Corin's Night

I've been trying to post about Saturday night, but I haven't been able to start for some reason. Some very funny things happened and I want to do right by them, but I guess I'll have to settle for just getting them on the page. So excuse me a minute while I get a glass of water, grab me some Buc-cee's Beaver nuggets, touch myself in all the bad places (including the really REALLY bad place), and think very hard about me, Jethro and King Leonidas from 300 (they will never touch or see each other).

Okay. I'm back.

We were at our favorite tavern Saturday (and by favorite I mean the only one that would let us drink there when were in college before we were 21, so we feel a certain nostalgic loyalty) sending off our friend, Corin who leaves for Iraq on Tuesday.

As luck would have it, the Houston Rugby Team had it's Liquid Golf Tournament that day and decided to congregate at their favorite tavern (and by that I mean the only tavern who will allow them to continue drinking there after such an event).

Let's just say that if Griff's were a woman, she'd be a saggy bosomed gal in her late 50s, blue eye-shadow on her crows feet, pink lipstick on her teeth, with a skin-tight, leopard print camel-toe. Possibly dying of lung cancer.

So we were all sitting at a table minding our own business, listening to our friend and his friend tell a few marine jokes (they're Army), when a stocky woman in a golf hat adorned with an idiotic looking pom-pom, quite drunk, lurched up, demanded to know where our friends had served, and insisted that they cease and desist picking on marines (before they could respond) because she had fought in Desert Storm.

Have you ever found yourself in the middle of such a paradoxical situation? I was vacillating between avoiding her gaze like one does with the deranged homeless, standing up and punching her in the nose, and laughing my ass off because truly, can you imagine anything more comical?

Drunken Moron (for a moron she was) rounded on me for rolling my eyes and told me she had served so I could have the right to be a bitch.

I'm sure she was living out her fondest hippie-slaughtering fantasies, but reality was not quite the tableaux playing in her head.

I told her I appreciated that, and I respected her service, but our friends had both fought in Afghanistan and one was about to be sent to Iraq and I didn't appreciate her "dissing" them. Yes, I said "dissing" which upsets me greatly. Sometimes I revert to my '80s dork-self under pressure.

I was very concerned about getting hit in the face, but she ambled away after doing some more incoherent mumbling, and the evening progressed as smoothly as possible for having 100 drunken golfers in silly hats trying to get into each others' Bermuda shorts.

Later that evening, I was explaining what happened to one of my girlfriends while we were waiting in line for the restroom, when we were confronted again by Drunken Moron and her much larger, drunken sister who happened to be in the two stalls we were waiting to use (I'd have no luck but for bad). It actually ended quite simply with my friend timidly saying, "I'm a Republican" and watching the look of comprehension very slowly spread across Drunken Moron's Mongo-esque features.

I had some drinks, danced with a lesbian (who told me a great Halloween story about my sister which I will save for a later date), let Jethro videotape me and a few other girls dancing a little dirty with Corin, and talked to a great guy with an awesome tattoo.

So all in all, it was a fun night.

Keep Corin in your thoughts/prayers so we can do it all again when he returns in 15 months.

To My Husband On His Birthday

Dearest,

I just want to take this moment to tell you what twittering delight I get out of birthday boning. It doesn't matter whose birthday it is, and the fact that I like boning in general shouldn't weigh into it either.

Happy birthday, darling.


~Zelda


Funnily enough, I gave it up this morning before I remembered it was his birthday. I've never been good at remembering, but I am pretty good at giving it up.

Anyway, we're off to Houston again this weekend. Everyone have a good one.

Internet Derangement

I don't often read and far less often comment on the shitty things people do to each other on the internet, but in a story reminiscent of what the utterly deranged high school teacher, Eliot Stein did to columnist Cathy Seipp and her daughter as she was dying of lung cancer, this story was so horrible, I just can't let it pass.

What kind of shallow, lifeless, damaged creatures would pick on an overweight child suffering with depression for the idiotic purpose of discovering what this poor little girl might be saying about their daughter? What hideous disease in their hearts would cause them to do such a hateful, deranged thing?

