The Gang Bang

Oh man. Jethro bought a porn dvd (which is funny in and of itself), and we decided to view it while making the love. I'll admit to a perverted enjoyment of gang-bangs IN THEORY. When actually viewing them, however, they are So Very Stupid. The one we were watching happened to be of Germans defiling their native woods with the most retarded gang bang of all time. Basically it was three men standing around in front of a nekkid girl whacking off. She wasn't even touching them. They were just standing around her head going "Ja! Ja!" and grunting deeply and rapidly. She kept laughing. I was too. Until I had tears pouring out of my eyes. Definitely not conducive to the lovemaking.

It is possible that the sounds coming out of these morons' mouths were actually worse than the images they were creating. I should try to find a way for folks to hear the audio. Irrespective of your personal opinion of porn, it might ease some minds to know that a lot of porn is supremely ridiculous.

She finally started having sex with these stooges (and I mean no disrespect to the original three stooges), and it was the most ridiculous sex I've ever seen. They didn't even take their pants all the way off. She would screw one while the other two stood around with their pants around their ankles, masturbating as if their cars were on fire and that was the only means of putting it out. Actually, one was taking pictures of the intercourse while he was wanking. I guess they were killing all kinds of birds with one stone. The one with the still camera was wearing the dorkiest hat. I can't tell you what a fool he looked with his pants around his ankles, a camera in one hand, his peter piper in the other, and a ridiculous round-brimmed hat on his head. All three of them seemed to place a great deal of importance on the "money shot." They sacrificed everything from dignity (not that there's much in porn, but then why throw away what you have, eh?), to pleasure, to any semblance of believability, to get the shot of each of them in turn slopping splooge all over her face, which she lapped up with Extremely Fake Enthusiasm.

I know Europeans are supposed to be all open and liberated when it comes to sexuality, but please. Or should I say, butt please? I can't see that Americans are so very far behind. In fact, if Europorn is even remotely like this particular one, I'd say we are far ahead in porn artistry .

I know, or at least I think, there is supposed to be a certain etiquette to watching porn with your partner. One of the rules (if you intend to make love) is that you not laugh even when the Germans turn to piggies, or some ho's saline implants start making odd slurping noises. You have to forget about all aesthetic sensibilities and lose yourself to the pure carnality. Can't be done. Not by me. I try very hard to hang with the boys. I want to be all open-minded and cool about porn and strip clubs and fetishes. But I can't sacrifice... well... my eyes, for one....to bad visuals. Sorry Jeth, honey. I'll just have to make due with your own personal splendor to get me where I need to go.

Gone Fishin'

Be back late Monday. Happy Labour Day to all those who labour.

Jeth and Corrin at the Tittie Bar

What Famous Leader Are You?
personality tests by similarminds.com

What Classic Movie Are You?
personality tests by similarminds.com

I'm positively shocked by the first result and moronically flattered by the second.

I'm filled with love tonight. Perhaps it is because I'm completely obliteratedly drunk or because my candidate is going to win the election, or because I;m about to go give Jethro the wettest, deepest blowjob of his short Republican life (formrly a Dem). I could choke I'm so happy. Goddam I'm the happiest drunk on teh planet.

Jeth went to a tittie bar last night. I really am cool about stuff like that. I knew he was going to go before he did. Our friend Corrin (od previous posts) is joining the Army, and the greatest desire of his heart is to see combat. He is the most adorable weirdo - just the type they ought to use for the infantry. I'm terrified for him. And so fucking proud. I knew that they were going to take him to a tittie bar. I mean, that's it for pussy for quite awhile - so where else would they go? The only thing I asked of Jethro was that he call me when they decided that they were going to go there. I just didn't want to be surprised later. I'm cool about it, but I do have to deal with the fact that my husband will be seeing other titties than mine - but fortunately, I know what tittie bars are like, so my imagination doesn't have to run away with me. Forgive this post right now. I'm so drunk.

Anyway, the boys started out at a sushi bar (they're all Japanatics) and ended up at a tittie bar that was formerly known as The Pink Pussycat. I know- subtle. Let the comparisons commence.

One thing that will endear strippers to me forever is that they know how to take care of a guy going off to the army. They took him onstage and beat his ass with belts. Could you ask for a better send-off? Serioously though, they all came up to him and thanked him - even the DJs and bartenders. Whatever one may think of strippers, you can't deny that they know who provides their freedom. Not the bureaucrats (sp?) but the soldiers.

I will write a post about our boys and girls when I'm sober enough to do them justice, but this post is for Corrin and the strippers who know the score.

Night Yall,

Zelda, aka Slightly Drunk Republican Slut

Zone d'Erotica

This is the name of a kink store the size of a Super Wal-Mart. I believe it is a franchise.

The one I passed by was located in North Houston between Beaver Springs Rd and Butte Creek Pkwy. I couldn't make this shit up.

Houston has some really stupid street names. Either the folks who came up with them were sheltered and religious, or they thought people were stupid. Or they were stupid. Here is a small sample. Judge for yourself:

Morning Wood
Knotty Wood (my personal favorite)
Gaywood (I swear to god)
Guywood
Governor's Wood (?!!!!)
Shagwood
Riderwood
Jaywood (in honor of...)
Smiling Wood
Beaver Wood
Beaver Lodge
Beaver Bend
Beaverhollow
Wunderlich
Sugar Bush
Spice Bush
Red Bush
Stone Bush

I think I like Sugar Bush and Knotty Wood the best. Gaywood is in one of the most prestigious sections of Houston where homes sell in the millions. Can you imagine paying 2 million dollars to live on a street called Gaywood?

Dirty Old Man

Jethro told me this story the other day.

I guess they were swapping relative stories, but his friend, Brett, started telling him about his uncle. Brett's family lived in a small town where everyone knew each other and talked about each other. His uncle, apparantly, gave everyone alot to talk about because he was the horniest old man west of the Mississippi. He wore out 5 wives who all hated him, spent an untold fortune on prostitutes and strippers, and was generally a reprobate.

Even as he got older his libido did not wane. His last wife was a small, quiet, mail-order, Asian lady. She didn't have much to say, so everyone figured that he kept her pretty busy. One day, the EMTs were called to his house where he had suffered a massive heart attack while copulating with his Asian wife. As they loaded him on the gurney, his wife, dressed in only her bathrobe, shaking her tiny fist, shouted after him, "I tol' you you fuck too much, old man. Now you die!"

I have no idea if the humor of this story translates to the written word, but when I heard it, I laughed until I couldn't breathe. Here's to hoping it was funny. Clink.

A Bit O' Me

Poor Jethro. Because of the holy, sacred, eternal bonds of matrimony, he has to live with me.

When I was 15 and 16, my uncle, my grandfather, and my father in that order, all died within 6 months of each other. My uncle died of alcoholism, my grandfather died of liver/pancreatic cancer, and my father died of a bone marrow transplant he had received for leukemia. It was, understandably, the worst period of my life. I wish I could say now that I was strong and brave, but I wasn't. I handled it as badly as anyone could have. I was a horror to my mom, and about the only good thing I did was get 2 jobs and take care of my youngest sisters. I had been homeschooled so that I could stay with my youngest sisters while my mom stayed with my dad. I continued to be homeschooled after he died because my mom still needed the help, and I was pretty far behind in school. I resented my mother for every second of it. I would have resented my father too, but he was dead. I used to walk down the street from one of my jobs which was answering phones at our Church, praying that someone would drive down the road and randomly shoot me in the head.

Fast forward 6 years. I had gone to college both in Houston and New Hampshire, I had gone to Italy for a semester, and I had started dating Jethro, whom I'd met when I was 17 while he was dating my best friend Micky (of previous posts). I had adored him in a friendly way since I had first met him. I thought Micky was the luckiest girl in the entire world, and it confused me that she took him so very much for granted.

After I'd gotten back from Italy, Jethro and Micky had gone through an ugly break-up, and were both dating other people. I started having a few flings here and there and these included Jethro, even though he was dating someone else. I think Jethro'd had a humongous crush on me for a long time. Each time I'd hook-up with him, I would tell him that we could never EVER do that again. I just couldn't get past the thought that he was my best friend's ex. But I couldn't keep away from him. Finally though, I decided that I liked him enough to pursue a relationship and the hell with what anyone thought. I was going through hell with my family because they are all bitches, so I moved in with Jethro. I flashed him right before I asked if I could, and he said yes instantly.

This led to the most debauched period of my life. My childhood morals were cast thoroughly aside and my life was consumed with nothing but sex, martinis, sex, new restaurants, sex, margaritas, and more sex.

It was about 6 months into our relationship when I realized that I was in love with him. I will never forget the moment. Up until then, I had been content with a pretty casual relationship. I know now that it wasn't casual at all - we were totally wrapped up in each other, but I struggled to maintain some kind of independence, as in - I don't have to answer to you and vice versa. It was bogus, because we rarely left each others' side, but there you have it.

I had taken a babysitting job for my boss and was away from Jethro for two nights. I had just gotten the kids to bed and was sitting in the living room, when I realized how much I was missing him, which quickly turned into the realization that I was in love with him. I actually cried. I had no idea what to do with the emotion. I had always thought that love was supposed to come first, dating second, marriage third, sex fourth, babies fifth. I was all mixed up. He had told me that he loved me sometime before that and I had said that I did too, but I was fighting it. Now, I could say it and mean it, and we haven't stopped saying it since.

