The result:
No, I didn't actually molest Mr. Treacher. My drinkable, organic yogurt came on my face. And my shirt. And the knee of my jeans.
Monday, September 24, 2007
Goddamnit, Marcia...
I was having an innocent conversation with Jim Treacher while he contemplated a rumored liason between Marcia and Jan Brady (please read link).
Fluffy
Sometimes I enjoy listening to Gwennie and Emma chatter.
Jethro and I took them to the circus the other night and I bought them a stuffed tiger and a leather whip during the intermission. The following conversation ensued:
Gwennie: What do you want to name him? We both have to agree.
Emma: I think we should call him Fluffy.
Gwennie: What?! He's a vicious tiger. You can't call him 'Fluffy.'
Emma: But he is fluffy.
Gwennie: But he isn't trained yet. We haven't even whipped him yet. He's still wild. You can't call a tiger 'Fluffy' if he's wild, even if he really is fluffy.
They ended up calling him Rory, which I thought was hysterical. You might think it's clever, but I don't think they know that Rory is really a name.
We went to church yesterday. Gwennie became possessed by the Devil. We were standing during opening prayers which went on for a bit. When we sat down, Gwennie breathed loudly and said, "Finally!"
I told her I was going to beat the starch out of her if she didn't keep her mouth shut for the rest of the time, in as low a voice as I could manage. She didn't talk much after that, but she did kick the lady sitting next to us, reached over me to hit Emma, and attempted to sit on the back of the pew in front of us.
I don't really want to go back to that church.
Jethro and I took them to the circus the other night and I bought them a stuffed tiger and a leather whip during the intermission. The following conversation ensued:
Gwennie: What do you want to name him? We both have to agree.
Emma: I think we should call him Fluffy.
Gwennie: What?! He's a vicious tiger. You can't call him 'Fluffy.'
Emma: But he is fluffy.
Gwennie: But he isn't trained yet. We haven't even whipped him yet. He's still wild. You can't call a tiger 'Fluffy' if he's wild, even if he really is fluffy.
They ended up calling him Rory, which I thought was hysterical. You might think it's clever, but I don't think they know that Rory is really a name.
We went to church yesterday. Gwennie became possessed by the Devil. We were standing during opening prayers which went on for a bit. When we sat down, Gwennie breathed loudly and said, "Finally!"
I told her I was going to beat the starch out of her if she didn't keep her mouth shut for the rest of the time, in as low a voice as I could manage. She didn't talk much after that, but she did kick the lady sitting next to us, reached over me to hit Emma, and attempted to sit on the back of the pew in front of us.
I don't really want to go back to that church.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Haiku:
An owl resides in
Our backyard. He is quite disrup-
tive while we have sex.
---------------------------------
Jethro and I made a little trip to the Verizon wireless store in a mall close to our house to see if they would do something about an extremely high phone bill. This was the coversation on the way:
Zelda: If it's a chick, you go in. Ditch the wedding ring, talk in your deep voice, and tell her your a doctor.
Jethro: Do you want me to ask her out on a date?
Zelda: If you think it will help...
Jethro: And if it's a dude?
Zelda: That shrimp I ate last night was pretty salty. I don't know if I can get my wedding ring off. But here. I'll hoist up the girls a little and he won't even look for a wedding ring. I suppose I ought to put on some make-up. I look like a poorly aging goth reject.
We arrive at the mall, and see there is a gentleman manning the store.
Jethro: I'll go in. You don't know any of the details of the bill.
Zelda: This is unfortunately true. I'll be in Express. Is it wrong that I'm hoping he's gay?
Jethro: Yes. Very.
Zelda: Thanks for not allowing me to whore myself to the Verizon man.
Jethro: You're welcome.
An owl resides in
Our backyard. He is quite disrup-
tive while we have sex.
---------------------------------
Jethro and I made a little trip to the Verizon wireless store in a mall close to our house to see if they would do something about an extremely high phone bill. This was the coversation on the way:
Zelda: If it's a chick, you go in. Ditch the wedding ring, talk in your deep voice, and tell her your a doctor.
Jethro: Do you want me to ask her out on a date?
Zelda: If you think it will help...
Jethro: And if it's a dude?
Zelda: That shrimp I ate last night was pretty salty. I don't know if I can get my wedding ring off. But here. I'll hoist up the girls a little and he won't even look for a wedding ring. I suppose I ought to put on some make-up. I look like a poorly aging goth reject.
We arrive at the mall, and see there is a gentleman manning the store.
Jethro: I'll go in. You don't know any of the details of the bill.
Zelda: This is unfortunately true. I'll be in Express. Is it wrong that I'm hoping he's gay?
Jethro: Yes. Very.
Zelda: Thanks for not allowing me to whore myself to the Verizon man.
Jethro: You're welcome.
----------------------------------
I can't believe how busy we are. We could still use more patients (and they could use Jethro) but I'm finding myself with very little time on my hands anyway. I haven't even shaved my legs in over a week, and I've gone quite retro, pubic-ly speaking. If I go naked for Halloween, the kids will think I'm a scary monster walking on his hands. I'm not sure what kind of insults I'm setting up my face for, but I'll risk it.
So on that terrifying note, have a great weekend.
Monday, September 17, 2007
Current Events
1. I'm about to be stymied by the QuickBooks tutorial. That is how bad at Math I am.
2. The clinic is running smoothly.
3. The front desk girl is a talker. And she's the worst kind of talker because she is interesting and you get sucked into her stories and forget what it is you're supposed to be doing. I like her.
4. I miss Charles.
5. Gwennie and Emma took a RadKids self-defense class this past weekend. Gwennie got tricked into giving her password and Emma can't fight worth a damn. Hopefully they learned that they need to run fast.
I learned that I need to have them surgically tethered to me at all times.
The suited-up instructor got kicked in the balls twice by these giant 12 year old boys. He had to take a few breathers. Those boys seemed likely to actually be predators one day. One seemed quite homeschooled.
There was another kid with Down's Syndrome who was fantastic. The kids were supposed to practice walking past the "bad guy" and then running away from him when he tried to get them to come with him and wasn't able to tell them their password. The kid with Down's started what was supposed to be the nonchalant walking, but he was punching his fist into his other hand while he was doing it. It's hard to explain just how cool that was.
6. I think we are going to stay put for a weekend. We've been back to Houston for the past three, and we're about done-in. And one of my sisters is coming up, so we might as well give the poor pilot a rest.
7. Scrubs are comfy. I'm annoyed I didn't discover them sooner. The only problem is that the hotter looking ones are cut fashionably (which is not to say it aesthetically pleasingly) below the butt crack. I have no intention of giving anyone more than for what they paid. Well, maybe a little. But I do want them to return. It's all about balance.
2. The clinic is running smoothly.
3. The front desk girl is a talker. And she's the worst kind of talker because she is interesting and you get sucked into her stories and forget what it is you're supposed to be doing. I like her.
4. I miss Charles.
5. Gwennie and Emma took a RadKids self-defense class this past weekend. Gwennie got tricked into giving her password and Emma can't fight worth a damn. Hopefully they learned that they need to run fast.
I learned that I need to have them surgically tethered to me at all times.
The suited-up instructor got kicked in the balls twice by these giant 12 year old boys. He had to take a few breathers. Those boys seemed likely to actually be predators one day. One seemed quite homeschooled.
There was another kid with Down's Syndrome who was fantastic. The kids were supposed to practice walking past the "bad guy" and then running away from him when he tried to get them to come with him and wasn't able to tell them their password. The kid with Down's started what was supposed to be the nonchalant walking, but he was punching his fist into his other hand while he was doing it. It's hard to explain just how cool that was.
6. I think we are going to stay put for a weekend. We've been back to Houston for the past three, and we're about done-in. And one of my sisters is coming up, so we might as well give the poor pilot a rest.
7. Scrubs are comfy. I'm annoyed I didn't discover them sooner. The only problem is that the hotter looking ones are cut fashionably (which is not to say it aesthetically pleasingly) below the butt crack. I have no intention of giving anyone more than for what they paid. Well, maybe a little. But I do want them to return. It's all about balance.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Monday, September 10, 2007
so much depends upon an orange scooter...
As always happens when something important occurs in Real Life, blogging takes a backseat. As odd as it sounds, and as busy as I am, I don't want to get out of the habit. Blogging is my deal. It's helped me through so many moments in my life where I might have gone crazy from Events Beyond My Control.
And since I have nothing career-wise except helping Jethro with the clinic (and I'm more than fine with that), I'd like to have some kind of outlet. And this, dear friends, is it. It's not a lot, to be sure, but it is me and I need it.
Just had to get that out there.
-----------------------
Jethro, the girls and I have been running back and forth from New Town to Houston for two weekends now and are planning to go back again this weekend. We have a lot of crap at the old house to clear out, sell, or throw on a bonfire. It's amazing how much junk I considered important and still would if the thought of sifting through it didn't set my ADD into overdrive.
Anyway, this past weekend, Jethro, the girls and I stopped at my mom's house on the way back to New Town to say "hi" to my family and "happy birthday" to one of my sisters.
