Reflections on the Day

PAYASITA UPDATE: Heavy stuff.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rape

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

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

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

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

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

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

---------------------------------

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

----------------------------------

JETHRO'S COLLARD GREENS

1 bag frozen collard greens

2 cans chicken broth

4 pieces of bacon cut up into smallish chunks (can be achieved by tearing them up with your hands)

Tony Chachere's Original Creole Seasoning to taste

Bring broth and greens to a boil

Add bacon

Boil until bacon is done (about 10-15 minutes)

Season with Tony Chachere's

You can't ask for better collard greens and Jethro came up with it all on his own. I'm so proud.

Trains, Planes, and Tibetan Monks

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

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

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

Bits

Payasita - I enjoyed writing the last post, so I'm going to keep directing people to it. I'm great at self-promotion (not to be confused with self-gratification, but at which I am also proficient).

--------------------------------------

And speaking of which, I had phone sex. Never done that before. Phones are hot.

--------------------------------------

My house is a mess. I can't clean and I am overwhelmed. Jethro kissed me and pinched my nipple good-bye this morning, but he probably wants to divorce me. I want to divorce me.

--------------------------------------

Jen of Therapy Eggs is coming by this morning to go to lunch. It's for business because we are listing her home, but I'm looking really looking forward to it. I just want to escape my house and eat something delicious. I refuse to worry about getting fat if Jethro is just going to divorce me anyway.

--------------------------------------

My B-day is coming up. Any ideas? I can't think of a thing. I always wanted to do Karaoke, but haven't had the opportunity. I don't think it will happen. Jethro is inconsistent with presents. Not that I care very much, because I just don't. But when he's on, he is so very on. Like the one time he restored my violin which had fallen into disrepair. And the Aerosmith tickets were good too.

But when he's off, I get nuttin'.

Mind you, I'm not complaining. I'm inconsistent too. But I'm a girl, dammit - even if I am more like a frat brother than a wife.

The Destruction of a Paper Elephant and the Lesson It Teaches

Payasita Update

Sparkling Glitter Rainbow Ponies - Subtle, huh?

-----------------------------------------------------------

I picked Gwennie up from school today and she was in the worst mood. She plopped down on the grass with a scowl. I asked her what was wrong, and she showed me the remains of a paper plate with gray pieces of paper attached to it.

Gwennie: Dale DESTROYED my elephant.

Zelda: We can fix it. Just get up and let's go.

Gwennie: But he DESTROYED my elephant.

(Dale and his father were only about two feet away).

I finally convinced Gwennie to get up and walk with me to the car. We were right behind Dale and his father.

Gwennie (loudly): Dale DESTROYED my elephant.

Zelda: Hush, you silly girl. It was probably just an accident.

Dale's father (turning around): What did Dale do.

Zelda/Gwennie (simultaneously): Nothing/He DESTROYED my elephant.

Dale's Father: Did you destroy her elephant?

Dale (looking shamefacedly at the ground): Yes.

Dale's Father: Don't you think you should say sorry?

Dale: I'm sorry.

Gwennie: That's alright. But you did DESTROY my elephant.

Zelda (to Gwennie): Get in the car, please. He said he was sorry and that's the end of it.

Zelda (to Dale's Father): I'm sorry, she's really tired.

Dale's Father: That's alright. When Dale does something wrong, he needs to apologize.

We looked at each other, decided we were mutually satisfied with each others' handling of the situation, and went on our ways.

Conflict resolved without a slugfest or name-calling. Grown-ups teaching their children how to behave. Gwennie, as usual, having the last frickin' word.

Perverts Read My Blog

Not that there's anything wrong with that.

These are the more interesting/inexplicable searches:

"zelda nekkid" (this one I fully understand and don't blame anyone for).

"ugly pussies" (I wouldn't actually look for them, but if someone said "look at this ugly pussy ," I don't think I'd turn away).

"watching someones dick fuck through crotchless panties" (Very specific).

"used sex toy Zelda" (I wonder if they wanted to see me using a sex toy, or if they wanted my used sex toy).

"sleeping tushy free samples" (Nothing free here).

"35lbs red grease" (I shudder to think).

"Poke Zelda's Boobs" (That will definitely cost you).

"Wheelchair Zelda" (I can only imagine)

"Joey Degraw dead" (Jealous? I guess my one-time make-out buddy has a hard time making friends).

So anyway, I'm probably going to get my real estate license. I guess this means I have to learn to drive. Seeing as how I detest people who are buying homes, you wouldn't think this is the right line of work for me. But being Catholic, I sometimes think that if you suffer here on earth, you won't get it so bad when you inevitably eat it.

Satisfaction

Not that I ever need to complain or talk about this, but I finally fucking got some last night. Not those half-hearted (though successful) pokes Jethro attempted during his delirium during which he referred to me as his little dancing chicken, but finally some real, nipple-pinching, ass-grabbing, hair-pulling, legs-behind-your-head action.

I-just-got-some
Sa-tis-fac-tion...

So I'm sitting here smoking a cigarette, and basking in the glow like some small-time mafia thug who doesn't know he's about to be hog-tied and dropped in the East River.

Carmen Electra is a stupid whore. Her workout video, while sexy and easy and fun, is stupid. She's stupid. Just think if you are a middle-aged housewife, 40-50+ lbs overweight, who is trying to lose a little and sex up her marriage, being told to prance around between exercises touching herself all over. Sexy when Carmen does it, not sexy when I, I mean the overweight middle-aged housewife, does it. But if she had pulled up her shirt and told everyone to pinch their nipples, I'd have forgiven her.

I have a thing with nipples. Particularly my own. What am I saying? Only my own. It's hereditary. Emma does too. Hers, not mine.

And that's pretty much all I have for 8:30 am on a Monday.

The comments seem to be thoroughly screwed. Jethro already got haloscan, but I'm going to hold off out of sheer laziness. Just use bloggers comments for now. And please leave one even if you never do. I know someone out there was looking for "mom's suckable anus" (Elliott) but found me instead. So leave a comment and tell me you got some satisfaction.

Ahhhhh, Fuck You.

Just when I think I’ve left NY behind me for good and all, I find myself pulling out of the driveway, only to be beeped at by a car I considered too far away to impede in any way. Some road rage ensued and I found myself forcefully giving the finger to a friendly neighbor who was waving from their car as they passed, beeping happily.

Note to self: Cut off finger and bring over sweet potato pie.

Hoedown

Jethro and I took the girls camping on the beach this past weekend. Unbeknownst to us, it was the weekend of the East Beach Party - a ghetto spring break party. I'm not sure how PC it is to say that, but I don't care. The partygoers have done so much damage to Galveston in the past, that many businesses just close down entirely and the city goes onto full-scale riot alert. The city still hosts the party, but works very hard to keep things under tight control. Luckily for us, we were heading in the opposite direction of the beach party and the hoochies don't go camping. Lest anyone think I have some kind of prejudice, I would be glad to be heading in the opposite direction of any beach party involving hoochies and alcohol, at least as long as I had my kids in the car.

But let me just tell you about the hoochies for a second. Truly this is an underrated subculture. I got my first inkling as to what was about to go down when I saw one riding on the back of a motorcycle, her companion's head lodged comfortably between her voluminous breasts and her copious, mini-skirt clad derriere enveloping the entire back end of the bike. Jethro nearly drove off the road when I told him to check out the gal pooping a tailpipe.

To be fair, there were classy, well-dressed women on their way to this event as well, but let's face it - they're nowhere near as interesting. I saw hints of beaver, I saw cellulite in places I didn't think could get fat, I saw tube tops disappearing into rolls of flesh. Definitely an event that, for better or worse, is now seared into my brain.

Camping was rather dull in comparison, but the girls loved it. The only bad thing was that Jethro got really sick. His fever was so high last night that I was afraid he'd damage some brain cells. Lucky for us, he's done with all his classes, so now he can pretty much drool and crack backs for the rest of his life.

I may be writing sparingly the next couple of days until he's better and my plague-infested house is out from quarantine.

An Interesting Discovery

For me, the odds of hearing a pop song and liking it while it's still popular are slim to none. Everything on the pop stations is overplayed to the extent that if, on the slim chance I hear a song I like, I figure I'll eventually be sick of it before they quit playing it.

So given my fair amount of contempt for pop, imagine my surprise when I was out shopping some months ago and I heard a song that I actually liked a lot. I couldn't really understand the words, so I have no way of knowing who sang it. I heard it from time to time in the car, but the DJ never said who it was by. Finally, I heard it about eight times in one day while we were driving to Galveston, and I managed to snag some of the lyrics. I googled them and discovered the song is "I Don't Wanna Be" by Gavin DeGraw. I read the lyrics over and thought they were pretty cheesy, but I still liked the song.

I'd been thinking about that song for awhile - something just seemed familiar about it. Finally tonight, I watched the video and found myself staring at a vaguely familiar face. I wracked my brains.

