No need for Viagra in Texas. Or at least around the Dallas/Ft. Worth area.
I've been listening to Bobbie Gentry lately. Emma always sits with me to listen to Hushabye Mountain.
Her voice is beyond lovely and Ode to Billie Joe is such a strange, haunting almost creepy song. I always feel like listening to it around Halloween.
And her original "Fancy" is totally underrated. No one can belt it like Reba in all her big-haired glory, but if you dismiss Bobbie Gentry's deep, throaty version, you are seriously missing out.
Monday, February 18, 2008
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Life Lessons
I just had to do a very hard thing. I was at a store buying a birthday present for some kid's party when I discovered my eldest playing with a paper magic wand. I asked her where she got it and she said she got it from a bag. I was bewildered and asked if the bag belonged to her. She said no. I told her that if the bag didn't belong to her, then the wand didn't belong to her, and that she had stolen it and she needed to put it back.
I thought the matter had ended, but we got home and I saw she still had it.
I was livid.
I know it was just a little piece of paper, but I told her that it didn't belong to her and that it was stealing.
So back we go to the store so she can return it and speak to the manager. She was crying so hard and begging me to just let her put it back and not to tell the manager. I've never wanted to give in so badly in all my life. I'm kind of a sucker where my kids are concerned. Peer pressure is probably what keeps me being anything resembling a decent parent.
She asked me what they would do, and I told her I wasn't sure. She asked if they would call the police. I told her they might. But it was her first offense, so they might let her off with a warning. She cried harder.
She was pretty much cried out by the time we got back to the store, just hicupping a little. I told her I would speak to the manager first.
The manager was probably in his early 20s with long, flowing brown hair. I told him the situation and how she had taken it even after I told her it was stealing. He went over to speak to her, and was much nicer than he probably should have been.
I'll say one thing for Gwennie. She has a will of iron. She'll cry in front of me, but she didn't cry in front of him. I tried to shame her a little, but she held on. We all went to put it back where it belonged and she said she was sorry. Her voice broke a little, but no tears.
The manager thanked her (I wish he hadn't) and I thanked him, and we left. I told Gwennie she may not be so lucky next time.
I feel a little drained by it. She doesn't learn lessons easily and it is very seldom she learns them from me, no matter how many discussions we have or punishments I give. I hate that life is going to end up teaching her the hard way, but that is the path she is choosing.
Just like her mother.
I thought the matter had ended, but we got home and I saw she still had it.
I was livid.
I know it was just a little piece of paper, but I told her that it didn't belong to her and that it was stealing.
So back we go to the store so she can return it and speak to the manager. She was crying so hard and begging me to just let her put it back and not to tell the manager. I've never wanted to give in so badly in all my life. I'm kind of a sucker where my kids are concerned. Peer pressure is probably what keeps me being anything resembling a decent parent.
She asked me what they would do, and I told her I wasn't sure. She asked if they would call the police. I told her they might. But it was her first offense, so they might let her off with a warning. She cried harder.
She was pretty much cried out by the time we got back to the store, just hicupping a little. I told her I would speak to the manager first.
The manager was probably in his early 20s with long, flowing brown hair. I told him the situation and how she had taken it even after I told her it was stealing. He went over to speak to her, and was much nicer than he probably should have been.
I'll say one thing for Gwennie. She has a will of iron. She'll cry in front of me, but she didn't cry in front of him. I tried to shame her a little, but she held on. We all went to put it back where it belonged and she said she was sorry. Her voice broke a little, but no tears.
The manager thanked her (I wish he hadn't) and I thanked him, and we left. I told Gwennie she may not be so lucky next time.
I feel a little drained by it. She doesn't learn lessons easily and it is very seldom she learns them from me, no matter how many discussions we have or punishments I give. I hate that life is going to end up teaching her the hard way, but that is the path she is choosing.
Just like her mother.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
The Hole
I got the group sex guy in my class to like me, and I wasn't even trying.
I guess mama was right. Boys do like girls who are spastic, a little fat, and married.
I can't take it too seriously though. Right after he said women like me were his weakness, he put out feelers for another girl in my class. She's much better for him (in that she's attainable) and I hope it works out.
Okay. The book.
Jethro and I went out exploring with the girls on Saturday, stopping by a Whole Earth Provision Co store, which sells mostly hippie gear for yuppies.
