'd want people to take pictures of it too.

It was with sigh of relief straight from the inner depths of my soul that we pulled into the Dallas bus station. My tattooed friend shook my hand again, and gave it a smeary kiss. I hauled ass off the bus. Carlos wasn't there yet, so I paced for awhile.

After a few minutes, I realized that I had gone from the frying pan to the proverbial fire. Pimps and pimp wannabes as far the eye could see, eating their pimp food, walking their pimp walks, and, worst of all, staring their pimp stares.

Lest anyone think I'm overly sensitive, I assure you I'm not. I've had people glance my way since I was 16 and I don't even see them anymore. But not in this case. I looked around and thought, "No one is on my side." I made for the ladies room and called Carlos. "Do me a favor," I said. "I'm staying in the ladies room. Call me when you get here and I'll meet you outside.”

"Is it bad?" He asked.

"Yeah. Real bad"

I hung up and called Big Dick and tCj and we finalized our plans to meet up.

I talked to the cleaning lady for awhile, who was really charming, especially after Neck Tattoo. Then Carlos called. "Hey, I'm outside in a silver car and I'm looking at a fat woman with three suitcases."

"I'll be right there."

I took a deep breath and plunged out of the restroom at a breakneck pace, dodging pimps and hos and all the rest of the intellectually bereft. If my life were ever made into a movie, this sequence should be shot in slow mo with me dodging past the last pimp, who "wanted to axe me something," and diving perfectly into Carlos' car, like a football hero catching the winning touchdown.

"Drive, motherfucker, drive!" I shrieked in a terrified frenzy. If I'd had a belt I would have whipped him like a carriage horse. It was only after being safe in the car that I realized I had been clenching my ass for almost 5 hours straight....

Stay Tuned for Part II: At the Nudie Bar

Friday, November 11, 2005

Have A Great Weekend

Last post before I leave. I had to pick up some shampoo at the grocery store and in the parking lot, I saw a grown man riding his shopping cart full of beer. Just running and jumping on it all the way to his car. I'll bet he gets a case of the Mondays.

So I'm gonna pack my shit and shave my kitty. Wish me luck.

Veterans Day

How do you say thank you to those who risk their lives so I can blog naked holding my gun?

It's inadequate, but to all the veterans: a very happy Veterans Day. Thank you.
I'm legitimate.

Thursday, November 10, 2005


I'm so excited to be going to Dallas. Elliott - baby - save me a dance or something. You too, Tease.

I'm taking the bus. I'm actually excited to be taking a freakin' bus. For starters, I can't drive very well. This has a long, boring personal history behind it, so I won't bore you. Secondly, I love bus stations. The more child hookers the better. Just kidding. I just like the comings and goings. My favorite word in the whole English language is 'departure' announced over an intercom.

Perhaps I'm not as much of a country girl as I thought.

Anyway, I'm looking forward to the uninterruped moments of solitude. I plan on sleeping and playing Zuma on my cell phone on the way up. And speaking of which, I have to remind Jethro to get an extra motel room. He's sharing one with three guys right now, and I'll screw him in front of them if I have to, but I'd prefer a little romance. Or at least a shower curtain or something.

And speaking of Jethro, pray for him tomorrow and Saturday which is when he'll be taking those boards. They start at 8:45am and go until 7:00pm both days. I know. The horror. And on top of that, he's sick with a sore throat and a fever. So keep him in your prayers. We can't do much if he doesn't pass.

Wednesday, November 09, 2005

So thanks for all the Bratz advice. It's nice to know I'm not some kind of psycho prude who's going to end up forcing her daughters into prostitution just to escape the injustice of never owning a Bratz doll. As it turns out, the makers of Bratz have made other, less repulsive dolls called 4 Ever Best Friends. I realize they're a little PC in their mixed-race themes, but face it, My kids are mixed and these dolls look like them and their friends. I think that's important. And since they're made by whoever makes the Bratz dolls, I can buy the Bratz sushi lounge (which is so cool it makes me want to cry) for them and satisfy my obsessive compulsive disorder regarding accessories matching the dolls.

And, best of all, these dolls lack the 'tudz.

I know I spend a lot of time thinking about their toys. Probably too much. But the girls watched one episode of the Bratz Rock Angels cartoon. Jethro and I were there and didn't think much of it until Jethro asked Emma, the good one, to put on her shoes and she raised her little hand, snottily, and said "Whatever." To. Her. Father.

Oh no she didn't, girlfriend. That was nipped in the bud. But all because of that lousy show. They are never watching it again. And in fact, they're never watching the Cartoon Network again. They can watch Nick Jr and the Disney channel. And maybe PBS if I'm feeling generous.

I don't think the makers of those programs know anything about kids. I know the idea is to show spunky girls, full of piss and vinegar, who have fun and won't let anyone stop them. The problem is that the only ogres trying to stop their fun in real life are their parents who want them to go to school or clean their rooms. Yeah. We suck.

Monday, November 07, 2005

This has been the longest day of my life. Jethro is in Dallas and I am just trying to get through the week without him. I hate being alone. I hate it so much, I moved in with my in-laws for the week. Screw all of you for laughing. You try being robbed by two gun-weilding psycho-boys and then tell me you wouldn't put up with your in-laws for the security of knowing your children are safe. But I don't actually have to "put up" with my in-laws. I like them and they tolerate me reasonably well, so it's win-win, especially because they get to have a slumber party with their grandaughters every night.

But seriously, I don't know how military families do it. One night without my husband, and I'm antsy and miserable. I can't say enough heartfelt "thank you's" for the sacrifices they make. Bless you all.