Since we were having sex three times a day, it probably wouldn't surprise anyone to know that I got pregnant shortly thereafter. We weren't ready - still aren't - but what could we do? We had no reason not to get married. We loved each other. Even if we couldn't afford a baby (which we couldn't) all they really need is two parents who love them, right?

So we got married, which was a total fiasco. I'll write about it another time. The wedding reception was about the only good part.

So we settled down and had our Gwennie. It was really hard. I can see how people end up divorced. Resentment starts right after you have a kid, and if you don't diffuse it, you will end up divorced. Just before we got married, Jeth and I had a talk about it. I didn't want to be a nagging wife and I didn't want him to be a silent, morose husband. We made an agreement that we wouldn't nit-pick, or sweat the small stuff, or power play. Marriage was tough enough without those pressures. It was the best thing I have ever done. I don't know about Jethro, but for my part, it was a relief to know that we wouldn't be having power struggles or mind games.

After the baby came, there was the temptation to debate who had the hardest job. As far as I'm concerned, this stems directly from lack of sleep. Whoever wins this power play gets uninterrupted, blissful slumber. It is a high-stakes game that NO ONE CAN WIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I won't lie and say that we didn't go there a few times. You can't help it. Lack of sleep makes you cunning and desperate. But we made it through. And (to quote every R&B artist who ever graced this earth) I thank God in Heaven. The glory goes to Him.

I like to think that God gave me Jethro. He wasn't of my race or religion, but he was what saved me. Maybe God felt that I had suffered enough for things that I'd had no control over, and that there was no need for me to suffer more through my own bad decisions. So when I thought I was rejecting Him to live a life of sin with Jethro, it was really His hand guiding Jethro to me.

More Kid Stuff

I walked out into my living room the other night, and Gwennie and Emma were sitting on the floor amidst thick clumps of dark brown hair. I looked at Emma (the baby) and she was missing a chunk from the right side of her head. "NOOOOOOOOOO!" I screamed. Tears welled up in her eyes. "I'm sowwy mommy," Emma sobbed. There was nothing to be done but sweep up the dear little curls as I wept. But wait. Baby's hair isn't curly. And it isn't thick. And if she had cut this much off of her head she would be completely bald. What the hell?

I examined the hair more closely and followed the trail to the real victim - one of their dolls. Whew. I felt eyes boring into the back of my head. I turned around and Gwennie was looking at me. "We just gave her a haircut because it was too long and curly." My eldest has something against long and curly hair. She had cut her own hair which had been long with beautiful little waves in it. I was so upset because my hair had always been stick straight. She was not wise to bring up her dislike of long, curly hair to me.

My daughters are a handful. Actually, Gwennie is a handful. She is so exasperating and funny. She has the energy of fifty mice on speed. She goes and goes and goes until she collapses in exhaustion. She will annoy you until you are just about to pop her one and then she says something so unbelievably funny that you can't do it. She is very pretty and little boys are already starting to beat each other up over who gets to play with her. It happened at her birthday party. She wanted to play with little boy #1 who smugly lorded it over little boy #2. Little boy #2 then proceeded to jump and pound little boy #1. Very Scary.

Emma is completely different. She is soft and sweet and shy. It takes alot to get her upset, but when she does, look out. Demon Posession. Baby Emma has her admirers as well. They told me at her nursery school that there was one little boy who was in love with her. He'd hold open doors for her, he hugged her all the time, and while she was taking a nap one day, he stood by her mat with his arms full of toys, waiting for her to wake up. She is heartbreakingly sweet.

Alright. Enough about my kids. Strangely enough, I don't like to write about them. I feel like I'll turn into one of those obnoxious moms who do nothing but talk about how great their kids are to the point where even the kids think she's full of crap. I hate it when people do that, so I try to avoid it as much as possible, but sometimes I like to write a little about them so we'll have it to look back on. Or if they do something funny. Like throw up on our brand new, queen size, pillow top mattress.

I'm going to KILL JP.

My two day dry spell was broken last night and it was quite lovely except for one slight glitch.

When I start having sex, my mind flips through it's roladex of kinky ideas and focuses in on one, until I get good and going and then my mind goes blank and I am reduced to primal....... Nevermind.

Well, as I was flipping throught the mental roladex, the completely unbidden and unwanted image of JP shagging a shag carpet between a girl's legs came to mind. Complete with splooge puddle. http://xjone.blogspot.com. It almost cost me dearly. I had to laugh, and start all over. Very annoying.

Rodeo Sex

Forgive me if you have heard of this before. It was new to me and I heard several variations in one night. This was the best.

1st Guy: You ever had rodeo sex?
2nd Guy: What's rodeo sex?
1st Guy: When you're doing a girl from behind, grab her by the hair and whisper in her ear, "You are so fucking ugly," and see how long you can hold on.

Aside from being a little nauseating, it was hysterical. None of the girls I was with had heard the joke. Every guy had his own personal variation.

It constantly amazes me how guys keep up with stuff like that. I consider myself pretty aware of slang, dirty jokes, etc. - at least on par with Jethro. I figured that after 5 years of marriage, and with the amount of "sharing " that we do, we would at least be on the same page. Not so. Someone had emailed me a dirty picture of a drunk woman, legs spread, without panties, sitting between two men in a golf cart. I forgot what the point of this was, but the caption referred to her "bacon strip." I know. Ew. Anyway, as an experiment, I asked Jethro (who was in the next room) what "bacon strip" meant. He walked into the room, grinning. He didn't even have to see the picture to know exactly what I was talking about.

I really believed that I thought about sex as much as a guy. I don't think that is true, and if it isn't, it is scary since I think about sex constantly.

Ah well. There is no point to this at all.

New Topic:

Jethro is ill. He thinks he has an ulcer. His stomach really bothers him after he eats and when the girls come into the room. Just the sight of them makes his stress level elevate and this translates into crippling stomach pain

Now, I don't want to seem insensitive to Jethro's pain, because I know he is hurting, but I'm horny. I think he could work through the pain and do it anyway, but I'm not that insensitive. However, if this keeps up, I will start to get a little desperate. I already had an erotic dream last night. I can't remember what it was, but I woke up happy. I wish I could remember.

If this goes on much longer, I will have to get myself a new boy. I'm not working to put a man through school and then be denied my justly deserved sexual gratification. I only married him for the sex (and vice versa).

Enough About Me, Let's Talk About Me

1. Robin Hood is my favorite Disney movie

2. I was pregnant before I was married.

3. I've never mentioned Jethro's actual race/ethnicity.

4. I've never graduated college.

5. I've attempted to receive anal sex. It did not go well.

6. I've done a lot of travelling.

7. Bacon is my favorite food. I could eat 15 pieces in a row.

8. I'm not crazy about chocolate.

9. David Bowie in Labyrinth was my first movie star crush. I never told anyone.

10. I've been in love 3 times.

11. I secretly think it is funny when kids swear.

12. I could read when I was 3.

13. I always wanted dark hair.

14. I've picked out blog names for my daughters that I will use from here on out. Eldest will be "Gwennie" and Baby will be "Emma."

15. I love my sisters more than I let on.

16. I think most celebrities are idiots.

17. I'm still "best friends" with my best friend from 4th grade.

18. I will never speak kindly to or of my former best friend from Houston.

19. I can hold a grudge.

20. If I receive an apology, the grudge will be forgotten instantly.

21. I prefer comfort to style, but I'm happiest when I can achieve both.

Undone

Once in awhile I get in the mood to hear "Undone" by Robert Earl Keen. It is a good song.

While I was at work, I pulled up Kazaa and clicked on it.

"SHUT YOUR FUCKING FACE, UNCLE FUCKER."

Just for reference, I work out of my parent's house. One of my idiot sisters, knowing that I like that song and play it every so often, decided that it would be a real riot to change the name of Southpark's Uncle Fucker song to Undone by Robert Earl Keen.

My mom was standing right there, and when she was through beating me over the head, I turned it off. So much for my moment of zen.

Family Matters:

My family has a tumultous past and I have a terrible temper. I have been known to pound on my sisters occasionally when they needed it. Don't waste your pity. They are stupid bitches.

Anyway, the last real fist fight I had gotten into with my sisters was about a week before my wedding. I was pregnant (naturally) and sick as a dog. I was lying on my mom's bed trying not to throw up, when my completely obnoxious sisters decided to bounce on it for fun. I asked them to quit it and they proceeded to taunt me and bounce harder. I grabbed them both by the hair and pulled them out of the room. They decided that beating up their pregnant sister was somehow in their best interest, so they did. I had a bruise on the side of my mouth which, fortunately was hidden my makeup for the wedding photos.

In spite of the violence, we aren't exactly a trashy family. Basically I'm the only one who is really violent. It comes from being the oldest and having to maintain order. I am a perfect lamb if you are polite. But if you push that one button, you will wish you hadn't.

My sister Wraith pushed the button yesterday at the Katy Mills mall. She is sixteen and is the worst combination of self-righteous Christian/Punk. She is petulant and selfish and if you hear her whiny voice for more than 10 seconds, you will want to shove her face in the ground until her teeth snap off. She has a special talent for annoying everyone in a room simultaneously. She breaks out into manic screams when she does not get her way, or if she thinks her contestant is going to lose on American Idol, or if a squirrel runs by.

So out of the kindness of our hearts, Jethro and I decide to take her, my two youngest sisters, and our two daughters to the mall. It was a rainy day, the ground at my parent's house was wet, and the car got stuck in the mud. We finally extricated it and left. I was already in a bad mood.