They had a pretty cool toy section, so we were letting Gwennie and Emma look around. Right next to the toys was a shelf of kids' books. Right next to the kids' books were the shelves of adult books.
Now when I say adult, I don't mean "adult" per se, just simply books that most kids would find utterly boring.
Jethro and I were flipping through "Great Houses at Affordable Prices" when Jethro makes this startled noise, and I look up to see a sparkly little eye staring at me through this. Before the horror could fully register, Emma grabbed it and poked her tongue through while Gwennie screamed with laughter.
"Look Mom! It's Pen-Is Pokey! Isn't that funny? It has underwear on the cover!"
Jethro and I were in heaving convulsions by this time trying not to laugh in a way that would let the kids know that it was much funnier than just a pair of underpants.
We tossed the book and left post haste. There wasn't really any way to get out of it gracefully.
I guess mama was right. Boys do like girls who are spastic, a little fat, and married.
I can't take it too seriously though. Right after he said women like me were his weakness, he put out feelers for another girl in my class. She's much better for him (in that she's attainable) and I hope it works out.
Okay. The book.
Jethro and I went out exploring with the girls on Saturday, stopping by a Whole Earth Provision Co store, which sells mostly hippie gear for yuppies.
They had a pretty cool toy section, so we were letting Gwennie and Emma look around. Right next to the toys was a shelf of kids' books. Right next to the kids' books were the shelves of adult books.
Now when I say adult, I don't mean "adult" per se, just simply books that most kids would find utterly boring.
Jethro and I were flipping through "Great Houses at Affordable Prices" when Jethro makes this startled noise, and I look up to see a sparkly little eye staring at me through this. Before the horror could fully register, Emma grabbed it and poked her tongue through while Gwennie screamed with laughter.
"Look Mom! It's Pen-Is Pokey! Isn't that funny? It has underwear on the cover!"
Jethro and I were in heaving convulsions by this time trying not to laugh in a way that would let the kids know that it was much funnier than just a pair of underpants.
We tossed the book and left post haste. There wasn't really any way to get out of it gracefully.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Franticality
I have multiple projects to complete including a group presentation and a term paper. Obviously blogging will be light.
But do remind me to tell you at some point about the book with the hole in it.
It's perverted, naturally.
But do remind me to tell you at some point about the book with the hole in it.
It's perverted, naturally.
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
If You Can't Beat Them, Try Anyway.
Having completed my art projects on time, I have become the Person Who Knows What Is Going On.
This means my fellow classmates come up to me during breaks and ask me what our assignment is, how to do it, and what all the big words in the book mean.
Young Hispanic Gentleman, Slightly Drunk on Boone's: "Yo, man, what exactly are we supposed to do for this project?"
Zelda: "Well first you're supposed to pick a color scheme."
YHGSDoB: "A what?"
Zelda: "A color scheme."
YHGSDoB: "A what?"
Zelda: "Some colors."
YHGSDoB: "What kind of colors?"
Zelda: "Well, you could do the primary colors..."
YHGSDoB: "The which?
Zelda: The prim...Red, blue and yellow."
YHGSDoB: "That's what you're doing?"
Zelda: "No."
YHGSDoB: "What are you doing?"
Zelda: "I'm doing a split complementary of red-orange, blue, and green."
YHGSDoB: "I wanna do that, dog. What's it called again?"
Zelda: "A split complementary. It's when.......you know, you really should do red, blue and yellow."
YHGSDoB: "Naw, man. That's boring."
Zelda: Actually it's kind of hot. They're the very boldest, most dynamic colors. Really only girls do things like split complementary."
YHGSDoB (laughing hysterically): "That's cuz they have, like, split personalities, and shit."
Zelda: "Exactly. You hit the nail on the head precisely."
YHGSDoB: "Yo, thanks, man."
Zelda: "De nada, muchacho."
This means my fellow classmates come up to me during breaks and ask me what our assignment is, how to do it, and what all the big words in the book mean.
Young Hispanic Gentleman, Slightly Drunk on Boone's: "Yo, man, what exactly are we supposed to do for this project?"
Zelda: "Well first you're supposed to pick a color scheme."
YHGSDoB: "A what?"
Zelda: "A color scheme."
YHGSDoB: "A what?"
Zelda: "Some colors."
YHGSDoB: "What kind of colors?"
Zelda: "Well, you could do the primary colors..."