In the midst of our visit, my Lesbian Sister showed up looking quite eccentric with her hair windswept into a somewhat terrifying coiffure and wearing a bike helmet as well as a t-shirt that said I *heart* Frat Boys. She wears shirts like these to tease men then cock-block them into complete emasculation when she insists that she's gay. She intends the Patriarchy to suffer greatly at her hands. But I digress.
The girl had bought herself a little orange scooter and had driven about 40 miles out to my mom's house on some fairly speedy roads. She then proceeded to take my youngest sisters on it sans helmet, while I clucked my disapproval. And I'm a tool for doing it. I should have just punched her in the face and welded that helmet to their heads.
She then tried to make me let Gwennie and Emma on the scooter.
I said, "no, no, no."
She said I was one of "those" moms.
I said she sounded like a teenage drug dealer.
She said my children were going to be jealous of her children.
I said I was sorry I wasn't a cool Lesbian scooter-rider, but the answer was still "no," and any rebellion on their part would be paid for in belt welts. And I meant it.
She changed the subject. She told us how truck drivers had no appreciation for the fact that she was trying to save the environment and how she'd gotten into a middle-finger duel with one of them on the way.
Since she has converted to Lesbian Environmentalism, I have decided it is prudent to hold my tongue. Pointing out that truck drivers' more pressing concern of not running over idiot scooter-riders, takes somewhat of a precedent over an environmental agenda is like trying to convert a Jehovah's Witness to Satanism.
What is it with my family and joyless sanctimonious ideology? Can't they just relax for awhile? Haven't we been on that train long enough?
And since I have nothing career-wise except helping Jethro with the clinic (and I'm more than fine with that), I'd like to have some kind of outlet. And this, dear friends, is it. It's not a lot, to be sure, but it is me and I need it.
Just had to get that out there.
-----------------------
Jethro, the girls and I have been running back and forth from New Town to Houston for two weekends now and are planning to go back again this weekend. We have a lot of crap at the old house to clear out, sell, or throw on a bonfire. It's amazing how much junk I considered important and still would if the thought of sifting through it didn't set my ADD into overdrive.
Anyway, this past weekend, Jethro, the girls and I stopped at my mom's house on the way back to New Town to say "hi" to my family and "happy birthday" to one of my sisters.
In the midst of our visit, my Lesbian Sister showed up looking quite eccentric with her hair windswept into a somewhat terrifying coiffure and wearing a bike helmet as well as a t-shirt that said I *heart* Frat Boys. She wears shirts like these to tease men then cock-block them into complete emasculation when she insists that she's gay. She intends the Patriarchy to suffer greatly at her hands. But I digress.
The girl had bought herself a little orange scooter and had driven about 40 miles out to my mom's house on some fairly speedy roads. She then proceeded to take my youngest sisters on it sans helmet, while I clucked my disapproval. And I'm a tool for doing it. I should have just punched her in the face and welded that helmet to their heads.
She then tried to make me let Gwennie and Emma on the scooter.
I said, "no, no, no."
She said I was one of "those" moms.
I said she sounded like a teenage drug dealer.
She said my children were going to be jealous of her children.
I said I was sorry I wasn't a cool Lesbian scooter-rider, but the answer was still "no," and any rebellion on their part would be paid for in belt welts. And I meant it.
She changed the subject. She told us how truck drivers had no appreciation for the fact that she was trying to save the environment and how she'd gotten into a middle-finger duel with one of them on the way.
Since she has converted to Lesbian Environmentalism, I have decided it is prudent to hold my tongue. Pointing out that truck drivers' more pressing concern of not running over idiot scooter-riders, takes somewhat of a precedent over an environmental agenda is like trying to convert a Jehovah's Witness to Satanism.
What is it with my family and joyless sanctimonious ideology? Can't they just relax for awhile? Haven't we been on that train long enough?
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
And So It Begins...
I accidentally dropped a bar of Ivory soap in the toilet. It does, in fact, float.
----------------------------------
For anyone who doesn't know, we closed on the clinic and are now proud business owners. Jethro has worked the past two days and is kicking ass, if I may be so bold.
I feel a little useless now. I've schemed and dreamed for this clinic and I believe it's ours just on the strength of my determination. But now that everything is said and done, I'm not quite sure what to do with myself. I don't know the first thing about running a clinic, and there is a lady who has been there for years and knows everything backwards and forwards. It's a stupid idea to get rid of someone like that, so we'll keep her as long as we can afford her, which will hopefully be until she retires. I say we. What I really mean is Jethro. I keep forgetting that this is his deal now. I'm involved in an advisory capacity, of course, but it isn't my show to run. And I don't want it to be. I just have to keep reminding myself of that.
I guess I'll just try to find ways to market. More patients mean more money and we really really need it.
Anyway, I just wanted to blog briefly and update everyone as to our whereabouts.
----------------------------------
For anyone who doesn't know, we closed on the clinic and are now proud business owners. Jethro has worked the past two days and is kicking ass, if I may be so bold.
I feel a little useless now. I've schemed and dreamed for this clinic and I believe it's ours just on the strength of my determination. But now that everything is said and done, I'm not quite sure what to do with myself. I don't know the first thing about running a clinic, and there is a lady who has been there for years and knows everything backwards and forwards. It's a stupid idea to get rid of someone like that, so we'll keep her as long as we can afford her, which will hopefully be until she retires. I say we. What I really mean is Jethro. I keep forgetting that this is his deal now. I'm involved in an advisory capacity, of course, but it isn't my show to run. And I don't want it to be. I just have to keep reminding myself of that.
I guess I'll just try to find ways to market. More patients mean more money and we really really need it.
Anyway, I just wanted to blog briefly and update everyone as to our whereabouts.
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
Friday, August 31, 2007
Thursday, August 30, 2007
A Mounting Anger
The last of the South Korean hostages have been released, secured, no doubt, by one of the huge sums of money that have made hostage taking extremely profitable. I'm happy they've been released, but I know that money will translate directly into the murder of more men and women like Charles. Why we didn't have every media outlet screaming about the barbarity of this depraved act is beyond me. I mean, it had all the makings of a fantastic news story. Pretty, virtuous Asian girls, plenty of blood, a clear bad guy, what more could be asked except for them to be forced to put some panties on their heads (which they are lucky to still have)?
And where were the governments? South Korea is an ally of the West. Why weren't we threatening the complete annihilation of the Taliban and everyone else within a 500 mile radius? That these inbred queers got away with it is nothing short of vomitous.
Meanwhile back at the ranch, we are worried about Muslims having foot baths on publicly funded school campuses. I'd say if we're going that far, let's give them showers and free soap. That way they can be holy, and the rest of us don't have to smell them.
I found out some more of the details surrounding Charles' death. That he didn't suffer is the most merciful thing. Other than that, it's pretty gruesome. I don't want to repeat any specifics here, because it's too difficult to write about. When you talk about it, you can fill in the gaps with innuendo and inflection. No such thing with the written word. And I must stop before I break down and render myself useless for the rest of the day.
And where were the governments? South Korea is an ally of the West. Why weren't we threatening the complete annihilation of the Taliban and everyone else within a 500 mile radius? That these inbred queers got away with it is nothing short of vomitous.
Meanwhile back at the ranch, we are worried about Muslims having foot baths on publicly funded school campuses. I'd say if we're going that far, let's give them showers and free soap. That way they can be holy, and the rest of us don't have to smell them.
I found out some more of the details surrounding Charles' death. That he didn't suffer is the most merciful thing. Other than that, it's pretty gruesome. I don't want to repeat any specifics here, because it's too difficult to write about. When you talk about it, you can fill in the gaps with innuendo and inflection. No such thing with the written word. And I must stop before I break down and render myself useless for the rest of the day.
Monday, August 27, 2007
Moving Day
We moved!!!
I was sorry to leave Greater Houston on such a somber note, but it has been in the works for some time.
Let me just say right now that I love where we are living. For safety reasons, I'm not going to reveal exactly where we are, but I am so happy to be here. The girls' school is beautiful and brand new, the neighborhood is very cute and there are lots of little neighbor children for them to play with.
Our friends Jen and her husband came to help us move and they were amazing. They've moved a lot over the years, and they have some mad moving skillz. Despite Jen's little girl damaging a corner of the wall with her forehead, their girls and my girls had the most fun ever, I think. The only thing wrong with them coming up here was realizing how much I am going to miss them.
I'm tired though. Jethro had to back to Houston to work one last week, and I am up here alone with the kids. I hate it and I am lonely without him even though it's just for a few days. I simply do not understand how military wives deal with it. Bless them.
I'm just trying to stay positive and busy. Charles' death really threw me for a loop. I find out now, and it isn't exactly being mentioned within our ever-vigilant-of-whatever-half-naked-celebretard-has-shaved-her-head/cooch-and-acquired-herpes media, but there is quite a bit of fighting going on in Afghanistan right now. You know. The fuckers who are hiding bin Laden. Pray for our troops and that our mission is accomplished.
I was sorry to leave Greater Houston on such a somber note, but it has been in the works for some time.