Wraith, started an argument with me in the middle of the mall. I was carrying my youngest and trying to keep everyone together while she argued with me at the top of her moronic lungs. I don't even remember what it was about, I just wanted her to shut up. While she was going on and on, waving her arms and screaming like a lunatic, I snapped and whacked her across the back of the head. Now, I shouldn't have done that, even though it was richly deserved. Even Jethro, who is the most even-tempered, judicious person in the world said his palm was itching to pop her one. But I shouldn't have done it. She let out a yelp like a dog that had been hit by a car and started running away bawling.

I was so close to letting her go and just enjoying time with the other kids, but the thought of having to look for her later and spoil the entire evening for the rest of us was suddenly more than I could handle. I handed the baby to someone, took off after her, and grabbed the back of her shirt. I guess I was angrier than I thought, because when I yanked it back, she let out a gagging noise. I dragged her back to where everyone was, in front of the entire mall, and told her not to fuck up everyone's evening. She was crying like a two year old and screaming to everyone in sight that I had hit her. I figured that if security were going to come, I would give them something to come for. I yanked her into the restrroom, threw her into a stall, told her that if she screwed up everyone's night, I was going to kill her when we got home. I told her that once we were home, I would drag her outside and bang her head into a wall until she was dead. I would bury her at a spot that is about to be cemented over, and I would tell everyone that she'd ran away (she's done it before). She believed me. I think everyone in the restroom believed me. I left the bathroom, the mall patrons parting for me like the red sea, and Jethro calmed her down enough to eat.

Her obnoxiousness continued through the night, and I have decided that I will have nothing more to do with her until she learns better behavior.

Writing about it isn't cathartic. The more I think about it, the more I want to finish the job. God help my own kids if they ever pull that shit.

...And Speaking of Jethro

For anyone who might not be aware, Jethro is in Chiropractic School. I hesitate to say that I prodded him into it (lest I sound like and evil, manipulative, gold-digging wife), but I did. This is advantageous to me on three separate fronts. One, I have back problems. Large breasts = compressed vertebrae. Secondly, it is a good profession. You aren't trying to climb a corporate ladder and have some flexibility in your hours as well as a measure of job stability. Thirdly, Jethro is good at it and happy doing it. And when he is happy, I am happy and reverse it.

I also have neck problems. This has nothing to do with the boobs, but is due to the fact that I wake up every morning with my head pushing into the headboard for all it's worth. I am guessing that I have bad dreams and end up compressing myself against it in fear. Every morning, the top of my head is sore and my neck is all out of whack. I discussed a plan with Jethro for keeping me from damaging myself further. He suggested that I scoot way down, far from the headboard, and rest my face in his crotch. With a straight face. I admire that.

I'm settling down some about the school lunch program. I am still going to protest it, but I've decided against rioting. I have to admit, it would have been an amusing sight to see little lone me chanting on the streets of Austin, setting fire to things, getting maced, then attacked by police dogs. The One Woman Riot. OOOOOO. That should have been my blog title. Damn.

The Blow Job

Late last night, when the house was still, I wiggled under the covers to give Jethro a little head while he was sleeping. I slid his boxers down and took him in my mouth, feeling him grow harder and longer as it went deeper and deeper into my throat. He moaned in his sleep and I began to go faster, sucking it all the way back and lapping at it with my tongue. I held it tight in my mouth, swallowing as hard as I could, thinking about what a talented bitch I was, when suddenly, YECCCCCCCCHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!! BLECCCCCCCCHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!! ECCHH!! ECCHH!! ECCHH!!

Jethro awoke with a major hard-on to the romantic image of his wife on all fours, back arched, spitting and retching like a cat with a hairball. It seems that through my own carelessness, a pubic hair had lodged itself in the back of my throat. It was so far back it had cleared my tonsils. I was pretty sure I was going to die - drowned in my own vomit. Jethro kindly walked out, with Mr. Jethro at full staff, and got me a glass of water. Operations resumed at a much more cautious pace.

I Hate School/The Good Wife

"When thee asks or suggests, I am like putty in thy hands, but when thee forbids,thee is barking up the wrong tree."
~Gary Cooper/"Friendly Persuasion"

This pretty much sums up how I feel about the public school system in general. I got a letter from the school about the new dismissal plan. This line stands out:

"Parents will not be allowed to walk up to the front door area to pick up their child."

Oh yeah, says who? I realize that the district has moronically decided to dismiss all the classes at the same time instead of staggering them and this causes unbelievable traffic and confusion, but the arrogance of that statement is infuriating. They don't offer an explanation or an apology for the inconvenience, just demands, forbiddance and non sequiturs. I feel like a fucking sheep (not to be confused with fucking a sheep). I pay enough in taxes that picking up my daughter off the roof doesn't seem like an unreasonable request.

Onto more interesting things.

I've been getting to bed so late and getting up so early that Jethro's and my lovemaking schedule has been thrown off. With Jethro studying for his hardest finals, it has been more compulsive than ever - twice in the evenings and another at around 3am. I am always more than happy to oblige since I'm usually the one asking, but last night at 3am, I was so tired I just couldn't do it. I told Jethro that he was more than welcome to have at, and he did. I didn't do much except limply hug him.

Now I know that some women do this all the time, but it is a rare thing for me. I can only recall one other time when I just let Jeth do what he wanted. It was weird. After he was all done, he said, "I can't believe you let me do that." I mumbled something like no problem and went back to sleep. I can't tell if I'm a really good wife, or if I have a really huge guilt complex. Probably both. At least he's grateful.

The MORONS in Austin and Happy Birthday To My Gwennie

The "Whiter Shade of Pale" question remains open, but hope is dwindling

It is my Eldest's birthday today. She is 5 years old. I dropped her off at school and asked her teacher what I could bring as a treat for the class. I received a politically correct jolt. Apparently, Texas has a new rule that forbids parents to bring in cupcakes, candy, cookies or anything else remotely delicious. Here is the list of food that I am allowed to bring to celebrate my child's birthday. See if you can stick a candle into any of it.

Fruit juice; Fruit smoothie; Milk, non-fat or low-fat (plain or flavored); Bagel (1/2); Graham crackers (4 pc = 28g); Animal crackers (10 pc = 26g); Wheat crackers; English muffin (whole wheat); Flavored rice cakes (15g); Mini rice cakes, flavored (~10 pc); Fig Newtons (2 pc = 1 oz = 28g); Fruit or grain muffin (low-fat) (3oz); Dry cereal, individual servings; Pretzels (1 oz = 28g); Baked tortilla chips (1oz = 18 pc); Salsa (3 T & 1.5oz.); Vanilla wafers (5 pc = 20g); Seasonal fresh fruit (1/2 C); Carrots, broccoli, cauliflower (1/2 C); Low-fat dip or salad dressing (1T); Fruit snacks (1 oz.); Frozen low-fat yogurt (1/2 C = 72g); Low-fat string cheese (1 oz.); Fruit/grain bars (37g); Frozen fruit bars (3 fl oz = 92g); 94% fat free popcorn (3.8C); Fruit, nut &/or grain trail mixes (1 oz. = 28g); Peanut butter & crackers; Fruit pico (1/2 C); Corn on cob with paprika or chili powder

What the fuck on the last one. Can you see a bunch of kindergartners bouncing in anticipation for corn on cob with papRI-ka? I am so angry over this that I can't type fast enough or find the words to convey my extreme irritation. Why, you ask? Because it's what is wrong with our government from the local to the national level.

Let me make my case. We live in a free country. No one has the goddam right to tell me what I can and cannot put into my own child's mouth. I mean how fucking arrogant. You, parents, are too stupid to feed your kids well, so we, government, are going to force your children to give up pizza parties, birthday cupcakes, and bake sales. Theses idiots actually refer to bake sales as "competitive food" - meaning they're evil and must be aggressively dealt with so the poor fat children will not be tempted by the cookies instead of the tofu. So what does our extremely progressive government do? It bans them. Actually, it severely restricts them to times when kids are the least likely to buy them. So forget the class trips now too. Oh, and forget any revenue coming in from lunch sales. I would rather feed my kids bacon with cheese 'n ice cream than the shit they're serving in the cafeteria. Oh, and lunch today was hamburgers. Very fucking healthy. I guess it is alright for the state to feed your kids crap, but just you try to do it and watch what happens. What's next? Soilent Green?

I blame both parties. I blame the libs for starting the whole stupid thing, and I blame the conservatives for not standing up to them and telling them they are full of shit. I love the classic lib argumet to anyone who suggests that, perhaps, the government has no business telling parents how to raise their kids. "YOU DON'T CARE ABOUT CHILDREN. YOU ARE ADVOCATING CHILD ABUSE. It's like arguing with a religious nut, except without the personal morals. And Republicans knuckle every time. It has gotten so bad, that our Republican controlled Texas State Legislature has come up with this specific form of idiocy ON THEIR OWN!!. And what sucks for them is that they aren't going to get any credit for it. No one votes for Republicans because they're going to help slim down the poor little fat kids. You vote for a Republican if your taxes are too high, or if you think the government is too big, or the Democrat is mired to his ears in scandal ({cough} McGreevey), or you feel like kicking a little ass.

I am totally disenfranchised. The Republicans suck, the Democrats are worse, and the Libertarians, who might have actually had something intelligent to say on the subject, would rather snort weed killers and fuck transvestites.