I don't understand it. I simply don't understand it. I am utterly bewildered. The girls had once been friends. Megan's family had done favors for them. And then these grown adults go and emotionally abuse their poor little girl? I can't even begin to say how these people should be punished. It's obvious they will never comprehend the guilt they ought to feel. It almost sounds sociopathic.

People talk about making new laws, but what about the community having its say? Maybe a good old-fashioned tarring and feathering? Riding them out of town on a rail? Reminding them daily that the lies they told Megan about people not liking her are now actually and eternally true about them? Since they seem to be people who are unhealthily obsessed with what people are saying about them, I like the last one.

To All Our Vets: Thank You.

I wanted to post something yesterday, but I didn't have access to this picture which I wanted to use. It was taken by the Houston Chronicle at Charles' burial. I thought about him all yesterday especially because I flew back to New Town on Southwest Airlines where he used to work:

God speed, friend.

Lovely Random Bits

Oh so many things to blog about.

I'll start with my Lesbian Environmentalist sister who slept with a guy a few days ago. She emailed me and said it was awesome and that she was a bad Lesbo. I could have told her that, and in fact did tell her that quite frequently. I was also baffled as to how you could grow up in a house with all girls and still like them. I don't.

Next I'll move on to the best celebrity story ever - George Clooney and Fabio cat-fighting over who is the handsomest. Apparently Clooney thought some women were taking pictures of him when they were really taking pictures of Fabio. Clooney told them all to fuck off, and Fabio told him to fuck off, that they were taking his (Fabio's) picture, and to "stop being such a diva." I think then they puffed up a little and made some gang signs at each other but didn't actually engage in fisticuffs. I think faces in the celebrity world are like groins in the boxing world - off limits. But I can't believe it was Fabio who got the one-liner.

And then I read this story on the Italian police's discovery of the Mafia 10 Commandments upon the arrest of one Salvatore Lo Piccolo, mob boss extraordinaire. It reads like lines from a bad mobster movie, and isn't particularly interesting, but towards the end of the article, they started talking about the various bosses they've captured fairly recently. The last paragraph says,

"Investigators believe that the 65-year-old Lo Piccolo could have eventually emerged from a power struggle as the Mafia's new top boss following the capture of Bernardo Provenzano, the reputed No. 1 of the Cosa Nostra crime syndicate. Provenzano was arrested on a farm near Corleone, Sicily, in April 2006, after more than 40 years on the run."

Corleone, Sicily. Had he not seen The Godfather II? I would think that would be the last place a mob boss would go to hide. I mean Don Ciccio was eviscerated there, and that was just in a movie.

Here's some Nothing

Yes. I know I didn't post yesterday and today, and I was supposed to. But I didn't have anything to say, and as we all know, I provide only the most insightful and witty of blogging entertainment.

That being said, I still don't have much. So here's a picture of the clinic.

Cute, isn't it?

And Jethro has some pictures up from Halloween. You can see a boob.

Did you ever wonder what a 300 lb, $2 whore from a country near the equator smells like the morning after a wildly profitable evening?

Me neither. But I think I know.

We spent all weekend painting/cleaning/fixing our old house in Houston. It was hot and dirty and not in a good way.

But most if it is completed aside from a little detail work. Now all I have to do is sell our crap in a massive garage sale. Our neighbors had one this past weekend and I bought a steel string guitar. Everyone has a steel string but me. My folks never bought me anything but nylon growing up. They wanted me to play hippie Christian music. But I wanted to rock and roll, man. And now I can at least try really hard. Deep down, however, I really am a hippie. And the stench this weekend would have proved it.

If you have an extra moment, go read how Trashman kicked someone's ass for money. It's cool.

Mardi Gras 2003: Jethro with two topless chicks...

1 minute

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Really, It Was A Lot Funnier Than It Sounds

Jethro and I were walking through the grocery store buying Halloween candy yesterday, when we happened upon an old lady hawking soup.

We obliged her by trying some and purchasing a can.