"Gavin DeGraw... Gavin... a Gavin who sings......" and then it hit me. I had met him in NY with my friend Kristy back when I was about 18 or 19. He grew up in the same part of the Catskills we did and he and Kristy became friends. I went up to visit her, and she took me to one of his gigs. It was very local - nothing advertised and everyone there was friends with the band, so it wasn't some big groupie-fest or anything. They just played cover songs, but you could tell that Gavin had star quality. He had a great voice, a great smile, and was really cute. He also played the piano and guitar brilliantly. I met him afterwards because he was hanging around with Kristy, and he seemed like a very pleasant person - almost like he knew he'd better not piss anyone off just in case he ever became famous. I also met his brother Joey. Joey was grittier and (at least in my mind) made Gavin look like a purty little boy. He also played the guitar really well, which was really damn sexy. If I remember correctly, he bartended between sets and gave me free shots.

Kristy had a bad habit of leaving me to fend for myself while she increased her social circle, so I ended up getting wasted and hooking up with Joey. It wasn't the most pleasant experience I've ever had...let's just say that I ended up underneath a couch with my top off, listening to two people fucking in the corner and trying very hard not to throw up. Kristy scolded me the whole ride home. Bitch.

A similar scenario occurred a year or two later. We were at a bar and Kristy and Gavin were busy with their crowd, smooching on guidos, so Joey and I went to his car to mess around. Kristy found me before anything happened, though. Bitch.

All of this flashed through my mind as I re-read the lyrics. They mean something completely different to me now that I know who sings them. One line in particular:

"I came from the mountain, the crust of creation
My whole situation made from clay, dust, stone"

If you've ever lived in the mountains, this is poignant.

You can watch the video here. Joey still plays with him. He's the wild-haired guitarist off to the left when Gavin sings the first chorus, "I don't wanna be anything other than what I've been tryin' to be lately."

Sense and Gullibility

First things first. I've posted something on payasita that should interest prolifers as well as those opposed to judicial activism. Don't anyone get their hopes up though. This isn't a debate on abortion. If you really have something to say, I won't stop you, but I just don't have time to get into it and no one is going to convince anyone anyway.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Now for the subject at hand. I wouldn't refer to myself as gullible exactly. If you were to tell me that you once saw two politicians poking gerbils and horseradish up each other's asses out behind City Hall, I would take it at face value. This is because nothing anyone does really surprises me anymore.

However, I have always viewed acupuncture with great skepticism until today. I have had a very annoying headache for a couple of days. Jethro had two acupuncture classes this weekend and decided to make me his guinea pig (gerbil?).

I didn't think it would work, but when he poked one needle in right between my eyes, my sinuses started draining immediately. The other points on my neck, hands feet, and top of my head made me feel very relaxed and drowsy. I'm sold.

After he took the needles out, I took a nap which was extremely pleasant. I do believe that it is different for everyone. Jethro said the same spot between the eyes gave him a headache when he had it done during class. I am greatly encouraged that my husband and I haven't paid a small fortune to make him a quack.

Holy Mackerel

Kevin posted.

Jethro's Greatest Fantasy

Zelda: Remind me to do Carmen Electra when we get home.

Jethro (after coming to from his dead faint): Um... Okay.


Jethro finally bought me Carmen Electra's striptease workout dvd.

More Carlos

I wrote that our friend Carlos was joining the army. We went out with him last Saturday night after we got back from the beach. It was a lot of fun. No one threw up, but everyone was drinking.

So I got this email from Carlos today.

"Thanks to everyone for coming out. Some of you I haven't seen in quite a while, and it was great to catch up. As you can imagine, this hasn't been an easy decision (and the prep a pain in the ass), but everyone has been so supportive, even congratulatory. I can't tell you how much that means. I left Saturday night feeling truly blessed. I look at all my good friends and the caliber of people I know - I feel proud. I know this trip is only for training so I don't mean to be sappy or overdramatic. But most of you are aware that I will probably see action soon after, as some of you and many of our friends already have. Yeah it makes me quite nervous, but when I look at who I'll come home to, I consider it an honor.

Anyway, enough rough stuff. I know I'll be missing some weddings and birthdays and christenings and I'm sorry, but congrats where applicable and we'll just have to party twice.

Special thanks to Big-D for getting us the keg. Love you bro, and we'll have many more.

See you all this fall. Wish me luck and I'll be in touch.

Luv,

-Carlos"


I consider it an honor to have let that man touch my boobs.

Pussies in the World of Blog

Kristin is guest-blogging for Brighton while she's on vacation - which is a nice thing all the way around. I don't know how Kristin does it, but anonymous little pus buckets are just drawn to her. She had written a pretty benign little rant about how cyclists piss her off (a particular pet peeve of mine which I relate to wholeheartedly) and she gets this in the comments:

"You suck...You are killing this blog bitch!"
Anonymous
(Naturally)

Well, the White Knight himself found his IP address and banned him. He also found his [very sucky] blog, which is weirdly, yet amusingly entitled "zen and the art of driving." Anyone care to make a wager that he's from CA?

He has a petulant little entry on how sensitive everyone is and how he's just sorry he didn't leave his name (like that would show us). Very brave of him considering that it is now known and he doesn't really have a choice. Then he whines that "bitch" isn't derogatory towards women. According to whom? He didn't say anything about "suck" though. He also said that he was just saying what everyone was thinking (apparently he is also psychic). He really is a pussy. Not a really dirty pussy, just one with maybe a slight yeast infection, or maybe a little wart. Yeah, a wart. That would be funnier. He makes a big show of not banning Seven or erasing his comment. Who would like to make a little wager that he doesn't know how?

I realize people like this are a waste of skin and time. But that's only if you are really mad at them. As a source of amusement, they are priceless. Who would like to make a little wager that he quits blogging saying that [insert lisp] "there are just too many assholes out there."

Camping

Jethro and I spontaneously decided to take the girls camping in Galveston Friday night. It took us forever to leave because well, I'm disorganized. No, I swear. By the time we arrived, the campground had closed for the night, so we went looking for a cheap motel.

Now Galveston is a pretty typical beach town. There is one street with gorgeous hotels and beautiful beach houses right on the Seawall, but just one street back and you're in the ghetto. Shady motels, ramshackle cottages, and divy bars. Not pretty.

Since Jethro and I are poor folks, at least for awhile, we try to do things on the cheap. We eschewed the nicer motels close to the water for a seedy looking Motel 6. We hauled up the sleeping kids, the blankets, the pillows, a cooler full of tequila, and the weapon. We made note of the condoms in the vending machines and opened the door to our room where we were promptly assaulted by stale cigarette smell. Jethro left the room and I arranged a snoring Gwennie and Emma on their bed.

Jethro came back to the room, mixed himself a margarita, took off his shirt, stuck the gun between his pillow and the headboard and lay there with his arm behind his head. I found it totally sexy, and I realize most ladies probably think I'm making a beeline straight for the loonybin.

There was just something about the combination of being in a cheap motel with vending machine condoms and a gun that just does something for me. I proceeded to engage in what was probably the best sex I've had in a year.

Pathetic, right? If Trashman's reading this, he's probably guffawing in disgust. I can hear him: "Please Woman. I've taken girls I wanted to impress to a Motel 6. Seedy, my ass."

Yooooooooouuuuuuuuu Might Be A Redneck

Payasita Update: Gay Adoption, and it is surprisingly measured for me.

------------------------------------

First things first. This is very disturbing and we all need to be aware of it. I don't want to sound preachy or paranoid or anything, but we can't stand by and do nothing.

-------------------------------------

Onto the story:

Jethro and I went fishing with his friend Mason on the Saturday before Easter. We both love it. It doesn't matter if we even catch anything. I always come away with all the knots in my back unwound. So my SIL took the girls to one of her nephew's birthday parties and Jethro and I headed for the Texas City Dyke.

I've said before that fishing is completely universal. There must have been 20 nationalities within 5 feet of us. And the people who fish come up with the funniest contraptions. There was one family who'd pitched a tent and brought around 17 kids. Another family had a trailer. The teenage sons watched TV and everyone else fished.

Jeth, Mason, and I were sitting on the rocks talking, when I noticed a guy not far away from us. Complete redneck. Overalls, no shirt, talking in a very loud southern trailer accent. I thought I'd tease Jeth and Mason a little and started making lewd comments about him - like they would have done if it had been a girl in overalls and no shirt.

As luck would have it, one of his friends got his line caught on a rock, so Redneck Boy - aware that I was observing him, decided to strip down to his boxers and dislodge it.

As his overalls came down, I was saying, "That's right baby. Take it all off. Yeah, you don't need those itchy overalls," to Mason's amusement and Jethro's lesser amusement.

In he jumps wearing nothing but some ratty old boxer shorts. He spashed around for awhile and then decided to get out and strut a little. He climbs back up on the rocks, sucks in his gut, and starts making manly noises while his friends deride him. As he's doing this, I'm encouraging him to "take of those wet wet boxers."