I try to take a pragmatic approach to politics. If there is a great good that will be served, or there are lives in danger, I would permit a little government intrusion. But for crying out loud. Kids, despite their occasional pizza parties and crappy lunches, don't eat that much in school. The vast majority of eating and sitting is done at home. Poor little fat boy is not going to become magically slim by denying his class a bake sale and pizza party. If you think that it will, you are an arrogant moron. If you think it won't and deny them anyway, you are a big fucking hypocrite who prefers to look good instead of do good. If the government really wanted to keep people from eating too much, they would force the television stations to shut down from 3pm onward.

I'm done with the subject for now, but I am most definitely going to get a petition going if there isn't one already. I will personally take it to Austin and I dare the hippies to try and stop me. Vengeance will be MINE!

Whiter Shade of Pale

I am hopeless when it comes to poetry. This includes song lyrics. I can't interpret them for the life of me despite my slaving away at a Lit major. I know people say that it means something different for everyone, but that, in my opinion and if you'll pardon the expression, is bullshit. There is a meaning behind those words. Possibly two or three, but I'll be damned if I can discover even one. Poetry just seems so personal.

That all being said, I can't hear the song, "Whiter Shade of Pale" without getting choked up. I have no idea what the words mean. Every time I hear it my throat gets tight, my eyes start burning, and I feel humiliated that a song that I don't understand has moved me to such emotion.

It is listed among love songs, but for some reason, I don't think it is one. So I'm appealing to anyone with an instinct for poetry to help me out.

A Whiter Shade of Pale
~Sung by Procul Harum
~Words by Keith Reid

We skipped the light fandango
turned cartwheels 'cross the floor
I was feeling kinda seasick
but the crowd called out for more
The room was humming harder
as the ceiling flew away
When we called out for another drink
the waiter brought a tray

And so it was that later
as the miller told his tale
that her face, at first just ghostly,
turned a whiter shade of pale

She said, 'There is no reason
and the truth is plain to see.'
But I wandered through my playing cards
and would not let her be
one of sixteen vestal virgins
who were leaving for the coast
and although my eyes were open
they might have just as well've been closed

Thanks.

The Luckiest Bastard on Earth/How I Quit Smoking

Our friend Corin is here. He and Jethro are really good friends. He was almost in our wedding, but was late and missed it. He cried.

Anyway, I like him very much. He also happens to be the luckiest bastard on the planet. Case in point: He went into a study abroad program when he was in college. He went to England. While he was there he met a cute, uninhibited girl named Jane. Jane bonked him in his dorm room, on the metro, and in a restroom. He liked Jane alot. He wanted to show Jane a good time. Unfortunately, he was broke. Fortunately, his parents had given him a credit card to use in case of a dire emergency. He checked the card limit. It was 10K. He decided that ferrying Jane around in a BMW convertible, having sex with Jane in a 5 star hotel suite and eating caviar with Jane afterwords qualified as a dire emergency. They lived it up. He checked the balance again. It was $0. He had to face the music. With growing dread, he returned to the states.

Corin came home and began feeling ill. He went to the doctor, and after a series of tests, he was diagnosed with thyroid cancer - the same day his parents got the credit card bill. They decided that that he had enough to worry about without them going bitchcakes on him, so they didn't mention it. Corin, after undergoing treatment, is completely cured of thyroid cancer and now has the guilt free remembrences of Jane and the credit card. Luckiest bastard on the planet.

I think I'm kind of jealous of him. I spent 3 months in Italy and only spent $500. I walked everywhere and skipped lunches (or stole food from my roommates). I also quit smoking unintentionally. I was so poor that I was buying the government issue cigarettes called "Nacionales." These cigarettes were so gross the homeless refused them.

One day, I was sitting in my room contemplating lighting up, and I couldn't bring myself to do it. All day, the nicotine demon clawed at my will, but every time I thought of lighting that putrid weed, I would start to dry-heave. After a week of clawing at my face and weeping when I'd enter a bar, the craving began to leave a little, and I discovered that it was cheaper to just let it be. I never started back up again either. Every once in awhile I'll smoke one if I have been drinking heavily. The sweet nicotine rush will leave me longing for the days when I was pure; before the kids had corrupted me into relinquishing the simple joys of smoking and writing, or smoking and drinking, or smoking and playing piano, frisbee, or strip poker. The next day, though, I will be cursing the one drop of liquor that numbed my senses into thinking that a smoke was a good idea.

Thanks

Thanks for responding. I know it was kind of dumb, but I appreciate it. It just goes to show that a "so clean you could eat off the floor" house is not really required in a mate. That's cool. I forgot a few things like Religion/Spirituality, but it really didn't matter.

I had to quit for a few days and give my mind a rest. My Eldest had her first day of Kindygarten and seems to like it pretty well. The baby cried and cried for "my Gwennie" when we left her at school. She kept saying, "No no. I need my Gwennie. Please Mommy, I need my Gwennie." Enough to break your heart into pieces and lodge them in your guilt forever and ever. They had never been separated and the little one is really shy and depends on her big sister. Severe trauma.

We are having gorgeous weather this weekend. Some amazing cold front moved through from Canadia and it is in the high 80s with low humidity. Absolutely unheard of in Houston. I'm hoping it means we will have an early or a cold winter. In fact, I think I'll go enjoy it while it lasts. Over and out.

Brief Hiatus

I have to take a break for a few days. Don't forget me.

Another Unscientific Poll in the meantime:

In the quailties you look for in a wife/husband provided they are not physically repulsive, rate the order of importance:
1. Good Housekeeper
2. Good Sex
3. Good Cook
4. Good Conversationalist
5. Good Provider/Wage Earner
6. High Intelligence

Just say in your comments if you are male or female.

Finals Weeks

Jethro has 2 weeks of finals coming up, and my Eldest is starting Kindergarten. You'd think I wouldn't have time to blog, but it is the only thing keeping my thoughts in order. The only time I can't stand Jethro is when he's taking exams. Stress always brings out the worst in him, and the worst in him always brings out the worst in me. Last night he fired 3 orders at me in a row without even pausing for breath. "Put this in your car. Get some sleep. Put the phone back on the charger." It was funny, and he laughed when I said, "Yes, dear. Yes, dear. Yes, dear" and started running around in circles. But I can tell that it is the beginning of a very stressful 2 weeks. During his last set of finals, we bickered for 3 days straight, and even went our separate ways for about 4 hours. It was a big deal for us because, well let's just say we're lovers not fighters.

Sex is different too. We still have it, but I sometimes end up feeling like one of those realistic looking porno dolls with the realistic orifices. Or a stress reliever that you smush around in your hands. It is so compulsive for him whenever he's studying that he doesn't say much more than, "I'm horny. Service me, woman." Okay, I'm making up the "service me" part.

It's still interesting though. Being used for sex is gratifying in a way. Getting right down to business in a purely carnal manner is good for losing one's inhibitions. I know he's objectifying me, so I can't help but objectify him and it almost becomes a race to see who can get what they want first. Basically, you are saying, "I am not going to turn you on, but I'm going to use you to get me off." Very selfish and I could see marriages going down the tubes if it was standard practice, but once in awhile it's cool.

I think, except for the occasional screw, it is probably better if we stay out of each others' way as much as possible for two weeks. Once he's on break, everything will be fine and he will be back to his cool, fun-loving self, but for now, I guess I just have to stay nekkid and available.

Brief Unscientific Poll

Just curious, but in the sexual sense, how many people like sounds - either making them or hearing them?

The Words We Use

Well, I got rid of my kids for the whole day. My Eldest is about to start school and I needed the day without them up my butt to get the house all organized. It is far from done, but Jeth and I made a good start. Except that we got horny half-way in and ended up having sex. Kinda slowed us down a little. It was great though. I guess it was because we weren't supposed to be doing it that made it so good. Also, the fact that the kids weren't around and we could make as much noise as we wanted.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the topic of my discussion. Before I ever had sex, I thought that it would be terribly unladylike to make any sound at all. After I had sex, I realized that I was noisy. I just couldn't keep my mouth shut. I've tried and it just won't work. If the kids are around, I just cover my face with a pillow or stuff a towel in my mouth. It kind of makes for a snuff film atmosphere, but the alternative is the kids banging on the door in terror.

So when they're gone, sex just becomes this orgy of sounds. Most of what I say makes no sense whatsoever. I've actually been accused of saying, "harder, motherfucker," which probably could have defeated the whole endeavor, but Jethro seemed amused...and spurred to greater action.

It's also good if he talks to me. One well-timed, "come for me, baby," and I am singing like a bluebird.

The most ridiculous thing that ever happened in bed was once when I was on top. I was right there (in the orgasmic sense) and I accidentally grabbed Jethro's face and smushed. His lips squished right between my fingers and my thumb as I was clenching and unclenching my fist. It looked so funny that I laughed and ruined it for myself. Undaunted, Jethro finished up for himself. I thought it was great that I could be sitting on top of him laughing and he just went on about his business like it was nothing. If I'd ruined it for him too, I would have felt bad.

I had too much wine tonight at Buca di Beppo, which is a family-style Italian restaurant in Houston. There is a good possibility that I'm going to sober-up and delete this whole post, so laugh it up while you can.

Post-Coital Coma

I can't understand for the life of me why men can't rise and shine after having sex. We have so much to do today, and Jethro is just lying in bed with his eyes closed and a goofy grin on his face. I know I'm good, but damn. I mean, our house is falling apart it is so messy, and I can't do housework unless Jethro helps me. It is just the way I work. Is it unfair? I don't think so. I'm no feminist, but I think sharing the household tasks should be split right down the middle. Unfotuately, Jethro is better about doing his share than I am, so I have no room to talk. Except on Saturday mornings when the only thing rising is me and his Hmmm Hmmm.