So I had the kids fed, homeworked, bathed and in bed by 8:30pm. Then their grandparents came home and ruined it. "Who wants ice cream?!" Damn them. So I decided they would have to get the girls to bed and I would come back to my house to take out the trash and take a shower. First thing I did was grab the gun and keep it in the bathroom with the shower door open, just in case. After I was finished, I sat here naked and started blogging. Then I thought about horror movies and how the naked chick always, always dies. So I retrieved the weapon from the bathroom and I'm now sitting here blogging naked and holding a gun. A loaded gun. If I make it through the week without getting a tit blown off, I'll consider it a major victory for self-reliance.

So I hope we get to see everyone in Dallas. I'm just sitting here, naked, with a gun, counting the minutes.


First a funny from Emma. We were out eating and she decided to get up. Just as I picked her up out of her chair, she let one rip. I laughed and said, "What do you say?"

She said, "I farted."

I laughed again and said, "No, you're supposed to say "excuse me."

She said, "Oh. Excuse me. I have to go tell Gwennie I farted."

No shame, that one.

Anyway, I need advice. Gwennie and Emma love the Bratz dolls. So far, I haven't let them have one because they seem too narcissistic and materialistic. Plus, they look ridiculous. They have huge heads and scrawny little bodies. They should start billing them as "ethnic anorexics, whoring their way to better fashion."

But more than the pounded on makeup and the slutty clothes, I have a problem with the "attitudz," as they like to claim the "toyz" posess. Even the "ponyz" have "attitudz." Look at them. They look like My Little Ponies in Hell.

So I'm torn. I know the girlz, I mean girls want them, and I'm not one of those people who think toys can magically and evilly posess children and start making them think things are not actually what they are. I mean, I played with Barbies and I had no delusions about what I would look like when I grew up. It was pure fantasy.

And the Bratz are pure fantasy. I just don't know that I really like that fantasy. At least the Barbies stayed home or had careers - actual money-making careers. But I'm going to go out on a limb and say that they're probably harmless and I will consider getting them for Christmas, but I had better not see a hint of the Bratz attitudz or I will have no problems reconsidering while I spank 'em good.

Friday, November 04, 2005


Please notice how you will only be reading about this on blogs. I know it should probably go on Payasita, but I'm putting it here instead. Perhaps it seems more personal because one of the girls looks like my daughter.
If you ever have any doubts about who and what we are fighting, don't. There is no second-guessing motives here. This was not done out of desperation or poverty. And this is what we can expect if islamo-facism wins. You can sit around and try to understand the "whys," but you won't get any answers. It's as if the David Koreshes and the Jim Joneses were suddenly financed and given license by governments to cut the heads off children in the name of Christianity.
I don't care about offending Muslims. Muslims should be worrying about offending me. Where is the outcry from the Muslim world. I want to hear their outrage that someone of their religion would do such a thing. But we have nothing. Silence. Perhaps whiny equivocations from those leftists who are too stupid to realize that they are staring at their fate.
Does this represent the tactics of all Muslims? No. And I know it, so spare me the "not all Muslims are like that." But Muslims say nothing. And they will pay the price for letting the screaming imbeciles have their way.
Thanks to Blonde Sagacity for the link.

Thursday, November 03, 2005

Payasita Update: Machismo vs. Homosexuality.


Jethro and I are going to be in Dallas the evening of November 12 and during the day on November 13 (Saturday and Sunday) during the day. If anyone is interested in hooking up with either of us, you can email us at I'll email you back my cell phone and stuff. It'll be fun. There is an excellent possibility Carlos will be there so if there are any interested ladies, I've offered to be his pimp.

I'm off to go vote.

I'm back. There wasn't anything of interest except Prop 2 regarding the definition of marriage.


Ok, I know this is random, but I just remembered it and I thought it was funny. After Jeth and I had sex the requisite 6 weeks after Gwennie was born, we lying there smoking our Marlboro Reds and I said, "You know what this makes you?"

Jethro said, "What?"

"A motherfucker."

Ba-Dum-PA! Thank you. I'll be here Tuesdays and Thursdays. Be sure to tip your waitress.

Tuesday, November 01, 2005

Good Halloween

It was a dark and stormy night.

And Gwennie had bronchitis. So trick-or-treating was limited to only a few houses. Then we took them to the mall. Keep reading. It gets better. Jethro decided that I, dressed as a looter, didn't do it for him, so on went the corset and fangs and crazy eyes. I guess I can manage to dress all slutty for him once a year. Jethro's leather pants fit a little tighter, and I had to lace the corset up a little looser, but I think we still managed to look pretty good.

Digression: Did you ever look into the mirror and realize you were looking older? My looks haven't changed much since I was 18, but I've been really looking at myself in the mirror lately, and I see things. I'm not afraid. I'm not afraid. I'm not afraid. But Jethro is going to end up looking younger than me eventually. And he'll be a doctor. I don't think my tits are going to make it that long. Show no fear. Read. Learn. A head full of thoughts will sustain you through times when you are alone. It seems silly to be worrying about loneliness with a husband and two children. I love us to the point of heartbreak. Is that enough to keep your best friend around when someone younger and hotter wiggles their way onto the table with a mouth full of flattery and tits full of saline? Am I giving this my best shot?

Resume: Gwennie and Emma were Mulan and Sleeping Beauty. So much for originality. I tried to make Emma Mushu, but she took one look at the costume and freaked out. It was so funny. She was so excited at first, but she got a look at the dragon head and her grin turned into a face of abject terror. I felt guilty and let her be Sleeping Beauty like she wanted.