She asked Jethro if he "spoke another language."

He affirmed that he spoke Vietnamese.

She asked if we were married.

We said we were.

She asked if we had children.

We said we did.

She asked us if they looked like either of us or something altogether different.

Jethro pulled out a picture, so she wouldn't be imagining children with green skin.

She then said she was learning to speak Mandarin Chinese.

We politely raised our eyebrows and congratulated her.

Then she said she had always been raised to think that American culture was superior to other cultures, but...

I cut her off and said, "It is."

She looked confused for a moment and then said reproachingly that she had lived in Mexico City for awhile and that Mexicans were wonderful people.

I said, "They are," and refrained from adding, "But you don't have to live in Mexico to know that."

She said even though there is crushing poverty, it doesn't mean their culture is worse than ours.

I said, "Yeah, it kind of does."

Jethro mediated and said it only meant their government is worse than ours.

I refrained from asking what kind of culture would support a government who insisted on remaining corrupt amidst soul-crushing poverty...

She then said it was a good thing to learn about other cultures.

I said, "It is. That way you know for a fact that ours is the best."

Then I saw the look of hurt and confusion in her eyes, and pussied out and told her I was just teasing.

But really, she was barking up the wrong tree. I know she assumed that Jethro and I, as an interracial couple, would automatically be accepting of, and interested in other cultures. And that would be true if we weren't then required to turn on the culture of the country in which we live - which made and continues to make our life together possible.

Just When We Thought Nothing Could Be Gayer Than Menudo

Hamas appeals to Palestinian masculinity with a Creepy Bearded Boy Band.

It's just too damn sexy.


















Take that, Infidels.

H/T: LGF

Tell Me Someone Didn't Do That On Purpose

I was reading this article about Olmert having prostate cancer on yahoo news and I noticed an interesting turn of phrase:

"The disclosure came at a sensitive time in Mideast diplomacy, with Olmert and another one-time prostate cancer patient — Palestinian President Mahmoud Abbas — struggling to bridge gaping differences ahead of a U.S.-brokered peace conference."

Normally, I'd just chalk it up to me having a dirty little mind, but the article is about prostate cancer. Cancer near the asshole. In the asshole. Up the asshole.

And of differences between the Israelis and the "Palestinians," I wouldn't exactly use the word gaping. Vast, extensive, comprehensive, considerable, prodigious, limitless, astronomical, among others, but not gaping.

It fits about as well as a dry thumb in a straight man's....well....asshole.

Who Knew That Russians Swedes Had A Sense Of Humor?

NOT SAFE FOR WORK

Coinkydink

I have a favor to ask all of my friends. Could y'all do me a favor and not die or get divorced for at least 10 years? I'd prefer never, but I'm a realist. Thanks.

Anyway, we had a very interesting weekend. If you haven't read Jethro's post, we went out to a bar to see two friends who are getting married. There was a girl sitting there who was introduced to us as the bride's maid of honor. Jethro recognized her instantly from somewhere, and I thought she looked very familiar. We puzzled over it for a few minutes, and then I got ADD and started drinking.

Jethro was nearly silent while he ate his chicken wings. Suddenly, mid-conversation, he looked up and asked her if she had been to a wine-tasting party. Since neither Jethro nor I had been to a wine-tasting party anywhere near recently, I was totally confused.

It seems Jethro recognized her from a picture on a blog taken at a wine-tasting party. Soho's and Count's wine-tasting party, to be exact.

Don't ask me how the boy did it. I saw the picture later on and it looked nothing like her at all. I think I saw her in another picture though, which was where I recognized her from. But I wouldn't have put two and two together in a million years.

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We went to Charles' memorial service earlier that day, and we brought the picture. His parents got to see it and it didn't disturb them too badly, so now I feel like we can give it to them without causing them any undue pain. We told them we would as soon as we could get it engraved, hopefully by Christmas.

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Anyhow, I wish I had more interesting things to discuss, but I'm all out for now. But don't worry, something will come to me.

