Hmmmmm

Rosie "I-Hate-Guns" O'Donnell's little girl

Hamas "I-Hate-Jews" Terrorist's little girl

Slices of Life

So many exciting things are happening, but they are the most boring things in the world to blog about. I'll try though.

1. My mom isn't getting divorced.

No new daddies. And while this isn't terribly exciting, it is annoying. I don't care whether she divorces Step-dad or not. I just want her to shut the hell up about it already. And I don't want to take care of her when she's old, so I'm kind of hoping she stays with him. He's weird and mean sometimes, but he loves her in his own bizarre way. And she is not trained for any job other than placating bizarre and sometimes mean people.

2. I can't talk much about #2 because it's business related. But it's making me very happy and frightened.

3. One of my sisters has decided she's a Lesbian.

She's not, but everyone is humoring her since she is anticipating persecution and no one wants to be THAT person.

4. Jethro's boss is a psycho.

I know I've talked about it to the point of my own psychosis, but she left a message on Jethro's cell phone last night that was so long, it cut her off. Then she called back to continue saying, "Hmmm....I guess your phone cut out..."

Jethro let me listen to one of her rants one morning on speaker and I'm appalled at what he has to put up with. I would have committed murder months ago.

One of the problems is that she gets very defensive when she loses an employee. The latest front desk girl walked out as soon as she got her last paycheck and took her own bin that she had brought with her. Part of the conversation I heard detailed how selfish Front Desk Girl was for taking back her own bin. According to Dr. Psycho, this meant that Front Desk Girl didn't care about Dr. Psycho's business. Dr. Psycho is the only person I've ever encountered who could marvel at the fact that an low-earning employee wouldn't care about her business for 20 minutes without ceasing. And this is just on the phone. Lord knows how long she goes on about it when he isn't trying to get ready for work...

I'm mildly concerned with how insane she's going to go when she discovers that Jethro has made plans for his future without telling her. Heaven forbid she think he doesn't care about her business.

5. I really do have a book planned in my head.

My life is a plethora of half-written melodramas, but I really like this one. Maybe I'll finish it when I'm 90.

Mind Sludge

This is not going to be a good day. The new front desk girl at Jethro's work quit. This is the eighth one they've lost this year. It couldn't possibly have had anything to do with his hag of a boss lecturing for hours on why it is so important to put the green paper clips in the blue container and the red paper clips in the purple container. More likely it's just her caliber (as his boss so logically explains to anyone who asks why she has such trouble keeping employees).

Every time I see her, I want to rip every feathered, lacquered strand of hair from her head. And I'd be doing her a favor. You can take the girl out of Jersey.....

Anyway, Jethro is going to be doing the front desk work and seeing patients while she busily talks without ceasing. I'm not sure what I can do to make him feel better. I honestly don't know how he got out of bed this morning.

So I put the question to the Blogosphere. What would make you happy after a helluva day at the office?

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Now on an even more personal note, my mom filed for divorce from Stepdad again. But this time she paid the attorney. I guess she's serious. So this means she's going to be single again. Anyone want to be my daddy?

The thing is, I don't care anymore. I think she's batshit crazy for leaving Stepdad since she is unskilled, uneducated, and Stepdad is a vindictive bastard who will begrudge her every penny of child support, but she is the one who got herself into this mess and she refuses to acknowledge any idiocy on her part. I want to say she's suffered enough, but she really hasn't. I don't think she knows what to do if she's not suffering.

I read somewhere that everyone grieves differently and the length of time one grieves is different to each person. In response to a question on how long the grieving process takes, the answer was "whenever you don't want to grieve anymore."

And this is true. I grieved for years after my dad died. I drank, I wept (usually at the same time), and I suffered. I cut myself off from any true emotional contact with anyone unless it was to commiserate over mutual tragedy. And then I stopped.

There was no grand revelation that my health was on the brink of collapse, or even that Jethro's love was healing my troubled soul. I didn't have an epiphany where I realized that my dad wouldn't want me to suffer so. I'd already known that. And my stubborn mourning was probably as much a form of rebellion as anything else.

I wish there was a nobler way of saying that I simply didn't want to grieve anymore, but there isn't. I might have made a few half-hearted attempts to revive it - it was almost a security blanket by that time - but it was no longer reliable. It aroused no passion or emotion, just pretense. And living on false emotion is no way to live.

I wish I could share all this with my mother, but it wouldn't do any good. She married Stepdad too quickly and never properly mourned my father's death. Besides, adopting someone else's grieving process is like wearing someone else's used underwear. No good can come of it.

So as it turns out, I don't want to help her. At least not right now. I want her to suffer until she no longer wants to suffer anymore. It will only be then that I can help her. Until then, it's wasted effort.

I'm sorry if anyone's died of boredom by now. Sometimes I just need to organize some uninteresting thoughts.

Mind Clutter

I like Rod Stewart. No one understands this.

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Emma: Press my tummy and I'll say something

Zelda: *Press*

Emma: Mama!

Zelda: *Press*

Emma: I Love You!

Zelda: *Press*

Emma: Chihuahua!

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I had a dream that would translate into a pretty good story and I want to write it. But I don't know much about organized crime.

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John Edwards sent me another email asking me to host a party where I can get my friends to talk about him. He says, "Next Wednesday, your living room can change America."

Let's see how many ways we can tell Mr. Edwards to pound sand. I'll start.

I would, but none of my friends like you.

What's wrong with your living room? Too big?

I'm sorry, Mr. Edwards, but I can't afford the carbon offsets...

Be Careful What You Wish

If you ask your husband for a DP, you are more likely to get a funny look than a Dr. Pepper.

News Flash

Had an argument with Jethro last night. Actually it was more him yelling at me for awhile. There wasn't a whole lot I could argue.

I don't take criticism well. Ask anyone in my family - or anyone fool enough to disagree with me on a blog post. If you want to criticize me, you can kiss my juicy, pink ass first.

But every once in awhile, you just need to shut up and listen to what someone is telling you about yourself. I did last night.

It wasn't anything I didn't already know, but it revealed just how badly I was failing at quite a few different things.

I suppose I could sit around and dwell on it for awhile, but that would kind of negate the purpose of sitting there and taking it last night. So without further introspection, I shall commence with the getting of my ass in gear.

Don't Drop The Soap, Girls

I got sucked into TCMs gay-a-thon last night. I watched three women-in-prison movies in a row. I guess if you're looking for gay imagery, that's where to find it. I didn't realize it was the gay-a-thon until after I laughed my ass off watching Ladies They Talk About with Barbara Stanwyck. She had gone to prison for armed robbery and one of the other girls was showing her around. While they were in the restroom, they notice a manly looking woman smoking a cigar. Lillian Roth, the experienced inmate, quips direly, "Watch out for her - she likes to wrestle." In another scene, the Lesbian is working out and her fluffy little girlfriend is lying on the bed admiring her muscles.

It's so cool to see stuff like that in old movies. I realize that homosexuals have it much easier now, but there is something sexy about keeping it subtle.

The second movie was Caged with Eleanor Parker as a young, nearly innocent girl who was sent to prison for helping her husband rob a convenience store. Agnes Moorehead plays a pragmatic, yet sympathetic prison warden, and Hope Emerson plays the brutal, sadistic prison matron from whence all other Gigantic Lesbian Prison Matrons sprung. I didn't see any outright homosexuality - even Hope Emerson claimed to have a man on the outside (a fact with which she taunted the inmates). But the implications were all there.

The third was So Young, So Bad. It's a sexy little movie about a girls' reform school. Rita Moreno blew me away. She was practically a baby in the film, but she was incredible. Hers was the stand out preformance for me along with the Lesbian girls, Jackie and Jane played by Anne Jackson and Enid Pulver. Anne Francis was good too as a seductive, blonde bad girl. She must have driven men crazy way back when.

So now after having stayed up all night looking for gay bits in movies and allowing Jethro to service me afterwards, I'm tired. But it was fun.

Garbage Day

Zelda: Girls, would you pick up all the papers you've written on and throw them away? Tomorrow is Garbage Day.

Emma (scurrying excitedly to comply): How do we celebrate Garbage Day?

Zelda (laughing): Well, we pick up all the trash and we throw it out.

Emma: Then do we get cake?

Zelda: Sure, why not.

Gwennie (lolling indolently on the ground amidst all manner of clutter): Mooo-ooom, there's no such thing as Garbage Day. You're just saying that so we'll clean up.