Let me tell you, friends. I can talk the talk, but I apparently can't walk the walk. Deciding that his strutting just wasn't taking it where he wanted it to go, he obliged. Pulled those boxer shorts right off and wrung them out, displaying a brilliant white heiney. I covered my eyes, but not before saying, "Thank you."

Mason and Jethro were dying laughing. Mason especially who isn't completely used to my idosyncracies and thought it was funny that after all my talk, I covered my eyes.

Inanna's Visit

Inanna's visit was a blast. I really felt like I'd known her for years. We talked for a long time on Tuesday, she met Gwennie and Emma, we got our margaritas, and she accidentally saw my underpants. It was fabulous.

Brighton, Travis, and Tinyhands were way cool. Tinyhands has christened himself thus because he thinks he had a small ring size, but I can assure you all that his hands are beautifully long and slender. Yet powerful and manly. Oh so manly.

Brighton was so cute. She didn't look anywhere near the age she claims to be, and in my personal opinion is so so so much cuter than her sexy pictures. Her husband was really cute too. I feel bad now that we talked so much and barely let him get a word in, but what he did say was always spot on funny. They were just the perfect Texas couple.

I still can't believe how 5 hours just flew by. The girls definitely took over the conversation. Apparently we have mouths to match our boobs. I broke down in tears of laughter more than once. I got to see both Inanna's and Brighton's tattoos which were just as cool as they sound. I don't have any tattoos, so I told them about getting my nipple pierced. What cracked me up is that they had sat perfectly still and let people drill ink-filled needles into their skin for however long it took to get those gorgeous tats, and they still winced and cringed like men hearing about balls getting caught in machinery when I told them about getting my tiny little nipple ring. Incredible.

I was dragging today, but Vietnamese food perked me right up. I am pretty sure Inanna liked it, but I was so busy stuffing my face that I can't be sure.

My girls adored her. They are usually really shy, but they just took to her like white on rice. She made them cute little hemp bracelets which was really cool of her and they both loved. And when she left, they waved at her car until it was out of sight. Anyone who endears themselves to my kids surely has their name in the Book of Life.

It's probably too soon to write about everything. I'm sure down the road something will pop into my head and I'll write about it. But suffice it to say that it was a great time and I would do it again in a minute.

Easter Sunday

A millblogger, Francisco G. Martinez, was killed in action while on patrol in Iraq. You can pay respects to his family and fiance here.

---------------------------------------------------

We went to an odd Mass on Sunday. We got there as the last Mass was ending so we could get a seat. The choir was singing the last song a capella and they were awful. The large lady choir director dressed in a hot pink suit and a humongous white hat started gesticulating wildly trying, I'm guessing, to build to a magnificent crescendo filled with goose-bump inducing high notes. It sounded more like a wraith-filled haunted house. I can't imagine Jesus was pleased.

Trying to enter a church against a crowd of departing, hungry churchgoers on Easter Sunday is as hard as well, trying to enter a church against a crowd of departing, hungry churchgoers on Easter Sunday. If you find yourself in a similar situation, I recommend hitching your wagon to a star of fearless fat people. They parted the crowd like Moses parting the Red Sea, and we were seated without too much trouble.

The priest was a Brit. He mentioned necrophilia during the homily. I will reiterate my formal opinion that Europeans, especially the French, are perverts.

Fr. Limey said, "We know grave robbers didn't steal Jesus' body because they left the cloths. We don't know why they would have stolen just the body. Actually we do know why, but I'm not allowed to preach about it."

I was the only person in the entire building who laughed. I don't feel bad. My dad would have laughed.

Then the man doing the intercessory prayer accidentally prayed for the "rich" instead of the "sick." I laughed again.

We left during communion since I am no longer allowed to receive it and Jethro isn't Catholic.

In the car, I was letting Gwennie have it for misbehaving during Mass. She had fooled around and dropped the kneeler on my foot, which made me swear a little.

I said, "How would you like it if I dropped the kneeler on your foot?"

To which she replied, "How would you like it if I threw you out the window?"

She has never been that defiant before, and I don't anticipate her doing it again anytime soon. I think there were children on the other side of the city who learned a lesson.

Happy Easter

Emma: "Lookee my pitchur, mommy! It's a Princess Emma and a King Daddy!"

-------------------------------

(Gwennie and Emma completely destroyed the living room. Jethro got mad and yelled at them and made them clean it up).

Zelda (upon walking in and seeing a subdued Gwennie and Emma picking up their toys): "Did you get spankings?"

Gwennie (ruefully): "Not yet..."

--------------------------------

Jethro (in bed): "Do you love me, baby?"

Zelda: "Oh God, so much!"

Jethro: "Then stroke me."

Zelda: "Fucker"

It's A Sunny Day Outside

I can't talk about Terri Schiavo anymore. She's going to be murdered by her husband while we comply, wagging our heads at the cruelty, but determined to do nothing, and it makes me want to kick something. And my toes already hurt because I've already kicked something.

So onto something useless and hopefully more amusing.

----------------------------------

Gwennie had "Multicultural Day" at her school today. In lieu of actual education, they asked that if you had an outfit representative of your "culture" that you wear it. Normally, I look with disdain on these types of events and the note did say that you were not required to participate (I'm sure that was for all the white kids who have no culture). But Gwennie is the proud owner of a cute little Vietnamese wedding outfit she wore for her aunt's wedding when she was a flower girl. I thought it might be fun for her to wear it, so she did. But next year I'm going to put her in overalls, black out her front teeth and teach her to spit. I see no reason why my culture should be ignored.

Update: Jethro suggested a baseball cap and chewing gum as a less controversial alternative. Damn him for his logic and common sense.

-----------------------------------

Today is the most gorgeous day in Houston. No clouds, no humidity, a slight breeze - gorgeous. I was nearly overcome with a desire to ditch school and take my eldest as far as our full tank of gas would take us. Just her and me against the world. Then I remembered that I'm scared to drive the freeways. Then for good measure, my car stalled.

------------------------------------

A word of advice to anyone searching for a home. Don't call up realtors and say, "Can I have some information on a house? I don't have the address, but it's white and it has a little path leading up to the front door. You know, the one with the bird feeder on the porch. It has a Re/Max sign in front. You know that one?"

I will be forced to roll my eyes and pretend to help you and finally force you to admit that you should probably go back and collect the address before you waste anyone's time.

This happens at least once a day.

--------------------------------------

I want to have a party. Actually, I want to go to a party. We have a friend who usually has a huge birthday party in February, but he didn't this year, and now I need a party fix. I will be making due with margaritas next Tuesday. Inanna, you have a large burden on your small shoulders.

Breaking My Own Rules

There is a new blog (to me) I have to shill for. He's actually been up since December. Scooter is a hoot. I've met him, read his blog, and I've decided that his is what a political blog should be. Pithy and to the point. I think many of you would enjoy him tremendously, so without further ado, I present "the def conservative." I won't tell you to leave him comments because if you read him, you will want to.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I was going to blog today about something stupid like how many rooms of my house I've actually had sex in, but I'm going to blog about Terry Schiavo instead.

Normally this is something I would post on Payasita, but somehow it just feels personal.

The law must be changed.

It is inhumane to starve someone to death. I don't care what their mental status is, if they are alive and all they need is food and water, you can't starve them. If it was humane we'd use it to kill dogs or criminals. But it is not so we don't. Why are we making an exception for a woman who can't speak for herself? If we were really humane, we'd shoot her in the motherfucking head.

Now I've heard people say that they wouldn't want to be kept alive if they were that brain-damaged. Fine. Write it in your will and die. I don't care. But if you were/are a woman who had left no such document, would you really and honestly want your fate decided by a man whose only reason for not divorcing you is so that he can ensure your death? Not me. If my parents and family believed that I was able to take some joy out of their presence, then I don't want to die. And I will also offer a suggestion. Do some research into death by starvation and dehydration and decide for yourself if this is the preferred method of your demise if you are so unfortunate as to be faced with a similar situation. I wouldn't hold it against you if you said it wasn't.

I understand if my husband wants to move on with his life, I would never expect him to stay married to me if I couldn't be there for him. But I would hope that he would do the honorable thing: Divorce me, and then remarry.

I also understand about a DNR order. My father had a DNR, and I wouldn't want to be brain dead and have a machine breathing for me for months. But Terry is not brain dead, and she is not being resuscitated by a feeding tube. She is merely being sustained. There is a huge difference.

This honestly makes me ill. This Schiavo person, who had such contempt for her that he would cheat on her multiple times, gets to decide whether she lives or dies. Feminists? Anyone? Their silence is deafening. I may secretly, deep down, take the side of women on certain he said/she said issues, but this is the reason I will never call myself a feminist or have anything to do with their organizations. That they would leave a helpless woman in the hands of a creepy husband who won a huge settlement for her care and then sued to have her killed, just because the issue dovetails with their abortion apologist cult of death, is disgusting.