Slickness

I consistently underestimate my husband. Everyone does. He's so mild-mannered, he just slips under the radar. But that's the way he wants it, so I oblige.

But yesterday, he got a random telemarketer to make an appointment at the clinic, which the gentleman kept. He's a real slick willy, Jethro is.

Everyone have a great weekend. We're going to be back in Houston. Since we moved, we've seen more of Houston than we have of New Town. It's depressing. Hopefully November will see us relaxing a little more.

Bits 'n' Pieces

http://www.youtube.com/user/JohnMcCaindotcom

John McCain is such a badass, I haven't ruled out voting for him despite McCain/Feingold.

H/T: Blonde Sagacity

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It's a gorgeous day here in New Town. The best part about not being in Houston for a cold front is that it doesn't blow the winds from the refineries and ruin your day. In Houston, a gorgeous cold front will blow through, you'll step outside ready to enjoy life, and then you'll smell it. It's somewhat of a buzz kill.

But as much as I love New Town (and I really do), I miss Houston a little. You have to have lived in Houston to appreciate it, but there were some cool things like bars and restaurants that I am missing a little.

Funnily enough, I'm not missing family.

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We'll be back in Houston for the next two weekends. This weekend is a memorial service for Charles where they will dedicate a paver at the chapel of the college we all went to. It will be nice to see all our friends again, but I'm still sad about it. His parents will be there. I don't want to cry in front of them. I'd break my knuckles on something if I had to come to grips with the thought that there wouldn't be a Charles B. Kitowski IV in my family. I suppose I dwell too much on it, but such is my nature.

The Origin of Sea-Monkeys

"Mommy," said Emma with an air of affected nonchalance. "Could you read this?"

I took from her hands a paper entitled The Origin of Sea-Monkeys, which had come with said sea-monkeys.

I read the first paragraph:

Sea-Monkeys are a true miracle of nature. They exist in suspended animation inside their tiny eggs for many years. The instant-life crystals, in which the eggs are enclosed, preserve their viability and help to extend still further their unhatched life span! Sea-Monkeys are real Time-Travelers asleep in biological time capsules for their strange journey into the future.

I glanced up at her. She was trying to appear casual, but her eyes were wide with excitement.

She had obviously read the paper, and while I was impressed that my first-grader had read all of it, she was impressed by the idea of sea-monkey time travel.

I did my best to explain what they meant by calling them "time-travelers," but I don't think she really listened. The big words, and the fact that I had read it out loud, convinced her of the absolute literal truth.

Now both of my children have a habit of loving animals, including tiny, time-traveling brine shrimp, to death. So it was with very little surprise that I discovered the little tank full of water which should have contained three sea monkeys, but didn't.

Jethro quizzed the girls about it, and Emma finally said she thought she spilled some water from the tank onto the floor. But she couldn't explain how the carpet was dry, and she had no idea what happened to the sea-monkeys. Gwennie earnestly denied any participation whatsoever. It was all very mysterious.

Later that night I was tucking Emma into bed.

"Mama?" she whispered as I was about to close the door. "I didn't see them leave, but I think they did."

"Who leave?" I asked, knowing full well.

"The sea-monkeys."

The light from the hallway shone in her eyes and they were strangely bright.

"Good-night, Little Emma," I said.

"Good-night, Mama."

Business

Jethro and I went to a business networking meeting yesterday. I have dreaded going to those things for two reasons. The first is that I hate speaking in public. I mean really hate it. I tend to get clammy and turn bright red and I can't think of a thing to say.

The second reason is that all my observations of business networking events have found them to be pretentious, humorless, brown-nosing affairs, the worst of which was run by a televangelist whose idiot, televangelist wife sang the Star-Spangled-Banner after tantalizing the crowd with a Christian pop medley.

This group was completely different. I actually enjoy it very much. They are laid-back, realistic, concise with their points, and have an actual sense of humor. No one snickers when the plumber gets up to speak, but the plumber isn't such a douche that he doesn't realize there is some humor associated with his profession.