Useless Human Prop

This is NOT safe for work, but it is hilarious. That seemed very passive aggressive. Maybe if they paid him more, his aim would be better.

I read the most marvelous blog essay the other day. It's long, but it is fascinating and I could not recommend it more highly. Should anyone care to discuss it, I am always up for a conversation....

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I've been out of pocket for a bit. It seems that Events are unfolding, and I may have some good news to blog about in the near future. I don't feel like tipping our hand just yet, though.

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My youngest sister who is 12 comes to me for advice about boys. She is tall, blond, and beautiful, and she always has several who really like her and are constantly vying for her attention. It's all I can do to pay attention to her actual dilemmas and not wander off into marvelling at the fact that she is only 12 and has had more boyfriends than I did my whole life. Sometimes I think it might be easier to be homely and weird so that when a gentleman comes to call, you can take your time making sure he's a good one. I'm so lucky. Homely, weird and a great rack. God let me have something.

Jokes

Gwennie and Emma are in the middle of a joke-telling phase and they are the world's worst joke tellers.

Here's a couple of the best:

Emma: What is a vampire's favorite holiday?

Me: I give up. What?

Emma: Valentine's Day. Get it? Get it? Because boy vampires love to give girl vampires flowers and chocolate and cookies on Valentine's Day.

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Gwennie: Why does it take so many surfers to screw in a light bulb?

Me (apprehensively): I don't know. Why?

Gwennie: Because they like to surf more than they like to screw!

(I made her tell it to Jethro whose eyes just about popped out of his head).

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Jethro was talking in his sleep last night.

Jethro: 11 hours to Hong Kong

Zelda: That far? I thought we were closer. You sure?

Jethro: 11 hours.

Zelda: What are we going to do when we get there?

Jethro: Eat shit and die.

George Straight Watched Us Pee

Jethro and I had a great little trip. We met up with a few of the TX bloggers, i.e. Jack, Tinyhands, and The Trashman, and Tinyhands' girl, Beth who is from Jersey.



It's cool to see bloggers you've met before. Surprisingly, after the first time you meet (assuming you hit it off) you don't end up talking about your blogs very much. We hung out for awhile at our hotel where Trashman kept us all amused for an hour or two, then went to The Broken Spoke. I drank some Coronas and had to visit the restroom where I was watched by the many staring eyes of myriad George Straights. I suppose there are worse things that could be looking down at you while you are indisposed.

After the Broken Spoke, Jack, Jethro and I hit 6th street. A different vibe is upon it. It's blacker. Probably happened after Katrina. We'll see how it plays out in the long run.

We saw the bearded mayoral candidate in one of his bikinis. He hadn't rammed the bottom up his ass to make a homemade thong this time. However, he did not smell nice.

I drank a lot more and had a decent sized hangover the next day. Jack wanted to go tubing on the Guadalupe River in the worst way and it broke my heart into itty bitty pieces to disappoint him. We went to Luckenbach instead.

I'd always wanted to go to Luckenbach. And that was before I knew the song. All I knew was that a friend of mine went and got so drunk he peed in his hat on the way back home. I knew I must find this magical place and at least have a beer, which we did.

We listened to some music, scoped out a few chicks, and watched Jack eat the biggest corn dog I've ever seen in my life. He took it like a pro, too. I'm a little jealous of his mad skillz.

It's a great place - kind of like a redneck Shangri-la. And that's all I'm going to say about it. You just have to visit.

We left Luckenbach and drove on to Fredericksburg. That is a great little town founded by Germans in the mid 19th century. They have done an amazing job of preserving their town's history and structures. Almost everything is closed on Sundays, and I really wish I'd gotten to see more of it, but that just gives us a reason to go back. Towns like that kind of tickle my fancy, and even though they're not totally Jethro's thing, he really likes it when my fancy is tickled.

So all in all, it was a fun weekend and one that was very much needed. I owe some special thanks to TH, Trash, and especially Jack for giving us such a good time. I hope we can do it again soon.

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Come Back Here So That I May Brain Thee!

In response to my post about feeling depressed (in which people were kind enough to lay out many reasons as to the whys and wherefores), I get this comment:

Zelda, dearest, could this malaise you complain of be somehow related, I wonder, to your unapologetic support for this hideous war in Iraq, an unresolved moral conflict expressing itself in textbook symptoms of neurosis? Unconsciously you identify with the Iraqis, especially the young mothers and children being terrorized by Bush, the "gorilla" of your id-generated psychic theatre. The tears and fantasy of hiding under the bed are obvious impulses toward acting out the daily reality of countless Iraqi households, impulses which your conscious identification with America the Good prohibits you from openly acknowledging. The war is lost however, and hence your gnawing sense of insecurity and hopelessness, feelings which can only be temporarily banished through the sexual banter that characterizes so much of your site content. Remember, Zelda, you can erase this comment but your conscience -and your unconscious- will be with you always. Gordon Tryon 05.23.07 - 1:38 pm

First off, I know I could erase your comment seeing as how it's my blog and all, but I'd never let you off that easily.

So allow me to respond:

Dearest Gordon,

Where did you attend medical school, because I think you have a point. I think I would be much happier and more secure if Saddam were still in power, starting wars with our allies, murdering political dissidents, plotting the assassinations of our presidents, having discussions with Abu Mussab al Zarqawi, bilking the UN out of billions of dollars, and starving his people while he built palaces. I'm sure I could rest much easier at night in the self-righteous knowledge that the dirty little brown-skinned people of Iraq were being terrorized indefinitely by a monster of their own culture as opposed to fighting Islamic fundamentalists for freedom and democracy. I wish I'd thought of it sooner.

So I'm revising my stance. We stupidly let Saddam swing so we'll have to find us another dictator, but I support his installment as soon as possible. As soon as Iraq gets back to the old routines of carefully crafting their words and actions to avoid rape and torture and death at the hands of an all-powerful government, the better.

Now in the interest of full disclosure, I had bouts of depression during the Clinton administration as well. But that probably had nothing to do with politics because there were no terrorist attacks or wars during his tenure.

So thank you for your professional expertise and allow me to return the favor:

Gordon, dearest Gordon: Get out of your house. Go get a beer and engage in some sexual banter before you make an even bigger fool of yourself. You're obsessing over politics and seeing political specters where there are none. It has distorted your perception of reality.

Trying Times

So just when I'm in the frantic stages of trying to pack up 7 years worth of crap, a pipe to the water heater starts leaking a stream of water into the garage. Then I discover that the water has leaked through the wall and onto the carpet of our bedroom, soaking it, and making it smell not-so-poppin' fresh. Then one of the blades to the living room fan flies off which will necessitate the purchase of another one. Then the 'Check Fuel Cap' light on the brand-new Pilot starts lighting up for no reason whatsoever. Then Jethro's car gets a flat. Then Jethro couldn't get the flat tire off the car. Then the main computer conks out completely. I think it has a virus which means we wasted a damn fucking lot of money on Norton.

I'm now going to go take a shower and shave a my legs a little.

I'll let you know if the roof collapses.

So Let's See What's Going On In The World Today:

Lebanese army shells refugee camp . Those Christian bastards. Oh wait. They're actually bombing a Syrian backed al-Qaeda linked group who seem to be using the refugee camp as a base of operations for attacks on Lebanon. That can't be right. Surely those good, peaceful Muslims would never put innocent refugees in harm's way. And surely the AP wouldn't try to obfuscate that fact with a misleading headline....

Oh, and they seem to have found the headless bodies of our troops who were captured in Iraq. The bodies were said to bear the marks of severe torture. I guess they found some panties on their heads. Oh no. Wait. They didn't have heads....

Let's see. What other pressing news are we missing because of all this nasty war business...here we go...Yahoo's big story: 45 million vote for updated seven world wonders. This is very important information to have. Some Egyptians are pissed.

Iran is protesting a Cannes Film Festival entry by a woman who living in Iran during the Islamic Revolution. They said it's a (horror of horrors) "political act." And everyone knows how they feel about political acts. And just so everyone knows, they don't arrest women who show their hair. They just "talk" to them.

Strike 7,867,960,071 Against Public Education

A panel from the University of Colorado's Conference on World Affairs met at Boulder High School for a frank discussion of sex and drugs with the students.