Have at it folks.

Continued

Payasita Update - More Moonbat Protests

Well after all my bitching, I got to go out on St. Paddy's Day after all. Without the kids and even without Jethro. Jen of Therapy Eggs and her friend couldn't go out after all and Jethro had to study for boards. Drunken Birthday Boy called up to see what we were doing and I told him to come out here and go get a drink with me.

Wedding ring firmly in place, we went to a local pub and talked politics for a couple of hours while I got a little tipsy first on a whisky and then on two amaretto sours. It was pretty mellow especially compared to past St. Paddy's Days, but it was more fun than watching the girls destroy the house after being inspired by The Incredibles to test their "powers."

Thank God Jethro is done with boards. I've been going nuts so I can't imagine how happy he must be. He came back from his last test with lots o' liquor. Which was cool.

I have to just say that I'm really excited to see Inanna. She is coming in just over a week, and I really can't wait. I've been running all the best places to get Margaritas through my head and down my throat in anticipation of her visit. Which reminds me that I probably ought to clean my damn house. I have a feeling that the only rooms Inanna will not have the privilege of seeing will be the Zelda and Jethro den o' love and the adjoining facility. Lucky for her we've had sex in every other room in the house, so she won't really be missing anything.

That's all for now. I hope to have more inspiration in the near future.

There's Whisky In The Jar

Happy St. Patrick's Day. Shamrocks, potatoes, and pots of gold to all. I was going to play "Oy Rumania" in honor of the day, but audioblogger doesn't seem to be working for me. If someone would be so kind as to tell me what in hell I might be doing wrong, I'd be much obliged.

St. Paddy's Day is the only day of the year when I wish I wasn't a parent. That sounds horrible so I'll repeat it. I wish I was still wild and single and could go out and get totally drunk on whisky and green beer and be Erin-go-braghless and wear something green and low-cut and make a complete non-Irish ass out of myself.

Actually, there is tons of Irish blood in my family, but I choose to deny it. How fucked up would that make my kids if they found out the had to add Irish to their already overflowing ethnic plate. There's too much Irish pride as it is. They need to be taken down a peg with their leprechauns and O'Conners and strange sexual hang-ups. Just kidding. I LOVE the Irish when they're from Ireland or if they're named Aingealag or Bearach. I like them almost as much as the Vietnamese. *Kiss* Jethro (with a little tongue).

So I will be going to the super-suburb-family-friendly-don't-drink-because-the-kids-might-see-and-tell-the-Baptists event with Jen of Therapy Eggs and maybe another gal and their kids. Superfly.

CA

I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but there are a whole lot of Californians migrating to the Great State.

I must admit to a certain prejudice against Californians. Bear in mind that I didn't start out with a prejudice against Californians, it was born of years of contact with them and their cheerful flakiness. They're like Canadians with tans.

Let me give you an example of some Californians I've had to deal with recently.

First off, the pregnant valley chick called back.

Zelda: "Dearest Step-Father's Office, who-is-the-light-of-my-eyes-and-the-god-of-my-idolatry, may I help you?"

PGVC - "Like Good News!"

Zelda: "It's the Rapture?"

PGVC: "We have 11% to put down, so we can like, make a bid now!"

Zelda (making a mad beeline for the neckties): "How much was it they said you needed?"

PGVC: 20%

Zelda: "I'm a relatively good person. I help my neighbors when they ask and I've donated money to the local police officers association. I paid my traffic tickets on time and I'm going to start going to Church in the near future. Why must you make me say things that will crush your sunny little dreams?"

PGVC: "Huh?"

Zelda: "We can't help you until you have the entire down payment."

PGVC: "Well we're in like, programs right now."

Zelda: "I'll just bet you are, honey."

PGVC: "Do we have to find another realtor?"

IF FUCKING ONLY!

Zelda: "You could try, but you have to have money to put down or they won't be able to help you either."

PGVC: "Well, we have 11%"

Zelda: "Call me when you have 20%."

Folks, it's enough to make you scream.

But wait...there's more.

We have another client who is buying some investment properties. It is a miracle he has managed to actually make an offer. He is completely indecisive. He is making a trip out here today and I've had to find him a hotel, rent him a car, email him directions everywhere around Houston that he wants to visit, find him restaurants in the vicinity, and locate a running trail. I hate him. He is truly the most helpless individual I've ever encountered. I'm sure if he wore diapers, he'd want me to change them.

This is a typical conversation with anyone but a Californian looking for a home:

Zelda: "Dearest Step-Father's Office, who-is-the-light-of-my-eyes-and-the-god-of-my-idolatry, may I help you?"

Normal Person: Yes, I'm looking for a home in a good school district, low crime rate. I need at least 3 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms somewhere in the $140s to $160s.

Zelda (in her most helpful voice): If I could get either your email address or mailing address, I'd be happy to send you out a list of homes.

*End of Conversation*

Here is a typical conversation with a Californian

Zelda: "Dearest Step-Father's Office, who-is-the-light-of-my-eyes-and-the-god-of-my-idolatry, may I help you?"

Californian: Hi. I'm a shoelace salesman from California

*brief pause while they wait for me to be impressed*

Zelda (deeply inhaling on her pen): "May I help you?"

Californian: "Yes, I will be moving to Houston sometime within the next year and I want to know a little more about the area."

Zelda (suckered into thinking this sounds reasonable): "What would you like to know, sir/ma'am?"

Californian: What is the weather like?

Zelda: "Well it's pretty hot and humid most of the year. It gets cooler for about 3 months in the winter. It's comparable to Miami."

Californian: "Well I'm looking for something near hike and bike trails and shopping, and...." IT NEVER FAILS..."just a lot of diversity."

Zelda (trying not to gag): "You would probably be interested in the Galleria area or some of the new construction in midtown."

Californian (sounding worried): "We don't want to be in a neighborhood where everyone looks just like us. We're looking for a diverse neighborhood. Are these neighborhoods diverse?"

Zelda (in her best Sunday redneck voice): "There's a n****r on every corner."

And stop.

I would never utter that word aloud. But it is so tempting to just shock the shit out of them and give them something to talk about at their soy-tasting parties.

My biggest source of irritation with the whole diversity bit is that they are so full of steaming crap. The only thought they give to the community is how it will enhance their liberal credibility. They think they are so fucking holy because they want di-ver-sity, when all they really want is Thai food.

I get a perverse sense of satisfaction when I think of how surprised they must be when they come down here and see more Mexicans in cowboy hats and belt buckles than rednecks.

You want fusion? We'll give you fusion. Suckas.

The Effects of Japanese Food On Chanker Sores

Jethro, the girls, and I decided to go eat sushi tonight. We went to a restaurant close to our house where the food is really decent. The girls had chicken teryaki which they scarfed down like mad, Jeth had a sashimi, two pieces of escolar, and a large salad with ginger dressing. I had two pieces of escolar, an eel and spicy salmon roll, and a bowl of spicy coconut chicken soup which was decidedly more Thai than Japanese. But it was really good.

The chanker sores in my mouth did prevent me from thoroughly enjoying my dinner, so I decided to conduct some experiments to see which Japanese condiments would have the most painful and/or curative effect on them. First I tried a little soy sauce since it is salty. Medium pain, but not as bad as pouring salt directly on them. Then I tried some ginger. Burn baby burn, but it was tasty. I swished around a little hot saki. Definitely some more pain, but I was hopeful of a possible sterilizing effect. Then I made a little poultice out of ginger and wasabi. SWEET MAMA-SAN!!! That shit better have cauterized those little fuckers.

I think I have now trained myself to keep my tongue tucked behind my teeth so as not to aggravate the one on the underside. However, the one on my bottom lip is fair game for further experimentation. I had tried the toothpaste earlier, as Noonie suggested in my comments. It worked quite well for awhile and was definitely more effective than orajel or chloroseptic, but like everything else, it tended to wear off, and I really hate the taste of toothpaste.

I'll keep everyone updated as there is really nothing more interesting than the gratuitious manipulation and torture of one's chanker sores.

Unrelatedly, people have found my blog have been looking for: "insults about ugly midgets," "ugly zelda," "pee accident hypnotized humiliated OR embarrassed OR mortified," "zelda hypnotized" - the last two are both interesting because I don't recall ever writing about hypnosis, and finally "he pushed deeper into me." Damn right, honey - whoever you are.

Burn-Out

I updated Payasita, which I've been sadly neglecting. I rant some and use the word "cunt" liberally. I think Brighton put the word into my head with her exceedingly funny story about the local neighborhood bitch.

I've never been burned out over blogging before. If there's anything I love, it is writing or talking unrestrainedly about myself. I think it may have something to do with the massive sores in my mouth. I have some god-awful cut on the underside of my tongue which happens to be right where it scrapes past my teeth whenever I lick my lips. My teeth catch on the cut and rip in open about once every 2 or 3 hours or when I forget and lick my lips. And just to keep things interesting, I decided to include my bottom lip in the chicken I was eating a few days ago which has resulted in a massive oozing chanker that is also irritated by my teeth. I'm considering having my teeth removed.

