Thursday, February 28, 2008

I Have No Idea What I Was Talking About In That Last Post

I know I haven't been around lately, but honestly, you wouldn't have wanted me. A raging case of extended PMS just ended, and I'm somewhat sane again.

I'm actually getting excited about my sister's wedding. She's having it in New Town. No one outside our immediate family lives in Texas, so it would be just as easy for them to fly here as Houston, and her fiance's family is flying in from the UK, and she would prefer them to see the scenery around New Town, than Houston. Houston isn't known for its scenery.

But I bought a dress which I love like anything. I'm like a kid. I keep peeking at it just to make sure it's as pretty as I remember. And it always is. It's sleeveless, ivory colored on top (plunging neckline, naturally) with a green band around the empire waist, and a black skirt and seems as if it's made out of some jersyish sort of material. It's a miracle my boobs fit into it. But it's very simple, which is just my style. I don't like fussy clothes with weird contours and complicated decorations. But I don't want to look frumpy either.

Gwennie and Emma are going to be flower girls and they're wearing the dresses my sisters wore as flower girls in my wedding. My mom never throws anything away. She gets it from her mother, and I get it from her. The Depression had longlasting effects.

Anyway, Gwennie tried on her dress at my mom's house and pronounced it "comfortable." You have no idea how profound this assessment is. If Gwennie deems something "uncomfortable," she is not going to wear it. I could beat her, bribe her, or lock her out of the house. My will would break first.

Emma is a completely different little person. If you told her she looked pretty, she'd wair a hairshirt and a crown of thorns. Must be very careful with that one. She's delicate and easily injured.

Sunday, February 24, 2008

Conversation at Jethro's Parent's House After a Night of Somewhat Heavy Drinking

Zelda: "That chicken was pretty fucking good."

Jethro: "What chicken?"

Zelda: "The chicken... you just... gave me a bite of. That was fucking chicken, right? Please tell me that was fucking chicken."

Jethro: "Yeah, that was chicken. But we've eaten a lot of chicken today. I wasn't sure which chicken you were talking about."

Zelda: "Oh thank God. It was dark down there and I could have been eating anything."

Jethro: "You were eating cat. No actually, you were eating mole. And not the little burrowing kind, but human mole...."

Zelda: "How do you expect to get a blow job if you make me dry heave?"

Jethro: "I'll just wait til after you're done retching. You're usually good for it."

Which brings me to why I'm blogging at 3:00am after Saturday night...

Thursday, February 21, 2008

Indian Buffet

All you can eat but
the diarrhea gives you
spasmodic Tourette's.


I'm being forced to take Environmental Science this session. Somebody shoot me. If it wasn't illegal to drink and fondle oneself in public, the class wouldn't be a total waste of time. But since we are a repressed and prudish society, no such luck.

It isn't that I don't care about the environment. If I could talk Jethro into it, we'd live on Walden Pond. However, many of the statement in the textbook make no sense. I made the mistake of raising my hand to ask for clarification of a few points, and the professor (who is probably the sweetest, kindest propagandist on earth) went off on a tangent that didn't help clear up a thing.

I've taken 3 science classes during my illustrious academic career, none of which will transfer because I wasn't indoctrinated into the ranks of the blindly acceptent environmental drones. And this is for an associates degree in graphic design at trade school!

Wednesday, February 20, 2008


Air Force Dad picks up

his kids same time I get mine.

I think he works out.

Tuesday, February 19, 2008

Jethro's parents were robbed by two black male teenagers with guns the day before yesterday. They didn't tell anyone until last night. I didn't find out until about 1:30am this morning.

They're fine, but rather shaken, as anyone would be.

Jethro's going to give his dad "my" gun.

Anyway, if anyone was reading my blog at about 1:30am, there was a post up using the fuck-word and the nigger-word in the same sentence.

I took it down.

I am torn as to whether that was the right decision. This makes the fifth time either me or someone in my very close family has been robbed/peeped at in the shower by members of a Certain Race. And we've never been bothered by anyone else.

The reason I took the post down was NOT because I am concerned with being labelled a racist. Because, as it turns out, I'm not actually the one with the problem. I'm not the one stealing people's money and threatening their lives. And I think I'm entitled to some pretty blistering contempt for anyone who would do that, complete with calling them the most insulting thing I can think of.