Here's the money quote from the Denver Post: "I'm going to encourage you to have sex, and I'm going to encourage you to use drugs appropriately," panelist Joel Becker, a Los Angeles clinical psychologist, told the students. "And why I am going to take that position is because you're going to do it anyway." (source)

You're getting sleeeeepy, sooooooo sleeeeeeeepy. When I count to three, you're going to have sex and use drugs appropriately. With me. One...Two...

How exactly do you use drugs appropriately? And who the hell wants to have appropriate sex? Maybe he's trying that new-fangled reverse psychology. What an innovator.

The article goes on to excuse this moron by quoting another moron who says, "When you're talking to high school students about these issues," Palmer said, "I think there is a responsibility on the part of adults to be informed and to be candid."

That was informed? Candid? Did he discuss genital warts? Because nothing will explain things quite so thoroughly as an ass full of blisters.

There is a responsibility on the part of PARENTS to be informed and candid. You, on the other hand, could be a pervert who gets his jollies by talking about sex with minors. And another of my responsibilities as a parent is to make sure you don't have access to my kids until I know for sure you don't have an ulterior motive.

Because Everything Is Backwards in Cincinnati

My sister and I were watching a clip of Dustin Diamond aka Screech from Saved By the Bell getting ripped a new one by that drill seargent on Celebrity Fit Club (thank you, Blowing Smoke). It was pretty good. We started discussing how Screech had been in porn and I told her he had participated in (and I'm not exactly sure how because I would rather poke out my eyes with poisoned darts than watch it) a Dirty Sanchez. She didn't know what a Dirty Sanchez was. I had no desire to tell her outright, so I looked it up on urbandictionary.com and let her read the definition (apparantly they can be confused with a Dirty Rodriguez, which was interesting.)

Now once you look up something on urban dictionary, you can't help looking up a few others. The Cincinnatti Bowtie (the concept, not the actual act) has now given me hours of mirth.

So gentlemen (Tater excluded because if he could mount titties on his wall, he would): would you ever want to be the giver of a Cincinnatti Bowtie?

Blech

I feel the depression coming on. I can't figure out what triggers it, but suddenly I'm fighting back tears for no reason at all. I don't so much want to crawl under the covers as I want to crawl under the bed and hide. I feel like I have gorilla arms that are holding 100 lb weights. The malaise and self-doubt are the worst part.

I start feeling that I shouldn't be married to Jethro because he deserves someone much better, but he would rather live through decades of torture than be dishonorable and break up with me. I know it isn't true (he would definitely leave me if he wanted to) but it nags at me and adds a few more lbs to the weights in my gorilla hands.

I want to have a tangible quality that I can bank on - a hot bod, an immortal record of my intelligence, or at least stellar hygiene. I'm not fussy.

Admit It. It's Kind of Funny

This makes me rather glad I married a Buddhist.

You Might As Well Just Lie Back And Enjoy It

Horny Dolphin

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Time to Kick Some Ask

This intermittent internet access is really starting to bug me, plus we have a lot going on, so I'm imploring tolerance.

Jethro and I have decided, barring some unforeseen windfall, to sell our house, move out to my parents' house, and start the clinic. I want to have the house on the market by the beginning to the middle of June, so that doesn't leave me with a great deal of time for blogging silliness.

We've thought it through, and it would be better to have the business than the house. But as much as I dislike my house, I'm going to miss it. Oh well. Sacrifices must be made.

Not much else is going on. We thought we were going to get some hail last night. We made room in the garage for the Pilot so the hail wouldn't get it. But true to Murphy's law, the storm went right the hail past us. But for some on the north side, it was hail on earth.

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Now let's have some fun:

Howdy Folks!!!

Whew!!! I needed that little break. Posting may be light again due to the fact that my computer is fucked up beyond belief and I haven't been able to blog on it in months. On top of that, a power outage took out the router for Jethro's laptop - insert a logical explanation for why I have no internet access from it and don't make me get all technical because then I'll look stupid.

Anyway, I had a great birthday. I went out on Friday night with my sisters and made friends with Patron. I spent most of my actual birthday trying to decide whether I was going to vomit or shit - delusionally thinking I had a choice in the matter. All my plans to hang out with friends on Saturday went by the wayside, and I had a quiet dinner with Jethro and the girls as soon as I was able to keep down water and ibuprofen. It was better that way.

So thank you all so much for the kind birthday wishes and especially to Trashman who called and sang "Happy Birthday" in his beautiful baritone.

Bring Out The Gimp

Jethro is the greatest guy in the entire world. But he sucks at planning surprise parties.

It’s enough that I allow him to work 12 hours a day in unpleasant conditions to support me and the girls in the manner to which we have no business being accustomed. Do I have to plan my own parties too?

I’m afraid I’m going to have to punish him in intensely sexually gratifying ways.

It's Like An Introduction To Pot

Recognize Stockard Channing?




And my very favorite:

Question for the Universe

What good are 30 minutes of non-stop country if it all sucks?

I heard that song by Carrie Underwood the other day about her boyfriend cheating and the revenge she takes on his car for it. I can't remember the name of it, and I'm too lazy to look it up. I hate that song and here's why: The tune is great - especially for a country ditty. They're not often sung in a minor key. But the words! My god the LYRICS!!! It's bad enough to revive the whole idiotic controversy of there being a double standard when it comes to women and violence as opposed to men and violence, but I'm uncomfortable with the idea that a relatively good-looking girl who's cool enough to shoot whisky would feel the need to destroy someone's car for cheating on her.

If she (who could probably have her way with any drunk, young, male hottie) would go that nuts, just what will the rest of us ugly girls do - you know, the ones who might not find retaliatory cheating to be such a simple matter?

Sometimes I think it's so lucky we have vaginae*. Because if we only had our personalities to work with, the human race would die.

*(I'm glad I used spellcheck because I had no idea the plural of vagina was vaginae. Now I just have to figure out how to pronounce it.)

Freak Show

Our friend who was recently deployed to Afghanistan left his porn collection with Jethro before he left. He said we could watch it if we wanted to, so last night we did.

I was starting to get into it a little when the camera shot to the guy's sweaty, red (almost purple) face and I started laughing. The only thing less sexy was one of the guys' assholes. It was a little floppy. I'm thinking he had another job.

I was going to write a haiku about it, but I'll leave that up to y'all.

Chunks

Continuing from yesterday, this Times UK article presents an interesting perspective from a former Islamic radical's point of view. Conclusion: Islamic governments are pathetic and Muslim grievances against the West are not justified.

H/T: LGF

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I called my daughter a "rude, thoughtless little pig" this morning because she spat upon the floor. I should probably record it so I can save my voice, and I should probably beat them first thing in the morning just so they're on the right track. They seem to forget who is boss.

Seriously though, what would you good people do to your kid if he or she spit on the floor for no good reason at all?

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And to make things worse, I haven't had blogworthy sex in ages. I'll have to wait until we open the clinic and do it there just so I can have something to write about. Although even that doesn't seem interesting. Also, I'm having trouble concentrating. My mental rolodex of perversion no longer contains a hot, time-saving scenario. Maybe it's because my sister and her fiancee are staying with us. I think it's time to attempt the sex that will send you to hell again just so I can make sure I hate it.

:-) :-) :-) :-) :-)

Would You Like Some Peace With That Severed Head?

My heroine, Aayan Hirsi Ali, has had another death threat issued against her, this time by a cleric living in the U.S.

Muslim groups in PA, in a revealing display of their oppressive values, tried to prevent her from speaking at the University of Pittsburgh in Johnstown (freedom of speech anyone?)

What is it about her that makes them so rabid? (besides revealing what a backwards, misogynistic, hateful cult Islam is...)

Imam Fouad ElBayly, president of the Johnstown Islamic Center, was among those who objected to Hirsi Ali’s appearance.

“She has been identified as one who has defamed the faith. If you come into the faith, you must abide by the laws, and when you decide to defame it deliberately, the sentence is death,” said ElBayly, who came to the U.S. from Egypt in 1976. ...

Although ElBayly believes a death sentence is warranted for Hirsi Ali, he stressed that America is not the jurisdiction where such a crime should be punished. Instead, Hirsi Ali should be judged in a Muslim country after being given a trial, he added.

“If it is found that a person is mentally unstable, or a child or disabled, there should be no punishment,” he said. “It’s a very merciful religion if you try to understand it.” [emphasis added] (source)

What a merciful religion. I can't wait until I'm forced to join it for fear they're going to crucify my children.

AHA's response is classic. "This imam has been strikingly honest," says she.

