Sunday, May 29, 2005

Don't Give Me No Lines And Keep Your Hands To Yourself

Jethro's post must be read first.
Jethro: Sorry babe, I had a dream you were one of those people. What do you call them, you know the crossdressers?

Zelda: Jay and Jack?

Jethro: No, but close.

Zelda: A transvestite?

Jethro: That's it.

Zelda: You are dead to me. Consider the line crossed. You stay on your side, I'll stay on mine. We'll make it work for the kids, but after they're in college, we're through.

Jethro: Oh, come on.

Zelda: You wanna fuck?

Jethro: I can't. I'm still weirded out by the dream.

Zelda: Stick your finger in my pussy and see if that helps.

Jethro (panting eagerly): Okay!!!

Zelda: Just look out for the penis.

Friday, May 27, 2005

People I Don't Feel Sorry For

I got an email from someone in the office asking for money for their daughter who was severely injured in a skydiving accident.

This reminded me of a story about Yosemite national park who had banned base jumping off the cliffs. A group of base jumpers decided to do a jump in protest. They would be arrested and have their gear confiscated upon landing, but they wanted to make a "statement."

One of the women decided not to use her best gear because it would end up confiscated by the police. This resulted in equipment failure and, to the horror of the police, onlookers, and her husband who was filming the jump, her Very Gruesome Death.

I guess that showed them.

I have no patience with these things. There is a reason why the police didn't want people base jumping as this woman so idiotically proved. However, I don't think these things should be illegal. If your own safety and the welfare of your kids is less of a priority than some useless thrill, then fine. Remove yourself from the gene pool and see if I care. Just don't ask me to feel sorry for you when you have broken every bone in your body and are paralyzed from the neck down. Or dead.

This is leading to a whole lot of other people I don't have a whole lot of sympathy for.

1. Anyone with an STD (caught through their own carelessness).

2.NASCAR racers (sorry Angi)/Extreme sport participators.

3. Illegal Drug Addicts

4.Parents whose underage children are or were illegal drug addicts.

1. STDs are the most preventable illnesses in the entire world. If you are an adult and you didn't catch it from a cheating partner, then don't ask me to feel sorry for you.

2. Dangerous sports. Everyone knows this. I can't feel sorry for you.

3. You have everyone from the government to churches telling you they are bad. Don't whine to me when you are addicted.

4. I saw a news program about a 16 year old boy who died of a drug overdose. Heroin I think. His parents had found out about his addiction when he was 14, so God only knows how long he'd been doing it. The parents put him in rehab and he proclaimed himself clean. He came back to much the same life he'd had before.

They interviewed his parents who tearfully said he told them he was going out with his friends, then he never came home and they finally got a call from the police or the hospital, I can't remember which.

I usually only pay half-attention to shows featuring weeping parents. I'm usually preoccupied with something else, so I hear the weeping and wailing and feel vague stabs of pity for the afflicted. In this case, I watched the whole thing, and then I was furious. If I had been that interviewer, I would have bitch-slapped both of them. Instead, the voice over marveled at how the children of nice parents with money were becoming addicted to street drugs.

I'll tell you how, bitches. Johnny and Suzy Parent had no balls. God forbid they punish the little darling for breaking curfew. God forbid they give the little darling a curfew at all. He might get mad at them. And God forbid the little darling gets mad them. That can't be healthy. There must be peace at all costs. Well, he's at peace now.

But I have to wonder at parents whose children become drug addicts. How do they not know? I seem to recall many many excuses, but very little acknowledgment of responsibility. Not that I'm claiming to be the world's greatest parent, but I notice when my kids are silent and go running. It usually means an heirloom has been destroyed. I notice when the neighbor brats scream three doors down and I go running to make sure it's not them. I think about my children and knives and I go running to make sure they're out of reach. I hear a story about children strangling themselves in window blinds and I take mine out and burn them in effigy. Well, I don't go that far, but you get the point.

One beating with a belt, and the kid might be alive today. One "No-son-we're-all-going-to-a-movie-tonight" and the kid might be alive today. But in lieu of actual discipline, or actual involvement, those parents let their underage, drug addicted son tell them where he was going and when he'd be back. I want to feel sorry for them, but I just can't.

All the time, I hear things like, "I did drugs and nothing bad happened to me" and "I did drugs, so I can't tell them not to or I'll be a hypocrite."

BULL. SHIT. This has to be the most pathetic excuse I've ever heard and if you believe it, your children should never have children. I smoked pot. I drove drunk ONCE. I also ran around with a butcher knife trying to stab one of our chickens when I was about 6 (don't ask). This doesn't mean I'm going to let my children do any of those things because now that I am an adult, I realize the dangers of those actions. And I don't want anything bad to happen to my kids.