However, while I reserve the right to be extremely pissed off and to use whatever words I want to vent that righteous indignation, I also wish to rise above the situation. I don't want to take the low road and fester in the self-indulgent swamp of hatred and victimology.

But I will say this. There are many Black People who need to get a fucking handle on their lives and the lives of their children. They are robbing people and threatening to kill them, if not actually killing them. And the victims span all races.

So who are the racists now?

Just because all the robbing and killing isn't improving their status in the world doesn't mean these aren't acts of racism - black supremacy even. The fact that they are unsuccessful even with all the entitlement programs, thuggery, and and excuses being made for them is irrelevant.

When people of other races commit the same crimes, no one makes the same excuses. Everyone just agrees they're assholes.

I'm sure I could go on for hours, but anything more I have to say on the subject will just degenerate into pure anger and loathing, so I'll stop now.

Monday, February 18, 2008

Around the Internet

No need for Viagra in Texas. Or at least around the Dallas/Ft. Worth area.

I've been listening to Bobbie Gentry lately. Emma always sits with me to listen to Hushabye Mountain.

Her voice is beyond lovely and Ode to Billie Joe is such a strange, haunting almost creepy song. I always feel like listening to it around Halloween.

And her original "Fancy" is totally underrated. No one can belt it like Reba in all her big-haired glory, but if you dismiss Bobbie Gentry's deep, throaty version, you are seriously missing out.

Saturday, February 16, 2008

Life Lessons

I just had to do a very hard thing. I was at a store buying a birthday present for some kid's party when I discovered my eldest playing with a paper magic wand. I asked her where she got it and she said she got it from a bag. I was bewildered and asked if the bag belonged to her. She said no. I told her that if the bag didn't belong to her, then the wand didn't belong to her, and that she had stolen it and she needed to put it back.

I thought the matter had ended, but we got home and I saw she still had it.

I was livid.

I know it was just a little piece of paper, but I told her that it didn't belong to her and that it was stealing.

So back we go to the store so she can return it and speak to the manager. She was crying so hard and begging me to just let her put it back and not to tell the manager. I've never wanted to give in so badly in all my life. I'm kind of a sucker where my kids are concerned. Peer pressure is probably what keeps me being anything resembling a decent parent.

She asked me what they would do, and I told her I wasn't sure. She asked if they would call the police. I told her they might. But it was her first offense, so they might let her off with a warning. She cried harder.

She was pretty much cried out by the time we got back to the store, just hicupping a little. I told her I would speak to the manager first.

The manager was probably in his early 20s with long, flowing brown hair. I told him the situation and how she had taken it even after I told her it was stealing. He went over to speak to her, and was much nicer than he probably should have been.

I'll say one thing for Gwennie. She has a will of iron. She'll cry in front of me, but she didn't cry in front of him. I tried to shame her a little, but she held on. We all went to put it back where it belonged and she said she was sorry. Her voice broke a little, but no tears.

The manager thanked her (I wish he hadn't) and I thanked him, and we left. I told Gwennie she may not be so lucky next time.

I feel a little drained by it. She doesn't learn lessons easily and it is very seldom she learns them from me, no matter how many discussions we have or punishments I give. I hate that life is going to end up teaching her the hard way, but that is the path she is choosing.

Just like her mother.

Thursday, February 14, 2008

Avoid the Clap

Happy Valentine's Day.

Tuesday, February 12, 2008

The Hole

I got the group sex guy in my class to like me, and I wasn't even trying.

I guess mama was right. Boys do like girls who are spastic, a little fat, and married.

I can't take it too seriously though. Right after he said women like me were his weakness, he put out feelers for another girl in my class. She's much better for him (in that she's attainable) and I hope it works out.

Okay. The book.

Jethro and I went out exploring with the girls on Saturday, stopping by a Whole Earth Provision Co store, which sells mostly hippie gear for yuppies.

They had a pretty cool toy section, so we were letting Gwennie and Emma look around. Right next to the toys was a shelf of kids' books. Right next to the kids' books were the shelves of adult books.

Now when I say adult, I don't mean "adult" per se, just simply books that most kids would find utterly boring.

Jethro and I were flipping through "Great Houses at Affordable Prices" when Jethro makes this startled noise, and I look up to see a sparkly little eye staring at me through this. Before the horror could fully register, Emma grabbed it and poked her tongue through while Gwennie screamed with laughter.