So I'm cranky, I can't speak clearly, and my lips are extremely dry. Good thing I still have a cunt.

Turn of the Screw

I'm blogged out today. I wanted to post an audioblog of a funny prank call I downloaded, but it isn't working.

I spoke for about an hour to Carlos. The fucker has joined the Army Reserves.

I'm proud of him. And worried. But really proud. I'm glad he has it in him. He's going to have a going away party the first weekend in April. He said, "I just wanna get laid."

I said, "I know plenty of guys who'll take care of that."

He said, "Screw you, bitch."

We joke like that.

I know many others either in training or actually over there or who have returned already, but I've known Carlos and Corrin the longest - almost as long as I've known Jethro. I'll worry.

Anyway, that's about all I have to blog about. Today was extremely hectic work-wise, and I haven't had a chance to wipe properly much less blog.

Psychologically Interesting

Jethro went to England for a study abroad program. He brought me back a chastity belt. He was still with his ex.

Hmmmmmm.

6th Anniversary

Shouldn't we get a prize for being married 6 years on March 6th?

Jethro and I were looking through our wedding album and Gwennie came and sat with us. She asked, "Where am I?"

Without thinking, I said, "You were in my tummy."

Jethro just looked at me as if to say, "Were we going to share this information with her right now?"

*Gulp* I guess so.

I don't believe in secrets anyway, and the information didn't phase her a bit.

I think we'll make a lazy day of it. Probably go get dim sum.

I'll post more tomorrow. I'm hungry.

Real Estate Follies

I don't talk about it much, but I hate my job. I'm extremely lucky to have it so I try not to complain, but it is a tedious job and I'd rather be pinching my own nipples.

For the record, I manage my step-dad's real estate office and people who are buying homes are not the coolest people on earth. They are about to plunk down their life savings and things damn well better go smoothly. We are paid a commission to take the abuse when a bank or a title company doesn't have their shit together, if the toilet explodes the day after they move in, or if the bank insults them by trying to verify their funds.

But some people are really funny. And it's always unintentional

For example:

I had a lady from CA call me yesterday. She sounded like a valley girl from the 80s, and she's trying to buy a $50,000 property somewhere near Magnolia, TX. I'd sent her a list of homes (shacks). The conversation went as follows:

Lady: "I like, got the list, and I want to make a bid."

Zelda: "An offer? On which one?"

Lady: "All of them."

Zelda: "I don't understand what you mean. If they accept your offer on all of them, you are obligated to buy them."

Lady: "Well we want whichever one we like, qualify for."

Zelda (realizing this woman is probably off her gourd, yet somehow unable to end the conversation): "But it's not the house you qualify for, it's the loan. How much are you approved for?"

Lady: "The man said like, $50,000 or maybe $5,000."

Zelda (slowly pulling out strands of hair): "Well I think you should find out how much you qualify for before you make a "bid." That would be my suggestion."

Lady: "They said we would need, like, 20% down or maybe it was, like, 50%."

Zelda (taking off her glasses, rubbing her eyes, and fearing the response): "How much money do you have to put down?"

Lady: "Like, nothing right now, cuz we're like, trying to move. We should have more money after we move and like, get jobs.

Zelda (aiming two pens directly at her mad, staring eyeballs): "Well, it will be kind of hard to make an offer if you don't have the money you need to put down."

Lady (sounding a little pissed): "Well I'm kind of on my way to the hospital to have the baby, and I was like, hoping to buy something today before the baby comes."

Zelda (masturbating frantically with one of Jethro's ties around her neck): "It takes some time to buy a home and I think you probably have other things to worry about right now. Give us a call after you have the baby and we'll see what we can do. Good luck."

There is a happy outcome to this anecdote. She is putting the baby up for adoption.

Payasita Update

I don't write about my kids much because face it, no one, unless they know them personally, wants to hear about your kids. In passing fine, but if your whole blog is devoted to the cute spit coming out of your kid's mouth, or their dumb knock-knock jokes, or your feelings on how the vast amounts of poop erupting from their asses make you feel about life, then your blog sucks. Parenthood is a marvelous state that is better enjoyed within the confines of your own brain.

That being said, my kids are so freakin' cute. Japanese animators couldn't have drawn them any cuter. My youngest actually looks like an anime character. They'll probably kill me for saying that some day, but it's true dammit.

But now I have to talk about my oldest. She's having trouble in school. She hates to go now and feels discouraged because she just can't seem to behave herself. She cried this morning and said she didn't want to go to school because she was a "loser girl" which broke my heart.

It didn't make me feel any better when I discovered that she'd carved an anarchist symbol in one of our tv trays where she does her homework. I know she didn't know what it was, but she will someday...

She said the funniest thing the other night. I was teasing her about something and she said,"I don't believe you."

I said, "What, are you a skeptic?" hoping to confuse her with the word.

She looked at me for a few seconds, then said, "No, I'm allergic. To cats."

I thought it was funny.

Okay. I'll stop.

Someone found my blog by searching for 'masturbate sleeping sister.' I hope they were disappointed.

Porn

I've been watching a lot lately. I don't know why. I find it fascinating watching the depths the human psyche.... oh, who am I kidding. I'm a total perv. But while I was looking for some regular old meat and potato straight sex, I clicked on a gay porn clip. There was nothing to indicate that it was gay porn so I was not prepared for it. Now I'm not homophobic when gay people have their clothes on, but to unexpectedly see a man with no lead-in lying on his back while he sucks one guy's dick and let's another guy...er...in... Well I'm just not that sophisticated. Lesbians I can handle. It's not my preferred visual, but the aesthetic doesn't really bother me. Men on the other hand are just gross.

I realize there are a certain class of "heterosexual intellectuals" who are enlightened and sophisticated enough to find gay porn erotic (I guess it's beside the point to ask if they can really be considered intellectuals since they spend the majority of their time contemplating erotica). After having witnessed the clip though, I'm perfectly content with my good old primal porn.

Evening Conversation

Zelda: "I should really clean the kitchen more often. It's a very cathartic experience, putting everything in it's place, knowing it will be there when I need it. It's pleasant."

Jethro: "You cleaned the kitchen?"

Zelda: "Yes."

Jethro: "I'm aroused."

Run Me Through...One Last Time

Elliot wrote something the other day that gets funnier and funnier each time it crosses my mind.

Remarking on the death of Hunter S. Thompson and his wish to be cremated and his ashes shot out of a cannon, our intrepid white guy reveals his last request:

"... when I die, ... cremate me, mix my ashes up in a douche bag and, run me through that one last time. Hell no, I'm not joking."

And neither am I. I've been giggling over that for 3 days.

I'm Too Old For This Shit

I honestly never thought I would utter those words but I did. And I meant them.

It was a dark and stormy night. The rain was descending in torrents in downtown Houston, where a few of us had gathered to celebrate a friend's birthday. We went to Slainte Irish Pub where the beer flowed like wine. I don't like beer so I had a long island iced tea which sucked. Our dear friend became completely inebriated as the night wore on. After making a half-hearted pass or two at me and lewdly and rapidly rubbing his pool cue in my general direction, he passed out. He was sitting almost straight up, pants unbuttoned.

I was talking with a few other guys when we saw Drunken Birthday Boy give a slight heave. It wasn't an eruption, more of a steady trickle. Unfortunately, it landed all over Jethro's leather jacket and our umbrella. I paid him back though. Most of the patrons (when directed by me to observe the situation), thought it was pretty funny and made for their camera phones. The manager, failing to realize the lucrative potential in Drunken Birthday Boy having vomited all over himself (i.e. propping him up outside and selling photo opportunities), gave us the boot (which we had given ourselves already, I might add).

We hauled him through the establishment and sat him down at one of the tables outside, which was only partially sheltered from the rain, while we waited for someone to take him home. He began making spasmodic jerks again and we dunked his head in the outdoor trashcan just to be on the safe side. Further photo opportunities ensued. I called over the waitress he had a huge crush on and got her to pose with him. The bouncers loved it, so hopefully we're not permanently banned.

Moral of this story: Do not pass out in my presence. I will fuck you up.

I'm not an entirely bad person though. I did help him to his car, taking the vomit encrusted side because none of the brave lads I was with would do it. The were content to drag him through the rain puddles by his legs. I figure I've dealt with enough puke that I don't have to be a pussy about it. But it wasn't pleasant.

Altra Roma (More Rome)

POLITICAL UPDATE HERE

All the news coverage of the Pope has made me think of Rome. And Rome invariably makes me think of Becky. Becky's father was a doctor, so she wasn't exactly poor like me. She was also the youngest of five children with a very large gap between her and the next youngest, so she was a little spoiled. She wasn't a raging brat, but she was just used to getting her own way and she was a terrible listener.