Wednesday, May 25, 2005

I Like Balls

Every so often I need to lick them and swirl my tongue around them, taking them gently into my mouth, sucking gently and rolling them between my tongue and my soft palate.

I savor the succulent tenderness of those sweet little brown balls four or five at a time as cream fills my mouth, soaking them, drowning them as I slice them neatly in half with my incisors. I swallow all of the tender creaminess and for one pure moment, I know ecstasy.

I'm a sucker for tapioca.

They are, however, exactly what I would imagine unencased balls to feel like. They are most definitely an Asian concoction. There is a shop right by my house that makes sweet iced coffee and tea drinks and will fill them with tapioca should you so desire. They are served up by sweet pretty little Asian girls and I totally get why guys are so hot for them (Asian girls, not the balls).


Comment This has officially gone belly-up. It was fun while it lasted, so thanks for all the fish.

Haloscan here I come.

Tuesday, May 24, 2005

Emma In The Spotlight

I have a window right in front of my desk, where I can see out into the backyard while I work. I was minding my own business the other day, when I see a naked child go flying past my window on a skyshooter. We have a swingset in the backyard and Emma had decided to strip herself nude and swing free. It was so cute. She was completely oblivious to anything but swinging happily and nakedly in the sun with her hair streaming behind her.

I would have let her do it longer, but a child molester lives next door and I don't see a reason to lead him unto temptation.

But Emma is my naked one. Gwennie likes to moon, but Emma likes to strip. I found her (naked) with one leg up on her plastic ballet bar, inspecting herself with a flashlight.

Gwennie is actually pretty good about staying clothed. She changes her outfits about 12 times a day, but at least she is wearing something. The other day she came to me and told me she had a rash. I went to inspect it and took the opportunity to tell her about who is allowed to look at her there, namely Jethro, her doctor, and myself. No one else, even other kids, are allowed. She nodded her head obediently and said, "Yes ma'am."

Now if I can just get Emma to stop shining a spotlight on hers, everything will be fine.


UPDATE: Ala asked about Micky's monkey. I forgot to post a link back, but have now done so.

UPDATE: Comment This is back, so there is no need to use bloggers' comments anymore unless you find them to more efficient. Personally, I've missed the demon emoticon more than I know how to say.

Wednesday, May 18, 2005


Back in college, I knew a girl named Yvette. I didn't like her all that much. She was pretty in an unkempt kind of way, with long, windblown hair. But she always seemed to be in her own world. She was always pouncing on guys and giving them hickeys. It was funny the first hundred times, but it got old. It just made everyone feel awkward. One time someone got carried away and grabbed her tit and she got upset. I didn't feel very sorry for her.

But another time a group of us had gone out for a smoke break while studying for a test. Somehow, there was only one book of matches amongst the lot of us. One of the guys was trying to light the match, but kept fumbling. After trying several times to light it on the matchbook, Yvette plucked it from his hand and in one rapid, fluid motion, struck the match firmly on the sidewalk and lit her cigarette. She handed the lit match back to the guy, who stared at her in silent admiration, and walked off.

That was cool.

Tuesday, May 17, 2005

I Started My Period Which Doesn't Even Begin To Explain My Bad Mood

I updated Payasita. I spent a bit of time on it finding the damn links, but I said pretty much everything I've wanted to.

I started having a shitty week beginning Sunday. Besides receiving The Curse, the space bar on my keyboard up and quit on me. I had to steal the keyboard to Gwennie's and Emma's computer, but it is extremely shitty. Then I had an annoying day with people who speak shitty English. And the crowning irritation was one of Jethro's psychotic relatives insulting Gwennie and Emma to our faces at a graduation party on Sunday. So I'm in a foul mood. And if anyone tells me to go get laid, I'll hunt them down and force them to show me what they mean.

I'll start with the irritating phone caller.

Zelda: Dearest step-father's office, may I help you?

Illiterate Hispanic Woman: Do you speak a Spanish?

Zelda: No, I'm sorry.

IHW: Do you know the price for a the house?

Zelda: Which one?

IHW: I no have a the address

Zelda: I don't have the price. I need an address.

IHW: I could no read the sign.

Zelda: Well, I need the address to tell you how much it is.

IHW: You no help me. I find someone who help me.

Next Grievance:

We were at a graduation party for Jethro's cousin. Jethro and I were minding our own fucking business when his Imbecile Aunt comes up without so much as a hi-howarya and says, "My niece puts your daughters to shame."