YHGSDoB: "The which?
Zelda: The prim...Red, blue and yellow."
YHGSDoB: "That's what you're doing?"
Zelda: "No."
YHGSDoB: "What are you doing?"
Zelda: "I'm doing a split complementary of red-orange, blue, and green."
YHGSDoB: "I wanna do that, dog. What's it called again?"
Zelda: "A split complementary. It's when.......you know, you really should do red, blue and yellow."
YHGSDoB: "Naw, man. That's boring."
Zelda: Actually it's kind of hot. They're the very boldest, most dynamic colors. Really only girls do things like split complementary."
YHGSDoB (laughing hysterically): "That's cuz they have, like, split personalities, and shit."
Zelda: "Exactly. You hit the nail on the head precisely."
YHGSDoB: "Yo, thanks, man."
Zelda: "De nada, muchacho."
Monday, February 04, 2008
I Know It's a Long-Ass Post, But It All Has to Go Somewhere
We went back to Houston late on Friday, arriving at about 12:30am. We went to sleep and I awakened Jethro around 10:30am so we could see my grandmother during visiting hours. After a gorgeous fight complete with name-calling and hand-gestures, we left.
We get to the hospital and the ICU staff is looking daggers at us. I thought it was because my very large family had been plaguing them during non-visiting hours. Not so. My grandmother, discontent with being the least grieviously ill person in the ICU, had caused quite the ruckus while my aunt, a succubus from the very deepest pits of Hell (otherwise known as NYC), was on the phone bothering the hospital staff.
Now, I can't entirely blame my grandmother. She was being moved to her bed by an orderly and her catheter became entangled in the sheet covering the chair she had been sitting on. One scream didn't have an instantaneous effect, so she continued until the entire ICU was in a blind panic.
Meanwhile, my aunt from Hell (aka NYC) heard all this, and called everyone from the top down and gave them what I can only imagine was the verbal equivalent of a jalapeno infused enema.
Then she called my sisters to bitch at them for not being psychically aware of the situation, threatening to come down and handle everything herself (like she ever would). "I'm a hell of a lot scarier than any of you," she informed my sister. "Damn right," said Sis. "Pol Pot is less scary than you."
By the time Jethro and I arrived, things had calmed down some, but the nurses were none too pleased with us. My grandmother was somewhat sickly looking, but I'm pretty sure she was in her element with an entire hospital staff at her beck and call (albeit somewhat bitterly).
After visiting my grandmother, I went to my sister's (who's marrying the Brit) bridal shower. Three sisters and I all drove together and it was actually kind of a fun ride. We ran out of gas a little bit on the freeway and had to coast to an exit with a service station, only just making it because we were going downhill, and passed a girl in a truck who had a bumper sticker that said, "I Used To Have A Lot of Nice Things and a Wolf. Now I Only Have a Wolf." She was wearing a hat with animal ears, and we passed her up just to get a better look. I don't know how to explain how funny this was, but one of my sisters made wolf-ears with her hands as we passed, looked back and asked, "Did she recognize?" I am still laughing about it.
We arrived at the shower where I was asked unceremoniously and without prelude whether Jethro and I had been married in the (Catholic) Church, by one of the guests whom I hadn't seen in about 15 years.
Just for the record, it isn't wise to ask me this question. But not for the reasons you would think. I know it isn't their business, blah, blah, blah, but I can't find it in my heart to be offended or hurt by people who care so much about me that they would flout protocol in such a spectacular fashion. No. The reason it isn't wise to ask me about it is because I will talk for about 45 minutes without ceasing on the reasons why I am not married in the Church, my issues with religion, my views on theology and dogma, my admiration for religious people even though I feel no need to subscribe, and the fact that I someday want to try anal again just to make sure I really hate it and I don't want to have to go to confession about it.
I warned you.
I fell asleep early Saturday night, intending to visit my grandmother again the next day. We were packing up Sunday morning, when I found myself in the throes of some kind of depression. I was crying for no reason at all, and I could barely move. Somehow I made it to the hospital to see my grandmother. She was all doped up on something that I wanted.
I sat with her for awhile while she drifted in and out of consciousness. I stood up to get her some water and found myself in the throes of some kind of vertigo. I was so dizzy I could barely walk. I don't know for sure what caused it, but I think it was some of the electronics in her room. I'm susceptible.