Let me just say right now that I love where we are living. For safety reasons, I'm not going to reveal exactly where we are, but I am so happy to be here. The girls' school is beautiful and brand new, the neighborhood is very cute and there are lots of little neighbor children for them to play with.
Our friends Jen and her husband came to help us move and they were amazing. They've moved a lot over the years, and they have some mad moving skillz. Despite Jen's little girl damaging a corner of the wall with her forehead, their girls and my girls had the most fun ever, I think. The only thing wrong with them coming up here was realizing how much I am going to miss them.
I'm tired though. Jethro had to back to Houston to work one last week, and I am up here alone with the kids. I hate it and I am lonely without him even though it's just for a few days. I simply do not understand how military wives deal with it. Bless them.
I'm just trying to stay positive and busy. Charles' death really threw me for a loop. I find out now, and it isn't exactly being mentioned within our ever-vigilant-of-whatever-half-naked-celebretard-has-shaved-her-head/cooch-and-acquired-herpes media, but there is quite a bit of fighting going on in Afghanistan right now. You know. The fuckers who are hiding bin Laden. Pray for our troops and that our mission is accomplished.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Quo Vadis?
So for the final farewell to Charles at the bar, Jethro, Benton and I had a picture of him blown up and framed. It was great since he even made it into a few pictures with us, as you can see:
However, not thinking terribly far ahead leaves us with somewhat of a dilemma - one Charles himself would no doubt find hilarious.
What do we do with him?
It's a humongous photo - bigger than our family portrait. I love Charles, but I was thinking of a somewhat more discreet personal memorial. I could make-out with this one. Jethro suggested hanging it on the ceiling over the bed that way he could pretend he was high-fiving him from time to time when the occasion called for it.
Someone else suggested meeting up in August every year and drawing names for who gets to keep it for the next year. It's a sweet idea, but I think it would be too awkward. We don't exactly want to be raffling him off once a year.We thought of letting them hang it in the bar, but we don't want anyone being disrespectful towards him even accidentally. And as we all know, you can't always count on respect in a drinking establishment.
We are also considering donating it to the college we all attended, but I don't know where they would put it. No one else has a picture like that anywhere and the only place I think Charles would have appreciated being hanged is in the dorms, watching the drunk hotties float by.
So I think we are going to have it engraved and give it to his parents. I don't want to upset them with it, though. It is ginormous.
Any thoughts would be appreciated.
--------------------------------------
Pics from Saturday night:
Friends again
Me and two girls
To Charles
These gorgeous photos are courtesy of Jen of Therapy Eggs.
Monday, August 20, 2007
TAPS
The funeral was the most terrible and magnificent one I've ever witnessed. Jethro and I and our friend, Mason clung to each other and sobbed as taps played.
I had never been to a military funeral before. You know what they do, as we've seen it parodied a million times, but seeing it for one of your dearest friends brings a whole new dimension of beautiful pain and overwhelms you with the magnitude of his sacrifice.
I choked out, "Goodbye, Charles" at the casket and that was about all I could handle. Jethro, Mason, and I went to our cars to take a few swigs.
Liquor and sympathy have been about all that's gotten me through the past week.
I must say though, that in our grief, all of our friends have come back together. Petty differences and real hurts have been set aside and forgotten. I made amends with my former best friend and Jethro's ex-girlfriend (Micky) after an 8 year grudge. I loved her through all of it, and regretted our lost friendship, but was far too stubborn and prideful to reconcile. I emailed her on Tuesday evening asking her to forgive my part in our fight and asking for us to be good again. She emailed me back a beautiful response and asked to meet the following day at a mutual friend's house.
As I walked in the door and saw her, we ran to each other and hugged tightly and cried. We talked for hours. I found out Charles was the last guy she hooked up with before she settled down with her husband. I told her I once made-out with Charles and Jethro in the same evening. She said that had her beat.
Saturday evening after the funeral, we and all our friends went to Griff's Tavern to celebrate his life. Jethro and I and our friend Benton had gone to Kinkos and had a picture of Charles blown up and framed. We set it up on the back patio and prepared to settle in for a night of toasts.
As we were lighting the candles around it, two young men came out and asked if this was a private party or if they could come hang out also. You know those awkward moments when you don't quite know what to say? It wasn't technically a private party, but we didn't want them to feel embarrassed when they realized why we were all gathered. Somehow I managed to say the right thing. I said, "If you want to come have a drink to our friend who lost his life in Afghanistan, you are more than welcome to stay out here with us."
The young men also did the right thing. They fell silent and walked over to his picture. After a respectful moment, one of them said they'd both be honored to drink to him.
And that was how Charles would have wanted it. Everybody drinking.
Micky and I made sure to tell those guys how Charles was with the ladies. I don't think there was a chick in the bar he hadn't snogged at some point. They were impressed.
Jethro and I spend a quiet day yesterday and I finally stopped breathing out steaming clouds of whisky.
I don't think I will have closure until this war is ended and we have won, but I feel a sense of calm and kindliness towards everyone I know. Everyone from the internet to real life has been tremendously supportive and kind. And I want to thank everyone for their lovely messages and Jack, Dick and Trashman, and Tinyhands for their phone calls. They seriously kept us going over the past week.
I had never been to a military funeral before. You know what they do, as we've seen it parodied a million times, but seeing it for one of your dearest friends brings a whole new dimension of beautiful pain and overwhelms you with the magnitude of his sacrifice.
I choked out, "Goodbye, Charles" at the casket and that was about all I could handle. Jethro, Mason, and I went to our cars to take a few swigs.
Liquor and sympathy have been about all that's gotten me through the past week.
I must say though, that in our grief, all of our friends have come back together. Petty differences and real hurts have been set aside and forgotten. I made amends with my former best friend and Jethro's ex-girlfriend (Micky) after an 8 year grudge. I loved her through all of it, and regretted our lost friendship, but was far too stubborn and prideful to reconcile. I emailed her on Tuesday evening asking her to forgive my part in our fight and asking for us to be good again. She emailed me back a beautiful response and asked to meet the following day at a mutual friend's house.
As I walked in the door and saw her, we ran to each other and hugged tightly and cried. We talked for hours. I found out Charles was the last guy she hooked up with before she settled down with her husband. I told her I once made-out with Charles and Jethro in the same evening. She said that had her beat.
Saturday evening after the funeral, we and all our friends went to Griff's Tavern to celebrate his life. Jethro and I and our friend Benton had gone to Kinkos and had a picture of Charles blown up and framed. We set it up on the back patio and prepared to settle in for a night of toasts.
As we were lighting the candles around it, two young men came out and asked if this was a private party or if they could come hang out also. You know those awkward moments when you don't quite know what to say? It wasn't technically a private party, but we didn't want them to feel embarrassed when they realized why we were all gathered. Somehow I managed to say the right thing. I said, "If you want to come have a drink to our friend who lost his life in Afghanistan, you are more than welcome to stay out here with us."
The young men also did the right thing. They fell silent and walked over to his picture. After a respectful moment, one of them said they'd both be honored to drink to him.
And that was how Charles would have wanted it. Everybody drinking.
Micky and I made sure to tell those guys how Charles was with the ladies. I don't think there was a chick in the bar he hadn't snogged at some point. They were impressed.
Jethro and I spend a quiet day yesterday and I finally stopped breathing out steaming clouds of whisky.
I don't think I will have closure until this war is ended and we have won, but I feel a sense of calm and kindliness towards everyone I know. Everyone from the internet to real life has been tremendously supportive and kind. And I want to thank everyone for their lovely messages and Jack, Dick and Trashman, and Tinyhands for their phone calls. They seriously kept us going over the past week.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
I guess I don't mind admitting here that I'm not doing so well. Neither is Jethro. Even though we want to be tough, I don't think that's possible. The type of person Charles was doesn't make that possible.
If I had to describe him succinctly, I'd say he was 1/3 class clown, 1/3 party boy, and 1/3 chick magnet. He was the type of guy everyone wants to come to their party because you know it will be a good time even if someone ends up in the hospital, which happened on more than one occasion. There were some great times -mostly involving fire, Everclear, and someone's leftover prescription of codeine. And maybe a ferret or a squirrel.
I found out Monday night. A friend of mine called and asked if I was driving. I said no. She told me what happened and I started screaming. Jethro knew it was something bad. He also knew the girl who called me was very close to him. He mouthed "Charles?" I nodded. Then his phone rang.
When I came back to my senses, I realized I was pounding on the stairs and yelling no no no no no no over and over. My poor friend was near hysterics herself, so I tried to calm down and apologize. We agreed that we needed to contact as many people as we could so they wouldn't have to hear it on the 10:00 news. As bad as it was, that would have been much much worse.
I found that telling someone is just as horrible as hearing it. If I never have to do that again, it will be too soon.
Jethro and I decided the girl who called me shouldn't be alone, so we left the kids with his parents and went to her place. We were all still in shock. Jeth and I left around 3am, but none of us really slept.
Yesterday was bad. I cried in spurts all day. Jethro came home for lunch and we both started crying. Somehow it is worse knowing that the person you love most in the world is hurting as badly as you are.