H/T LGF

Hello

I can't sing anymore. I used to be a fairly good singer, but I got sick with something that affected my vocal chords over the winter, and I'm afraid the condition is more permanent than I thought. My voice warbles. I hear it, but I have no control over it anymore. I can hear three notes when I'm trying to sing one, and the one note I'm trying to sing won't come out.

This is more disappointing than I ever could have realized.

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Time to take the girls to Drama class. Like they need classes.

The Zoo Redux

Just got back from Emma's class trip. We went to the Houston Zoo. It was a great success replete with the irony of the children enjoying the free-range rabbits and squirrels as much or more than the caged animals.

The only thing worthy of note was a little boy in my group. His mother packed him an extra bag of clothes in case he had an accident. According to her (which sounds a whole lot like Munchhausen syndrome) he has a very narrow urethra and doesn't feel the urge to urinate like the rest of us. I don't know what the deal is, but he is a giant 6 year old boy - very overweight - who had to be led by the hand to the restroom 3 times during the day.

His lunch would have made anyone snort. His mother had packed him macaroni and cheese, chicken nuggets, milk, juice, carrot sticks, fruit roll-ups, animal crackers, and a full size Snickers bar. He ate a good deal of it.

I wasn't observing him particularly until he came up to the other chaperons and me with tears in his eyes. "Um, I fell down," he said.

"Are you alright?" we asked.

"Yes, but Emma didn't help me up when I fell," he whined.

That kid has Never-Gonna-Have-A-Girlfriend, if not I'm-Gonna-Marry-Mommy-Someday written all over him.

Lazy Day

I have nothing to post, so here are a few pictures.

REMOVED

Telephone Conversation with the HOA

Zelda: "Listen. I haven't wanted to call a lawyer until now, but when it comes right down to it, I'm a stay-at-home mom with thwarted delusions of grandeur. I live to make people as miserable as I am and I have nothing but time."

58

Today is my dad's birthday. He never made a big deal of it in life, and I see no reason to do it now. That won't stop the rest of my family from caterwauling over it, but that's because they still haven't come to terms.

My dad once told me a story of a shepherd he'd met during his travels in the Middle East. He said the man had to have been around 70 years old, but that he never knew his own birthday. All he knew was that it was sometime in the winter.

My child-mind was aghast at the thought of missing out on all those birthday wishes, but I suspect my dad admired him for not knowing or caring. That was one of the fascinating/frustrating things about my father. All the trappings of earthly existence were like chains to him. I understand why now that I'm older, but he did make a lot of innocent fun seem stupid. I don't know if it is possible to have an inferiority complex and a superiority complex at the same time, but if it is, then I had them. And it was all his fault - a thought which would probably amuse him if he were here.

I miss you, Dad. Pray for us.

In Memorium

No post today. Remember the victims of the Virginia Tech massacre and pray for their families.

Not Much

I haven't wanted to bore anyone with details because, let's be honest, starting a business just doesn't capture the imagination quite like freakishly large bosoms.

But I am so excited about opening Jethro's clinic.

I know there is a general consensus that husbands and wives shouldn't work together, but I want to. There is no one I'd rather hang out with than Jethro, and if I must be forced into the drudgery of the working world, I can't imagine a job where I'd have more fun.

Plus, as dopey as it sounds, it's nice to be involved in a profession that makes people physically feel better. Handing them over smoothies, or negotiating the finer points of them plunking down their life savings on a home just doesn't compare.

Someone shoot me if I display such altruism on this blog again.

Can You Smell It?

I made the mistake of emailing a few good wishes to Elizabeth Edwards, wife of the presidential candidate John Edwards, who is suffering from inoperable breast cancer. I should have just thought them in my head instead.

Edward's campaign has taken advantage of having my email address to send me an unsolicited missive imploring me to take a "personal carbon-reduction pledge."

As part of our Global Warming Action Month, I'm launching a personal carbon reduction pledge and asking everyone who shares our goal of ending global warming to take part.

Why do I suddenly feel like I'm at Bible camp without the warm, fuzzy, sexual tension?

How about this for an answer (as well as a tribute to the internet's salty right-wing souls): POUND SAND AND DIE.

The man has just had built a 28,000+ square foot super-mansion complex. I have a 1300 square foot tool shed into which I stuff my husband, two kids and my own lazy ass, and to which I refer with all irony as 'home'.

His energy plan (he claims) will reduce carbon emissions by 80%. But I don't think he intends to tear down his brand new crib. Maybe he's planning to level Al Gore's (although it only weighs in at a minuscule 15,000 square feet, it does consume slightly more than it's fair share of energy).

He also makes the claim (twice) that he is running a "carbon-neutral campaign." Does that mean he's walking to Iowa? He naturally fails to provide any specifics.

He is not short on rhetoric, though:

Americans are ready to be patriotic about something other than war. Americans are ready to answer this call. Will you be the first?

[link deleted]

Global warming poses a real and immediate threat to our nation. When faced with such grave threats in times past, generations of Americans have rallied together to make personal sacrifices big and small.

Now, the same is being asked of us. Today, the danger we face may be harder to find on a map, and our contributions may come in simpler forms. It may look like just installing energy efficient light bulbs, taking shorter trips in the car or turning down the thermostat, but make no mistake: These are acts of true patriotism.

Now I feel like some dumb chick being cajoled into putting out for a military fry cook. Are we actually being rallied with the soaring rhetoric that won our war against the Nazis, to use a specific type of light bulb? Are we fucking retarded? Can he cheapen patriotism any further? We're tired of hearing about the war. So let's forget about our the troops fighting the fascists in the Middle East (fascists who have no intention of reducing their carbon emissions) and patriotically turn down the thermostat. Now that's sacrifice.

Given the fact that he probably uses more energy in a day than I use in 6 months, I think I can call him unpatriotic by his own standards. And I'll admit that it's not often someone is stupid enough to let that happen.

Seriously. This whole thing is the environmental equivalent of dodging the draft. Can son-of-a-mill-worker Edwards be so out of touch with the rest of humanity that he thinks we won't call him on his outrageous personal energy consumption? Or worse, are the most bitter and cynical of right-wing pundits correct in that he is hoping his wife's cancer will buy him a pass on that?

I don't think John Edwards could disgust me any further. But after reading this steaming pile of greenhouse gasses, I am willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Nudity Nulls Nuptials

Sometimes it's interesting to know what religious fuck-bags argue about when they think no one's looking: Total Insanity.

Sometimes it's sexy to think about how they'd torture me before they'd hang me if I lived in Saudi Arabia.

And yes, that was mostly sarcastic.

Sometimes I feel like I'm screaming into a pillow.

H/T: LGF

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I had the most horrible dream in my entire life last night.

I dreamt I swallowed a lizard. I woke up swallowing a gigantic gulp of something (please god, let it have been air and phlegm) and had a distinct impression of a tail slithering down my throat. The only thing that keeps me from thinking it isn't terrifyingly true is that a lock of hair was in my mouth when I woke up.

Anyway, today promises to be pretty bad and stressful, not to mention extremely boring to write about. Just cross your fingers that I keep having nightmares to blog about.

I Need To Raise $5,000 ASAP

Anyone want to see me do anal?

As The Acid Churns

I need to reinstitute my Lifestyle Change. I bafflingly haven't gained any weight back since I quit dieting (I quit dieting, by the way), but I'm getting heartburn again. Last night was horrific. I'm pretty sure my stomach acid could have powered Al Gore's meager 15,000 square foot abode for at least a millenia.

So I'm going back on the wagon. Starting................................................................Now.

I'm trying to think of something interesting to say. Everything I've wanted to blog about seems tame. Even the road rage I had while dropping the girls off at school. Bitch cut me off and I followed her to her house. It was very disappointing because the stupid woman had no clue I was behind her. And I followed her closely. Nothing to deflate your road rage like an utterly oblivious target.

And that's about it. I'm going to go take some more pink stuff.

Nice Symbol of Male Oppression There, Granny.

"I am very pleased that after 200-plus years in the United States we finally have a (woman) speaker. It took us a long time," Pelosi said when asked how she felt about sitting in a place from which Saudi women are excluded." (source)

Please, please, please, please PLEASE tell me I'm having a nightmare that an American woman - who has been afforded all the bounties the United States has to offer in spades- hasn't just gone to the most repressive country in the entire world and compared their treatment of women to the fact that the US hasn't had a female Speaker of the House until now.