There are probably a few more men than women in the group, but it isn't a good-old-boy network at all. Even the interior designer gets full attention when she's speaking, and if the men can't use her services, they acknowledge that their wives can.

I realize I'm speaking from the perspective of one who now owns a business that will be largely dependant on referrals, so there is the possibility that I'm being more open-minded. But I simply can't ignore the fact that at no time during these networking events has a woman in a backless, peach pants-suit ensemble sang "This Little Light of Mine." This has to be a good sign.

Aggravation

We drove back from Houston last night, loaded up with crap from top to bottom. We were a little nervous driving with the U-Haul trailer attached to the Pilot, so we made sure to drive very carefully. We made it back by 2:00am making wretched time, but safely so we didn't care.

Today, as Jethro was driving back to the clinic after lunch in our second car, he was rear-ended at a red light and sandwiched between the car who hit him and the car in front of him. He's fine, but the car doesn't look so good.

I went to pick him up with G and E and they started crying when they saw Jethro and the car. I think that made him feel better. Nothing like little girls weeping over the thought of you possibly being injured to make you feel special.

This is quite inconvenient, but on the bright side, neither of the kids were with him, he wasn't hurt, and it wasn't the Pilot.

Anyway, I have a headache, and my buns are killing me from all the heavy lifting. I might be hot by the time all the moving is complete, which would be awesome.

Headed back to Houston this weekend for a marathon cleaning and packing session. I'm having pains just thinking about it.

I've also been working on several blog entries, but they require more time than I've had to devote to them.

I was writing out my grocery list this morning. When I read it over, I discovered I'd written

6. Butter
7. Twat spray (I enjoy a certain amount of dryness at certain times of the day, and I couldn't think of excatly what it was called).
8. wine

Quite the unappetizing list.

Have a good weekend.

Exercise

Jethro: Do it for me.

Zelda: I am. (huff huff) (puff puff)

Zelda: You totally deserve a hot wife. (huff huff) (puff puff)

Zelda: But at this point..... (huff huff) (puff puff)

Zelda: I'd rather divorce you and let you start over.

Danny Bonaduce Never Disappoints

So while my labia minora have been growing back, I've had a little time to peruse the internet.

However, two or three minutes into my perusal, I was totally cock-blocked by Danny Bonaduce tossing a writhing Johnny Fairplay over his head. Luckily for Johnny, his teeth broke his fall. And he lost his shoe, which was the funniest part of all.

http://youtube.com/watch?v=b9wK2hFmxT4

As is typical, Johnny Fairplay filed a police report against Danny Bonaduce for assault.

Now I've watched this video over and over, tears of mirth streaming embarrassingly down my face, and I don't see where Johnny Fairplay was assaulted. I can see where his dick was forcibly removed from Bonaduce's neck, but somehow, I'm not seeing the assault. I wouldn't go so far as to say Fairplay assaulted Bonaduce, but he did jump on him and start humping him without permission and with no prior warning. It wouldn't have warranted a deliberate beat-down, but a thrust over the shoulders didn't seem out of the realm of possibility. It's called roughousing. Sometimes people lose eyes. Or teeth. Better not to engage in it if you aren't ready for the possible consequences.

Regardless, I haven't laughed so hard in years. And this was before I knew that Fairplay was the survivor who told everyone his granny had died so he wouldn't get voted off. It doesn't bother me that he did that, but it makes his face plant seem all the funnier. He should probably learn to keep his mouth shut.

And It Burns Burns Burns...

So I am lying here in bed, pantsless, knees apart, typing on the laptop, listening to Jethro frustratedly try to help a completely unwilling Gwennie with her homework, after a series of events that are somewhat unbelievable even as I lie here in some pain.

I was depillitating myself (and that's not half as sexy as it might sound. I really should just go ahead and shell out the $35 for a Brazillian, but I'm cheap and addicted to mess and inconvenience) when Gwennie opened the door to my bedroom. She had resisted my help with her homework until the minute I was indisposed. I hollered at her to get out, and she threw one of her patented little hissyfits which aggravated me somewhat. I had called Jethro to see if he was on his way home from work, so I could go ahead and get started on my beautification (de-revolt-ification) processes. He was on his way, but hadn't quite arrived.