People called all day. I cried with every one of them. We met a bunch of friends at a restaurant by our house. Jeth and I had a beer dinner. One girl came that I hadn't spoken to in 8 years because of a falling out. We hugged each other and cried and said we were sorry. Then we laughed because she is practically a midget and her head had nearly disappeared between my boobs. And that was the evening. Tears and laughter.
Jethro and I went home and proceeded to get bombed. Not to brag or anything, but we could be professional mourners.
Jeth eventually passed out and I left a bunch of drunken rambles all over the internet. I think I was even in a chat room.
Charles left us a lot to laugh about. He was one funny motherfucker. His nickname was Asshole - given him by one of the many psycho-chicks he toyed with, and worn by him with something like honor - if that tells you anything. I used to curse him for destroying my left big toe when he forced me to kick him once. Now I'm glad and I hope it never heals.
So now I'm going to get up, wash my face, and and press on. Obviously we are not moving until after the funeral, but we are going to have to move eventually, so I need to get going.
Thank you all so much for your condolences. Your words have been so precious to Jethro and me and we treasure each one of them. Keep Charles's family in your thoughts and prayers this week. He was their only child.
If I had to describe him succinctly, I'd say he was 1/3 class clown, 1/3 party boy, and 1/3 chick magnet. He was the type of guy everyone wants to come to their party because you know it will be a good time even if someone ends up in the hospital, which happened on more than one occasion. There were some great times -mostly involving fire, Everclear, and someone's leftover prescription of codeine. And maybe a ferret or a squirrel.
I found out Monday night. A friend of mine called and asked if I was driving. I said no. She told me what happened and I started screaming. Jethro knew it was something bad. He also knew the girl who called me was very close to him. He mouthed "Charles?" I nodded. Then his phone rang.
When I came back to my senses, I realized I was pounding on the stairs and yelling no no no no no no over and over. My poor friend was near hysterics herself, so I tried to calm down and apologize. We agreed that we needed to contact as many people as we could so they wouldn't have to hear it on the 10:00 news. As bad as it was, that would have been much much worse.
I found that telling someone is just as horrible as hearing it. If I never have to do that again, it will be too soon.
Jethro and I decided the girl who called me shouldn't be alone, so we left the kids with his parents and went to her place. We were all still in shock. Jeth and I left around 3am, but none of us really slept.
Yesterday was bad. I cried in spurts all day. Jethro came home for lunch and we both started crying. Somehow it is worse knowing that the person you love most in the world is hurting as badly as you are.
People called all day. I cried with every one of them. We met a bunch of friends at a restaurant by our house. Jeth and I had a beer dinner. One girl came that I hadn't spoken to in 8 years because of a falling out. We hugged each other and cried and said we were sorry. Then we laughed because she is practically a midget and her head had nearly disappeared between my boobs. And that was the evening. Tears and laughter.
Jethro and I went home and proceeded to get bombed. Not to brag or anything, but we could be professional mourners.
Jeth eventually passed out and I left a bunch of drunken rambles all over the internet. I think I was even in a chat room.
Charles left us a lot to laugh about. He was one funny motherfucker. His nickname was Asshole - given him by one of the many psycho-chicks he toyed with, and worn by him with something like honor - if that tells you anything. I used to curse him for destroying my left big toe when he forced me to kick him once. Now I'm glad and I hope it never heals.
So now I'm going to get up, wash my face, and and press on. Obviously we are not moving until after the funeral, but we are going to have to move eventually, so I need to get going.
Thank you all so much for your condolences. Your words have been so precious to Jethro and me and we treasure each one of them. Keep Charles's family in your thoughts and prayers this week. He was their only child.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Carlos
One of our dearest and best friends was killed by a roadside bomb this week in Afghanistan. I've written about "Carlos" many times in the past, but I hoped and believed I'd never have to write something like this.
Everything I try to say sounds so maudlin and wouldn't begin to do him justice.
But the truth is there are a countless number of broken hearts tonight, mine and Jethro's among them.
I am ashamed to say that I didn't take the news with anything resembling courage. I want to be strong and brave just like he was, and I will try, but he was simply on another level.
I know in my heart why he went, and I know in my heart why he fought. And I will carry that with me for the rest of my life. His fight will be mine.
He left his job, his family, his girlfriend and his friends to make a better world for those who had nothing, and he deserves the sleep of the just.
Rest in peace my brother and my true friend. I loved you and will love you always.
More Carlos stories here, here, here, and here.
Jethro shares his remembrances.
And I would like to thank Dick for being around tonight.
Everything I try to say sounds so maudlin and wouldn't begin to do him justice.
But the truth is there are a countless number of broken hearts tonight, mine and Jethro's among them.
I am ashamed to say that I didn't take the news with anything resembling courage. I want to be strong and brave just like he was, and I will try, but he was simply on another level.
I know in my heart why he went, and I know in my heart why he fought. And I will carry that with me for the rest of my life. His fight will be mine.
He left his job, his family, his girlfriend and his friends to make a better world for those who had nothing, and he deserves the sleep of the just.
Rest in peace my brother and my true friend. I loved you and will love you always.
More Carlos stories here, here, here, and here.
Jethro shares his remembrances.
And I would like to thank Dick for being around tonight.
Monday, August 13, 2007
Friday, August 10, 2007
Fancy
We had a birthday party for my grandmother last night (the Jewish one from NY). She turned 79. Someone brought a Karaoke machine and I must say there is nothing quite like singing "Fancy" in front of a horde of relatives; looking directly at your mom and singing about becoming a whore. I think I hate that song a little bit, but no one can belt it like Reba.
We are somewhat beyond busy, but I did want to take a moment to let you know that "if you just be nice to the gentlemen, Fancy, they'll be nice to you."
Peace. Or War. Whichever you prefer.
We are somewhat beyond busy, but I did want to take a moment to let you know that "if you just be nice to the gentlemen, Fancy, they'll be nice to you."
Peace. Or War. Whichever you prefer.
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
A Bad Day
I was at the grocery store yesterday with my grandmother and the girls. She wanted t0 stop and pick up a few bagels. We were debating over cream cheese, when I saw an elderly man pass out next to the butter.
I must admit I kind of freaked out. It was not pretty. It looked like he was having a seizure of some kind, and when he had fallen, his back was a little arched and he fell directly onto the back of his head.
The first thing I did was call 911 along with another lady who was standing there. Then I went over to the man. He was clenched up all over - eyes, teeth, hands, and his arm was spasming. Blood was pouring out of the back of his head and pooling all over the floor. I took one look, jumped up and grabbed Gwennie and Emma and told them to turn around and stay out of the way, and that an ambulence was coming. I went back to the man. He was jerking a little, but then he started breathing again very laboredly - gurgling almost. I thought he was going to die right there in front of me.
I had absolutely no idea what to do. I took his pulse, which didn't tell me anything other than that he had one, and basically just tried to keep him still. I wanted to try to stop the bleeding in his head, but the other side of my brain was telling me not to move anyone with a head injury. I simply didn't know what to do. I was praying like an broke televangelist. It just didn't seem like the moment to question the nature of God.
My grandmother was actually very calm. She kept talking to the man and telling him stay still and that help was coming even though he couldn't hear. She also directed the idiot managers to call for anyone in the store with medical experience. A few people came over with a first aid kit, which seemed ludicrously inadequate given the amount of blood on the floor.
The man seemed like he was starting to come to. He opened his eyes and started moving, not in a spasmodic fashion like before, but as if he were trying to get something out of his pocket. We thought maybe he had some medication or someting in there, so I checked it for him. All I got were his keys and some change. We checked to see if he was wearing a medical bracelet or necklace, but he wasn't.
He was becoming more agitated and he kept trying to lift his head. Obviously, he couldn't do what he wanted and it kept hitting the floor again. That was terrifying. I told the first aid ladies who were wearing gloves to put some of the paper towels they'd opened under his head. They told me that they weren't supposed to elevate his head, and I said, "yeah, but he keeps smashing it into the floor. He's going to hurt himself worse." The next time he lifted his head they put a roll of paper towels underneath. I wasn't sure if that was the right thing to do, but I just couldn't see the sense in letting him hit his head over and over.
About that time, the EMTs showed up, and I went back over to Gwennie and Emma. They were hugging each tightly and shivering. We were in the refrigerated section after all. I felt badly that I'd made them stand in the cold. I would have understood if they'd moved toward the aisles, but there was probably that note in my voice that compelled the strictest obedience.
I gave them hugs and told them that it was going to be okay, that the ambulence was there now, and that I was proud of them for doing exactly as I said.
I felt stupid and useless. I suppose I should have just called 911 and gotten the kids out of there. It wasn't as if I had any idea what to do, and I probably needlessly exposed them to trauma. Neither of them wanted to talk about it.
I hope the man is okay, but I think there is a good possibility he didn't make it, or at least won't make it too much longer. But I don't really know anything.
So I'm exhausted today, since I didn't sleep well last night. I'm hoping I can catch a nap after lunch.
I must admit I kind of freaked out. It was not pretty. It looked like he was having a seizure of some kind, and when he had fallen, his back was a little arched and he fell directly onto the back of his head.