I waited until my sister got there and left, staggering drunkenly out to the waiting room where Jethro was waiting with the kids. I tried Jethro's tried and true vertigo remedy, which has always worked before, but to no avail.
We left the hospital and started driving back to New Town. We decided to stop and see my family on the way out because I was dry-heaving in a little plastic to-go cup. I went and laid down on my mom's couch and asked her to give me a hug. I'm a pussy.
After resting awhile, we started on again. I was disappointed we were going to miss the Super Bowl, but we didn't want to get back too late. We stopped at a convenience store where I got me some seltzer, Motrin and out of pure desperation, Dramamine.
Then we stopped at a diner for dinner and I took the dramamine.
Hellllooooo Sally. Where has this shit been all my life? I was in pure heaven after about half an hour. No more vertigo, no more depression, no more anything. I was happy and drowsy and rattled on nonstop to Jethro about everything from the punk scene (Don't come to me with your pink hair and pierced face, or your raggedy clothes and caustic wit and demand respect for being different. No one gives a shit, least of all me. Go to a country where you could disappear for bucking the "establishment" and I'll give you all due respect. But here? Within the last 60 years? Gimme a fucking break.) to business (reminder to self: find local produce growers tomorrow).
We tried to find the Super Bowl on the radio, but the signal kept fading. We kept it on anyway.
I had dozed off for awhile after listing the merits of raisng rabbits as a source of protein, when I heard the radio give a particurly loud blast of static. I bolted upright and yelled "TOUCHDOWN!!!! It's the Giants, right? They're winning now, right?"
Jethro's hands gripped the wheel and he said, "I think they've fucking won it!"
"NO!"
"Yes!"
The signal broke through for a second and we heard the score: 17-14 with 35 seconds left.
The signal went out again, and we listened with baited breath to the static. We were pretty sure we knew when the game was over, but we weren't sure who had won. We found out on another station.
Good game. Wish I'd seen it.
We get to the hospital and the ICU staff is looking daggers at us. I thought it was because my very large family had been plaguing them during non-visiting hours. Not so. My grandmother, discontent with being the least grieviously ill person in the ICU, had caused quite the ruckus while my aunt, a succubus from the very deepest pits of Hell (otherwise known as NYC), was on the phone bothering the hospital staff.
Now, I can't entirely blame my grandmother. She was being moved to her bed by an orderly and her catheter became entangled in the sheet covering the chair she had been sitting on. One scream didn't have an instantaneous effect, so she continued until the entire ICU was in a blind panic.
Meanwhile, my aunt from Hell (aka NYC) heard all this, and called everyone from the top down and gave them what I can only imagine was the verbal equivalent of a jalapeno infused enema.
Then she called my sisters to bitch at them for not being psychically aware of the situation, threatening to come down and handle everything herself (like she ever would). "I'm a hell of a lot scarier than any of you," she informed my sister. "Damn right," said Sis. "Pol Pot is less scary than you."
By the time Jethro and I arrived, things had calmed down some, but the nurses were none too pleased with us. My grandmother was somewhat sickly looking, but I'm pretty sure she was in her element with an entire hospital staff at her beck and call (albeit somewhat bitterly).
After visiting my grandmother, I went to my sister's (who's marrying the Brit) bridal shower. Three sisters and I all drove together and it was actually kind of a fun ride. We ran out of gas a little bit on the freeway and had to coast to an exit with a service station, only just making it because we were going downhill, and passed a girl in a truck who had a bumper sticker that said, "I Used To Have A Lot of Nice Things and a Wolf. Now I Only Have a Wolf." She was wearing a hat with animal ears, and we passed her up just to get a better look. I don't know how to explain how funny this was, but one of my sisters made wolf-ears with her hands as we passed, looked back and asked, "Did she recognize?" I am still laughing about it.
We arrived at the shower where I was asked unceremoniously and without prelude whether Jethro and I had been married in the (Catholic) Church, by one of the guests whom I hadn't seen in about 15 years.
Just for the record, it isn't wise to ask me this question. But not for the reasons you would think. I know it isn't their business, blah, blah, blah, but I can't find it in my heart to be offended or hurt by people who care so much about me that they would flout protocol in such a spectacular fashion. No. The reason it isn't wise to ask me about it is because I will talk for about 45 minutes without ceasing on the reasons why I am not married in the Church, my issues with religion, my views on theology and dogma, my admiration for religious people even though I feel no need to subscribe, and the fact that I someday want to try anal again just to make sure I really hate it and I don't want to have to go to confession about it.