At the mall, Jethro and I scared people with the eyes. Actually Jethro scared people with the eyes. I scared them with the boobs. It was funny. We will have pictures.

Friday, October 28, 2005

Sundries, and a Payasita Update

Payasita Update. I know I've been neglecting my little political clown, but nothing has aroused my ire until today. I still intend to post about Crawford though, as well as some personal insights into hippie/anti-war culture from the point of view of someone (me) who was conceived for the purpose of continuing a communist utopia. Yes, I've had an interesting life, and most of it wasn't even my fault.


So Emma hops onto our bed last night, picks up the remote, and says, "I want to watch the Astros! GO ASTROS!!!" Jethro wept.

Later that night, I had dropped a pen behind the bed and was reaching below to get it out. My ass was sticking straight up, and Jethro came up behind me and started loving on it. My arm was stuck behind the bed, so Jethro had full advantage. Just as he was getting into full on spank-the-mommy mode, Emma calls out, "Mommy! Come and wipe my butt! She had been sitting in our bathroom on the potty the whole time.

Gwendolyn has bronchitis. She worked the pathos and got us to take her out for sushi. I must say there is nothing that will take your mind off a crushing World Series defeat like a sick child. But there is no one who can ruin your sympathy for her illness like Gwendolyn. She seemed to think that just because we did her bidding in taking her to the restaurant she wanted, we were now required to do her bidding forevermore. Long story short, she got spanked. And if you are going to take your child "to the car," there is no better place than an Asian restaurant because if anyone understands about beating children for a tone of voice, it's Asians.

Anyway, my day is going swell. I am having some people over for Halloween, so hopefully this will get my ass in gear and our house will be clean. If not, well it's not like I have that much of a reputation anyway. Have a great weekend.

Thursday, October 27, 2005

Bad Post

Ok, I'm feeling a little bad about the last post. I wrote it last night after an evening of pure misery. I'll just have to be forgiven. But I give credit to Houston for not rioting.

Some fabulous news though. Jen had her little girl. She was three weeks early and is a teeny, tiny one. I can't wait to see her.

So I've decided to design our costumes to resemble these good folks.

Kristin sent me this picture and I laughed until I couldn't breathe. I'm afraid the crack ho look will be a little hard for me, since I am quite er.. healthy, but I'll do my best.

Jethro should have no problem.

Wednesday, October 26, 2005

Bad Baseball

All I have to say is that it's pretty easy to win a world series when umpires are on the take, Selig's dick is massaging your prostate, and a worthless media riles up their savages to assault the opposing players' wives, then proclaims the opposing team "too white to win." Granted the Astros sucked ass and probably would have lost anyway, but this was ridiculous. Call after bad call. And we saw how the umps screwed the Angels too.

I feel bad for the Astros. They deserved to play at least all of their home games. But the ones I really feel sorry for are the White Sox because their victory is now just as tainted as their defeat in 1919.

Monday, October 24, 2005

Bad Day

In case no one has noticed, I'm a terrible sport. I don't high-five and say "good game" after losing. I barely do it after winning. That is, unless I'm pressured into it by better sports than I. It's probably a good thing I grew breasts and gave up sports because I would be unbearable. More than I am now even.

So I've decided on our Halloween costumes. We are going as LOOTERS!! Jethro's going to carry our broken tv and a 6 pack. I'm going to carry a package of pampers and a 6 pack.

And the big winner of the Halloween costume contest is AJ in Iraq. I know how disappointed Jack is. He was pining for Jethro's nekkid ass, a fact in which Jethro has been rubbing my nose for days now. He walks around all cocky, flexing his buttock muscles, pointing at me at random intervals, and saying, "You and Jay can suck my dick. He wants me." It's bordering on the obscene.

Now AJ didn't come up with the exact idea, but he set me on the right track, so he gets to see one boob. Just kidding. The boy's in Iraq for crying out loud. I wouldn't do him like that.

Saturday, October 22, 2005

Ensberg should have sacrificed and circumstances beyond our control prevented us from following our prescription for Astros' success. I don't want to talk about it.

Thursday, October 20, 2005


I think we have discovered the winning strategy for Astros victory. I CANNOT wear my Astros lounge pants at any time during the game. I probably shouldn't even look at them. Any time Jethro or I display a moment of confidence I must knock on at least two different pieces of wood. Jethro must also buy a 6 pack of Coronas during the 4th and 5th innings. He must open mine for me and let me have the first sip. And finally, I must masturbate said Corona gently during the 8th inning and simulate a vigorous blow job on it during the 9th, all the time whispering what I will do to every single pitcher if they win and if Jethro would release me from the marital vows for about 30 seconds apiece.

I reinjured my toe while giving Jethro's leg a thorough victory humping. Don't feel bad. It was worth it.


Wednesday, October 19, 2005

Random (and yes, I know that word is overused) Thoughts (that are somehow mostly on fatness)

1. I think it's cheating if you lose weight by having a gastric bypass or liposuction, so if you have had it, spare me the lectures on healthy eating.

2. I had a dream that my sister told me I was a size Jumbo. I woke up pissed off and hungry.

3. You know certain pants are bad if they make the store mannequins look fat.

4. I have to look good when Jethro becomes a chiropractor or people won't take him seriously.

5. Men are pigs and women are whores. No judgments.

6. Christopher Walken has jumped the shark.

7. Drugs=Eugenics. Legalize them.

8. There is an individual who currently exists for whom I feel no guilt over wishing him cancer, prison sex, castration, and death by suffocation with his own child's umbilical cord and after his eyeballs have been removed and replaced with his own testicles.

9. I have an overdeveloped sense of justice.

10.I'm actually a very laid-back person.