The first thing I did was call 911 along with another lady who was standing there. Then I went over to the man. He was clenched up all over - eyes, teeth, hands, and his arm was spasming. Blood was pouring out of the back of his head and pooling all over the floor. I took one look, jumped up and grabbed Gwennie and Emma and told them to turn around and stay out of the way, and that an ambulence was coming. I went back to the man. He was jerking a little, but then he started breathing again very laboredly - gurgling almost. I thought he was going to die right there in front of me.
I had absolutely no idea what to do. I took his pulse, which didn't tell me anything other than that he had one, and basically just tried to keep him still. I wanted to try to stop the bleeding in his head, but the other side of my brain was telling me not to move anyone with a head injury. I simply didn't know what to do. I was praying like an broke televangelist. It just didn't seem like the moment to question the nature of God.
My grandmother was actually very calm. She kept talking to the man and telling him stay still and that help was coming even though he couldn't hear. She also directed the idiot managers to call for anyone in the store with medical experience. A few people came over with a first aid kit, which seemed ludicrously inadequate given the amount of blood on the floor.
The man seemed like he was starting to come to. He opened his eyes and started moving, not in a spasmodic fashion like before, but as if he were trying to get something out of his pocket. We thought maybe he had some medication or someting in there, so I checked it for him. All I got were his keys and some change. We checked to see if he was wearing a medical bracelet or necklace, but he wasn't.
He was becoming more agitated and he kept trying to lift his head. Obviously, he couldn't do what he wanted and it kept hitting the floor again. That was terrifying. I told the first aid ladies who were wearing gloves to put some of the paper towels they'd opened under his head. They told me that they weren't supposed to elevate his head, and I said, "yeah, but he keeps smashing it into the floor. He's going to hurt himself worse." The next time he lifted his head they put a roll of paper towels underneath. I wasn't sure if that was the right thing to do, but I just couldn't see the sense in letting him hit his head over and over.
About that time, the EMTs showed up, and I went back over to Gwennie and Emma. They were hugging each tightly and shivering. We were in the refrigerated section after all. I felt badly that I'd made them stand in the cold. I would have understood if they'd moved toward the aisles, but there was probably that note in my voice that compelled the strictest obedience.
I gave them hugs and told them that it was going to be okay, that the ambulence was there now, and that I was proud of them for doing exactly as I said.
I felt stupid and useless. I suppose I should have just called 911 and gotten the kids out of there. It wasn't as if I had any idea what to do, and I probably needlessly exposed them to trauma. Neither of them wanted to talk about it.
I hope the man is okay, but I think there is a good possibility he didn't make it, or at least won't make it too much longer. But I don't really know anything.
So I'm exhausted today, since I didn't sleep well last night. I'm hoping I can catch a nap after lunch.
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Faster!
I have been having no luck lately with the sex. Aside from the lack of interest (which I am convinced is because I am so preoccupied with the move), my vibrator caught on fire a couple months ago. Or at least it started smoking and melting. It no longer works.
I don't know what went wrong, but we were in the middle of some good stuff, and I was like, "Yeah. Yeah. Unhh. Unhh. Oh Fuck. Oh Fuck. Oh FUCK! STOP. What's that smell?
Jethro: "You don't smell that bad. Quit worrying about it. Just keep going."
Zelda: "No, fool. Something is on fire."
Jethro: "Yeah, baby. You're smokin'"
Zelda: "Wow. Thanks. You're fuckin' huge.
Jethro: "No, I think it's the battery compartment."
Zelda: "The battery compartment isn't that big. And it's kind of squared off and sharp. Oh, you mean it's on fire."
It was, in fact, the battery compartment. I think the batteries melted to the inside. It will never be the same.
And yesterday afternoon, I was suffering (and I mean suffering) from a caffeine high. I am quite susceptible to caffeine. One cup of coffee makes me slightly insane. A large Starbucks Iced Mocha Latte makes me seizurey. During a brief moment of lucidity, I thought I'd ask Jethro to gimme a little in hopes that it would dissipate.
Let's just say that yelling "faster" when you're on a caffeine high doesn't mean the same thing as yelling faster when you are not. I only felt my demands had been met once poor Jethro had reached the previous speed of my now-melted vibrator. It didn't do much to bring me down, but it was fun. I just hope Jethro didn't give himself Shaken Baby Syndrome.
I don't know what went wrong, but we were in the middle of some good stuff, and I was like, "Yeah. Yeah. Unhh. Unhh. Oh Fuck. Oh Fuck. Oh FUCK! STOP. What's that smell?
Jethro: "You don't smell that bad. Quit worrying about it. Just keep going."
Zelda: "No, fool. Something is on fire."
Jethro: "Yeah, baby. You're smokin'"
Zelda: "Wow. Thanks. You're fuckin' huge.
Jethro: "No, I think it's the battery compartment."
Zelda: "The battery compartment isn't that big. And it's kind of squared off and sharp. Oh, you mean it's on fire."
It was, in fact, the battery compartment. I think the batteries melted to the inside. It will never be the same.
And yesterday afternoon, I was suffering (and I mean suffering) from a caffeine high. I am quite susceptible to caffeine. One cup of coffee makes me slightly insane. A large Starbucks Iced Mocha Latte makes me seizurey. During a brief moment of lucidity, I thought I'd ask Jethro to gimme a little in hopes that it would dissipate.
Let's just say that yelling "faster" when you're on a caffeine high doesn't mean the same thing as yelling faster when you are not. I only felt my demands had been met once poor Jethro had reached the previous speed of my now-melted vibrator. It didn't do much to bring me down, but it was fun. I just hope Jethro didn't give himself Shaken Baby Syndrome.
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
I Don't Have Anything But Mounds of Crap and a Cartoon
I know I've posted it before, but it's still funny.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Blog Lint
Gwennie and Emma are head over heels in love with Pokemon. Emma insisted I watch a show with them because it would teach me "how to battle." They draw the different pokemons, cut them out, then duel. Gwennie always wins, but it is hilarious to hear Emma shout "DODGE" and really try to remove her pokemon from the path of Gwennie's pokemon's imaginary assault.
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So if you've read Jethro's blog, you'll know that Jethro turned in his resignation and we're in the process of buying our very own clinic. In actuality, nothing has been finalized, but we decided that even if everything falls through, Jethro would want to quit anyway. He's simply not getting paid enough and there are about a million things he is qualified to do which would pay a whole lot more. So that's where we're at. It's all topsy turvey, but I feel very peaceful about it. When it gets to the point where uncertainty is better than working for a crazy, hairy boss, it's time to go.
The clinic we're buying is in Another City, so we'll be saying adios to the good ol' Houston swamp which cannot be soon enough as far as I'm concerned. I'm sorting and packing shit, and discovering all manner of crazy stuff I'd thought was long gone. I have discovered several hidden caches of condoms, which was obviously a futile attempt to maintain some type of privacy from the children, so we probably won't have to buy any for awhile. Buying a clinic is financially daunting, so we must save where we can.
*note to self: check expiration dates
Blogging may or may not be sparse during the transitional period, but I will let you know if I find anything else of interest.
-------------------------
So if you've read Jethro's blog, you'll know that Jethro turned in his resignation and we're in the process of buying our very own clinic. In actuality, nothing has been finalized, but we decided that even if everything falls through, Jethro would want to quit anyway. He's simply not getting paid enough and there are about a million things he is qualified to do which would pay a whole lot more. So that's where we're at. It's all topsy turvey, but I feel very peaceful about it. When it gets to the point where uncertainty is better than working for a crazy, hairy boss, it's time to go.
The clinic we're buying is in Another City, so we'll be saying adios to the good ol' Houston swamp which cannot be soon enough as far as I'm concerned. I'm sorting and packing shit, and discovering all manner of crazy stuff I'd thought was long gone. I have discovered several hidden caches of condoms, which was obviously a futile attempt to maintain some type of privacy from the children, so we probably won't have to buy any for awhile. Buying a clinic is financially daunting, so we must save where we can.
*note to self: check expiration dates
Blogging may or may not be sparse during the transitional period, but I will let you know if I find anything else of interest.
Monday, July 30, 2007
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Dork Alert!!!
I stood in line to get the last Harry Potter book at midnight on Friday. The Barnes and Noble was where the fluffers went (and waited until 3am for their book). The hard-core found a 24 hour Kroger. As I stood in line at the Kroger, a healthy, speckled adolescent male started skanking and singing a little song about Severus Snape. The worst part about the whole excursion was that I couldn't make fun of him because I was ahead of him in line.
But I finished the book at 10:00am on Saturday morning having read through the night. I've been somewhat disoriented through the weekend. Jethro has been surprisingly understanding. I think it's because we had some intercourse. Amazing what that stuff can do.
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My friend Lyllia recently showed me an article in the Houston Press about circumcised men yearning for their long-lost foreskins. This led to an internet search which led to lots of men using any excuse to post a picture of their Beloveds. I'm thinking most of these men need to think less about regrowing their foreskins and more about regrowing their penises.
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We're going to be out of town for a few days. Fun for us, but unfornate for anyone who checks back and is forced to see the foot nipple yet again.