I'm now going to go and stalk self-righteously around the house for awhile. Maybe that will have some effect.

The Fine Art of Flattery

I'll preface this anecdote by saying that I am really untalented at receiving compliments. I'm not too good at delivering them either. I don't like brown-nosing, and I am particularly bad at it. The upside is that if I say I like something, I am telling the truth. The downside is as follows:

The other day, when I dropped my kids off at their daycare/school, another mom came up to me and said, "Your girls are so beautiful. I always see them when they're eating their snacks and they are so ladylike." Instead of saying "thank you" like any normal person, I said, "they must get it from their dad," which prompted the lady to assure me that I was probably very ladylike, and that my husband was probably very manly. She didn't laugh (which was my intention), she felt sorry for me that I had such low self-esteem.

Arrrrrgh!! Why do I do it? I always end up putting myself in these situations. I must be a masochist. Why can't I just enjoy being tied to a bedpost instead of tying myself up in public?

This certainly isn't the worst situation I've ever put myself in. It's just an example of the idiotic things that come out of my mouth on a day to day basis that make it look as if I were filled with self-loathing. I don't have low self-esteem. I don't fish for compliments (except from Jethro). I just have a weird sense of humor.

I'm through torturing myself. I'm going to go jump off a cliff.

More from Band Camp

When my First Baby was a few months old, Jethro and I took her to see some of our friends from college. We were the first of our group to have a baby, so it was a real event. She was passed around like a joint and finally ended up with our friend, Dom. Dom is half-black and half Vietnamese and is extremely ripped. Jeth and I were talking to some people when Dom came up with Eldest and asked, "Um guys, what's she doing?" We looked up and saw Eldest clutching his giant pec and sucking his nipple through his shirt. Luckily he was a pretty clean guy because it almost took a crowbar to pry her loose. Dom was a little embarrassed, but still thought it was funny. He did give me a sympathetic look when we left.

Johnny5 http://yearinforever.blogspot.com has a little poll going, and I very badly want to win in at least one category. I realize the ethical dilemma of voting that you would like to kiss or sleep with a married lady, so I am perfectly willing to win the cliff tossing category. In fact, it looks as if that is my best shot. But I wouldn't cry if I pulled ahead in one of the other categories either. So exercise your rights and vote. For me. Thanks.

P.S. If too many people are grossed out by my baby trying to nurse off of a man, let me know. I will capitalize it and put it in bold italics.

Another time at band camp...

About 7 years ago, my family bought a puppy named Tinkerbell. Most of my sisters were still living at home and they were faced with potty-training the youngest, who was 2, and the dog at the same time. The puppy was mean and stubborn and refused to relieve herself of solid waste outside. My sisters became increasingly impatient with the surprises left under their beds, on their beds, in their closets, etc.

One day, my sister Rochelle, who was about 13, walked into her room. There was a huge clump on the floor and the dog was sitting insolently beside it. She snapped. She spanked the dog, rubbed her nose in it, and spanked her again, yelling the whole time. Then she noticed a smear on the wall. Then another clump hidden underneath a shoe box. She looked up and saw our youngest sister cringing guiltily in the corner.

We still have the dog, but she doesn't like any of us very much.

One time at band camp....

One time when I was working at an English pub in Houston, I was lighting the citronella candles that we used outdoors and putting them into their holders over the tables. I dropped one, flame side up, directly on a man's crotch. In my haste to retrieve the candle, I grabbed his whole package and lifted. His wife just looked at me.

The Price is Right

When I was a little kid, I used to think the models on the Price is Right were deaf because they never talked and were always gesturing with their hands.

Unexpected Night Out

Jeth and I had the best Saturday night. Baby wandered into our room where we were watching TV and said, "I need to go see gramma." Well, who could deny such a request? I took both the girls to Jethro's parent's house to see "gramma and grampa." I goofed around with my sister-in-law for awhile, then started to make noises about going home. Grampa ignored me completely and gave the girls bottles (which they are far too big for and don't have at home) and said, "go upstairs before your mother sees." I pretended to insist that I should take them home and not burden them with the girls, but they were quite determined and I didn't mind a bit.

I went back home and Jeth was actually still awake. I said, "Hey baby, wanna date?" He said, "Hell yeah." So we went out to a sports bar right down the road from us. There was a cover band playing bitter alternative hits. They weren't that good, but they were some loud and tough-looking cholos and they had brought all their loud and tough-looking cholo friends. I kind of had a thing for the guirarist. I usually have a thing for bass players (something about the way they move their fingers makes me want to hit a high note), but this bass player was a girl and I just don't go there (not that I couldn't if I wanted to). Anyway, the last song they played was "She Hates Me" - Puddle of Mudd. The last lines of the song are, of course, "She fucking hates me." The singer then ad-libbed "but she fucking loves my cock" to raucous applause. I guess a guy just can't cover a song like that without clarifying that it isn't an indictment of his love-making skills. It was funny though.

I got pretty hammered drinking long island ice teas. Through the drunken haze, a few things caught my attention. One was a boozy looking older blonde who was hitting on a younger guy. She kept dancing around in front of him and the guy looked just young and drunk and interested enough for me to think he might be getting some in the back seat of his car. This lady looked like she knew her way around the back-seat. She also looked like she knew her way around motorcycles and gas-station restrooms.

There was a young boozy blonde there with an older guy. He looked primed for a mid-life crisis, and she looked just young and drunk and interested enough to make me think that she might be getting some in the Motel 6 down the freeway. I think back-seat sex might have been physically challenging for the guy.

There were some college kids there. One was smoking a cigar. He didn't look old enough to shave, but he was smoking a cigar. He looked silly.

After the band finished and I had annihilated everyone in the bar at trivia (I was the only one actually playing), Jethro poured me into the car and we drove through Taco Cabana (which was hoppin').

We got home and Jethro...ahem...got some. On the living room floor. Con fajitas y queso.

Family History

My family is the most bizarre mix of religions and nationalities. Scotch, Irish, English, Welsch, French, Czech, Russian, Polish. These are only the ones I know definitely. There may be more. My father's family are Ashkenazi Jews, so the Czech, Russian, and Polish must be amended to include that. Besides the Jewish, my family has actually been Protestant and most recently, Catholic. My parents started out as hippies in the 60s and decided to try every religion on earth including every Protestant denomination and non-denomination, before finally settling on Catholicism. Without delving into my personal religious views (which I would consider bad manners on my part), I will venture to say that I have evolved into a religious pragmatist. I think some of it is a little foolish, but I don't hate any religion and consider most of them either benign or good.

One thing I don't understand why some people get so upset about religious people being judgmental. They are allowed. If you think they have a point, but are pissed at them for pointing it out, then you are a hypocrite. If you think they are full of shit, then why do you care what they say? Believe me when I say that I have dealt with all types and I find people basically either good or evil, religion nonwithstanding.

I didn't really want to get into religion, but I always think it is an interesting topic as long as folks don't take it too personally. What I actually wanted to write about was the complete European shit-mix that I am, and the fact that I added Jethro's completely different race and religion to my daughters already homogenized genes. One thing they can always hold their heads up proudly for is that there can be absolutely no question of incest. :-)

I think this is why I am so enamored with the country in which I live. This is all possible. This colossal clash of cultures is POSSIBLE!! To me, this is a tremendous thing. It is like passing all the wisdom of our collective cultures into two little girls and then releasing them on the world. I just hope we can make a decent job of it. I feel like it is a serious responsibility. I want them to be interested in their cultures, but I don't want my girls take pride in either race. Your race isn't an achievement. I want them to be proud of their accomplishments, talents, grades, or personalities. If you don't take pride in someone else's accomplishments just because they are of your race, then cannot feel shame in the someone else's failures just because they are of your race. And there are terrible failures from every race.

The fact is that they look like both of us. And they don't look fully like one race or the other. This, I know has created identity issues for some children, but I am determined that will not happen to my girls. I want them to be a part of both races and be contented and at peace with who they are. This means not being self-deprecating about my race. It is tempting sometimes when I'm around my husband's family just because we all have self-deprecating senses of humor, and it is so darn easy to make fun of white people, but there are times when a joke will go too far and the seeds of doubt may be planted in impressionable minds.

I don't have any illusions that making my children a part of two races will be easy. I don't think it will. But the first step for Jethro and I has been to do away with politically correct racial sensitivity as much as possible. This doesn't mean we go around making fun of people (we try to teach the girls manners as well), it simply means that we look at the intent behind the words rather than the words themselves. If no harm is meant, we let it go. So far, we haven't had any issues, because most people are polite and decent.

The funniest thing is when people assume that you have to deal with discrimination frequently. The "insensitive" comments that are sometimes made in the name of "sensitivity" are hilarious. But we never take it as a sign of some deep-rooted bigotry. It is just ordinary people trying to let you know that they have no problems with you. And that's cool.

This whole post is kind of jumbled, but I've been wanting to write about it for awhile.

Book Review

I haven't posted in a few days because I have been reading the best books.  They are "The Flashman Papers" by George MacDonald Fraser.  Really funny, but not for the faint-of-heart or the politically correct.  They are even funnier if you know your world history (which I could stand to study up on).

In the 1830s, a man named Thomas Hughes wrote a book called "Tom Brown's Schooldays."  It was about life at an all-boy's English boarding school.  Let the homosexual jokes commence.   Anyway, this book is extols the virtues of honesty and condemns the bullying that was so prevalent.  Harry Flashman is the school bully who tortures the younger students, carouses, refuses to study and is eventually expelled for drunkeness.   

