What happens 15 minutes outside of Reno, stays 15 minutes outside of Reno. Unless I blog about it.

I was going to pose a question to any and all readers awhile back for ideas on what Jethro and I should do for our 10 year wedding anniversary, but I no longer need to because Jethro booked us 3 nights at The Bellagio in Vegas!  I'm so excited.  Neither of us have ever been to Vegas to speak of (I was there once when I was maybe 3 and we went to the circus at Circus Circus of which I actually have a faint memory).  But I certainly wasn't old enough to go to casinos and have actually never been to one.  Not even in Louisiana.  I don't think we want to do much gambling, but it would be fun to at least go and see.

Anyway, while Jethro and I were looking for shows to watch, we started talking about the legal brothels in Nevada.  I've always wanted to see one, but I don't think it's good etiquette to just go there and stare, even though they'll apparently give you a tour for a nominal fee, so we started talking about what we could do if we went.  It would be a shame to go and not do something.  And really, it wouldn't be too fancy, take too long, or even involve sex sex.  Maybe just a blowjob or something.  I'm not sure exactly what I would do, but I better not just be watching.  

Anyway, long story short, we decided it would probably be too expensive and since I'm much better at blowjobs now that I've had my teeth filed down and my tongue extended, it seems like a waste of money.  It's not ruled out altogether, but probably we'd rather just eat.  If we do go, I'll blog about it.

Cogito Ergo Cogito

I have neglected my little blog shamefully and I apologize to it and to posterity for my negligence.  

I am taking Algebra and have high hopes of passing.  And I'm almost finished with school.  Next term will be my last and I couldn't be more excited.  For it means that I will have Finished Something.  And for a chronic Unfinisher such as myself, this reeks of Importance.  It is a Portal, if you will.  A Gateway.  A Viaduct to a Life fraught with Purpose and Meaning and hopefully Freelance Employment.

Anyway, my continued apologies for my continued absence.  It won't be long now.

I've been trying to work out a little more lately.  I'm so busy that it's hard for me to do the things I love, much less things I hate.

I have to say though, that I really enjoy that machine where you step onto these pedal like things and march, kind of.  I'm not describing it well.  Oh the elliptical machines.  That's what I mean.  I like those.  They're much easier on my knees than a treadmill.  So I like doing that, and I've foregone wearing a sports bra.  I just can't stand them, so I wear a regular one, go to the ladies' only room, and just bounce a little.  I realize women probably don't appreciate it at all, but that's okay. I try to stay away from them.

So I go to the gym, dig out my iphone with the ipod inside of it and my earphones, throw the rest of my scattered life into a locker, and head for the ellipticals.

I spend a few minutes carefully arranging my earphones in my ears so they aren't uncomfortable, and then I start.  I always thought working out to music was overrated, but I really like working out to The Pogues, of all things, this song in particular:

I start sweating pretty hard, but then strangely, I want to go out and kick some ass.  It's a good feeling.

The Prayer of Harry Reid (So I can't resisit. Sue me.)

"I Pray to Thee, Lord Obama that Thou continuest to Beam Down Thy Blessings Upon The Senate Leadership...Mothership?...No, Leadership...I was right the first time.  And Deliver Us, O Lord Obama, from Thy Honorable Wrath for having Embarrassed Thee by so Mightily Loading Down Thy Stimulus Vessel with Sumptuous but Wholly Unnecessary Quantities of Pork.

Forgive Us, O Lord Obama, for not Trusting in Thy Divine Benevolence. For Jumping the Gun, so to speak, and not waiting until the Unwashed-But-Unfortunately-Necessary-For-Our-Continued-Reign Masses were Distracted by the Unclothed Antics of some Wanton Harlot from the Wealthy, Useful, Degenerate Land of Hollywood in order that our Pork might go Unnoticed.

And Deliver Us Also, O Gracious Lord Obama, from the Bloated Evil Talking Knight, Who though Much Addicted to the Spirits of Oxycontin, has, Nevertheless, Spread his Garbled Message to this Unwashed Rabble Who seek to Diminish Thy Magnificence and Keep Their Own Lucre In Spite of The Great Needs of The Kingdom of DC and Those Corporations On Wall Street Who Must Suckle At Our Mighty Teats in order that They May Continue to support our Reelections. Selfish Bastards.

All this I Pray In the Name of The Obama, and of The Obama, and of The Holy Obama. 

Amen."

Copied, pasted and slightly tweaked from a comment I left at Blonde Sagacity.

The Jethro No One Ever Gets To See

Jethro - "If I can get her to walk, I'm gonna get cocky.  I'm gonna go find her MD and be like, *aims both middle fingers downward* Can ya hear this?  Can ya hear this? Want me to turn it up? *flips both middle fingers up* Yeah bitch, you like that?  Want me to teach ya?  Want me to teach ya?  *turns his middle fingers 45 degrees* Psych.  Fuck you." *grabs crotch, walks off*

I can't say it was the most elegant show of bravado, and not that I'd want him to be like that all the time, but it kind of did something for me.

GO CARDS!!!

The limes are sliced, the wings are purchased, the Hooters chicks were hot, and we are routing for the Arizona Cardinals this Super Bowl because #92, Bertrand Berry, is a friend of Jethro's from high school.

I've never met him, but he found Jethro on Facebook and asked to add him as a friend.  That won him - and whatever team he ever plays for - my undying loyalty.  Someone who doesn't forget his friends is really one of the best kinds of humans.

I know they have a tough game ahead, but I wish him and the Cardinals the very best of luck.