But I finished the book at 10:00am on Saturday morning having read through the night. I've been somewhat disoriented through the weekend. Jethro has been surprisingly understanding. I think it's because we had some intercourse. Amazing what that stuff can do.
---------------------------------------
My friend Lyllia recently showed me an article in the Houston Press about circumcised men yearning for their long-lost foreskins. This led to an internet search which led to lots of men using any excuse to post a picture of their Beloveds. I'm thinking most of these men need to think less about regrowing their foreskins and more about regrowing their penises.
----------------------------------------
We're going to be out of town for a few days. Fun for us, but unfornate for anyone who checks back and is forced to see the foot nipple yet again.
Friday, July 20, 2007
I'm Headed For An Early Grave
Gwennie: Hey Mom? Do you have some whipped cream and a feather?
Zelda (blinking madly): Uhhhhh..... Why on God's green earth do you want them? And what makes you think I would have them?
Gwennie: First of all, Emma is asleep and I want to put the whipped cream in her hand and tickle her nose with the feather. And second of all, I'm just asking.
Zelda (blinking madly): Uhhhhh..... Why on God's green earth do you want them? And what makes you think I would have them?
Gwennie: First of all, Emma is asleep and I want to put the whipped cream in her hand and tickle her nose with the feather. And second of all, I'm just asking.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Whoopin's & Wedgies
I have two bruises on the inside of my knees - gifts from my pole dancing exploits. My SIL bought a pole and set it up in the living room. She told my in-laws she was taking an acrobatic class kind of like Cirque du Soleil. Her dad isn't buying it.
But he is amused at G's and E's antics on the pole. Gwennie shimmies up that thing like a monkey. And by that I mean she really looks like a monkey. I was not previously aware of what hand-like feet that child possessed. Emma is a little more cautious, and her toes aren't quite as long. Gwennie tried to shove her behind up the pole and she tooted on Gwennie's head. It was hilarious.
And speaking of hilarious, Gwennie and Emma had a bet going yesterday that the other couldn't go 24 hours without watching TV. Gwennie even wrote up a contract. She said, "The loser has to dye their hair red."
Emma replied, "Dying your hair isn't bad. Whoopin's are bad. And wedgies. Whoopin's and wedgies."
They decided to bet a dollar each. They lasted until 4:00pm, then it started raining.
They mutually agreed to end the bet and Gwennie ritually destroyed the contract.
But he is amused at G's and E's antics on the pole. Gwennie shimmies up that thing like a monkey. And by that I mean she really looks like a monkey. I was not previously aware of what hand-like feet that child possessed. Emma is a little more cautious, and her toes aren't quite as long. Gwennie tried to shove her behind up the pole and she tooted on Gwennie's head. It was hilarious.
And speaking of hilarious, Gwennie and Emma had a bet going yesterday that the other couldn't go 24 hours without watching TV. Gwennie even wrote up a contract. She said, "The loser has to dye their hair red."
Emma replied, "Dying your hair isn't bad. Whoopin's are bad. And wedgies. Whoopin's and wedgies."
They decided to bet a dollar each. They lasted until 4:00pm, then it started raining.
They mutually agreed to end the bet and Gwennie ritually destroyed the contract.
Monday, July 16, 2007
An Interesting Weekend
My sister-in-law talked me into and signed me up for an introductory Striptease/Pole dancing class. She decided to take it awhile back, and she loved it so much she has continued on and convinced an untold number of women to give it a try, myself included.
I enjoyed it even though there were a few reasons I might not have.
First of all, the group I was in were all work out partners. I haven't really worked out regularly since high school. I know. It's a miracle I'm not 400 lbs. They were all in shape and used to following instructions.
I wasn't.
Secondly, I'm jaded. This is a sad consequence of spending too much time on the internet. You hear all the good one-liners, inside jokes, and sexual innuendo, before anyone else does. And since I have the attention span of a child who is being punished without tv, I get bored quickly with redundancy.
It was a good class, though. I can see why women would really enjoy it and how it could be a huge confidence booster especially for women who have been in bad relationships or have mother issues. It is not the workout class for me, but it made me see the importance of regular exercise. The sexual empowerment, however is not something I need. I have my shtick worked out for the most part, and it tends to be more cerebral than overtly sexual, although I use my knockers as bait frequently. They make intelligent discussion more palatable somehow.
Anyway, the class itself was a riot. It was a lot of sexy Pilates/yoga for the most part. The instructor was a sweet, silly, maternal woman, hell-bent on seeing our hoo-hoos in the air as much as possible; and she mentioned our sexy asses frequently.
My position on the floor was not conducive to the spread eagle she wanted us to do at one point. I had to do a half spread eagle while my other leg rested against the wall. Finally I had to face the instructor with my spread eagle and since I had been sweating for about 20 minutes by that point, I wondered if I was going to make her rue the day she ever decided this kind of thing was a good career choice.
The worst part for me was a move where we had to stick our asses in the air and lie, boobs down, flat on the floor. Everyone else's faces were touching the floor and I was still a good few inches above it.
The best part was *Raquelle. She was a teacher in training who was so beautiful, you couldn't even remember to be jealous. You just kind of thanked God He'd seen fit to make such a amazing creature and that you were privileged enough to catch a glimpse.
She was quite tall with long, flowing dark hair, perfect skin, big, dark eyes, and the sweetest face.
Her body was amazing. She had gorgeous boobs. Not too big, not too small, high and perky - probably just over a handful. I'm pretty good at guessing, and I'd say they were real too.
Her waist was narrow and her stomach was completely flat without looking overly toned.
I'm no good at describing women's tushes, but hers was luscious.
She had legs that went on for miles and she wasn't even wearing heels.
At the end of the class, the instructor and Raquelle did a demonstration of their art. God bless the instructor, who was lovely even in her gigantic knee pads, but I wanted her to move her granny-pantied behind out of the way so I could watch Raquelle. She was so incredibly graceful. She did all the sexy moves we'd done during the class, but she actually made them look sexy. And when she swung her perfect ass around the pole and wrapped her legs around it, well... all I can say is that the gentlemen (and ladies of a certain persuasion) of Houston better get down on their knees and start praying she goes public.
Yesterday, was a whole other story. I. Was. Dying. My butt hurt. My abs hurt. My arm muscles hurt. The untouchable place between my shoulder blades hurt. A good hurt, no question, but I was moving a little slowly and walking a little funny. Today is more of same. Maybe I'll break out Carmen Electra and see if that dumb slut can help.
*name changed
I enjoyed it even though there were a few reasons I might not have.
First of all, the group I was in were all work out partners. I haven't really worked out regularly since high school. I know. It's a miracle I'm not 400 lbs. They were all in shape and used to following instructions.
I wasn't.
Secondly, I'm jaded. This is a sad consequence of spending too much time on the internet. You hear all the good one-liners, inside jokes, and sexual innuendo, before anyone else does. And since I have the attention span of a child who is being punished without tv, I get bored quickly with redundancy.
It was a good class, though. I can see why women would really enjoy it and how it could be a huge confidence booster especially for women who have been in bad relationships or have mother issues. It is not the workout class for me, but it made me see the importance of regular exercise. The sexual empowerment, however is not something I need. I have my shtick worked out for the most part, and it tends to be more cerebral than overtly sexual, although I use my knockers as bait frequently. They make intelligent discussion more palatable somehow.
Anyway, the class itself was a riot. It was a lot of sexy Pilates/yoga for the most part. The instructor was a sweet, silly, maternal woman, hell-bent on seeing our hoo-hoos in the air as much as possible; and she mentioned our sexy asses frequently.
My position on the floor was not conducive to the spread eagle she wanted us to do at one point. I had to do a half spread eagle while my other leg rested against the wall. Finally I had to face the instructor with my spread eagle and since I had been sweating for about 20 minutes by that point, I wondered if I was going to make her rue the day she ever decided this kind of thing was a good career choice.
The worst part for me was a move where we had to stick our asses in the air and lie, boobs down, flat on the floor. Everyone else's faces were touching the floor and I was still a good few inches above it.
The best part was *Raquelle. She was a teacher in training who was so beautiful, you couldn't even remember to be jealous. You just kind of thanked God He'd seen fit to make such a amazing creature and that you were privileged enough to catch a glimpse.
She was quite tall with long, flowing dark hair, perfect skin, big, dark eyes, and the sweetest face.
Her body was amazing. She had gorgeous boobs. Not too big, not too small, high and perky - probably just over a handful. I'm pretty good at guessing, and I'd say they were real too.
Her waist was narrow and her stomach was completely flat without looking overly toned.
I'm no good at describing women's tushes, but hers was luscious.
She had legs that went on for miles and she wasn't even wearing heels.
At the end of the class, the instructor and Raquelle did a demonstration of their art. God bless the instructor, who was lovely even in her gigantic knee pads, but I wanted her to move her granny-pantied behind out of the way so I could watch Raquelle. She was so incredibly graceful. She did all the sexy moves we'd done during the class, but she actually made them look sexy. And when she swung her perfect ass around the pole and wrapped her legs around it, well... all I can say is that the gentlemen (and ladies of a certain persuasion) of Houston better get down on their knees and start praying she goes public.