"The Flashman Papers" were written in the 1980s and detail the life of Harry Flashman, the bully of "Tom Brown's Schooldays."  Brilliant idea as far as I'm concerned.  Harry Flashman, the school bully, joins the British army and ends up a hero.  It is completely by accident because he is an absolute coward and a cad and an obsequious brown-noser.  The history is pretty accurate and they are great reads.  I just finished the second in the series, where Flashman becomes embroiled in an international plot to steal the identity of a Count.  He ends up impersonating the Count, and despite already having a wife, marries the Count's betrothed, the Duchess Irma.  After drinking heavily with the men downstairs, Flashman decides to devirginize the bride.  I'll quote an exerpt from the wedding night passage:

"Cheer up little wife,"says I (Flashman), "there won't be any more singing downstairs," and I stooped and whipped the nightdress clean off, over her head.  She gave a little cry, and since I maintain that the best way to deal with nervous females is to treat 'em hearty, I lifted her up bodily, popped her on, and stumped around the room singing:  "This is the way the ladies ride, trit-trot, trit-trot, trit-trot."

This pretty much embodies the character, except for the extreme cowardice.  Anyway, they're really funny books, and I highly recommend them.

New Topic:  I quit my job about once every two weeks.  Something will frustrate me, and I will announce, dramatically, that I quit.  I will stalk out of the house, slam the door and call Jethro.  He'll calm me down, and I'll go back to work.  The downside to this is that, "I quit" no longer has the same effect it once did.

I don't hate my job.  I actually like it quite a bit.  I absolutely DO NOT like working in the same house as my family resides.  My sisters are obnoxious and bitchy and spoiled, and my mom only responds to extreme verbal abuse whether it is from her husband (my stepdad and boss) or kids.  I claim no virtue in the verbal abuse department.  I was Hell's own bitch to my mom when I was in high school and college.  I'm sorry for it now, and we get along much better, but she always manages to take the side of my beastly sisters.  God, grant me the patience to deal with these idiots until Jeth finishes school and we can move away from this steaming hell hole of a city.  PMS.  Sorry.

The City of Honest Corruption

New Orleans.  Charming, dirty, beloved moral cesspool of the South.  It isn't so much immoral as it is amoral.  Sin just doesn't seem sinful, and the black and white absolutes of your ordinary life become a deceiving rainbow of glorious vice.  Sex, gambling, violence, larceny become as natural as breathing.

Jethro and I went there about 2 years ago for a romantic weekend.  I left more tired than I came.  I, like the freakin' girl that I am, made him go on a historical tour with me.  Waste of time.  We kept ducking into bars to get drinks while the guide would go on and on about the difference between cast iron and wrought iron.  Boooooooooring.  I did learn one thing from it though.  Louisianna politicians, and New Orleans politicians in particular, are expected to make money while they are in office.  They are actually expected to get rich.  If they don't, they will have failed in their duty as politicians.  The reasons were complex and I was pretty drunk, but I think it stemmed from the notion that the best way to generate wealth in the city is to have the politicians generate personal wealth from the city.  I really couldn't tell how it was working out for them, but apparantly business-people from other cities have a very difficult time dealing with New Orleans business-people.  They just speak another language in which corruption is expected - and not actually considered corruption.

I won't lie and say we saw everything.  We spent all of our time in the French Quarter soaking up the sin and delighting in the debauchery.  We stayed at the Maison Dupuy.  It was right on the edge of the French Quarter - far enough away from Bourbon Street to be quiet, but close enough that you could walk there in two minutes.  The hotel had gotten mixed reviews from patrons on Travelocity, so I decided we had to stay there.  The bad reviews came from people complaining about how old it was.  One of the good reviews said that they had gotten very drunk and the bellboy helped him up to his room and got him in bed without a muss or fuss.  I thought it sounded perfect, and it was.  Very reasonable rates, and it was charming.  It had a courtyard that was beautiful with a pool and a fountain and garden plants all around. http://www.maisondupuy.com/guestrooms/panoramic.html 

And the eating!  We ate more than we drank and we were stewed almost the entire time.  There is no cooking like Cajun cooking.  Shrimp gumbo, crawfish etouffee, fried alligator, frog legs - we tried everything we possibly could in a 48 hour period. 

We went to bar after bar and ended up in a strip club.  It was the 2nd time we'd been there.  One of the girls eventually came over and started talking to us.  She was so cute and normal - she was talking about how she was going to buy all her Christmas presents at Target.  Then she asked if we wanted a lap dance.  I thought it would be rude not to get one, but I was also pretty sure that it wouldn't do a thing for me.  I also couldn't be sure of how to act while she was doing it.  How do you make yourself appear appreciative, but not lecherous?  Jethro was a beast and didn't help me out at all.  He just sat there smiling, waiting to see what I would do.  I chickened out, of course, and hightailed it out of there.  I'm pretty sure he followed me.  I can't remember now.

I could write on and on about that city.  The history of voodoo and Santeria and the cemeteries and haunted houses are fascinating and I encourage anyone who hasn't been bored enough to read this far to check out some of the histories online: http://www.prairieghosts.com/neworleans.html

Definitely my favorite city in all the world so far.  But I shall keep looking.

The Smell of Men Trying

I love the cologne Drakkar Noir.  I know people make fun of it now and say, "smell that cheesy loser, how 90s." But I love it.  It makes me want to get down on my knees and pray, and go dancing at some blacklit club and pretend to get drunk on amaretto sours and make out with someone in the backseat of his car in the parking lot.

It smells like a man trying.  And I appreciate it.

Men can go too far though.  The whole city slicker, dandy trend (I refuse to say metrosexual), irritates me.  I don't want anything to do with a guy who worries more about his looks than I do.  I'd rather have a guy with a unibrow and dirty fingernails than one who pays $200 for a silk shirt that makes him look like a fag.  Call me unenlightened, but I dislike ambiguity in men.   I think it's great in women though.

I know I'm a hypocrite, but I don't care.  If some guys want to be sensitive little pussies,  more power to 'em, but I can guarantee it's more trouble than it's worth.  Unless they are blessed with extreme good looks, guys should just make sure their clothes are clean, throw on some Drakkar, and hope for the best.  But go do something fun.  I think the best way to pick up women is to start playing a game, and ask the gal you have your eye on if she wants to play.  If you're playing darts or pool or something, you won't be just standing around NOT getting laid.  

Hey,  at least it's better than "I'll give you a nickel if you tickle my pickle" (which, for some reason, I find strangely alluring).

Okay, I'm done.

I saw a lady in the grocery store yesterday who had no ass.  She was wearing sweatpants with the word "LOVE" where her ass should have been.  I thought, "What's to love?"

The Circus

We took our girls to the circus last night.  It was so fun to be with them seeing all the animals.  Eldest hated the tigers, but loved everything else.  She was most intrigued by the camels and zebras.  Baby was terrified of the tigers but really loved the 6 motorcycles in the globe of death and the elephants.  We all loved the elephants.  I enjoyed the horses particularly.  The worst part of the whole evening was trying to convince the Eldest that she didn't need a $16 twirly light toy.  I hated to disappoint her, but I can't justify spending $16 on a toy that I have actually purchased for $7.  I'm half Jewish and half Scottish.  Sue me. 

The girls are what made the circus fun.  If I had gone by myself, I would have been disappointed.  The first time I went to the circus was when I was about 6 or 7.  I went with my Brownie troop to see Ringling Brothers and Barnum and Bailey Circus' Wild West show.  Perhaps it's because I'm remembering it through my child eyes that it seemed so wonderful.  In my memory it seemed much more glittery.  All the costumes had sequins sewn onto them so that they would reflect the stage lights and they were bright bold colors like red and blue and green and white.  This show was all blacklight and flourescence.  Pretty, but kind of done to death. 

The acts weren't as good either.  They just didn't seem death-defying.  In the circus of my memory, when someone would do something spectacular, the ringmaster would bellow, "IS-HE-ALLRIGHT?  And you would wait with baited breath, biting off the ends of your fingers until the performer would reappear with his arms outstretched and his chest thrust out, upon which you would cheer wildly wondering what else could possibly top it. 

This edition of the Ringling Brothers and Barnum and Bailey Circus boasts the first black ringmaster.  He isn't bad, but he reminded me forcefully of Wayne Brady.  He also seemed like too fine a singer to be wasting his talent in a stunt show, but then again, talented singers are often out of work, so I guess he takes what he can get.  Very sensible.  My only real beef with him was that he didn't sound like he believed a thing that was coming out of his mouth.  It seems like a small thing, but the ringmaster's job is to sell you a bill of goods.  I won't believe him, but I expect him to make me try. 

Another thing related to the ringmaster was the talk about saving endangered species.  It is a very trivial point, but from a purely nostalgic view, it is annoying to have real-life problems horn their way into a fantasy world.  The circus always seemed to have operated on the fringes of society.  The preformers were so mysterious, the animal trainers were so commanding, and the whole circus seemed to be a life force of its own - its own community with its own set of rules.  I know animals shouldn't be treated cruelly and I know that endangered animals should be taken care of.  It reflects upon us as a society.  Us though, not them.  I kind of selfishly felt that the circus should only comply silently with the animal protection laws and not discuss them with anyone else.  But their bringing up a political issue during the circus made it lose a little of the mystery, and made it seem ordinary.   On a larger scale, it just exemplifies my weariness with political correctness.  I am so tired of being lectured to by any political group that has managed to grab a little political leverage.