I warned you.
I fell asleep early Saturday night, intending to visit my grandmother again the next day. We were packing up Sunday morning, when I found myself in the throes of some kind of depression. I was crying for no reason at all, and I could barely move. Somehow I made it to the hospital to see my grandmother. She was all doped up on something that I wanted.
I sat with her for awhile while she drifted in and out of consciousness. I stood up to get her some water and found myself in the throes of some kind of vertigo. I was so dizzy I could barely walk. I don't know for sure what caused it, but I think it was some of the electronics in her room. I'm susceptible.
I waited until my sister got there and left, staggering drunkenly out to the waiting room where Jethro was waiting with the kids. I tried Jethro's tried and true vertigo remedy, which has always worked before, but to no avail.
We left the hospital and started driving back to New Town. We decided to stop and see my family on the way out because I was dry-heaving in a little plastic to-go cup. I went and laid down on my mom's couch and asked her to give me a hug. I'm a pussy.
After resting awhile, we started on again. I was disappointed we were going to miss the Super Bowl, but we didn't want to get back too late. We stopped at a convenience store where I got me some seltzer, Motrin and out of pure desperation, Dramamine.
Then we stopped at a diner for dinner and I took the dramamine.
Hellllooooo Sally. Where has this shit been all my life? I was in pure heaven after about half an hour. No more vertigo, no more depression, no more anything. I was happy and drowsy and rattled on nonstop to Jethro about everything from the punk scene (Don't come to me with your pink hair and pierced face, or your raggedy clothes and caustic wit and demand respect for being different. No one gives a shit, least of all me. Go to a country where you could disappear for bucking the "establishment" and I'll give you all due respect. But here? Within the last 60 years? Gimme a fucking break.) to business (reminder to self: find local produce growers tomorrow).
We tried to find the Super Bowl on the radio, but the signal kept fading. We kept it on anyway.
I had dozed off for awhile after listing the merits of raisng rabbits as a source of protein, when I heard the radio give a particurly loud blast of static. I bolted upright and yelled "TOUCHDOWN!!!! It's the Giants, right? They're winning now, right?"
Jethro's hands gripped the wheel and he said, "I think they've fucking won it!"
"NO!"
"Yes!"
The signal broke through for a second and we heard the score: 17-14 with 35 seconds left.
The signal went out again, and we listened with baited breath to the static. We were pretty sure we knew when the game was over, but we weren't sure who had won. We found out on another station.
Good game. Wish I'd seen it.
Friday, February 01, 2008
What Happened the Year You Were Born?
In 1976 (the year you were born) |
 Gerald Ford is president of the US The US celebrates its bicentennial, marking the 200th anniversary of its independence The Viking II sets down on Mars' Utopia Plains Promising, "I will never lie to you," Jimmy Carter is elected president of the United States Israeli commandos rescue hostages from Entebbe, Uganda The Concorde begins flights from New York to Europe George W. Bush is arrested and fined for driving under the influence of alcohol Cray-1, the first commercially developed supercomputer, is invented by Seymour Cray Freddie Prinze Jr., Reese Witherspoon, Colin Farrell, 50 Cent, Fred Savage, and Shannon Elizabeth are born Cincinnati Reds win the World Series Pittsburgh Steelers win Superbowl X Montreal Canadiens win the Stanley Cup Rocky is the top grossing film Filming begins on George Lucas' Star Wars The Selfish Gene by Richard Dawkins is published The Eagles Their Greatest Hits compilation becomes the first album in history to be certified platinum "Tonight's The Night" by Rod Stewart spends the most time at the top of the US chart Charlie's Angels and The Muppet Show premiere |
H/T: Blonde Sagacity
My grandmother has to have another little operation this weekend, so we're going back to Houston. Keep her in your prayers, and have a great weekend.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
No One Appreciates My Art
Since moving to New Town, I've had to adjust to a whole new set of radio stations. Not that it's difficult or anything. They pretty much play the same crap you hear everywhere else. But I did manage to find a country station that plays old cowboy songs and Country and Western from back when it was called "Country and Western." A preponderance of Willie doesn't hurt either.
However, no one in my family appreciates this. If it doesn't have that fictional, synthesized quality, or a stomach pounding bass, they just aren't interested.