Tuesday, October 18, 2005

Would You Look At That!

What blows my mind is that she's wearing a thong too. My sexy underwear are bigger than those "shorts."

Monday, October 17, 2005

So I haven't lost my mind yet. I still don't have any order to my life, but I have an idea of how that order is to take shape, so it's a start. It's funny. I talk about masturbating, and suddenly I don't have to anymore. I think Jethro takes it personally.

Jeth and I went to a sex toy party the other night at the home of two married lesbians. I was peer pressured into buying a vibrator called "the insatiable g." It's made out of some kind of gel and it's curved inward. It also has a circle that's supposed to stimulate the clitoris. You push the vibrating bullets into both the phallus and the clitoral stimulator and it's supposed to stimulate your g-spot and bring you to earth-shattering, ear-splitting, eye rolling, tongue wiggling climax in under three minutes. It put me to sleep. If you want the truth (and I can't imagine why you would), I think the phallus was too small and soft. Pardon me, but I like a big, hard cock. Thank you.

There is something I find interesting about society. We insult each other with abandon. We are all cheerful, unashamed hypocrites when it comes to judging not. Mind you, I'm not judging this, but you take a pro-choice, anti-christian, liberal and let her know that you are a pro-life, non-religious, who is unashamed of her sex life, and suddenly you are a "dirty-mouthed skank whore" who has no right to an opinion just because she writes a dirty little blog. Like I would have more of a right to speak if I were a christian fundamentalist damning her to an eternity of hell and writing about stew and brown bread.

I've come to realize that I scare people. I scare die-hard pro-choicers because I'm a woman, but I'm not religious and don't think religion has anything to do with the issue. I scare liberals who play the race card because of Jethro. I scare religious people who worry about the future of the conservative movement. I scare Libertarians because if there is anyone who should be converted, it's me, but I oppose their priorities.

The sickest part about all of this is that I enjoy it. I enjoy it when I can't be defined. I get wet when someone calls me a racist, then sees Jethro. My nipples get hard when a pro-choicer calls me a whore. I don't know why and I don't care.

I haven't been this honest in awhile. It feels good.

Friday, October 14, 2005


Please forgive what will be a very disjointed post.

I'm poorly. I have too many things on my plate. I decided to organize the house and it isn't going well. I decided to do everything at once so there are huge piles of clothes and toys and crap all over the house. I hate it.

On top of that Jethro has his boards and I'm doing online real estate classes which are completely boring and utter bullshit.

On top of that, Stepfather decided to get an office so I won't be working from home any longer. I'm fine with that, but he needs a desk, so I volunteered my home desk. This means my office can become Gwennie's room and there will be a place for all the toys and clothes (hopefully).

There is an order that things have to go in, and if you know me, you know how I detest order. I have to clean my bedroom, so I can move the computer out of the office, so I can move the desk to the new office, so I can move Gwennie's stuff into the office, so I can organize the toys and clothes and finally, finally clean up the living room, so I can concentrate on my real estate classes, so I can pass the test, so I can make some money, so we can move out of this dump. It's like the house that Jack built - and I'm no goddam architect.

On top of that, Carrie, the girl who is staying with us is due to have her baby any freakin' second. She's overdue by about 4 days and I'm ready to induce her myself.

On top of that, the toe I tried to kick Carlos in the balls with, but missed and hit his knee instead, is not healing. I have been limping for two weeks now, and it's really starting to interfere with my Carmen Electra Striptease Workout. Has anyone ever seen/been aroused by a limping stripper? I didn't think so. But if I ever have a band, that's what I'm going to call it. Limping Stripper. I can feel the damaged muscle and it's one that I have to walk on, so I imagine it will take quite a long time to heal. I'm supposed to keep it elevated (pardon me while I laugh hysterically).

So what do I do in the face of all this stress? I blog. And I masturbate. And I'm very good at both.

Wednesday, October 12, 2005

The Zoo

I still don't know what we're going to be for Halloween. There are actually a couple we are considering, so keep up the good work.

Jethro and I took the girls on a trip to the Houston Zoo this past Sunday. I have fond memories of the zoo. One time we went, there was a lady getting her picture taken by the monkey cages. She was standing there grinning like an idiot, while a monkey wanked it just above her head. She had no idea. It was hysterical.

Jethro's ex worked at the zoo for awhile. When the subject would come up, I would tell people her job was to stand in front of the monkeys and keep them from masturbating. Yeah. Don't ever date my husband.

This past visit was relatively uneventful. Gwennie lu-hu-hu-huves animals and was in 7th heaven when she thought some birds were trying to talk to her. "Look Mommy! They're talking to me! K-a-a-a!! K-a-a-a!!" she said earnestly. It was cute. Emma was very excited to see a "baby jagwater" as she calls both jaguar kittens or any other small cat resembling a jaguar. The zebras were also on her must see list along with koalas, giraffes, and tigers.

The funniest thing happened when we were eating lunch before we got to the zoo. We thought it would be nice to take the girls out for a little brunch, and our waiter happened to be as bald as a bean. As he left the table, Gwennie said, "Daddy, how do you say 'bald' in Vietnamese?" It wasn't as bad as the time she told the nice waitress she had a big butt and then laughed hysterically, but it was up there. Unfortunately, I wasn't paying attention to why she was asking that question, and I thought it was interesting, so I repeated it to Jethro who put his head in his hands and started crying softly.

Sunday, October 09, 2005

Help Me Please

I am philosophically challenged at coming up with Halloween costumes. Showing off my boobs three years in a row is just tacky. I want something funny that doesn't involve Jethro in assless chaps - not that I wouldn't appreciate that, but he is too much of a prude.