Please tell me this scrappy little feminist who scratched and clawed her way to third-in-line-to-the-Presidency hasn't just implied in a country where it's legal to for men to beat women, force them into arranged marriages, keep them covered from head to toe, shoot them for being accused of committing adultery, and hang them for being raped, that America can relate to the fact that women cannot hold public office.

Remember To Do Your Montly Breast Self-Exam

Alanis Morrisette reminds me to do that in the most somber parody I've ever witnessed.

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I've been really busy. We'd really like to get Jethro's business up and running by May or June, so there is a lot of work to do. If posting is light, you now know why. Long live Capitalism.

Dribble

I was watching an E show on Elvis. Just as I was marvelling at how he didn't die of heatstroke while wearing a leather ensemble under blazing hot stage lights, the narrator informed me that "Elvis oozed sex appeal." My scrambled eggs became instantaneously unappetizing.

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Haiku

One of my sisters
Severed ties with her boyfriend
I am quite joyful

For I do not like
Men with stiff, pretentious hair
He was a douchebag

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Sometimes I worry that I will sustain some kind of head trauma and I will lose all perspective and start barking like a dog and demanding that people fuck me. I heard of that happening and it terrifies me. Inhibitions are good.

Ancient History

Every once in awhile, I like to go back through my archives and re-read whatever idiocy I felt the need to spew at that particular time. I've exhausted my own archives, so I made the time-consuming mistake of re-reading Jay's archives now that some of haloscan's comments have come back. I cringed when I read most of my comments, but I found one thread that cracked me up.

Here's Jay's post. Here are the comments. Read mine and Jethro's (there are a few, so you have to scroll to the end) and laugh with/at me. Apparently I'm no moderate when it comes to mullets.

Minor Irritations

I'm liking my blonde highlights and I think my hair has grown out to a pretty sexy length. If I could just get it to look thicker, I could forego the hair transplant and cut my imaginary plastic surgery budget to about $200,000.

Coversation with someone at the tax department research center:

Moron: Tax Reasearch

Zelda: Hi. I'm having a little problem regarding my HOA and my fence. I need to know exactly where my property line is.

Moron: We don't have that information here. They'll probably tell you that you need to get another survey done.

Zelda: Who are "they?"

Moron: I don't have the information.

Zelda: But you just told me "they" would probably tell me that I'd need to get a survey. Who are "they"?

Moron: You are calling the wrong office. We don't deal with property lines or numbers here.

Zelda: I'm not asking you to give me the specific information that I need, I'm just asking you where I could find the specific information that I need. You said "they." Who are "they?"

Moron: Let me explain, you are calling a department that only collects taxes. Trying to find out from me where your property line is, is like calling Burger King to ask what kind of hamburgers they have at MacDonald's. Do you have a question about fees?

Zelda: Yes. I have a question as to the exact property upon which I am actually paying taxes.

Moron: I don't have that information.

Zelda: Look. It is obvious that my excessive tax dollars are somehow insufficient to hire someone with a brain for your position. I won't take up any more of my valuable time.

Moron: Whatever.

Zelda: Prick

Moron: *Click*

Warning for Gentlemen: Lady Stuff Ahead

Did you ever forget you weren't wearing a tampon? It makes for an interesting couple of minutes, let me tell you.

I won't be around much today. I must do battle with the Homeowners Association and the tax office. I'd relay the details, but they are so boring that I can't even spice them up with 300 references and make it interesting. But the fact that there are about 300,000,000 raging, crazy-woman hormones coursing through my body ought to give both organizations the lingering impression that this will not be over quickly and they will not enjoy it.

Vacation Parts II, III & Conclusion

I really want to finish blogging about our trip. I'm afraid I can't do it justice, but I will give it a shot anyway.

After meeting Angi's family, we breezed on up to Virginia to meet a classmate of Jethro's from Chiropractic school. He and family were so sweet. They showed us their adorable little town and the office where both he and his father practice. It gave us some great ideas.

Then we drove up to Philadelphia, PA (yes, we're quite mad) to meet the one and only ALa of Blonde Sagacity. I know it's a cliche, but I really felt like I'd known her and her friend Liz for years - almost since childhood. Maybe it's growing up on the east coast and having religious, altruistically-minded parents. Anyway, Jethro and I had such a good time shooting the breeze with them that we eschewed the tourist sights in Philly, so we could hang out and try scrapple - a fried meat product native to the area. It wasn't bad. They bought Philly cheesesteaks the night we got in (which are fantastic, incidentally) and then took us to a Jewish diner where I got the dairy plate plus the order of scrapple. It was mostly carbs. But it was all delicious and ended up being my meal for the 12 hour drive back to Charlotte.

The wedding was fantastic. I went to get my hair done in the morning. Only gay men are allowed to touch my hair from now on. The dude did my hair for two and a half hours and it looked fantastic. It's a shame I was late to the wedding and had to tear across the church lawn like a demented, chronic, late-comer. My hair did not quite look the same afterwards. And I cried. I couldn't help it. I never know if I'm going to cry at weddings or not. Sometimes I think I'm going to be fine, and then it just comes upon me. One thing did make me laugh though. The brides mother was my elementary school principal. When she got up to do one of the readings, I had an immediate flashback and braced myself to hear "SIT DOWN AND BE QUIET! LUNCH TIME IS QUIET!!!"

The reception was awesome too. One of the bridesmaids was a friend of both mine and the bride from grade school. We were talking and she told me that our friend was so excited she was squealing. The bride is usually a very calm, wise person, but the thought of her squealing in excitement to get married was the nicest one to cross my mind at a wedding ever.

The reception was at a very cool place called The Big Chill. They had a great house band which made for some great dancing, not that I am much of a dancer. Jethro isn't either, but when he drinks he thinks he is which is awesome.

One interesting thing was that there were three couples at the wedding, including us, who were white/female-Asian/male. It's not the usual combination and was too interesting not to take note of. We ended up drunkenly calling ourselves the Fortune Cookie Club and someone suggested tattoos. I suppose it's funnier after a few drinks.

Anyway, it was a great trip. I was so happy we went.

Now back to the regularly scheduled blogcast.

Vacation: Part I: The Stud Farm

We're back. As much fun as we had, I was very glad to sleep in my own bed.

The whole trip was fantastic. Every part of it was special and unique and interesting.

We met Angi, Tommy and their boys on Tuesday. They are such a nice family. They are always laughing at something, and are a generally riotous bunch. They live on the side of a mountain amidst some interesting characters, one of whom has had loud relations with someone other than his wife on the front porch of their trailer and who had to be told by said wife to keep it down. They pointed out the gay bridge, where homeless/gay men exchange favors for cash. And we saw their church. It appears to be needed. I played their piano a little too. And aside from crack whoring, it seems as if I have a job if I ever move to Asheville.

I want to take a minute to give you my impression of her sons individually. They're quite an accomplishment.

Noah, the youngest, is a sweetheart. Among his many talents is a penchant for calling road kill, both type and which body part has been eliminated. He can also dig a mean hole with a stick. I was impressed.

Jamie is the next up. He's sweet too. He showed me Noah's Hanna Montana posters and convinced me of the vast superiority of his Dale Earnhardt poster. And while I didn't actually witness the event, I have been led to believe that he is an expert in the art of passing gas with spectacular reverberations on the wood living room floor.

Will is right in the middle. I get the feeling that no one has quite gotten used to how tall he is. I can't remember if it was his or Casey's pants that Tommy had accidentally put on, but it was pretty funny. He can tell a good joke, and just in case his family is unaware, I think Will is going to be pretty good-looking. Now I'm wondering just how much hell he's going to be in for because I wrote that.

Casey is the second oldest. He looks nothing like the last picture I saw of him in that he's now sporting some facial hair. He's outgoing and funny and he also looks pretty good in baseball pants.

TJ's the eldest. He had his birthday while we were there and turned 17. He looks at least 21. He reminds me so much of myself at his age (except that I didn't have a penis) it's scary. I didn't get to talk to him much and I would have liked to. But I enjoyed watching him play baseball, and I hope he still has a crush on me, at least for a little while longer.

Angi and Tommy were both great. They showed us around their town (without complaint) which is absolutely gorgeous. I'm a sucker for artsy-fartsy. I fight it, but I can't help it. I just am. As long as it isn't too pretentious, and it really wasn't for the most part. I could see the city encroaching on the country though, and that would be a bit irritating. Fortunately for Tommy and Angi, they really do live in the hills.