I said before that Becky's international goals could be achieved by the single act of getting spanked by an Italian. I wasn't kidding, and neither was she. Immediately, she set out to conquer Rome.

There was a coffee shop where the locals would hang out just down the street from the convent called Cafe Settemiano. After class, we'd go down there and study. Becky cast her eye immediately on Danilo, the handsome young man behind the counter. All things being equal in most civilized countries, Danilo, of course, was a flaming homosexual. Well-dressed and limp wristed, earring in the wrong ear (for straight people); even if you couldn't speak Italian, you could hear the lisp.

This type of sexual nuance was completely and utterly lost on Becky. She insisted that he was straight, that earrings didn't mean the same thing in Italy as in America, and that he was dying to get her on the back of his moped. There was absolutely no dissuading her from this. Her aggression surprised me a little. Back in NH, she was they type who if she liked a guy, would set up elaborate and largely unnecessary sting operations to find out if he was interested.

I watched in horrified fascination as Becky marched up to the counter, English/Italian dictionary in hand, to make a date with the gay coffee shop employee. I don't know what she said, but I saw him roll his eyes and shake his head "no." She came back to the table smiling. Fearing the rejection had caused her to lose her mind, I asked her what happened.

"Danilo said great and he would meet me at the bridge at 8:00."

"No he didn't. He rolled his eyes and said no."

"You don't speak Italian. You don't know."

Deciding it would be useless to tell her that I was exceptionally well-versed in Italian head gestures for "there is no way I'm having sex with you, you stupid fat American chick," I let it go. Some people just have to learn the hard way. Besides, why deny myself a chance to be amused?

It was the next day before I would find out what transpired. I was sitting in my usual corner of the cafe, when Becky came storming in, dictionary in hand, eyes ablaze. In a stunning turn of events, it was apparent that Danilo had stood her up. She rushed up to him and began yelling at him in incoherent Italian and nearly incoherent English. The one phrase she uttered that was understandable was, "IO PAZZO, IO PAZZO!"

I cringed in humiliation as I realized what she was saying and why. 'Pazzo' means crazy. She had looked up 'mad' in her dictionary and it had given her the translation for crazy.

When the tirade was over, and the coffee shop workers had picked themselves up off the floor after laughing their asses off at a completely bewildered Danilo, she stalked over to the table and sat down.

"So how's your boyfriend?"

I thought she was going to hit me.

"Shut the hell up. I think he's gay."

POLITICS

I updated Payasita, so if you are in the mood for a rant filled with advisory content, pay me a visit.

SADDEST NEWS EVER

Jack had to hang it up. I think he was/is my favorite blogger. His content was always interesting and he was one of the few bloggers I stalked at least twice a day and not just because I had a teensy little crush on him either. Okay it is. But I'm pretty much inconsolable.

MOVIES

I finally got to see Kill Bill II. I liked it. I like everything of Tarantino's. His movies are like Cheetos. You forget how much you like them until they're right in front of you. But they do leave a residue. I think people got familiar with his style and it became fashionable to underrate him, but I still like him. I know he's a big lib and if he could perfect the art of sucking his own dick, we'd get no more movies out of him, but I still like him.

Two lines I loved from the movie:

"She deserves her revenge, and we deserve to die."

and

"There are consequences to breaking the heart of a murdering bastard."

On their own they seem kind of silly, but in the context of the movie, they are pretty cool.

WHAT I'M DOING NOW

I am sitting here commando as I type this. This is one of the perks of working at home. I don't particularly like being commando, but it's great to know that I can do it if the need arises. Like the time my phone was ringing nonstop and I accidentally spilled a whole bowl of chicken soup, thorougly drenching that part of my anatomy which keeps Jethro's nose to the Chiropractic grindstone. It was quite a relief to just take it all off and wait for the phone lines to settle down. I don't know what my excuse is today. Laziness I guess.

GWENNIE FUNNY

Gwennie is learning how to write and has started writing rhyming words. Yesterday she was doing i-t words and there came the inevitable. l-i-t, b-i-t, t-i-t. It amused us all in ways we ought to be thoroughly ashamed of.

EMMA FUNNY

Emma called out Jethro. It was so funny. Let me preface this by saying that every time I swear in front of the girls, Jethro says sternly, "Don't say that word." When I swear while we're in the sack, Jethro slaps my ass and says, "Take it, bitch." But I digress.

Anyway, I take the reprimand like a man because I don't really want my girls imitating me. But last Sunday we were driving to go eat dim sum and Jethro cussed at a driver in front of us who wouldn't go. Emma said, "Don't say dat word, Daddy." Sternly. I haven't laughed that hard in forever. She so nailed him.

FREE MOJTABA AND ARASH DAY

First thing, I want to thank Magz, Jethro, Trashman, Misfit Moonchild and especially Seven for taking on the Assholes. I have given them the title Defenders of the Blog.

Now for Mojtaba and Arash. They are two Iranians. Arash is being held by the Iranian government and the Mojtaba has been released from a prison in Tehran but is still facing charges. Their crime? Blogging.

For anyone who isn't aware, Iran is ruled by fanatical mullahs who are oppressing the young Iranian population who yearn for freedom and democracy.

Something with which to equate this situation is if Jay's loony preacher man was multiplied by the thousands, armed, and had trained a police force to arrest and murder anyone who said complained about the government, or said the fuck word.

Hat tips to Michelle Malkin and Committee to Protect Bloggers. They are asking that all bloggers make a reference to it today and show their support for the freedom of the Iranian people. You can also email Dr. Mohammad Javad Zarif who is the Ambassador and Permanent Representative to the Permanent Mission of the Islamic Republic of Iran.

This transcends liberal and conservative. Both sides can agree that oppression by any state is unconscionable. All you have to do is post FREE MOJTABA AND ARASH somewhere on your blog. There are banners you can download as well.

It isn't much, but let's do what we can.

Hate Mail

As an opinionated woman of color (pasty-pink to be exact), I've gotten a few hate emails since I've started blogging, from psycho-Christians who insist I'm going to hell because I fuck my HUSBAND and write about it, to left-wing moonbats who in the name of tolerance and diversity also insist I'm going to hell as soon as they fuck me in the ass and slit my throat.

The decent folks with talent, intelligence, and other skills (not that I'm including myself, necessarily) must not be intimidated by these wastes of skin and air. I know Kristin has other reasons to stop blogging (namely that it has become tedious for her) and that is fine. No one should feel pressure either to blog or not to blog (Shakespeare anyone?). But it makes me angry to think that some one-hand typing, mouth-breathing freak with his dick in his hand (male or female) can intimidate a good writer and intelligent person into stopping something that they love.

No matter what our race, religion, politics, etc. I would stand up for any blogger who has been respectful, regardless. We're a self-policing society, so to speak - we make our own justice. We are also on the forefront of an amazing time brought about by an incredible medium - one where the average person regardless of his personal beliefs has a real voice that can be heard without censorship. So in that spirit, I say we post our hate mail and let our community render judgment. For what it's worth, I will never let the toe-sucking morons have the last word. It's in our hands folks.

Thank you, and goodnight.

Interesting Developments

I'm eating the strawberries I bought for Valentine's Day (but never got to eat because romance is lost on me) at the speed of madness. I do that whenever I get excited, nervous, or angry. I suppose I should be grateful all of the V-day candy had already been consumed.

I got a phone call from my sister who lives in NYC. She is an interesting girl. She "freelances." I'm not sure who or what exactly she freelances for, but she usually ends up as a production assistant of some kind. She has her finger in about a million little interesting pies, most of which don't exactly pan out, but enough do for her to keep paying the minimum payment on her credit cards, which (to me) defines success.

Anyway, she called and told me that a friend of hers asked if she would be interested in hiring on to write a blog on an issue that means a great deal to both of us. I don't think she likes to write much so she referred him to me! She told him that I was already writing a blog and knew how to do it, and that I felt strongly about the issue at hand. He is supposed to call me tomorrow.

Now I know better than to expect anything to come of this, but I can't help but allow myself one small tendril of hope that I might be able to blog about something I care about for a living. I honestly wouldn't ask for anything more out of life - except for maybe a little bigger house, a few more kids, a housekeeper, and thinner thighs. But I'd even give up my American Idol and/or Jack fantasy.

(It begins this way: The lights are low and I start singing my beeeautyful song. I reach the crescendo and the the lights go up but it isn't a microphone I'm holding...)

Where was I? Oh yeah. If this endeavor pans out in any way, I'll have to stop writing smack about my sisters. Or at least this one.

Well I turned down some hot buttery sex this morning. I can't believe it either. I love having sex in the morning. But I was right in the middle of having a dream that I was Imelda Marcos (courtesy (I believe) of Jay's girl/boyfriend) which is ridiculous because I am barefoot 99.9% of the time. In my sleep-addled mind, I decided that it would be undignified to have sex while wearing my expensive, non-existent shoes. So now, I'm all nervous and er... antsy. JETHRO COME HOME!!! I'm sorry I didn't give it up this morning.