I'd managed to get Gwennie to exit my bedroom after threatening to make Armageddon look like a circus parade, and with only a minimal amount of cream having dropped onto my clit, when the doorbell rang.

I heard Gwennie and Emma stupidly unlocking the deadbolt without asking who was there first, so I threw on my bathrobe and bolted into the living room. Naturally, it was only Jethro carrying the mail, but one can't be too careful. However, I am wondering whether it was really worth the snatch full of burning I received moments later, which has continued on through the evening.

In The News...

Isn't this taking "turn the other cheek" just a bit too far?

STOP PAYING FOR HOSTAGES!!! START USING THE PRESS TO DRAW ATTENTION TO THE BARBARITY OF THE MURDERING HOSTAGE TAKERS!!!

I don't think other countries realize how these assholes play the press. This article should never have had to contain this sentence:

"The South Korean hostage crisis proved to be a windfall for the Taliban, winning them face-to-face talks with South Korean government delegates."

Since when do hostage-takers win anything?

Not that I plan on being that stupid, but if I ever fall prey to hostage-takers, DO NOT PAY ANYTHING FOR MY RELEASE. AND MAKE SURE THE ASSHOLES WHO KILL ME DON'T LIVE TO GLOAT ABOUT IT.

But you have to be tough and ignore my pleading. Because I guarantee you I will plead like a little bitch.

Thanks.

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In a surprisingly good article by the Guardian, the reporter didn't bother to tally up those ever-so-objective-courtesy points, and instead noted how creepy the Iranian dictator's actual words are.

"Ahmadinejad was at his most chilling when asked about the current crackdown on academics, journalists and intellectuals in Iran. He denied there was any generalised persecution, but added that eggheads could not be above the law.

Academics "could be involved in an accident", and so would have to go before the courts, he warned. Or, from time to time, "one may be invited by the police to answer some questions".

Most spookily of all, he smiled and said: "Everyone is under surveillance - the surveillance of almighty God."

....An Iranian-American journalist asked him to clarify his extraordinary claim on Monday that there were no gay people in Iran, pointing out, "I know a few myself."
"Seriously? I don't know any," the president replied, in apparent surprise. "Give me some addresses so we're able to go to visit them and learn about them." [all emphasis mine]

Yes. Give me their addresses so we can study these so-called ho-mo-sex-u-als. We'll put them in a nice cage and watch them play.

The article goes on to say (and I couldn't have put it better myself):

"Given that sodomy is a crime punishable by death in Iran, it was a particular chilling offer."

Hear that, Queers? Still think Bush is your problem?

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).

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.

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.

Haiku:



An owl resides in

Our backyard. He is quite disrup-

tive while we have sex.

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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.

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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.

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.

Sometimes Jeff Goldstein is perfect.

Through the Tears

I'm going to let my friend ALa's post do the talking today.

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.

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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 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.

Question of the Day

Why on earth would anyone put padding into a 36G brassiere?

A Little Levity

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BJTgjjOUzsw

H/T: Jackie Danicki @ Blowing Smoke

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.

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.

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.

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Pics from Saturday night:

Friends again

Me and two girls

To Charles

These gorgeous photos are courtesy of Jen of Therapy Eggs.

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 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.

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.

Semper Fi

This is awesome.

I will be on haitus until next week at which time we will no longer be residents of the land of Houston, unless of course, something particularly blogworthy occurs or I have a fantastic orgasm.

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.

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.

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 Have Anything But Mounds of Crap and a Cartoon

I know I've posted it before, but it's still funny.

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.

Mrs. Pence

I want to be his Mommy.

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.

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.

Is It Weird That I Want One?

source

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.

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

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.

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

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I'm exhausted. I stayed up all night cleaning and packing. And I still have more.

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.

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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.

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Let's see. What else...nope, that's it for now. See ya.

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.

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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.

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.

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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

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.

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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.

Happy Birthday America

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.

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?