I'll direct you to Angi's posts to find out about what all we did. But I did want to sincerely thank them for the wonderful time.

North Carolina: Day 1

We are here in beautiful North Carolina. Our trip was uneventful. Everything was on time, no one fucked anything up, and the drive to Asheville was fantastic. I don't know why but I seem to lose my mind in airports. I only have a few things I need to carry on, but everything just seems to fall apart whenever I get to the security check. Everything I own just kind of flies in all directions. Pens I didn't realize I had in my hand, I suddenly find I have no idea what to do with. I always lose my i.d. at least once. I count myself lucky that I didn't end up throwing all my shit in a pile, stripping naked and screaming at it to go away.

But we're here and aside my scatterbrainedness, everything went wonderfully. We just finished our evening with Angi and her Studman. We made them eat at a fancy schmancy bistro and then forced them to go watch 300 with us. They're probably cursing our names right now.

But speaking of 300, I loved it. Lu-hu-hu-hu-huved it. I'm not much of a fan of war movies. I was unmoved by Gladiator, I prefered the Elven storyline in the LOTR trilogy, and Braveheart was very dramatic, but I lose my enthusiasm for a movie when they slit women's throats (or kill off children). But 300 was fantastic. I realize it was mostly CGI, but the artistry itself was amazing. They drew the most beautiful muscles on the male actors. My biggest gripe was how much of it was in slow motion. That particular trick lost it's impact after awhile. Other than that, it was so so cool. I don't want to spoil it for anyone who hasn't seen it, so go see it.

I'm going to head off to bed since we'll be seeing Angi, Tommy and their boys tomorrow.

So Those Are What's Causing All The Trouble

File It Under Flotsam

This is sure to provoke some outrage. But don't be intimidated by the flying camel fuckers. Report anything that looks suspicious. It's always better to be wrong than killed. And if you're worried about looking stupid, just remember how people look when they're dead. Pretty stupid.

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Yesterday was Steak and BJ Day. If you can ignore the pussy-ish whining on the website, it's a great idea.

I like steak.

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I am now in the final stages of packing for our week in North Carolina. I reserved the rental car yesterday. I think I have all the clothes I want to take. Now I just have to dig out all my pretty panties. I don't think poor Jethro even knows I still own them.

But as much fun as we're going to have, I am going to miss Gwennie and Emma. For so long now, I haven't considered anything to be restful or relaxing if it involved them in any way. Kids are just not zen. But now that they are older, it's so much more fun to have them around. They're funny.

Last night, I made spaghetti for Gwennie and Emma and lamb for Jethro and me. Emma ate all her spaghetti and veggies, but then decided she wanted some of mine and Jethro's dinner too. (The kid eats almost without ceasing). I told her that she'd already had hers and that she could have some salad and potatoes, but the lamb was for Daddy and me. I relented before the words were even finished coming out of my mouth. I can't look at those big, liquid, brown eyes and say "no." Jethro and I put some of the lamb on her plate. She pumped her fork-holding fist in the air and gleefully shouted, "VICTORY IS MINE!!!"

We're doomed.

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Update: I want this toilet.

I Think He Was Picked On A Great Deal As A Child

I can hear his petulant, insistent, voice - slightly higher pitched than most other males - demanding the personal information of his fellow citizens.

Let's dissect the first paragraph.

Today is the start of Sunshine Week, the annual week in which we reflect on the importance of open government and public records. To mark the occasion, I want to take you on an excursion into freedom of information land.

An excursion into freedom of information land? Are we going to discover which lobbyists are paying which politicians for favorable legislation? Are we going to discover which politicians have taken which journalists on lavish holidays to remote locales? Will there be cookies and kool-aid?

No.

We're going to find out who in the New River Valley has a concealed handgun permit.

He claims he "...can hear the shocked indignation of gun-toters already: It's nobody's business but mine if I want to pack heat."

Really? He can't think of any other reason why a gun-toter might not want their personal information published? Maybe we can break it down for him.

First question: why might an individual become a law-abiding gun-toter, complete with training and full governmental compliance? They're not all duck hunters and personal defense is a very real concern for those individuals unfortunate enough to have aroused the wrath of a psychopathic stalker. Women in particular.

Second question: why might an individual not want his personal information published? It couldn't possibly be because their first line of defense (so they hopefully NEVER have to fire their weapon in the direction of another human being) is anonymity.

He then responds to his surly, imaginary, gun-toting adversary with the following virile argument.

Au contraire. Because the government handles the permitting, it is everyone's business.

He then goes on to list the types of people upon whom you may wish to spy. Your neighbors. Your carpool. Your employees. For what purposes, he mysteriously doesn't specify.

He then (laughably) insists "[t]his is not about being for or against guns."

Then he writes the the first of the two most disgusting sentences in the entire editorial.

There are plenty of reasons people choose to carry weapons: fear of a violent ex-lover, concern about criminals or worry that the king of England might try to get into your house.

Disgusting because he acknowledges all of the very good reasons private citizens have to utilize their CONSTITUTIONAL right to bear arms, but equates all of them to the bizarre worry that the king of England might try to get into their house.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is the essence of propaganda. He is taking legitimate concerns and attempting to reinvent them as paranoid delusions to suit his own agenda (which I would think by now would be quite obvious despite his protestations to the contrary).

He goes on for awhile about the different tactics he employed and the money he had to cough up to get the goods on his neighbors.

Then he writes the second of the most disgusting sentences.

A state that eagerly puts sex offender data online complete with an interactive map could easily do the same with gun permits, but it does not.

Folks, he actually has the gall to equate legal, constitutional gun ownership to sexual predation.

Comparing law-abiding citizens with no criminal backgrounds to sex offenders is insulting, but it is that upon which we should focus in order to destroy his entire line of reasoning. Legal gun owners are not criminals. No amount of wishing and hoping and praying on his part is going to make this so. They are not criminals. Their desire to possess firearms is for self-defense only. I'm going to go out on a limb and argue that this simply isn't the case for sex offenders.

He closes with an insinuation (and notable lack of evidence) that the elected officials who have concealed handgun permits might use them in a violent manner if they are annoyed. And then, without further ado, presents us with the "gift" of his neighbors' personal information. Name, Address, Issue Date, Expiration Date and Jurisdiction. [The list has now been belatedly removed.]

In the editorial and subsequent comments, he conveniently avoids discussion as to whether the government has any Constitutional right whatsoever to keep a list of law-abiding citizens, much less demand concealed handgun permits of it's citizens in the first place (Hint: it doesn't), but he does not hesitate to state in his comments that he would not support the government compiling such a list if the list consisted of gay men. (See comment #17).

So now we have a little something with which to work.

He does not believe that law-abiding gun owners have the same rights as gay men.

This might seem a little silly, but it's a powerful insight into his personal prejudices. And the fact that he published the names and addresses of law-abiding citizens shows that he is willing to subject innocent people to dangers that even he admits exist. Why? Because he can? This does not seem like a terribly good reason.

One of the strangest things about this is that the very gun-owners he maligns are not put in the hot seat by having their names and addresses published. They're not going to care if someone decides not to carpool with them. The ones he puts in danger are the ones who have a palpable, external threat against them. FBI agents for example. Many of them live in VA and have made enemies while in service to their country. Victims of domestic abuse are another. Mr. Christian seems to live in a dream world where women are damsels in distress with no will or ability to protect themselves. Or maybe the threat of physical harm just isn't a problem in "freedom of information land."

Normally, I don't approve of people having their personals published in retaliation for something.
But I make an exception in his case. I hope it causes him a few sleepless nights, but more importantly, I hope it causes him to reflect upon the nature of wisdom, and I'll even settle for common sense.

Hat tips to Big Dick and The Anti-Idiotarian Rottweiler

Instep vs The Arch

The pollen-laden air beckoned deceptively. I felt the call.

I mined out my running shoes from the dank depths of my closet and tied them on. I found some old jogging shorts and squeezed myself into them. Then I googled 'how many minutes should you stretch before running?' The answers varied. I touched my toes a few times.

I couldn't find my sports bra and I hate it anyway, so I mined a rather constrictive minimizer from the dank depths of my closet and tied it on.

I set off.

I returned home and peed and drank some water.

I set off again.

I decided that I would do some fast walking through my neighborhood until I got to the lake, whereupon I would commence the running.