Yesterday, was a whole other story. I. Was. Dying. My butt hurt. My abs hurt. My arm muscles hurt. The untouchable place between my shoulder blades hurt. A good hurt, no question, but I was moving a little slowly and walking a little funny. Today is more of same. Maybe I'll break out Carmen Electra and see if that dumb slut can help.
*name changed
Friday, July 13, 2007
Why Don't We Do It In The Mess?
I have made a disturbing discovery.
My desire to have sexual intercourse is directly proportional to how clean my house is.
I'm sure there are limitless fascinating reasons why a messy house moves me (in the strictly god-fearing, marital sense), but it makes no difference for all practical purposes. All that matters is that my house is nearly spotless, and not even the hottest doctor with the warmest speculum is interesting me.
Go figure.
My desire to have sexual intercourse is directly proportional to how clean my house is.
I'm sure there are limitless fascinating reasons why a messy house moves me (in the strictly god-fearing, marital sense), but it makes no difference for all practical purposes. All that matters is that my house is nearly spotless, and not even the hottest doctor with the warmest speculum is interesting me.
Go figure.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Hang All Chads
If you don't know enough English to read: Hillary Clinton - Democrat, should you really be voting? Really?
H/T: Michelle Malkin
-----------------------------
I'm exhausted. I stayed up all night cleaning and packing. And I still have more.
H/T: Michelle Malkin
-----------------------------
I'm exhausted. I stayed up all night cleaning and packing. And I still have more.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
IT'S GLOBAL WARMING!!! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!!! (or just listen to Madonna for awhile, whichever you prefer)
I have the worst headache. All the rain we've gotten has turned our normally putrid, humid enviroment, into an even more putrid, humid enviroment, and it is killing me. KILLING ME!!! Damn all vegetation to HELL!!! I want to go to Alaska. I'd love me some tundra. I figure a frozen desert is just what I need. I'll build a sanitorium for allergy sufferers. We'll commune.
------------------------------------
So it appears that Live Earth was somewhat of a bust - an aging, drooping Madonna bust. Or was that Al Gore? They're all starting to look and sound the same to me.
I know they've acknkowledged how much pollution they've spewed with these concerts, but they've excused it by saying it's all to "raise awareness." I'm thinking there had to have been a less nauseatingly hypocritical (not to mention cliche) way to "raise awareness." But that's assuming it isn't all just a massive, nerdly conspiracy by Al Gore penetrate the in-crowd. If that's the case, he puts Lauren Hutchinson to shame.
------------------------------------
Let's see. What else...nope, that's it for now. See ya.
------------------------------------
So it appears that Live Earth was somewhat of a bust - an aging, drooping Madonna bust. Or was that Al Gore? They're all starting to look and sound the same to me.
I know they've acknkowledged how much pollution they've spewed with these concerts, but they've excused it by saying it's all to "raise awareness." I'm thinking there had to have been a less nauseatingly hypocritical (not to mention cliche) way to "raise awareness." But that's assuming it isn't all just a massive, nerdly conspiracy by Al Gore penetrate the in-crowd. If that's the case, he puts Lauren Hutchinson to shame.
------------------------------------
Let's see. What else...nope, that's it for now. See ya.
Monday, July 09, 2007
The Breach
I've never heard of anything like this, and I've heard a lot. My sisters-in-law received an invitation to a bridal shower for one of their high school friends. The invitation indicated it was taking place at a swanky hotel during their afternoon tea. The invitation took great pains in making a big deal out of what amounted to tea and scones. Then, at the end, it asked for $50.00 checks to be made out to one of the bride's relatives. This understandably set my S'sIL teeth on edge. They would naturally be expected to bring a gift, and at this particular venue, pay for parking.
One of my S'sIL is never content to simply acknowledge the vulgarity and move on. She always insists on knowing just how badly she is being hosed. I'm sure it doesn't do much for her digestive system, but it the details she discovers are always interesting. She called the hotel to find out just how much they charged for afternoon tea. It was only $30.00 per person.
I guess it would be pointless to say they're not going.
I Married A Baller
Did you ever find something out about your spouse that you were previously unaware? I knew Jethro was a starter on his high school basketball team. I knew he gave it up to concentrate on his studies. But for some unknown reason, I was under the impression that he scored two baskets total during his entire career. I realize, to my shame, that the minimum amount of analysis would have rendered this notion absolutely ridiculous - you don't start someone who doesn't score - but I just thought he must have been a really good defensive player.
This isn't entirely my fault. Jethro doesn't brag. I remember him describing two particularly memorable shots and this must have been from where my false impressions came. So this makes two types of man I never thought I would find myself wed: a jock and a doctor.
--------------------------------
I took the girls to an invention camp today. Holy Roly. Nothing but Asians as far as the eye could see. And a few Jews sprinkled in. The girls should be in good company.
One of my S'sIL is never content to simply acknowledge the vulgarity and move on. She always insists on knowing just how badly she is being hosed. I'm sure it doesn't do much for her digestive system, but it the details she discovers are always interesting. She called the hotel to find out just how much they charged for afternoon tea. It was only $30.00 per person.
I guess it would be pointless to say they're not going.
I Married A Baller
Did you ever find something out about your spouse that you were previously unaware? I knew Jethro was a starter on his high school basketball team. I knew he gave it up to concentrate on his studies. But for some unknown reason, I was under the impression that he scored two baskets total during his entire career. I realize, to my shame, that the minimum amount of analysis would have rendered this notion absolutely ridiculous - you don't start someone who doesn't score - but I just thought he must have been a really good defensive player.
This isn't entirely my fault. Jethro doesn't brag. I remember him describing two particularly memorable shots and this must have been from where my false impressions came. So this makes two types of man I never thought I would find myself wed: a jock and a doctor.
--------------------------------
I took the girls to an invention camp today. Holy Roly. Nothing but Asians as far as the eye could see. And a few Jews sprinkled in. The girls should be in good company.
Friday, July 06, 2007
Blackout
I will be writing soon about the breach of etiquette which is still quite noteworthy, but two things have come to my attention that I feel compelled to briefly mention (and rhyme about).
1.) Our mainstream media are refusing to report a mass slaughter - including the beheadings of children - by al-Qaeda in a village in Iraq. Michael Yon is a freelance reporter in Iraq who has documented the atrocity which took place only 3.5 miles from where he and other reporters are located. So far, he is the only one to investigate.
I've read Michael Yon. He has always been more than fair when it comes to the media, giving them credit where there is little to be had, and defending them when they report something unfavorable. But in this case he is baffled by their unwillingness to report on this horror, and offers them free use of his photos and findings so far. But so far, crickets.
UPDATE: Michael Yon has a new post up that ought to be read and posted daily everywhere on the internet. It details rumors of further AQ atrocity, but it also answers a lot of questions with firsthand knowledge.
Glenn Reynolds threw that question out there, and got a response from a reporter whose name we'd apparently know:
Yon's story doesn't get attention because it is humiliating.
It is humiliating because it is obvious that we media – and our allies in the state department, the legal trade, the NGOs, the Democratic Party, the UN, etc., - can’t do squat about such determined use of force.
Our words, images, arguments and skills can’t stop the killing. Only the rough soldiers and their guns can solve the problem, and we won’t admit that fact because the admission would weaken our influence and our claim to social status.
So we pretend Yon’s massacre – and the North Korean killing fields, the Arab treatment of women, the Arab hatred of Israel, etc. - doesn’t exist, and instead focus our emotions and attention on the somewhat-bad domestic things that we can ‘fix’ with our DC-based allies. Things such as Abu Ghraib, wiretapping, etc. When we ‘fix’ them, then we get status, applause, power, new jobs, ego, etc.
Please don’t be surprised. We media are an interest group not much different from the automakers, the unions, and the farmers.
[all emphasis is mine]
H/T: Protein Wisdom, Michael Yon, Glenn Reynolds.
------------------------
2.) Britain's Brave New Prime Minister has finally gone and banned the use of the word 'Muslim' to describe terrorists. Now if he can just convince the terrorists...
My sputtering indignation at this tortured bit of logic was calmed somewhat by Iowahawk's ridicule. I can't recommend a better piece of satire, much less write one, so I suggest reading it with all due haste. And read his previous entry if you want insight into the inner machinations of a failed suicide bomber, who couldn't even light himself on fire long enough to catch a glimpse of his dirty, dirty virgins.
H/T: The Daily Gut via Jim Treacher, Protein Wisdom
1.) Our mainstream media are refusing to report a mass slaughter - including the beheadings of children - by al-Qaeda in a village in Iraq. Michael Yon is a freelance reporter in Iraq who has documented the atrocity which took place only 3.5 miles from where he and other reporters are located. So far, he is the only one to investigate.
I've read Michael Yon. He has always been more than fair when it comes to the media, giving them credit where there is little to be had, and defending them when they report something unfavorable. But in this case he is baffled by their unwillingness to report on this horror, and offers them free use of his photos and findings so far. But so far, crickets.