Okay. I'm through begging for sex. I think I'll give that up for Lent.

Johnnie Walker writes of a girl who wants to take him to dinner and may or may not want him to fuck her brains out. How does that happen? Most guys I know would give their left nut to go out to dinner with a girl who may or may not want them to fuck her brains out. They'd risk rejection and humiliation just to give it a shot. Have I mentioned that I like guys? They are so adorably transparent. Don't ever play mind games fellas. It's unattractive, you don't have the skills, and thank God for it.

I saw The Notebook the other day. I'd been avoiding it ever since my sister-in-law told me it was good, but I went to visit my pregnant friend who had rented it and her husband took advantage of my being there to not watch it.

She loved it. And cried. I was mortally embarrassed. I can't stand watching people have sex. Let me rephrase. Porn I can do, but I absolutely hate watching people who look like they ought to care about each other "make love." It is so personal. I feel like I'm minding their business. But I don't think most chicks feel this way. I was squirming the entire time because her husband (the big pervert) only came out to watch the sex scenes. To me sex is fun. Or funny. I just don't think of it the same way cheesy moviemakers do with long somber looks riddled with romance. To me that's corny and unrealistic. Maybe I'm just unromantic, but I find sex a really great way to pass the time, or set our marriage on the right track without using up a whole lot of useless words, but mostly just to get off. It's fun. And funny. And I'm going to quit talking about it now.

Nothing Coherent

I'm with Jay. I also don't love scary movies. Loathe them, despise them, detest them. People are always telling me I have to see the Sixth Sense or The Others or something else equally terrifying, to which I reply, "If it wouldn't be too much trouble, please attach your oral orifice to my rock hard derriere (hat tip to Jay's ass there). Thank you. Maybe you enjoy lying in bed, stiff as a board, with wide, bloodshot, staring eyes wondering just how you are going to meet your demise, but personally, I'd rather masturbate myself to sleep." Was that too much information? Lick me.

My problem with scary movies isn't gore or even ghosts. It's Entities That Move Or Make Sounds In Ways They Ought Not. Nothing creeps me out more and I don't enjoy it. But I know so many horror movie addicts that love that feeling. Personally, I think it's a substitute for religion. DEAR GOD LET ME FEEL SOMETHING EVEN IF IT IS HORROR AND FEAR.

New Topic:

That song Third Grade Romance by Kenny Chesny makes me laugh. I never paid any attention to the words until recently. I don't know why I didn't, but it's funny. However, like anything I pay attention to, it made me think. Take cover.

I wondered if I would ever have had the guts to have an illicit, single-evening affair if I hadn't hooked up with Jethro. Somehow, I don't think so. The only sexual courage I have is derived soley from being married. Lucky Jeth. Other than that, I'm petrified (sexually) of people I'd only want to fuck for a night.

Okay. Dangerous subject. I don't want to talk about it anymore. But feel free to discuss.

New Topic:

Not to be viewed at work of if you have a weak stomach or are a straight man who has intentions of ever fucking a woman again (or for the first time if you should be so unfortunate). BUT. If you can ignore what is so extremely wrong with the picture, I think the outfit is kind of pretty (hat tip to Spare White Guy). A large (1024 x 768) version of this picture is available for premium members.

Cheap Cinematic Tricks

I hate movies where they kill kids. I consider it to be the lowest, cheapest, most degrading dramatic trick - completely and utterly unjustifiable from an intellectual standpoint. If you can't evoke emotion from the audience without murdering a child, then your movie is pathetic and should cease. I just thought I should make that known.

One movie specifically that makes me wildly angry is Terms of Endearment. How can you create a character like Emma and then kill her? It makes no sense. If moviemakers put half as much into their characters who live, movies might be worth watching again. Yes, I know Terms of Endearment was based on Larry McMurtry's novel. Don't argue with me while I'm trying to make a point.

Is it bad manners to take your kids to a restaurant with you for Valentine's Day? It is? Too fucking bad. They're coming.

I have no idea why I'm so angry. Let me direct you to last year's Valentine's Day post which was way funnier.

New Topic:

Emma sings Kung Fu Fighting. It is really funny. I may do an audioblog of it if I can get her to do it.

Delerium

I can't remember ever being this sick. The fever won't quit and the cough is merciless. And now I can't talk at all. All that comes out are throaty squeaks.

A combination of the fever and some groovy cough syrup have made for some tripped out dreams. I've been trying to tell Jethro about them for two days now, but my lack of vocal ability has rendered it nearly impossible.

The first was kind of funny. It actually involved Jack. It seems that I deleriously dreamed that he met a Bank Robbing Bitch. She talked him into quitting law enforcement because it wasn't lucrative enough and she made him buy her tons of stuff and she didn't put out. I don't know why I was aware of that, but somehow the information was made known. The blogosphere was inundated with comments from Trashman and all Jack's friends trying to convince him to ditch her, but the more fuss people made, the more stubborn Jack became until he was totally broke. He tried to get his job back and they said they'd consider it, but he still couldn't give up that woman. It was really kind of terrible.

The second dream was much more paranoid and had nothing to do with bloggers. Jeth and I were in the middle of a war zone in a place that was a cross between the U.S. and Haiti. Due to our recent political activities, we were on an assasination list. We had to give the girls to his cousins who were going to take them to Vancouver to hide. Jeth and I went on the run. It was a god-awful dream. We tried to get away together, but we were too easy a target and we knew we'd have to split up. We were in this crazy hotel and we heard Them coming for us. Not to be cheesy, but we made out like crazy in the lobby bathroom, before we split. I woke up sweating and crying. I think those psychos who pushed me into traffic frightened me worse than I thought.

Sick

Sick as a dog. I tried writing something, but it's all incoherent. It could have something to do with the fever. I normally get sick once or twice a year. I've now been sick twice in two months. It's vicious. Everyone - wash your hands, and take your vitamins. This thing is nasty.

*Cough, Cough*

All four of us have nagging coughs. It is pure torture. If you want to irritate someone into a murderous rage, cough all night. It makes for angry, hacking sex in the morning too.

"I'll give you something to cough about, bitch."

I'm trying to think of something interesting to write. I went out with two girlfriends Saturday night. It was pleasant, but mellow. Nothing exciting to note except that we got out of the house without our kids, and we all seem to make each other laugh. Oh, and one guy came up to us and asked to sit down. He was nervous as hell, possibly a little drunk and wearing a sweater vest. We put him on the spot immediately.

"Amuse us," one of us commanded.

"Tell us some pirate jokes."

"Do you like guys?" (Zelda the Wise)

The poor guy turned about 5 different colors and fondled his beer in a desperate sort of fashion. He was too shy to amuse us, he didn't know any pirate jokes, and he said, "Yeah, I like guys a lot. They're loads of fun."

He also had a great deal of trouble swearing. Every time he would try to say "fuck" or "fucking," he would glance around and lower his voice. Even then he mumbled it - "fckng" - no vowels. He was definitely awkward. I lost interest in him almost immediately.Unfortunately, he was the highlight of the evening as far as other people went. The real highlight was amusing conversation amongst the three of us.

New Topic:

Jethro and I just finished watching Super Nanny. It's the first time I've seen that show. I honestly have no idea how these parents let their kids get that out of hand. The one tonight was kind of sad, though. There were three kids in the family, one little boy about 6 or 7 and two extremely bratty 4 year old twin girls. The boy was a really sweet kid, but his mom was always yelling at him because the girls would do something bratty to him and he'd yell at them. The girls were nightmares. They would cry and scream if they didn't get their way, but they would also use insulting potty language to their parents and kick and bite and slap them. I was really shocked. If I had ever said "butt pie" to my parents, I shudder to think of the consequences. If I had slapped my mom across the face, I am very serious when I say that I would not be around blogging. If they hadn't killed me, I would at least be severely damaged.

As lax as Jethro and I are with our parenting, the girls have never struck us. Both girls bit me once each when they were breastfeeding and I slapped their little mouths as hard as I could. It wasn't out of anger though. Getting one's nipples chomped on when you're not expecting it can lead to temporary loss of even-temperedness. They never did it again, though. I remember reading some rubbishy parenting book and their tip was "try and work your finger between your nipple and their teeth, and stop breastfeeding them for awhile so they the "consequences." Fuck that. I dare anyone to smile and say "open up sweetie" when their nipple is being being severed by the sharp little incisors of an evil grinning infant.

But back to Super Nanny. I usually have no sympathy for the adults. I'm a fairly harsh judge of parents who spoil their kids. But this time, I couldn't help it. Their son was so good, so I knew they had it somewhere to raise their kids right. I guess the stress of twins just got to them and they lost control. Plus the girls were so so cute. But I can assure you that if my girls pulled even a fraction of the stuff they did, their tushies would be too red for the "naughty corner."