I think I resented the lack of subtlety more than the insult.

I turned and looked at her as if she were a urine sample and said, "Interesting." Jethro looked at her quizzically and said, "How do you figure that?" Then both of us looked at each other and started laughing. It was so weird.

Then I turned to my sister-in-law and said, "Did I actually hear what I just heard?" just in case I'd missed some kind of ill-bred, fresh-off-the-boat humor.

My SIL just rolled her eyes and said, "No, she's been doing that all day." Her husband, who has quite the southern drawl shook his head, saying, "Rude, just plain rude." But he was grinning too.

Imbecile Aunt, unable to endure the ridicule, waddled off to offend someone else, and we had a good laugh at her expense, but can you belive it?

Friday, May 13, 2005

Scent of a Feta Cheese Container

Somehow a container of Feta cheese ended up on my bookcase beside the door. The great thing about having a housekeeper come and clear up all the clutter is that I realized right away that there was a container of Feta cheese on the bookcase and got it back to the fridge before I walked in one hot summer day saying, "What's with all the flying cockroaches?"

When I was looking for The Housekeeper, I scoured ads for one that would help organize as well as just clean. This took a lot of sifting. You have no idea how many maids advertise their level of attractiveness, but then qualify the whole thing by saying, "no sex please."

I even found one ad of someone searching for a young, nude housekeeper - race unimportant. Glad to know there are equal opportunity sexist, exploitive employers out there. But can there be a more unappealing thought than a nude person scrubbing a toilet? Don't anyone answer that.

Okay, I'm done posting about The Housekeeper. I'm sure everyone is sick of her already.

I have decided to try an exercising experiment. I'm only going to work out my ass. I just want to see what happens and it should be relatively easy to sit here at my desk and clench my buttocks. I'm doing it right now. I have this thing about proportion. I think my butt is small in relation to my thighs. The only thing I can see improving the situation is building ass muscle. So I sit here clenching. It will be interesting. I'll let you know how it goes.

Wednesday, May 11, 2005

Fixing Social Security/Lust For The Nice Venezuelan Girl Who Cleaned My House

If we want to reduce the number of old people sucking up social security, we should buy them all computers. They are guaranteed to shave years off their lives.

I just had an old man call me to complain about our website. He was screaming in frustration.

Our website has a feature where you can type in your home search criteria and search the homes for sale in the area you want. This is a pretty cool thing. But not for the elderly. It isn't that complicated, but the print is small, and it sometimes requires knowing where the back button is.

The problem was simple. All he'd done was search for homes with acreage instead of regular single family homes. Poor dumb guy never thought to go back and look at his options. I did my best to help him, but he was too enraged and unsophisticated in his computer skills to listen properly. At least he screamed "THANK YOU" at me before he hung up.


The Housekeeper finished all I can afford to pay her today. It looks fabulous. But I can't help feeling that it isn't quite honest clean. I had to pay someone to make my house look like it should. All in all though, 0it rests lightly on my conscience because I really feel inspired to keep it nice. Maybe now we can finally live like nice humans instead of heathen pigs.

Tuesday, May 10, 2005

On Squalor

The housekeeper is cleaning my pantry. I haven't cleaned that thing in years. I don't know why really - I guess I never thought to do it. I'm about to cry from joy.

I have a standing job offer for Jack. Jack + thong + mop = $20.00 an hour.

But Jack wouldn't want to come near this job. It's like a meth house without the fancy electronics.

I am tempted to post pictures of the immaculateness, but I don't want anyone looking at what they consider to be average cleanliness and wondering just what in hell it looked like before. My honesty is refreshing, isn't it?

I am just sorry I didn't do this before it got this bad. But once it's all done and we are used to living in order instead of squalor, I think I will make more of an effort. But I'm still keeping the housekeeper.

No Pants for You

I hate not having time to blog. Blog entries run through my head over the most mundane things and it's hard to concentrate. So I have decided that it is functionally necessary for me to blog and I will continue.

Last Friday, I had to go to Jethro's school so another man could get all intimate with me. Interns aren't allowed to work on their own spouses and have it count for anything, so Jeth and his friend, Nelson, swapped wives.

All I have to say is that those interns had better work on their bedside manner. Firstly, they're all standing around and they stare at you particularly if you are in a hospital gown. I don't think they even realize they're doing it.

I had to have a series of x-rays, so I had to take of my bra and top. Well fucking excuse me for not wanting to parade (sober) around a bunch of leering interns without support. I wanted to tell them to turn the fuck around and go adjust their dicks, but I was sufficiently intimidated by my topless state into keeping my mouth shut.