Any suggestions would be most helpful and if I use any of your ideas, I'll send you a boob picture if you're a guy. If you're a gal, I'll take a pic of Jethro in the shower. He won't like it, but I'll risk his displeasure and it's the only time I'll be able to photograph him naked and scowling. And don't anyone dare say they don't want to see my husband nude.

Friday, October 07, 2005

A Forty-Year Old Virgin Reviews A Forty Year Old Virgin. Go Read It and Give Him Some Love

I was driving Emma to preschool and some idiot cut me off. I gave him my standard "fuck you." Emma started shrieking hysterically from the back seat. "I like dat word," she sighed when she was through laughing.



If you've never given a blow job with pop rocks in your mouth, I highly recommend it. Fun for you, cheap for them - or something equivalent.


That's pretty much all I have for today. Peace, Love, and Crabs.

Thursday, October 06, 2005

Conversations With Gwennie

Zelda: "You really don't talk about anything but Sponge Bob with Nicholas, do you?"

Gwennie: "Not really, but tomorrow I'm going to tell him about Phantom of the Opera."


Zelda: "What is your problem?!!!"

Gwennie: "Here or at school?"


Zelda: "Gwennie, sit down, cross your legs and put your hands in your lap. See? Emma's doing it and I didn't even have to ask her."

Gwennie: "She cheated."


(a letter from Gwennie, misspellings included)

Dear Evereone,

Please bring babies into this hows. I will tak good car of them. It would make me really glad.



Tuesday, October 04, 2005

Jethro was late getting up this morning and was in a frenzy trying to leave for clinic. He yanked open the door of the shower (while I was in it) to kiss me good-bye. After he did, I saw him for one brief second, look at my tits.

This is the power. He's late for work, he's seen them one-hundred thousand times, and he still looks.

Yeah. *smacks her own ass.* I still got it.

Sunday, October 02, 2005

I'm considering myself tagged by Brighton.

The rules are:
1. Go into your archive.
2. Find your 23rd post.
3. Find the fifth sentence (or closest to).
4. Post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions.
5. Tag five other people to do the same.

"I guess I have always been kind of non-conformist."

This does, in fact, sum up my blog.

I'm tagging Jen, Jethro, JP, John (you know who you are), and Gooch.


Jethro and I went to Carlos's welcome home party last night. It was an interesting time. I bit his ass and Jethro filmed it. Everyone was pinching each others' nipples. Carlos dunked me in the pool. Jethro dunked Micky (his ex) in the pool (entirely her fault) and brained her a little on the side of it. He ended up in the pool too because if he hadn't she would have been crushed like an armadillo in hill country. I'll explain what happened.

After Carlos dunked me, I didn't want to get out of the pool, but I was bored so I called Jethro over to come drink with me. Micky had already been in the pool and decided that she would shoving Jethro in as well.

Jethro stood up, with her firmly implanted on his back and flung her pretty damn hard at the water. Now common sense dictates that when you are being launched towards water and concrete, you aim yourself at the liquid. For some reason, Micky held onto Jethro and ended up smashed against the side of the pool. Jethro jumped in to lessen the impact.

A short time later, I had the perfect opportunity to push Micky's husband into the pool, but I didn't. And I let him know it. He thanked me profusely and I got the last word whether Micky knows it or not. So there. Nya.

But there were funny moments too. Later that evening I tried to pull Carlos's pants down, then ran away. He pretended to chase me then told me I ran like old people fuck. I knew I was about to get pantsed so I turned around and hissed at him aggressively. It wasn't planned or anything. Apparently, it is what I do when I'm cornered. Carlos started laughing and didn't pants me. We started sparring and he aimed one at my face. I kicked at his balls, but he cock-blocked and I kicked his knee with my big toe which hurt like the very devil. Still does. It's swelled up real big and it's all red. Well, the top is red, the bottom is kind of pink. I think Jethro was amused. But I know for sure that he would have pantsed me.

Over the course of the evening, I got to wondering about this group of ours. We are all college friends and I think everyone has slept with everyone at least once (or just made-out with, in my case). A lot of us are married now - and, if not to each other, always to people who fit right in. I was drunkenly observing all of our drunken behavior last night and I wondered if this was how scandals and key parties get started. It was depressing. As time goes by you lose more and more innocence. Oh, I know people think they are all bad in college, but it's an innocent kind of bad. I see potential for much greater harm in an incestuous little group of college friends after everyone starts pairing off. I hope it won't happen, but it might. It's the way things go. But I made a drunken decision that I won't allow that to happen to Jethro or me. You can mock the drunkenness, but my drunken decisions stick. I was drunk when I decided that Jethro would be the First. And that was almost a year before it happened.

Now I don't mind anything that happened last night. Some light-hearted titty twisting is just fine with me. But there is a stage where things can degenerate and I mean to be alert to it.

In other personal news, there is a possible job for Jethro right here where we are living now. It would be perfect because I'm taking my real estate classes as we speak, and I could stay here and build up my business while Jethro builds up his. I should be ecstatic. I have no right NOT to be ecstatic. But I'm not thrilled. I can't stand where we live. It is so fake and nouveau riche and utterly stifling. Give me the city or the country. I don't really care which. Just not the mind-numbing mundanity of the suburbs. I want to move to Wimberly, TX. Ok. I'm done bitching. I will start counting my blessings and quit being an ungrateful bitch. Yeah. That'll happen.


Oh, and yesterday was my blog's birthday. Yeah. I know.