"Look Mom! It's Pen-Is Pokey! Isn't that funny? It has underwear on the cover!"

Jethro and I were in heaving convulsions by this time trying not to laugh in a way that would let the kids know that it was much funnier than just a pair of underpants.

We tossed the book and left post haste. There wasn't really any way to get out of it gracefully.

Monday, February 11, 2008


I have multiple projects to complete including a group presentation and a term paper. Obviously blogging will be light.

But do remind me to tell you at some point about the book with the hole in it.

It's perverted, naturally.

Wednesday, February 06, 2008

If You Can't Beat Them, Try Anyway.

Having completed my art projects on time, I have become the Person Who Knows What Is Going On.

This means my fellow classmates come up to me during breaks and ask me what our assignment is, how to do it, and what all the big words in the book mean.

Young Hispanic Gentleman, Slightly Drunk on Boone's: "Yo, man, what exactly are we supposed to do for this project?"

Zelda: "Well first you're supposed to pick a color scheme."

YHGSDoB: "A what?"

Zelda: "A color scheme."

YHGSDoB: "A what?"

Zelda: "Some colors."

YHGSDoB: "What kind of colors?"

Zelda: "Well, you could do the primary colors..."

YHGSDoB: "The which?

Zelda: The prim...Red, blue and yellow."

YHGSDoB: "That's what you're doing?"

Zelda: "No."

YHGSDoB: "What are you doing?"

Zelda: "I'm doing a split complementary of red-orange, blue, and green."

YHGSDoB: "I wanna do that, dog. What's it called again?"

Zelda: "A split complementary. It's know, you really should do red, blue and yellow."

YHGSDoB: "Naw, man. That's boring."

Zelda: Actually it's kind of hot. They're the very boldest, most dynamic colors. Really only girls do things like split complementary."

YHGSDoB (laughing hysterically): "That's cuz they have, like, split personalities, and shit."

Zelda: "Exactly. You hit the nail on the head precisely."

YHGSDoB: "Yo, thanks, man."

Zelda: "De nada, muchacho."

Monday, February 04, 2008

I Know It's a Long-Ass Post, But It All Has to Go Somewhere

We went back to Houston late on Friday, arriving at about 12:30am. We went to sleep and I awakened Jethro around 10:30am so we could see my grandmother during visiting hours. After a gorgeous fight complete with name-calling and hand-gestures, we left.

We get to the hospital and the ICU staff is looking daggers at us. I thought it was because my very large family had been plaguing them during non-visiting hours. Not so. My grandmother, discontent with being the least grieviously ill person in the ICU, had caused quite the ruckus while my aunt, a succubus from the very deepest pits of Hell (otherwise known as NYC), was on the phone bothering the hospital staff.

Now, I can't entirely blame my grandmother. She was being moved to her bed by an orderly and her catheter became entangled in the sheet covering the chair she had been sitting on. One scream didn't have an instantaneous effect, so she continued until the entire ICU was in a blind panic.

Meanwhile, my aunt from Hell (aka NYC) heard all this, and called everyone from the top down and gave them what I can only imagine was the verbal equivalent of a jalapeno infused enema.

Then she called my sisters to bitch at them for not being psychically aware of the situation, threatening to come down and handle everything herself (like she ever would). "I'm a hell of a lot scarier than any of you," she informed my sister. "Damn right," said Sis. "Pol Pot is less scary than you."

By the time Jethro and I arrived, things had calmed down some, but the nurses were none too pleased with us. My grandmother was somewhat sickly looking, but I'm pretty sure she was in her element with an entire hospital staff at her beck and call (albeit somewhat bitterly).

After visiting my grandmother, I went to my sister's (who's marrying the Brit) bridal shower. Three sisters and I all drove together and it was actually kind of a fun ride. We ran out of gas a little bit on the freeway and had to coast to an exit with a service station, only just making it because we were going downhill, and passed a girl in a truck who had a bumper sticker that said, "I Used To Have A Lot of Nice Things and a Wolf. Now I Only Have a Wolf." She was wearing a hat with animal ears, and we passed her up just to get a better look. I don't know how to explain how funny this was, but one of my sisters made wolf-ears with her hands as we passed, looked back and asked, "Did she recognize?" I am still laughing about it.

We arrived at the shower where I was asked unceremoniously and without prelude whether Jethro and I had been married in the (Catholic) Church, by one of the guests whom I hadn't seen in about 15 years.