Related to this is the theme of this circus.  It was very Asiatic.  Like it was trying to be Cirque du Soleil.  I'm sorry, but I want The Greatest Show On Earth to be pure Americana.  They can do an Asian theme, but I want it full of American stereotypes (nice ones, not mean ones).  If I wanted Cirque du Soleil, I could watch the Sundance Channel, but I wanted the cotton candy, peanut, popcorn, and elephant driven circus that I remembered.   And the almost nude ladies.  The new costumes were downright conservative.  No I'm not bi.

The highlight of the night for me, was during the intermission when Jeth and I went to get the girls cotton candy (we left them with their aunt).  While we were waiting in line, a lady lost her kid and started screaming "AVERY! AVERY! AVERY!" at the top of her lungs.  Everyone just stood there like morons staring at her.  I did too, but then thought that perhaps security should be notified.  I was making my way to the nearest security guard, when the little girl ran crying up to her mom, who screamed, "WHERE WERE YOU??!!!!"  The poor kid started crying harder as her mom smothered her in hugs and kisses. It was moving, but I was torn between contempt for the mom whose logic had totally fled, the memory of my mother doing the exact same thing when I disappeared in a department store when I was 4, and the uncomfortable realization that I had done the same exact thing when Eldest had run away from me (deliberately) at Target.  But my screams were angry and theirs were manic. Regardless,  that mom's cries will give me nightmares for years to come.

The Dildo Show

WARNING:  SEXUAL EXPLICITNESS
 
I went to a sex toy party last night.  My friend invited me about 3 weeks ago, and I thought it might be interesting.  It was both funny and sad.  I may have to revise my opinions on women and marriage.   I felt sorry for most of the gals there.  They either had no man, or were trying to spice up dormant sex lives.  My heart almost broke watching these women diligently study their magazines and solemnly use the restroom to spray on the free samples of feminine arousal product, hoping to increase their waning libidos.  Some were uptight, some were shy, some were trashy, some were loud (me), but none were indifferent.
 
The woman hosting the party was a spunky, gracious Greek girl.  She was quite large, but was so cool about it that I envied her.  She struck me as the type of person who had decided that she was too good a cook to worry about someting like a figure, and you could either take it or leave it, but if you left it, you would be a fool.   A hungry fool.

The dildo rep was a barking moonbat.  She was 40-ish, wearing a shapeless long black dress, no bra (which she was in rather desperate need of), had greasy long dark hair and a mustache, and was waaaay too nervous to be hocking sex toys to 40 drunk, horny women.  She was kind of like a goth/hippie/midwife.  In short, she was a prime candidate for TLCs "What NOT To Wear."  I couldn't picture her using the products, but then again, my imagination has its limits.
 
I'll skip all the lotions and potions and get to the dildos.  I didn't get one because they were expensive and I already own one, but they were quite interesting.  There were the standard "bullets" that were attatched to a cord (reminded me of a fetal monitor), then there were the realistic looking ones that were pink rubber.  There was a fiber-optic G-spot stimulator.  I have no idea how to explain it except that it looked like it had an L-shaped hook at the tip.  Incidentally, this is what lit up.   There was another one that had a thumb sticking out of the penis shaft.  Quite the freak appendage.  It was bubblegum pink.  There were some that rotated in a cyclone motion. One had a dolphin attached to the shaft.   You are supposed to put your clit in the dolphin's beak and let it vibrate.  It was blue.  That was the only one I considered buying.  And the worst one was the 17 inch "chocolate thunder."  It was an African penis about 3-4 inches in diameter complete with grotesque veins running through it.  We renamed it the "ego-crusher."  I thought it was racist - but apparantly in a good way since it was bought by several black girls in attendance, one of them being my friend, Chantrelle.  Guess I'm getting a little PC in my old-age.  We teased her the whole ride home.
 
The best thing, that I am starting to regret I didn't purchase, was a toy called Gigi.  It was a pink rubber vagina-esque item.  You fill it with KY and stick your partner's wang-johnson in it.  You can push it all the way through and suck the top (head if you want to be indelicate), or you can cover the whole thing with Gigi and let him go, or you can turn Gigi inside out and make her an anus.  I stuck my finger in it and I am pretty sure that it was very realistic.  And the best thing of all about Gigi was that she swallows. 
 
I bought 4 items.  One was edible/lickable oil for bj's which I haven't tried yet.  Another was lube that is supposed to reactivate upon contact with water so you can boink in the shower - something I enjoy, but find difficult.  Thirdly, was a clitoral stimulating ointment that was supposed to deliver mind shattering orgasms.  I tried it and it is pleasant, but not mind-blowing.  And the last thing I got was something called nipple nibblers which is supposed to make your nippys tingly and suckable (not that mine aren't anyway).  After I shelled out $12.00 for it, I got the disturbing feeling that I had just bought expensive straberry flavored carmex.  I guess it is ok though because strawberry is Jethro's favorite flavor.  A slight digression.  We were at a party once where the topic of favorite ice-cream flavors came up.  Jethro said his favorite was strawberry, and all the guys started making fun of him.  He let them finish, and then said, "I like to lick it off my wife's nipples."  They stopped making fun of him.
 
We played a few silly games meant to draw people out and get them to admit to their various sexual escapades.  I started out playing honestly, but there were these two British chicks who were just tearing up.  Anal sex, threesomes, more than three guys in one night...there was nothing these girls hadn't done.  I couldn't let America lose to these chippies, so I ended up admitting to things I hadn't even thought of.  Probably not a wise idea.  I will never see the British chicks again, but now people I know think I've been gang-banged...in the ass...to the tune of "Feel Like Makin' Love"...on public transportation.  Oh well, I suppose it could be worse.

Too Hot To Blog

It is horrifically hot in Houston.  I hate hate hate this weather.  When I am rich, and if I still live in Houston, I am going to build me a pool.  Not just any pool.  This pool is going to have a slide and a diving board, an alcove so Jethro and I can do it without being too obvious, a hot tub, and a swim-up pool bar - the kind you can access from the outside, but the seats are in the water.    I am going to have the pool lined in foam rubber so your feet don't get sore.  I am going to quit my job, have one of my daughters make me a margarita (by the time I get my pool they will probably be in their mid-forties), and lie on my ass in my pool all.  friggin'.  day.  God, I hope Jeth and I will still be able to do it.  Maybe I'll have a cabana boy whose only job will be to bring me my margaritas.  And clean my pool.  And shout encouragements at a very old Jethro and Zelda as we try to get it on in the alcove.  Gee.  This was supposed to be a nice relaxing fantasy.  Now I'm really depressed. 

I like people most of the time.  Rarely do I get pissed off at stupidity.  Most of the time it just amuses me.  Despite my ranting, I don't care deeply about the state of marriage in general. I just don't want anyone crying to me when their marriage fails because of their own ignorance.  I do get pissed off when people are rude.  I cannot abide intentional and unprovoked rudeness.  I will turn a ghastly shade of white, then I will turn purple and I cannot be held responsible for what will come out of my mouth.  I have been known to foam a little. 

Case in point:  I manage my step-dad's real estate office.  We had, as clients, this young couple who had bitten off a little more than they could chew with regards to their house.  The young man had started his own computer fixer-upper type company and their imaginary earnings were faaaaaaar greater than their actual earnings.  They had bought a humongous and expensive home at an interest rate that no one this side of sanity would have taken, and 2 years later were faced with foreclosure.  They listed their house with us and rejected several good offers because they thought somehow, that they could make a profit on it.  

Note:  If you are facing foreclosure, accept the first offer.  You won't get a better one.  

The young lady thought she would try her hand at eBay, and her own maternity care/doula business, but with only her own two kids as experience in these matters, she was hardly qualified. 

Note:  Any woman who hopes to start one of these businesses will most likely fail.  Any man who hopes to start one will definitely fail.   

I wouldn't want no doula man rubbing my belly and massaging my twat while I was in labour.  But I digress.  The young lady actually ended up making a couple of house payments by selling on eBay all of the crap they had bought when they thought they had money. 

These people are actually not the villains of my story.  They were stupid, but they were reaping the consequences, and who am I to kick those who are down?  No.  The villains of this story are their neighbors.   The young couple moved into a small rental, and the big house became rather unkempt.  One day I received a call from their neighbor - obviously an anal-retentive who sucks air every time she sits.  She said, "their yard is really a mess.  I pay a very high association fee so I don't have to deal with people who don't take care of their yards.  I know they can't afford that house, but you would think they would keep their lawn trimmed as a courtesy to those who live around them.  As their realtor, you need to send someone out here to have this lawn cut immediately.  I also need to know if they are in foreclosure because I don't want my house value to go down"

Now first of all, we cannot afford to go around paying for sellers' lawn maintenance.  That is their responsibility.  All we can do is tell them and hope they take care of it.  Secondly, the HOA would be the one to call about it.  And thirdly, I could have gotten in a lot of trouble if I had started discussing their financial situation.  I thought it was pretty obvious this psycho just wanted gossip, so I turned my customary white then purple,  told her we couldn't care less about the lawn, didn't give a shit about her property value, and that we were not going to risk legal action by discussing the finances of our clients with someone like her.  And, because I just couldn't help it, asked her where the hell she got off?  She tried to get huffy, but I cut her off with a few well-aimed curse words, told her she was a terrible Christian (because 5'll get you 10 she considered herself a good Christian), and hung up on her.  It felt pretty damn good. 