Thursday, September 29, 2005

Voices From Beyond

Whenever I have dreams of my dad, he never speaks. I told my mother-in-law about it and she said that sometimes when you dream of those who have died, they don't speak. That's how you know they are dead. She said that she had a dream of brother's widow in Vietnam and she just stood there soundlessly. She called her parents back there and asked about her. They told her that she had, indeed passed away (under very politically suspicious circumstances - as did her husband - but that's another story), but they hadn't wanted to tell her.

There was only one time when my father spoke to me in a dream. And it's so spooky, I'm almost afraid to share it.

It was right before I was to marry Jethro. I was a wreck. I was pregnant and ill and nervous and I had no idea if I had any right to force Jethro to live with me indefinitely. When I went to sleep, I had a dream that I was about 10 years old, and my sisters and I were at a flea market looking for winter mittens. There were hundreds and hundreds of mittens in these barrels and you had to dig through them to find the pair you wanted.

After digging through them and finding a pair, we left. I started second-guessing immediately about whether or not I had picked the right pair. I was fretting and moaning and really working up to a good whine, when my dad put his hand on my shoulder and said, "It'll be alright."

That was it. I woke up feeling reassured.

I never expected to feel my father's presence after his death. And, with the exception of this dream, I haven't. I don't feel ignored, however. If you believe in any way in spiritual "warfare" (for lack of a better term), you would know my father had bigger fish to fry. We all knew what was expected of us and I think he would have been miffed if we distracted him from his larger task by going off the deep end (which I did anyway). But in that one moment where I desperately needed some reassurance, he came through. And I've lived by those dream words ever since.

Tuesday, September 27, 2005

What Jethro Packs Besides A Firearm

I sorted through years worth of shit to find and pack that which was most valuable to us. It ended up being photos and a few heirlooms from deceased grandparents, and some toys that I enjoyed Gwennie and Emma play with.

Jethro packed meat. Forty pounds of frozen meat on ice in a cooler.

It's interesting to see where our priorities lie.


We met Trashman at a divy little joint called the Broken Spoke, which Jethro kept calling the Sliding Knob. Guess who hasn't gotten any in awhile? We also met his lovely wife, Jen, and their two very cool sons, who were raised well enough to pretend they weren't bothered by our two little girls tagging along after them and insisting that they play with them.

I am actually at a loss for words when it comes to Trashman. The man is virtually untapped. He was all he's cracked up to be and much more. He had Jethro and me in stitches and I was wiping tears of mirth from my eyes more than once. If you would, please try to get him to blog about Vegas. It will be well worth it. He is not only entitled to his opinions, he has earned them. He has done shit and that's all I can really say.

And as for Jen, well, he is a lucky, lucky bastard. She is cool and beautiful and down-to-earth and so funny and friendly. I liked her instantly.

We talked for five hours during which Jethro did his best to get Jen drunk. I don't know how well it worked, but he sure made his best effort. Trashman gave me my .38 special casing earrings. I plan on wearing them when I want to intimidate people.

So all in all, I am very glad we evacucationed to Austin.

Sunday, September 25, 2005

Friday, September 23, 2005

"Better Refugee North Right Quick, Ma'am"

Twelve hours to get from Houston to Austin. We spent four hours of that on 1093 (Westheimer) on a stretch that should take only 10 minutes. I had to take Emma to pee on the side of the road and she cried because she doesn't like to do bathroom things in front of people. I'm sure she was utterly traumetized having to do it in front of 100,000 people. I also got eaten alive with fireants on my left foot because I couldn't shake them off while Emma was peeing. But I don't complain. There are others who still haven't made it here.

But once you resign yourself to the fact that traffic is going to be a bitch and you are not going to make good time, it becomes much easier to handle mentally. I only had one instance of road rage. We had just made it through the four hours of traffic on 1093 and the only reason traffic was moving at all was because two nice men were directing the traffic that was coming from two directions. We were the second in line and the woman in front of us stopped to ask the nice men directions. There were probably 15 hours of cars behind her by that time, and the stupid bitch wants to hold it up to ask for directions she probably didn't have the brain function to understand anyway. I lunged across Jethro and plunged myself on the horn. It was either that or the gun, and I didn't care which. I just leapt upon the first thing that would do my bidding. The woman is very lucky she survived Hurricane Rita with her body whole.

We are staying with one of my sisters who lives in apartments owned by a frat house. It is a total shitbox, so Jethro and I went to WalMart (which is a blog post in itself) and bought her a dvd player, a shower curtain and some groceries. We will end up buying her a shower head too when all is said and done. She is lucky to have us and we are lucky to have her, but she is one of those kids who is a little old lady long before her time. I think Gwennie and Emma will put quite a strain upon her nerves by the time we leave.

I am hoping Trashman calls us. It would be great to finally meet him (hint, hint).

Thank you all so much for your well wishes. Aside from worrying about Jethro's parents, who wouldn't leave even when I had Gwennie call them and beg, we are doing fine. God bless you all.

Wednesday, September 21, 2005

Run For The Hills Folks

So we are planning on evacuating and we are planning to stay. Does this make any sense? The stores have run out of water, plywood, and batteries. It's a good thing I put fresh ones in my vibrator. We can use those.

But I think we're evacuating to Austin. If it hits the way they are projecting, Austin will get it too, but it won't be as bad. So Trashman, here we come. If I can talk my sister in to watching Gwennie and Emma, I will spend the duration getting plowed on 6th street. I thought of a new drink for the occasion: The Hurricane Rita. It would probably taste terrible, but it would be so freakin' cool.

We 're going to be getting ready today and leaving tomorrow depending on the projections, so I don't know if I will have time to blog. If I don't get a chance to blog for a few days, say your prayers for us and everyone else in harms way.