But everything the Super Nanny suggested seemed to work out pretty well, although not very swiftly. And the kids loved her including the bad little twins. The boy took her leaving especially hard. Anyway, it was a cute show, and I actually approve of it. I know some people think it's undignified to have someone come in and teach you how to raise your kids, but I think it's more undignified to have a four year old beat you up and call you a "butt pie."

I wonder why so many families have spoiled children. Zelda, the ever opinionated, has no clue. I mean, our parents did it and seemed to be at least mildly successful. Why are we having so much trouble? Is it that we are still immature and blame our parents for the mistakes they made, so we reject every parenting tool they gave us just to stick it to them? I don't know how many people cringe when they hear themselves say something their parents used to say to them. But was it really that bad? I'm not talking about abuse or alcoholism, just simple ways of instilling some respect in them. I mean Jethro and I work to feed and clothe and house them, I think they owe us a little respect and cooperation, and besides, how are you doing your kid any favors by letting them do and say whatever they want? If it's bad when they're four, think of what they'll be like when they can actually use real sentences. The horror. And I love them too much to let them make other people dislike them by bad behavior.

The only thing I can think of is that we are over analyzing the situation. I think a bunch of crackpot psychiatrists, no psychologists, decide that the market was ripe for capitalizing on the insecurities of new parents. People (usually bewildered fathers) always say that kids should come with instructions. They freakin' do. Just go to a Barnes and Noble and you will find every instruction you think you need. It's insane. But in relying on these impersonal books, we may suppress our natural parenting instincts which may be perfect for our individual kid.It's a complicated subject, and I'm not saying that you shouldn't read up on ideas for raising your kids, but I think we should come to a point where we start using the books as door stops. My moment came when the Eldest bit me for the first time. I just realized that they didn't know what they were talking about.Anyway, this is what the comments are for, so have at.

A Moment of Zen for the Crotchless Panties

Random Observation: Pantyhose render crotchless panties entirely useless.

I was at my parents' house the other day for my stepdad's birthday. They are odd people and they have odd friends. I'll just leave it at that.

One of their odd friends is a lawyer - good lawyer who makes a very decent living. They just built a house close to my parents house. Tragically, his wife and kids were in a horrific car accident. The kids were ok, but his wife suffered a severe brain injury. The swelling was so bad they had to remove part of her skull. Come to find out, this well-off lawyer had neglected to purchase any health insurance for his family. They were not at the party for obvious reasons, but everyone was talking about them.

Just for reference, people of all religious persuasions, particularly the born-again, tongue-speaking, religious...shall we say, enthusiasts, seem to gravitate towards my folks.

I won't lie. These people are very sweet, but they make me feel incredibly awkward. I don't know how to convey that while we have much in common, I don't care to go around vocalizing it incessantly. There are other things to talk about.

There was one couple there at the party who were of this particular ilk. They are very involved with televangilism, being rather nice looking. The wife sings and he preaches about how the amassing of wealth is a Christian value. Hey, I didn't say we had everything in common. I'll call them the Photogenics. I don't like them much. Can you tell? They are kind of fake. Make that extremely fake. It's as if they feel they must be kind to all the heathen even if it means oozing quarts of fake sincerity. For God's sake, be a little snarky. I'd respect you more for it.

Anyway, they were the last to leave the party, and they asked my parents if they would like to pray for lawyer and his family. Then they asked my sisters and I if we would like to pray also. DOH!

I really didn't want to pray with them, but I couldn't think of any way to get out of it without looking and feeling like a prick. My other sister who was local felt the same way. The other two who live in Austin, were fast enough to grab empty plates and the trashcan thereby looking enterprising. I forced Jethro to go with me. He is a dignified person, and I knew I could count on him not to disgrace us. Another sister joined us and we all went into the media room.

My hand was grabbed by Mrs. Photogenic and she started asking all of these very specific questions about Mrs. Lawyer's condition. Detailed medical analysis. She picked Jethro's brain dry as to what the medical procedures were.

Finally they started. Let me just say that I'm no stranger to the ways of the born-again. My parents tried their best bring us up in the tradition, but all of us, without exception, rejected it out of hand. It just wasn't our thing, even though we were exposed to nothing else until Catholic school. I can't tell you how bad it is when Catholics seem normal. But I digress.

Mrs. Photogenic had my hand and started praying. Mr. Photogenic took up this chorus of groans and chants to Jesus. I'll try to write what I remember.

Mrs. P: Dear Jesus we ask that you would smite the demons swelling Mrs. Lawyer's brain.

(So much for the medical information)

Mr. P and the parents: *Groan, groan* "Thank you Jesus, Amen, Thank you Jesus. You are Lord."

Mrs. P: "We ask that you come down and heal this woman. Speak to the doctors, speak to the nurses, speak to that brain."

Mr. P and the parents: *Longer and longer moans* "Praise you Lord Jesus, Praise you Lord, Amen Lord.

My sisters, Jethro and me: "???!!!"

You can't just say "speak to that brain" to a bunch of born-again novices. I immediately bit my tongue nearly in half to quell the tide of panicked laughter welling up from my gut. I felt my sister pinch my hand urgently. I pinched it back. We pinched each other until the blood came. No good. Down my face went into my lap, my entire body convulsed with silent laughter. And you know the harder you try to stop the harder you laugh. My sister Rochelle, was in the exact same position. Jethro remained stoic throughout. He is a rock.

FINALLY the ghastly prayer was over. I picked my head up from my lap and hoped the tears would look sorrowful.

Family Stuff

Not to brag or anything, but Jethro is going to be a very very good chiropractor. He just gave me and adjustment and I actually feel two inches taller. I have a constant nagging pain in my back because of the Gs (it always comes back to that doesn't it?), so I force Jethro to keep the table up and I make him give me adjustments every week (at least). There is a muscle in my back right along my spine on the left side that always hurts and there is always a huge knot under my left shoulder blade. It's as if all my stress is deposited right there. Jethro did some digging while I groaned in agony, but it actually feels much better. He says he is going to have to use massage oil to really work it out, and it will be excruciatingly painful, but it'll work. I wonder where my stress will go when the knot is gone...

In other news, the girls are cranky and whiny, so I know they're better. It is days like today when I want to leave them on someone's doorstep, but I know they won't stay put. They'll both start bawling and grabbing my arms and legs until I'm covered in snotty crying babies. It's no wonder every vertebrae is out of whack.

Gwennie did something funny though. She is extremely self-confident, but extremely clumsy. Somehow this doesn't in any way dampen her enthusiasm. Today she came to me crying and angry. When I asked her what was wrong, she said bitterly, "I fell off the potty and I hit my head on the waaaaalllllll." She was so annoyed about it I had to laugh.

Emma has been a little shit all day too. She, my angel baby, has been a little monster. She wouldn't let me get any work done, she wouldn't eat anything except waffles and ice cream - this child - who will normally eat everything on her plate no matter what it is and ask for more. I hope this is just because she's sick and she's not developing brat syndrome. I tried to spank her today because she wouldn't put away any of the toys she pulled out. I asked her if she wanted a spanking and she nodded her head. I figured she had misunderstood me, so I put her in spanking position so she would get it. She just lay there over my knee waiting for it. Well I can't spank her if she's not struggling. Either the child is slow, or she's extremely smart. She totally won that one. She half-heartedly threw a few toys around and I let it go. She's a strange kid.

Gwennie, on the other hand, has no real conscience to speak of and has no scruples whatsoever about cracking Emma one if she feels like she needs it. I looked over just in time to see her clock Emma in the head with the broom. Emma started crying and I asked (yelled at) Gwennie what she did that for.

Gwennie's eyebrows knit into a V and said, "Emma is not putting her toys away and you didn't spank her when you said you were going to."

She looked like a tiny little Carrie Nation. She's going to break my heart and convert to Protestantism one day, I just know it.

Food and Babies

I must have some kind of good metabolism because if the gods were fair, I would weigh something like 400 lbs. I like creamy things. Not to be Freudian, but I don't care if it's sweet or tart. If it's creamy and runs to the back of my throat, I'll swallow it. I feel hollow and my mouth waters just thinking about it.

Gwennie and Emma are sick. Emma has had a fever for a few days, and Gwennie just came down with it yesterday after school. I should have known something was amiss when her daily behavior chart had all smiley faces. I guess sick and lethargic makes for a better behaved Gwennie. Her teacher was so happy about it, I don't have the heart to tell her it was because she had a 103 degree temp.

Gwennie pretty much went straight to bed. I heard her crying a few hours later. She had fallen on the floor of her room and she kept saying, "I don't know what I'm doing." I figured she must be delirious since she has never displayed a lack of self-confidence in her life. I held her on the couch for awhile and she told me that her "brains" hurt. She's so sweet when she has no energy.

Sorry for the short post, but I have to go make some chicken soup. Later