UPDATE: Michael Yon has a new post up that ought to be read and posted daily everywhere on the internet. It details rumors of further AQ atrocity, but it also answers a lot of questions with firsthand knowledge.
Glenn Reynolds threw that question out there, and got a response from a reporter whose name we'd apparently know:
Yon's story doesn't get attention because it is humiliating.
It is humiliating because it is obvious that we media – and our allies in the state department, the legal trade, the NGOs, the Democratic Party, the UN, etc., - can’t do squat about such determined use of force.
Our words, images, arguments and skills can’t stop the killing. Only the rough soldiers and their guns can solve the problem, and we won’t admit that fact because the admission would weaken our influence and our claim to social status.
So we pretend Yon’s massacre – and the North Korean killing fields, the Arab treatment of women, the Arab hatred of Israel, etc. - doesn’t exist, and instead focus our emotions and attention on the somewhat-bad domestic things that we can ‘fix’ with our DC-based allies. Things such as Abu Ghraib, wiretapping, etc. When we ‘fix’ them, then we get status, applause, power, new jobs, ego, etc.
Please don’t be surprised. We media are an interest group not much different from the automakers, the unions, and the farmers.
[all emphasis is mine]
H/T: Protein Wisdom, Michael Yon, Glenn Reynolds.
------------------------
2.) Britain's Brave New Prime Minister has finally gone and banned the use of the word 'Muslim' to describe terrorists. Now if he can just convince the terrorists...
My sputtering indignation at this tortured bit of logic was calmed somewhat by Iowahawk's ridicule. I can't recommend a better piece of satire, much less write one, so I suggest reading it with all due haste. And read his previous entry if you want insight into the inner machinations of a failed suicide bomber, who couldn't even light himself on fire long enough to catch a glimpse of his dirty, dirty virgins.
H/T: The Daily Gut via Jim Treacher, Protein Wisdom
Thursday, July 05, 2007
Thus Sayeth Zelda
We had an interesting 4th. First we went out to lunch with Jethro's family who all had a rare day off. We went to an all-you-can-eat buffet in Chinatown which was fantastic.
While gorging, Jethro's sisters told me of an etiquette breach so egregious that I will have to dedicate another post entirely to it. It's worth it.
----------------------------
After lunch we went to my mom's house.
These visits are becoming increasingly uncomfortable. My mom is constantly on edge and cries at the drop of a hat over the most random things. I don't feel like getting into her reasons, so if anyone is looking for back story see here and here and here and here.
My mother's weeping is only part of what makes these visits uncomfortable. Stepdad has rededicated his life to a bizarre version of Christianity. He has religious books conspicuously and strategically placed all over the house, goofy Christian music blaring from his surround sound, and a steady stream of pseudo-theological conversation at the ready. This is for the benefit of anyone who might come over who my mom has told about his cheating. Which is pretty much anyone who might come over - my mom aired her grievances far and wide.
The most frequent visitors are a family whose wife/mom was in a terrible car accident and left with severe brain damage. I wrote about them a little bit here. They are also of the holy Christian variety, and there is nothing so irritating as being lectured by a Christian with severe brain damage. I understand that she is a powerful witness for the healing powers of Christ, since by all reasonable accounts, she should be dead. But I've taken that firmly into account and give her and her husband all due respect for their faith and perseverance. I am not, however, going to scream "Praise Jaysus" every time I see her, which I think is what she wants. I don't actually understand 9/10ths of what she says.
I detest her husband with all the fiber of my being. He and Stepdad are constantly patting themselves on the back for being Christian even though Stepdad is the most hypocritical Christian I've ever encountered. But as long as he says the Magic Christian Words, no one, least of all Brain Damaged's Husband holds him to account.
While writing this, I've had to go back in my archives to find the links. I think I've become a whole lot more cynical towards religion and religious people in recent years. I don't think my views on religion have changed all that much, but I've become far less patient with what I see now as the vain proselytizing of the ostentatiously religious.
It nauseates me now where it merely amused me before.
While gorging, Jethro's sisters told me of an etiquette breach so egregious that I will have to dedicate another post entirely to it. It's worth it.
----------------------------
After lunch we went to my mom's house.
These visits are becoming increasingly uncomfortable. My mom is constantly on edge and cries at the drop of a hat over the most random things. I don't feel like getting into her reasons, so if anyone is looking for back story see here and here and here and here.
My mother's weeping is only part of what makes these visits uncomfortable. Stepdad has rededicated his life to a bizarre version of Christianity. He has religious books conspicuously and strategically placed all over the house, goofy Christian music blaring from his surround sound, and a steady stream of pseudo-theological conversation at the ready. This is for the benefit of anyone who might come over who my mom has told about his cheating. Which is pretty much anyone who might come over - my mom aired her grievances far and wide.
The most frequent visitors are a family whose wife/mom was in a terrible car accident and left with severe brain damage. I wrote about them a little bit here. They are also of the holy Christian variety, and there is nothing so irritating as being lectured by a Christian with severe brain damage. I understand that she is a powerful witness for the healing powers of Christ, since by all reasonable accounts, she should be dead. But I've taken that firmly into account and give her and her husband all due respect for their faith and perseverance. I am not, however, going to scream "Praise Jaysus" every time I see her, which I think is what she wants. I don't actually understand 9/10ths of what she says.
I detest her husband with all the fiber of my being. He and Stepdad are constantly patting themselves on the back for being Christian even though Stepdad is the most hypocritical Christian I've ever encountered. But as long as he says the Magic Christian Words, no one, least of all Brain Damaged's Husband holds him to account.
While writing this, I've had to go back in my archives to find the links. I think I've become a whole lot more cynical towards religion and religious people in recent years. I don't think my views on religion have changed all that much, but I've become far less patient with what I see now as the vain proselytizing of the ostentatiously religious.
It nauseates me now where it merely amused me before.
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Sex Ed for Dummies
My brother-in-law went dumpster diving at one of his worksites and came back with a metal box full of stuff which included almost $40 worth of silver dollars among other various junk. He and I and the girls poured through it and he let me keep this. You can move the gentleman's foot and make him hump as fast or slow as you want.
So simple, yet so mesmerizing. Made in Hong Kong.
I'm thinking of wearing it on a chain and seeing how many people notice what it is.
Monday, July 02, 2007
A Conclusion
After many hours of careful deliberation, I have finally decided that if I was a closing pitcher for a baseball team, my entrance song would be "Pussy Control" by Prince.
Yours?
Yours?
Thursday, June 28, 2007
The Boys in the Band
I feel like I'm going to have to learn medical billing, accounting, and how to answer phones in a less gravelly voice in the near future.
-------------------------------------
I'm going back on The Diet, and this time I mean it.
-------------------------------------
I watched another gay movie on TCM the other night, called The Boys in the Band. I fell asleep a few minutes into it because it was on really late. It was made in 1970 and it consisted of a bunch of gay archetypes living in the Village who called each other 'cunt' a lot. I'm sure it was very cutting edge for it's time. It even showed an ass. Maybe more than one. I can't remember. But I did not allow Jethro to service me afterwards. Gay guys don't do it for me and I'm reasonably sure they don't do it for him either. But it was a good movie, and I hope to be able to finish it someday.
-------------------------------------
I'm going back on The Diet, and this time I mean it.
-------------------------------------
I watched another gay movie on TCM the other night, called The Boys in the Band. I fell asleep a few minutes into it because it was on really late. It was made in 1970 and it consisted of a bunch of gay archetypes living in the Village who called each other 'cunt' a lot. I'm sure it was very cutting edge for it's time. It even showed an ass. Maybe more than one. I can't remember. But I did not allow Jethro to service me afterwards. Gay guys don't do it for me and I'm reasonably sure they don't do it for him either. But it was a good movie, and I hope to be able to finish it someday.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Monday, June 25, 2007
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.
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.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
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?
------------------------------
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.
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?
------------------------------
Now on an even more personal note,
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.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Mind Clutter
I like Rod Stewart. No one understands this.
----------------------------------------------
Emma: Press my tummy and I'll say something
Zelda: *Press*
Emma: Mama!
Zelda: *Press*
Emma: I Love You!
Zelda: *Press*
Emma: Chihuahua!
-------------------------------------
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.
-------------------------------------
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...
----------------------------------------------
Emma: Press my tummy and I'll say something
Zelda: *Press*
Emma: Mama!
Zelda: *Press*
Emma: I Love You!
Zelda: *Press*
Emma: Chihuahua!
-------------------------------------
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.
-------------------------------------
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...
Friday, June 15, 2007
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.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
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.
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.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
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.
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.
Friday, June 08, 2007
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
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.
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
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.
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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.
--------------------------------------
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.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
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.
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.
--------------------------------------------------------
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).
---------------------------------------------------------
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.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
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.
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.
Friday, May 25, 2007
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
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.
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.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, May 21, 2007
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.
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.
Friday, May 18, 2007
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.
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.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
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?
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?
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, May 14, 2007
Friday, May 11, 2007
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.
------------------
Now let's have some fun:
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.
------------------
Now let's have some fun:
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
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.
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.
Friday, May 04, 2007
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 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.
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
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.)
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.)
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