And Jack, on the off chance we try to ride it out, will you come and save us?

Monday, September 19, 2005

New Bra and a Bag of Cheetos


I must buy my tops
At the store for Large Ladies.
Shut up. It's the boobs.

On the floor was an
Empty, crinkled Cheetos bag.
I laughed pretty hard.

(I'm sorry AJ).

But seriously. God bless the UK. If it weren't for them, it would be strictly army issue.

Thursday, September 15, 2005

Neighborhood Kids

My neighbor dropped by yesterday and asked if I could pick her elder son up from school. Her younger son (with the big thang) popped his head in and said, "Because I have to go to the doctor. I have a bad pee pee infection. It's swelled up real big and it's all red. Well, the top is red, the bottom is kind of pink."

I am doubled over laughing at this point, and his slightly drug addled mom has just realized what her son has said. She tried clamping her hand over the kid's mouth, but it was far too late. It was less than no trouble to pick up her son, so I agreed.

This particular son has a crush on Gwennie, but as you may know, Gwennie walks across the street every day with a boy named Nicholas. I had no idea how hard Elder Son was taking this until yesterday. I was waiting for all the kids to cross the street. Elder Son reached me first and we waited for Gwennie and Nicholas who were holding hands and laughing as usual. Elder Son frowned and looked menacing and he wouldn't speak to Gwennie in the car. Heehee. And so it begins. I've decided to take a position of non-interference. Unless there is actual meanness or snobbery on Gwennie's or Emma's part, they can pick their own friends.


I only had one steady boyfriend before I dated Jethro. I'll call him Joe. He was a very sweet boy, but so not the one for me. He was Southern Baptist to begin with and I was very very Catholic. It wasn't really a problem for either of us, but there was always this undercurrent. You'd think two Christians would have less friction that a Buddist and a Christian, but not so. We made out a lot, but I don't think he ever got past a very limited second base. Poor guy.

There were so many little things that drove me nuts. He always said the same thing whenever we got behind a slow car: "Come on, people. Vertical peddle on the right!" I had made the near fatal mistake of laughing politely the first time he said this. After that, he seemed to think it was one of his better lines.

There was one incident in particular that marked the beginning of the end. He was going to Baylor College in Waco and decided to come down one weekend to see me. He and his boys had stopped at a Mexican restaurant first. I was growing a little weary of him by this time, but it was hard to break up with him. I didn't have a whole lot of friends and for me, boyfriends were a little hard to come by.

The doorbell rang and I answered it. There was Joe standing there, smiling. I stared at him in horror. He had been eating beans apparently because his front tooth was encased in a bean skin. There is nothing so gross looking. He swept me up in a big bear hug and tried to plant one on my mouth. I gave him my cheek at the last minute. I wasn't quite sure how to tell him in front of my family and his friends that there was no way in hell he could kiss me on the mouth with a bean skin on his tooth. Joe just chalked up my reticence to Catholic modesty. I was panicking by this time. No one else seemed to notice the bean skin which, to me, had suddenly become the biggest thing in the room. I was standing at the edge of the kitchen and living room. Everyone was talking and Joe sidled off to the kitchen presumably to get a drink of water. Suddenly, I was snatched from behind, pushed up against a wall, and kissed about as soundly as I've ever been.

Have you ever screamed with someone's tongue in your mouth?

When he was all through, the bean skin was gone. I checked my own mouth frantically with my tongue, but came up dry. I never did find it and I must have looked quite strange to Joe, who was standing there grinning like a Cheshire cat. Somehow, I don't think my reaction to his grand, romantic gesture was quite what he'd expected. We broke up a month or two later. I called him at college and told him we needed to see other people. Rumor had it that he still liked me, although I can't imagine why. Poor guy. I wasn't mean to him, but I was thorough.

Tuesday, September 13, 2005

The Boom Boom Room

Jeth and I went to Brighton's Saturday night. We hadn't planned on it because I thought we had a wedding. As it turned out, the wedding is this coming weekend and we were able to make it to Travis's party.

Brighton's home is so beautiful. I got to meet her kids who are adorable right down to Sara's brand-new glasses. And I got a look at the Lennox tan walls which are all they are cracked up to be.

I'll have to admit I sucked back quite a few margaritas. They were delicious. This had the common side-effect of making me pretty drunk. After the party ended, the folks who were left made a little trip to the Boom Boom Room. For those who haven't read Brighton's blog, the Boom Boom Room belongs to their neighbors. It is in the back of their garage and it looks like a little hole-in-the-wall bar. There was a bar set up at one end and a refrigerator full of beer at the other. The decor consisted of a few deer skulls over which were draped several bras, and the head of a some type of feral cat with it's teeth bared. There was also a stripper pole which may have been a contributing factor in the dangling of the bras.

Brighton, brought out her stripper shoes and treated us all to a display of highly professional dance moves. Carmen E-slut-ctra has nothing on her. What struck me as so amusing was that one second she was an adorable little hostess with the mostest and bestest margarita machine in the entire world, and the next second, she was a professional seductress in 9 inch heels.

And speaking of the 9 inch heels, I tried them on. How drunk was I?

I don't have good balance as it is and I rarely wear heels. I bought a pair to wear to a formal in college. I was practicing walking in them outside my apartment and my gay neighbor observed that I walked like a truck driver and proceeded to wedge his feet into them and show me how it was done.

I didn't fair a whole lot better with Brighton's. I crammed by long, narrow tootsies in them and had to spread my legs very wide to maintain some kind of balance. Sounds sexy doesn't it? It wasn't. I didn't see my reflection or anything (and couldn't have anyway since I was cross-eyed drunk), but I have a feeling I looked like I was giving birth. To a truck driver.