I clipped along through my neighborhood, the very picture of a fast-walking, motivated, soft-bodied suburban mom until I got to the lake.

There is nothing like running to make you realize just how much unwanted jiggle you have been totally and blissfully unaware.

I jogged a few steps and became acutely aware of my love-handles. I jogged a few more and realized that a constrictive minimizer that's just a little too small was NOT going to serve me well.

I crossed my arms over my chest in hopes of curtailing the frenzied bouncing which was starting to seem pornographic.

I jogged haphazardly onward, rapidly metamorphosing into a jiggling, bouncing, panting, red-faced abomination; single-mindedly careening toward a vague destination on the other side of the lake. Dogs were barking, children were crying, ducks were quacking and waddling frantically but wisely out of the way of this heaving monstrosity who, at this point, couldn't have stopped herself from running them ruthlessly over even if she'd wanted to.

The Burning. The Burning.

I eventually had to stop so I could assess just how much air I wasn't able to take into my lungs due to the constrictive minimizer. I also discovered that my running shoes are not really designed for those unfortunate individuals with pronated feet. I was sweating mysteriously harder under one armpit than the other and the pollen-laden air which had chirped so seductively to me had now deposited its allergens directly into my sinus cavities.

No doubt serious runners will give me their spastic, cheerful encouragement (while admiring their taut, toned buttocks in their special mirrors), but I will stoically ignore them and plod on at my own bitter pace.

Howdy

Jethro and I will be headed to beautiful North Carolina in 8 days. I'm thrilled. A friend of mine from elementary school is getting married. She came to my wedding, so I am ecstatic to return the favor.

We'll be meeting Angi, her Preacherman, and possibly the rest of her clan while we're there. That should definitely give me something to blog about.

And since I'm running low on things to blog about, I'll go ahead and let you in on a little joke that was played on me by none other than Big Dick and his gal, Evil.

Awhile back, he posted a picture of some man panties bought for him by his Beloved. I posted the following comment:

"True story.

My sisters and I were accustomed to sharing panties simply because there were so many of us. My stepdad's mom sent him some packages of men's bikini underpants. Long story short, he was always complaining that his underwear was disappearing. After some months, we figured out he'd throw them in the wash and they'd end up in the panty pile. Gross I know. But that thong is pretty. I'll wear it since I'm now used to pretty man-panties."

I didn't expect to receive them in the mail, but I did. It was a good joke.

But since I am of a slothful nature particularly regarding laundry, I inevitably ran out of underwear probably a week or two later.

Somehow I'd forgotten that Dick said he threw them in the trash. I thought, "What the hell."

I donned them.

To say they were uncomfortable would be a gross understatement. And I do stress the word 'gross.' I was chaffing pretty much on contact. I can only imagine how they'd be for someone with actual protruding junk.

I Had Anniversary Sex Before I Realized It Was My Anniversary

Zelda: "....but if you open at This Place, another chiropractor might open at That Place and might give you some competition.

Jethro: "But This Place is still a better location. Better location, better doctor...I'm not worried about competition."

Zelda (admiringly): "I'm gonna suck your toes. I love it when you get all cocky."

[I didn't actually say "toes," but since I'm repeating the coversation verbatim, I feel a little shy about repeating what I actually did say. I did, however, say "cocky."]

We were married 8 years yesterday. Can you tell?

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As if I didn't have enough to think about, two of my sisters and I have decided to form our own real estate business. We have decided to target young employed men with disposable income. We feel it's an underserved market.

Winnie: "Since we're all relatively good looking, we need to have our pictures on all our advertisements.

Zelda: "Yeah. And I have really large bosoms. Men love that."

We just need to come up with a name. My brain is so fried with all these important business details that I was actually considering some of Zoolander's patented looks. I had it narrowed down to Blue Steel and Le Tigre before I came to my senses.

So I am appealing to the collective wisdom of the blogosphere (that sounds almost religious, doesn't it?) for ideas. I need a name that is classy and slightly masculine. Something that evokes chrome and martinis without sounding like a gay bar. I'm off to collect information on small businss loans.

Fragments

"It was a dark and stormy night and I was drunker than Cooter Brown. I was with what I thought was a woman...."

And so began the story of a native Texan on why he doesn't drink anymore.

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I know posting has been light, but trying to get one's life together will, on occasion, come into direct conflict with blog posting.

I wish I wasn't such a procrastinator. I put off everything including getting a clue as to how to help Jethro. He is so ready to go out on his own, but I don't know the first thing about starting a business and he is so busy with the job he has now and his various marketing events that I feel quite frustrated that he has to do all the business planning as well. I try to help from the real estate aspect, but aside from contacting people to go look at different properties, there isn't much that I can do.

So I guess I'll just fluff. I'm fairly talented in that regard, or at least I like to think so.

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Gwennie is so funny. She has a little boyfriend that she won't admit to. I found out yesterday from his mom that they almost kissed a few weeks ago when she and Emma were playing at their house. When I talked to Gwennie about it, she said they were playing shark (apparently he was the shark and she was the fisherman). They both fell off the bed and she said they almost kissed then. She said she didn't know they almost kissed until the little boy told her about it later. The little boy told his mom that they were about to kiss and Gwennie put a stop to it.

And Gwennie's so cute when she's around him. My wild little nutball becomes girly and flirty. I watched her eating pizza with him yesterday. She sat straight up and had her legs crossed while she took little dainty bites of her pizza. This from the kid who slouchily destroys her food, the kitchen, and most of the living room at one meal.

They're both such sweet kids that I don't really worry. It's more cute and funny than anything.

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In world news, it would seem that Scandinavia is not the Great White Utopia. Good health, low unemployment, generous welfare, stellar education and free healthcare don't seem to be enough anymore. They call themselves anarchists, but they can't seem to wean themselves from the milky milky free stuff. IMHO, they need to learn to change their diapers before they start flinging the contents in support of a governmental absence for which they are clearly not ready.

Do They See Themselves As Pan Or Hook?

The Boy Lovers are back with their unique combination of self-pity and Peter Pan obsessions. I linked to them almost a year ago and joined a campaign to have their blog taken down. If you don't spew whatever meal you may have just consumed immediately upon viewing, you might want to take note of their attempts to pretty themselves up with the pedantic language of college sophomores. It's still a pig in lipstick. And I hope that phraseology doesn't turn them on.

But I have news for you fellas. No matter how many big words you use, no matter what your sparkling fantasies of Ancient Greece are, and no matter how many youth league soccer games you have been allowed to coach, no one sees you as healthy or sane. Sure, you may pick off the odd Democrat like John (my daughter's godfather touched a 14 year old) Kerry, and Jimmy (let's pardon the sexual offender) Carter, Gerry (I'm going to screw a minor on the taxpayer dime and get re-elected. Take that homophobes) Studds, and the entire Kennedy (do we really want to go there) Clan, but the rest of the world, including the most irritating, sanctimonious, soy wallowing liberal types, believe there is something wrong with you. Basically, nobody likes you, everybody hates you, and you should go eat worms. From e-coli laden dirt. And you should stop thinking about young boys. They don't want you to think about them. All the abuse that children suffer at the hands of sexual predators begins with a desire to have sex with them. That means you. So pardon the ignorant, church-going breeders for their caution.

However, I have changed my mind about wanting your blog removed. I think that when you inevitably convince yourself that a troubled boy, starved for affection, actually desires your sexual advances, law enforcement needs to be able to find you as quickly as possible. So blog away.

I'd also like to take a minute to remind you of what happens to child molesters in prison and to point out that prison inmates are the least likely individuals on the planet to make a distinction between "boy love" and "child rape."

But above all, you need to recognize that you are ill and find someone to help you. We all have burdens to carry in this life, and your burden is that you can never, EVER touch the object of your affection unless they are over 18 and consenting. The liberty of "just being yourself" does not extend to you when your desires have such great potential to harm the most innocent of human beings. It's a heavy cross to be sure, but you have no choice. We have willed it thus.

More From Ayaan Hirsi Ali

Listen to this woman. She is brilliant.

But better yet, she makes Bill Maher look like the smarmy, cheap, sophomoric little asshole that he is. And the two morons sitting on each side of her are priceless as they wallow in their complete and utter ignorance.