Just for the record, it isn't wise to ask me this question. But not for the reasons you would think. I know it isn't their business, blah, blah, blah, but I can't find it in my heart to be offended or hurt by people who care so much about me that they would flout protocol in such a spectacular fashion. No. The reason it isn't wise to ask me about it is because I will talk for about 45 minutes without ceasing on the reasons why I am not married in the Church, my issues with religion, my views on theology and dogma, my admiration for religious people even though I feel no need to subscribe, and the fact that I someday want to try anal again just to make sure I really hate it and I don't want to have to go to confession about it.

I warned you.

I fell asleep early Saturday night, intending to visit my grandmother again the next day. We were packing up Sunday morning, when I found myself in the throes of some kind of depression. I was crying for no reason at all, and I could barely move. Somehow I made it to the hospital to see my grandmother. She was all doped up on something that I wanted.

I sat with her for awhile while she drifted in and out of consciousness. I stood up to get her some water and found myself in the throes of some kind of vertigo. I was so dizzy I could barely walk. I don't know for sure what caused it, but I think it was some of the electronics in her room. I'm susceptible.

I waited until my sister got there and left, staggering drunkenly out to the waiting room where Jethro was waiting with the kids. I tried Jethro's tried and true vertigo remedy, which has always worked before, but to no avail.

We left the hospital and started driving back to New Town. We decided to stop and see my family on the way out because I was dry-heaving in a little plastic to-go cup. I went and laid down on my mom's couch and asked her to give me a hug. I'm a pussy.

After resting awhile, we started on again. I was disappointed we were going to miss the Super Bowl, but we didn't want to get back too late. We stopped at a convenience store where I got me some seltzer, Motrin and out of pure desperation, Dramamine.

Then we stopped at a diner for dinner and I took the dramamine.

Hellllooooo Sally. Where has this shit been all my life? I was in pure heaven after about half an hour. No more vertigo, no more depression, no more anything. I was happy and drowsy and rattled on nonstop to Jethro about everything from the punk scene (Don't come to me with your pink hair and pierced face, or your raggedy clothes and caustic wit and demand respect for being different. No one gives a shit, least of all me. Go to a country where you could disappear for bucking the "establishment" and I'll give you all due respect. But here? Within the last 60 years? Gimme a fucking break.) to business (reminder to self: find local produce growers tomorrow).

We tried to find the Super Bowl on the radio, but the signal kept fading. We kept it on anyway.

I had dozed off for awhile after listing the merits of raisng rabbits as a source of protein, when I heard the radio give a particurly loud blast of static. I bolted upright and yelled "TOUCHDOWN!!!! It's the Giants, right? They're winning now, right?"

Jethro's hands gripped the wheel and he said, "I think they've fucking won it!"



The signal broke through for a second and we heard the score: 17-14 with 35 seconds left.

The signal went out again, and we listened with baited breath to the static. We were pretty sure we knew when the game was over, but we weren't sure who had won. We found out on another station.

Good game. Wish I'd seen it.

Friday, February 01, 2008

What Happened the Year You Were Born?

In 1976 (the year you were born)

Gerald Ford is president of the US

The US celebrates its bicentennial, marking the 200th anniversary of its independence

The Viking II sets down on Mars' Utopia Plains

Promising, "I will never lie to you," Jimmy Carter is elected president of the United States

Israeli commandos rescue hostages from Entebbe, Uganda

The Concorde begins flights from New York to Europe

George W. Bush is arrested and fined for driving under the influence of alcohol

Cray-1, the first commercially developed supercomputer, is invented by Seymour Cray

Freddie Prinze Jr., Reese Witherspoon, Colin Farrell, 50 Cent, Fred Savage, and Shannon Elizabeth are born

Cincinnati Reds win the World Series

Pittsburgh Steelers win Superbowl X

Montreal Canadiens win the Stanley Cup

Rocky is the top grossing film

Filming begins on George Lucas' Star Wars

The Selfish Gene by Richard Dawkins is published

The Eagles Their Greatest Hits compilation becomes the first album in history to be certified platinum

"Tonight's The Night" by Rod Stewart spends the most time at the top of the US chart

Charlie's Angels and The Muppet Show premiere

H/T: Blonde Sagacity

My grandmother has to have another little operation this weekend, so we're going back to Houston. Keep her in your prayers, and have a great weekend.