But it was a very fun night. It is always nice to meet people who take it upon themselves to make their own good times. So here's to enterprising married couples with beer, margaritas, and boom boom rooms.

Monday, September 12, 2005

A View From The Top

When I was in college in New Hampshire, a few friends and I decided to make a trip to NYC over the Thanksgiving break. It was bitterly cold, and being from Texas, I was not in posession of a very good winter coat. I was wanting to stay inside as much as possible and there was no argument from the rest of the group. Most of the guys had never been to NYC before, so we were stuck doing the usual touristy things - which really are mandatory on your first visit. Since I had grown up in NY and had relatives in the city, I had already done everything we ended up doing. The only thing I hadn't done was visit the observation deck of the World Trade Center.

Being fairly terrified of heights, I agreed to go to the top of the building, but not onto the roof. However, being with a group of boys for whom exploiting one's worst fears is their idea of rollicking good fun, I found myself forced onto the escalator leading to the outside deck. I never did end up near the railing, but I could see plenty from the wall to which I stuck as if my back were made of wet cement.

Thoughts of the apocolypse are not far from anyone's mind when they're staring out from atop one of the tallest buildings in the world. Perhaps there is a primogenitive fear of the consequences of the Tower of Babel. My mind went nuclear immediately and I saw a ball of fire rise from the edge of the world, and engulf the twinkling lights below. I was happy to leave.

My father said once that he didn't like the World Trade Center. I asked him why and he said they were too big a target. I'll admit I was a bit of a daddy's girl, but I still think he had second sight.

Evil is powerless if the good are unafraid

- Ronald Reagan

"Burn my Flag and I will shoot you........but I'll shoot you with a lot of love, like a good American".

-Johnny Cash, American entertainer, country music legend.

The battle is now joined on many fronts. We will not waver; we will not tire; we will not falter; and we will not fail. Peace and freedom will prevail.

-President George W. Bush
October 7, 2001

Thursday, September 08, 2005

Of all the advice I have to give, this is probably the most valuable:

Don't ever, EVER, EVER shave your armpits and then try to soften them up with lemon verbena/sweet pea bath salt.
I swear if I didn't have all girl stuff, I'd be a guy. I can't sleep anymore unless I've gotten off. I don't know what it is. I'm good for one per night and then it's lights out, mama.
Gwennie got a note home and her star crossed out because she spit on the floor while they were lining up for P.E. WTF? I never did anything like that when I was in school. She cried so hard when I asked to see her folder last night, and when I read of her transgression, she said she did it because she was bad and selfish. No duh. Sometimes the inner workings of her little brain baffle me.

Emma is her usual good little self. She started pre-school at her old daycare. I'm so glad they have a program because she loves the girl who runs it. When I told her she would be starting preschool soon, she got all excited. The next morning when I was walking out the door with Gwennie, she came running up with her little lunch box and said, "I'm ready for school, Mommy!" I had to leave her heartbroken and sobbing when I told her she wasn't starting until next week.
I'm in the middle of reading about fornication in Imperialist Japan. There is a book called The Pillow Boy of Lady Onogoro. I've read it a few times now. It is quite...stirring. I'm also reading a history of the U.S. presidency, but I doubt anyone wants to hear about that.

Tuesday, September 06, 2005

Jack Is Wearing My Underpants

Well, maybe not Jack, but some N.O. cop is. Jethro and I were fortunate to find a retired police officer who was heading down to the area to bring supplies to the police officers there. We were able to load up on t-shirts, undies and socks - all extra-large, of course, and give them to him before he headed out.

I know this is an unprecedented disaster, but all of this hurricane stuff is depressing.

Not that this has anything to do with anything, but I went to bath junkie yesterday and made my own bath salt in a lemon verbena/sweet pea fragrance. It smells awesome. It's more of a summer fragrance than a fall one, but since it is sweltering down here until sometime in January, I figure what the hell. The bath junkie girls had never smelled it before, and liked it so much they wrote it down so they could recommend it to others. I was slightly piqued that they wouldn't allow me to enjoy my rather exclusive creation, but was flattered they thought it would sell well.

Jethro and the girls and I went one of our cousin's weddings Saturday night. I was running around like a madwoman trying to get everything ready. I posted a comment at Fleece's, that sweet, ruthless connoisseur of bad fashion, describing the outfit I left the house wearing:

I was in a huge hurry to get things for a wedding, and I left the house wearing extremely unflattering orange lounge pants and a brown muscle shirt [dyed] with Texas dirt, a fact which is proudly stated on the front along with a picture of the TX flag, that I didn't realize showed more of my bra than not, and unmatching pink flip flops that gave me blisters after awhile and made me walk funny.

How sick is that?

One of my excursions that day included Payless for Emma's sandals. I suddenly remembered a man I once saw there. He was utterly nondescript. I would never be able to identify him if I ever saw him again, but I caught him with his pant legs rolled up and he was trying on very large sized ladies shoes. I did a double take. If I'd been in Montrose, Houston's rainbow fairy district, I wouldn't have looked twice. But in ultra-conservative part of Greater Houston, where I am pleased, or at least resigned, to make my abode, this sight is something of a rarity.

I asked the people working there if he ever came back and they said he came in all the time and that he was one of three men who regularly shopped there for all their large footed needs. They said he would peek his head in first to make sure no one could see him, and then proceed to the size 12's. They said sometimes he would come in with a little purse, and sometimes he would be wearing pantyhose.

You just never know about people sometimes.