As if that wasn't bad enough, Jethro and Nelson decided to discuss with the radiologist, in front of people whether or not I should remove my pants. Fuck those idiots with their own model skeletons. The pants I was wearing were thinner than the hospital gown and had no metal in them, which I pointed out to their complete disregard.

They finally decided that I did indeed need to remove my pants and told me so, loudly, slowly and in front of another patient and the ghastly leering interns, as if I were deaf, retarded, and I hadn't been standing 5 inches away from the entire conversation.

Then I had to go give blood and a urine sample. The blood was taken without incident. Unfortunately, I dropped my urine sample in the toilet. I came out empty handed and decided that since everyone was pretty much aware of all my business anyway, I would announce the fact. "No pee for you."

So that was pretty much it. The adjustments and the therapy made up for that entire process and my shoulder feels better than it has in years.

Monday, May 09, 2005

No Time to Say Hello, Good-bye

Thank you all for the kind birthday/Mother's Day wishes. They were so thoughtful.

I'm on a really tight schedule this week, but a few funny things happened. I don't have time to write about them yet, so I'll just give you a few hints.

1. A nice lady has seen my house and agreed to clean it for $10.00 an hour. I'm going to pay her $20.00.

2. I had a funny experience at Jethro's clinic resulting in the complete dissolution of my medical fetish.

3. I had sex.

Thursday, May 05, 2005

Reflections on the Day


I say this with as much humility as I can muster. Today is my birthday. I'm 29. I don't want to talk about it.

So Jethro got another job proposition. A friend's brother is an MD who is also a DC. He wants to open a chiropractic practice somewhere towards Galveston (Brighton country). It would mean we would get to stay near our families and not have to move across the state or the country. This is definitely a good thing.

But it's a long-term commitment. I know most would consider me crazy for worrying about the stability factor of a long-term, somewhat lucrative job prospect, but for some reason, I do.

I had this crazy thought in the back of my mind that Jethro could take advantage of the oil drilling in ANWR and we could move to Alaska for a few years. Blue collar workers hurting their backs as far as the eye can see. Plus I'm sick of the heat. And Gwennie and Emma would make the most adorable little snowbunnies.

I know. I'm insane. While Jethro's been in school, the possibilities seemed limitless, so the thought of starting our new life exactly where we are now almost seems like a bit of a letdown.

I feel guilty for even thinking these things. We are lucky and I know that. But sometimes you just can't help wondering what it would be like to just pull up anchor and float.

Wednesday, May 04, 2005


I realize it's a stark title, but it's a stark question.

Is it rape if someone consents to one sexual act, but then has another preformed upon them? What if no specifics are given?

Is it rape if someone consents to be handcuffed or bound, but then decides that the situation has become too rough and asks that it not continue?

The answers seem simple enough to me. If someone says stop, you stop. If they wish to continue, they can tell you so. There are no "misunderstandings."

Is it snarky of a girl to start something she can't finish? Sure. But take that into account regarding your future relationship, and go jack-off. There is no excuse whatsoever for harming someone during sex.

Just so I'm clear, I have a friend who is in a really bad relationship with a truly evil man. I'm hoping evidence of others' disapproval of this man's sexual tactics might help her to see that this is unacceptable, not to mention criminal. So any comments recommending his immediate castration would be welcome.


I don't recommend watching Discovery Health, while you are making your lunch. I went to go get my frozen dinner out of the microwave and was visually assaulted by a 36 inch placenta.

1 bag frozen collard greens
2 cans chicken broth
4 pieces of bacon cut up into smallish chunks (can be achieved by tearing them up with your hands)
Tony Chachere's Original Creole Seasoning to taste
Bring broth and greens to a boil
Add bacon
Boil until bacon is done (about 10-15 minutes)
Season with Tony Chachere's
You can't ask for better collard greens and Jethro came up with it all on his own. I'm so proud.

Tuesday, May 03, 2005

Trains, Planes, and Tibetan Monks

I saw the weirdest bumper sticker the other day. It wasn't even on the bumper, but on the side passenger window. It said, "I brake for trains." The lady driving the car didn't look like she had a sense of humor either.

I'm about to break down and get haloscan comments. But I hate like anything to lose the other ones. We've had some nice conversations and Jack sort of propositioned me once. But I think I'll take a lesson from the Tibetan monks and get the hell over it.

I have a friend visiting me beginning on May 6, so I don't know how much time I'll have to blog, but I will do my best. My will is sapped. I am now one with The Blog.