The sad thing is that we have any number of cheap lawn services at our disposal and I could have made a polite, discreet call to the young couple, but her rudeness made me pray that their lawn would become so overgrown that it would cause a dark pestilence to descend upon her house.

One more before I go.  Another time, a porsche driving, new money Slimeball was picking up his order of gourmet yuppie shit at a local specialty shop.    The very tired cashier who couldn't have been more than 16 almost dropped it.  The Slimeball actually screamed at her, "CAREFUL!!! THAT SHIT IS WORTH MORE THAN YOU'LL EVER MAKE!!!"  I turned colors immediately and said "so is your toupee."  My friend who was with me, took the cue and said, "yeah, so was your ass-waxing."  The cashier who had been about to cry, started laughing.  The Slimeball threw his product down on the counter and stalked out calling us "assholes" which only induced more mirth.  The cashier offered to give us what Slimeball was purchasing.  I think it was some kind of mushroom.  It tasted like mushroom.  Whatever.

Anyway, I am bushed.  See ya tomorrow or Monday.

Men are NOT off the Hook

I think it is because I feel more danger from women who act like frigid bitches that I get so on women's cases. But men are at fault too. I have three words for married men in that particular situation. BUTCH UP SALLY. If your wife is treating you like shit it is most likely because you subscribed to the idea that if you went along with all the PC feminist bullshit, you would get laid. How wrong you are. Women want men. You can be sensitive, caring, loving, hardworking, forthright, honest, whatever, but you have to be men. This pretty much means not being a feminist. You can't trust a man who claims to be a feminist or who is very politically correct, because there is nothing in it for him. Men have the right to want sex. They have even more of a right to want sex with their wives. Kinky, dirty, porny sex. Yeah. Excuse me.

I'm back. Anyway, wives get weird after they have kids. Partly because their bods are different. Would it be nice to have a great pre-baby body? Yes. Is that necessarily going to happen? No. So guys, be polite about the extra pounds. The lady just went through childbirth, and it is just plain rude to make her feel like a freak about it. Everyone has to get over their hang-ups. Do guys want a dead-sexy wife? Sure. Do they want sex with their wives regardless? Sure. So do your workouts, tell your kids to shut up and watch tv, and have a little fun. Is that so fucking hard? Probably. Oh well, I think I'm done with the subject.

Pussy-whipped

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Kid Stuff

The girls, Jethro and I were at Souper Salad. A very nice sweet waitress came by and gave us our drinks and took particularly good care of my daughters. She made sure their straws weren't too long for their cups and told us how cute they were. They really are cute when the just sit there without opening their mouths. My eldest immediately repaid her kindness by pointing at her, laughing and saying loudly, "She has a BIG BUTT!" I have never been so close to beating her little tushy red in public. I almost cried from shame. We left that poor woman a $10 tip and I still think it was insufficient. Jethro handled Eldest beautifully. He loudly made it clear what she said was very wrong. She cried and felt bad, but it was necessary for her to understand what she did. I don't think I can go back there.

On a lighter note, Baby calls waffles "wa-pulls." Last Sunday she asked for "mo wa-pulls pwease." It was so cute.

The Scent of a Book

Probably one of my favorite smells on earth. I just bought a book called "Tom Brown's School Days" on ebay. The original was written in the 1860s but this one was published in the 1930s. I hope it smells old.

I don't think I listed in my profile that I enjoy reading. Reading seems like too great and powerful a thing to be a part of a list. If I hadn't married Jethro, I could very easily have lived a happy and personally fulfilled life as a secluded bookworm. As long as I had my dildo. Just kidding. Actually... Yeah I am.

Anyway, I have not been able to read much lately. The girls are so cute, that I hate to waste their childhood by reading for my pleasure. Perhaps when they are older and Jethro is working, I may have the time.

My sister gave me a book written by Pulitzer Prize winning author Michael Chabon. In fact, I believe the book I read was the one that won. It is called "The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Klay." I was terribly disappointed. He is a good writer, may one day be a great writer, but he stuck this obligatory homosexual character in there that made me cringe. I don't have a problem with gay characters. If done correctly, they can add a dynamic and interesting dimension to a book. But I have a huge problem with reading about a small dark Jewish man tasting his own excrement on the penis of cop whom he is committing an act of fellatio on in order to keep himself out of prison. In one sense, I admire Chabon for having the guts to go whole hog and write in detail about the sexual experiences of his gay character, but on the other hand I feel that it was forced (literally and figuratively).

I have a strange feeling that I want to become a 50s housewife. No. That's not right. I want to have a 50s housewife. I want to have a house with a cozy library, and I want a housewife to call me when its time for dinner. And I don't want to be a 50s housewife in bed. I want to be a raging slut. Maybe 50s housewives were raging sluts but they just didn't let on. I want people to know I'm a slut with Jethro. I hope we can afford a housekeeper. I think my contribution to my marriage will be more on the entertainment front than the domestic one because dammit, I'm fucking amusing (little joke there) and I am too absent-minded to tackle things like dishes and floors and laundry with any skill.

On the Fahrenheit 9/11 front, my friend, oh say Larry, asked me to see that swill with him. First of all, I wouldn't see a movie that rips off someone else's title, unless it's a satire of that work. Which it isn't. I am a great admirer of originality, and I am very contemptuous of those who think they can prove their brilliance by quoting a true intellectual instead of coming up with something on their own. Secondly, I wouldn't line that fat, divisive, socialist slob's pocket with my hard-earned capitalist money. It is my personal opinion that his cheap shots come at the expense of our entire political and economic system and I abhor him in a deeply personal way for that.

Enough about politics. I have no wish to really discuss it as it will make me sad. I know very well that I posses the minority opinion in the blog world, and I acknowlege that fully, so don't gang up on me and tell me why you think that idiot has a point. I know I'm asking for it by putting it out there, but out of respect for my boobies, don't give it to me. Thanks.

Boobies/Titties/Jugs/Hooters/Tatas/Muffins/Knockers - Otherwise Entitled: Let's Porn Things Up A Little

The Ultimate Beautiful Woman who supposedly represents me, is an ass girl. I think this is why I was so tickled that I got her. I am a tits girl. I have large ones. We are talking 34G. They are not fake and not genetic as far as I'm aware. No one in my family has been similarly endowed. For better or worse, they are definitely my most distinguishing feature.

Not to brag, but they are kind of pretty. Even though they are big, everything is pointing in the right direction. They are loads of fun in the sack. Jethro...well let's say he digs them. And that's cool. Also they are very helpful in getting favors. At least they were when I was single. I remember flashing Jethro one time back in college and he let me live with him for 2 weeks when I was jobless. And the mardis gras beads - forget about it. Two G cups and a pierced nipple will get you the world - at least in terms of shiny plastic sparklies.

The bad aspects are that bras are expensive and clothes fit poorly. What I wear ends up being too tight or too baggy. Too baggy and I get ignored, too tight and I get felt. You see the dilemma.

I have considered The Reduction, but I would be getting it for the same reasons that women get implants, and I don't really believe in that unless you are somehow deformed. Plus I have a sneaking suspicion that they are the source of all my powers. I am thinking of getting a nipple pierced again though. I can't decide. What do you think JP?

Poopencram

We just got in from my Mom's birthday dinner at The Old San Francisco Steakhouse. It is kind of kitschy, but it's neat. It is like an old-timey saloon, but much bigger and with tables. There is a bar at the front with a piano and a swing on a stage. The main attraction in this place is the saloon girl who swings in the swing across the stage, over the piano, then back over the bar until she is high enough to hit a bell on the ceiling with her toe. Then she twists around in the and hits another bell on the other side. Then she leans back until she is almost upside down and makes sure everyone can see her garter. It's kind of cute.

When she's done, the little kids can come up and swing. Charlene and Sally-Ann did it. Charlene was so funny. You could tell she wanted to go higher, but they wouldn't let her. She looked pissed when she got off. Sally-Ann was so dainty. She perched like a little bird on the swing and admired herself in the mirror as she swung gently. She didn't look so dainty when she screamed at the top of her lungs after they made her get off.

I met a girl who worked her way through college as a saloon girl there. She said that once, the swing broke and she crashed into the bar. That would have been a sight worth seeing.

When we came back home, Jethro, who is under a lot of pressure right now because of midterms, announced that he had to "poop and cram." He said it really fast so it sounded like "I have to poopencram." I was (am) a little buzzed so it is, of course, tremendously funny and is now on my list of dirty/funny words. Poopencram. I wonder if it is a verb or a noun? Probably a verb.

I have to decide what we are doing for the 4th. As far as I know, we are doing nothing the whole day because it will be too hot. We'll probably see the fireworks at night and afterwords, possibly go to a party that some friends are throwing. Usually there are quite a few people from college there.

I like going for the vicious reason of comparing my life to theirs - at least just to make sure that I am having more and better sex than they are. I was teased unmercifully because I didn't put out in college. My nickname (bestowed upon me during a drunken game of Presidents and Assholes) was "Sister Mary Francis of the Iron Clad Underwear." I know that it wasn't as bad as "Cum Stain," and I still think it's funny. But now I see all the slutty girls who are fatter and more desperate, and I see all the horny guys who were once so eager to sleep with them and now have to pound back beers at the speed of light just to work up the nerve.

I don't want to say or even think "I have it all," but I feel really good about my life after shin-digs like that. People probably look at Jethro and me and say, "man, they missed out on all the fun - they have 2 kids and a house and never get to go anywhere. So little do they know.