*Background: Ayaan Hirsi Ali was a Muslim woman who immigrated to Holland to escape an arranged marriage. She was one of the victims of female circumcision, and saw firsthand how Arab Muslims treated black Africans (Muslim or not). She apostatized from Islam once in Holland and became a vocal opponent of the intolerance and violence of Islam especially against women. This earned her a death sentence from the mullahs across the Middle East and Europe. She collaborated with Theo van Gogh (descendant of the famous painter) on a documentary detailing the abuses women suffer under this oppressive religion. He was slaughtered by a Muslim fanatic on the streets of Amsterdam. She was forced into hiding.

Our own media does its level best to ignore her, which is all the more reason we need to pay attention to what she has to say.

H/T: Little Green Footballs

I'm Not A Racist. That's What's So Insane About This.

Yeah I know it's been awhile. I've been working on my real estate classes. They are extremely boring, but now, thanks to the ethics portion, I am able to tell the difference between right and wrong. Except when a non-white person complains. Then I become automatically wrong and I need to shut the fuck up and be grateful that I'm white. This is going to make arguing with Jethro somewhat less fun than it has been in the past.

Now I'm not one to quibble, but I am really getting tired of being called white. I am pink. PINK, dammit. And red in some places. With blue and green poking through. Acknowledge.

Hey There

I've come to the conclusion that I am tired of tickling balls for nothing but debt. I'm no knock-out, but I have huge tits that can defy gravity with the right amount of sturdy, underwired encouragement, and that has to count for something.

So I've decided to whore myself in a constant, persistent, hopefully non-homicide-inducing fashion to the idea of Jethro's Practice.

We can bitch and moan all day about his boss and her inconsistencies, tirades, baffling business decisions and utter lack of fashion sense (three words: Pleated, Tapered Pants. Belted far above the waist. And when I laid that line on someone, Jethro muttered, "That's nothing. You should see her Pleated, Tapered Jeans). But when it comes right down to it, it's her business, and she can call all the shots. If she wants to alienate her employees, inconvenience her patients, soak Jethro for as much work for as little money as possible, and dress as if she drives a Delorian [updated link]; it's her incontrovertible right, and I will not dispute that.

As we say in blogworld, "If you don't like it, start your own."

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So everything else is going well. I am in a very upbeat, positive place. I think I might be on the cheerful side of a manically depressive mood swing. Or maybe I'm just feeling better from my kidney infection.

Dribs and Drabs

I have a kidney infection. I could probably use that as an excuse for not blogging, and in fact, I think I will. It hurts to sit up for too long and it hurts to lie down for too long. If I curl up a certain way on the couch, it doesn't hurt quite as much. I am taking antibiotics, but they make me nauseous, so I just have to suck it up (or down as the case may be).

I've also been tied up with family. I've come to the conclusion that I can't really do anything for my mom, but I can work on my relationships with my sisters. Now that we're all in the same state it should be easier. I feel as if my relationships with them have really suffered throughout the years and I see more hope in repairing those than I do in repairing my mom's life. One sister in particular is going to be a challenge. She has been severely damaged by events in the past and I am hoping she is not too bitter to help repair our family.

Anyway, none of this is life-threatening, but it does put a damper on my blogworld. So to tide you over until my next riveting post, check out this website courtesy of Jim Treacher at Blowing Smoke.

hotchickswithdouchebags.com

Methinks Gooch will particularly enjoy this concept.

Because You Need To Know

I was tagged again (in the bloglical sense) to name some more weird things about myself. Happily, I have a limitless supply.

1.) Fairly recently, I realized that I'm in the habit of holding onto my earlobe while I sleep. I sleep with my face on my hand and my earlobe between my thumb and forefinger. I don't know if this is recent or if I've been doing it for years, but I noticed it just after I posted the last list of weird.

2.) Since we're on sleeping arrangements, I must also confess to sleeping like Peter Pan, with one knee raised almost to my chest and the other leg flung outward. I'm a weird sleeper.

3.) When I was pregnant with both girls, I had a bizarre craving for foam. I didn't want to swallow it, but I would take bubble baths with a lot of soap and swish the suds around in my mouth. The foamier I got the better I liked it. Brushing my teeth was almost orgasmic. I would sit in the bathroom and scrub my teeth, making sure to generate as much foam as possible. I'd lean over the bathtub and let it drool out, but I wouldn't stop brushing. One time I brushed my teeth for over 30 minutes.

4.) I have a very hard time standing up and speaking in front of a group of people, even if they're all my friends.

5.) I used to claim I didn't like cauliflower when I was in grade-school because I thought I was weird for having almost no distaste for any kind of food. I figured I could give up cauliflower for the sake of appearing normal - a completely useless endeavor, I might add.

6.) I told my sisters an ongoing story when we were little. It was about 3 sisters and their little brother. The oldest girl was named Wendy and she was the hero. The second sister was named Clara and I made her such a priss, much to my second sister's irritation. The third sister was named Anastasia. She was kind of whacky. I didn't really have the stamina to develop her personality very well, so I made her a combination of first two to the point of schizophrenia. Three and a half days a week, she would be an adventurous tomboy just like Wendy, and precisely at 12:00 noon on Wednesdays, she would transform into a snooty little goodie-two-shoes just like Clara. The little brother was named Thomas and he was borderline psychotic. I didn't have any brothers, so I didn't really know what boys were like. I went with evil and violent.

You're Such An Idiot, Dad. God.

I never dreamed I would feel in any way badly about the death of a person such as Anna Nicole Smith. But to my utter astonishment, I do. I'm going to miss all the crazy. She made me laugh if at nothing else, then the utter inanity of the human species. Sometimes we take ourselves too seriously.

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Anyway, we finally got to have a little birthday party for Emma. Oh. My. God. This is the last birthday party I'm having for them. I'm no stickler for etiquette beyond just a general sense of politeness and tact, but I'm going to have to bitch for a second.

We had Emma's birthday at a little pastry shop close to our house. It's has a very cutesy decor with a giant inverted cupcake on the ceiling, and some very professional decorating. All the kids get to make their own cupcakes, which is cute. It's a great place for a little girl's birthday party.

A gentleman dropped off one of Emma's friends from school, then proceeded to tell me that the place was not very manly and he was going to take off and do manly things for awhile. Then he asked if he could leave his older daughter there. I wasn't terribly happy. First he insults the party and then he wants me to pay extra so he can leave his other daughter there and go pretend he's a man? He lives in the suburbs. It's not like he's going to suddenly grow a pair.

I'm not one to be rude in front of children so I smiled and said that I thought we had an extra place for his daughter and if we didn't she could share with her sister. He eventually ended up taking his daughter, but not after saying that the party wasn't really her thing. No duh, brain surgeon. She was in 4th grade and the party was for Kindergarteners. But what a thing to say.

I saw him again today while we were picking our kids up from another birthday party for another kid in Emma's class. He had managed to dump his older daughter off successfully at this one. I noted with a sense of smug satisfaction that he had food all over his face.

Good manners aren't for ladies and little girls. It doesn't make your dick shrink to act like a gentleman. And just because fathers/husbands are portrayed as fat, slow, simpletons in pop culture, it doesn't mean you are required to enforce that particular stereotype.

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Anyway, that's about all. There is something wrong with my computer, so I have to use Jethro's laptop and I'm still congested from my cold, so it's difficult to give him the blow jobs that are required to use it.

Back In The Saddle

Okay, Phlemfatale beat me to all the funny observations, but this has to be the best story to come down the pipes in years. I mean it has it all: love, obsession, attempted murder, travel .....diapers?! I mean, if I was going to murder the lover of my obsession, I'd want to do it after I'd soiled myself. I'm just sayin'...

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I've been sick again, so I haven't felt like doing anything except feeling sorry for myself lately. I still have a bad case of laringitis. Even Bobcat Goldwaithe has abandoned me to dulcet tones of a dying seal. It makes for an intersting love-making experience. I sounded like a badly dubbed anime porn character - male.

Perversely, I've needed my voice more than ever these last few days.

Jethro's job situation is looking tentative. I refuse to see this in a negative light. He needs to go out on his own. It is time.

My family situation, to which I have been alluding, but haven't actually blogged about, came to a head also. My mom, after many agonizing months and mind-numbingly excruciating thought processes (sparing me exposure to not the minutest detail), has finally filed for divorce from my Stepdad. Whether she will go through with it remains to be seen.

I have a million things to blog about, not the least of which is a little gift I received in the mail from a total pervert and his total pervert fiancee. But I outperved them. Oh yes I did. The details will have to remain forthcoming until I find the time to do them justice.