I tried to get the girls to sing "Tryin' to Love Two Women (Is Like a Ball and Chain) the other day, but they'd have none of it and begged me to turn it down before any of their friends heard.
------------------------------------------------
I have another class project due tonight. Upon it's completion, I will have simultaneously fulfilled a promise I never thought I'd be able to, and shocked my class who (amazingly) considers me to be a rather quiet person who does not draw needless attention to herself.
Update: I will post a picture of the project as soon as I get it back.
However, no one in my family appreciates this. If it doesn't have that fictional, synthesized quality, or a stomach pounding bass, they just aren't interested.
I tried to get the girls to sing "Tryin' to Love Two Women (Is Like a Ball and Chain) the other day, but they'd have none of it and begged me to turn it down before any of their friends heard.
------------------------------------------------
I have another class project due tonight. Upon it's completion, I will have simultaneously fulfilled a promise I never thought I'd be able to, and shocked my class who (amazingly) considers me to be a rather quiet person who does not draw needless attention to herself.
Update: I will post a picture of the project as soon as I get it back.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Monday, January 28, 2008
A Quiet Evening
I just got home from class. I hate still lives. And charcoal. Really, I'm just not good at drawing, and that sucks. I resignedly put my crappy picture up for critique every class, and I'm running out of ways to say "Yeah, I screwed up, but I'm so much improved!!!!"
Anyway, I've eaten a salad and I'm debating whether I should start my next project. I can finish it tomorrow, but if I at least started it tonight, I might get ahead for friggin' once.
However, Jethro is sitting all alone with his laptop, meticulously scouring the internet for some very specific pornography to send Corin in Iraq, at Cornin's request. There is no sacrifice Jethro wouldn't make for his friend; no titty he'd fail to scrutinize, no $3.99 per month subscription he wouldn't at least consider purchasing. Perhaps I should go help him bear this unspeakable burden.
Decisions......
Actually, Corin has requested porn containing large, natural bosoms and Asians. I'm thinking Jeth and I could save a little money here. I know this is conceited, but you don't get better than mine for cartoonishly large, unfake boobies, and Jethro is pretty. So so pretty. A wig and some lipstick and we could have an Asian/huge tittied lesbian encounter, provided Jethro was able to tuck in properly, and the lighting was suitably dim. Corin would never know. And even if he did, he'd probably just curse our names and beat off anyway. I hear soldiers in Iraq aren't too picky, which is a good thing. Maybe now they'll let me start cybersexing them again.
Anyway, I've eaten a salad and I'm debating whether I should start my next project. I can finish it tomorrow, but if I at least started it tonight, I might get ahead for friggin' once.
However, Jethro is sitting all alone with his laptop, meticulously scouring the internet for some very specific pornography to send Corin in Iraq, at Cornin's request. There is no sacrifice Jethro wouldn't make for his friend; no titty he'd fail to scrutinize, no $3.99 per month subscription he wouldn't at least consider purchasing. Perhaps I should go help him bear this unspeakable burden.
Decisions......
Actually, Corin has requested porn containing large, natural bosoms and Asians. I'm thinking Jeth and I could save a little money here. I know this is conceited, but you don't get better than mine for cartoonishly large, unfake boobies, and Jethro is pretty. So so pretty. A wig and some lipstick and we could have an Asian/huge tittied lesbian encounter, provided Jethro was able to tuck in properly, and the lighting was suitably dim. Corin would never know. And even if he did, he'd probably just curse our names and beat off anyway. I hear soldiers in Iraq aren't too picky, which is a good thing. Maybe now they'll let me start cybersexing them again.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Political Dabbling
It's like watching a mangy white hen try to peck her little black chick to death and the little black chick feebly scratching at her eyes.
I do not agree with Obama on any of his main issues, so obviously will not be voting for him. But he is one hell of a likeable candidate. You almost feel as if you could ask him nicely not to steal your money. And I think he's black. Bonus.
I do not agree with Obama on any of his main issues, so obviously will not be voting for him. But he is one hell of a likeable candidate. You almost feel as if you could ask him nicely not to steal your money. And I think he's black. Bonus.
Friday, January 18, 2008
AGIBs
I was listening to one of the artistically gifted, but intellectually bereft (or AGIBs for short) tell a story about a near escape he had with members of law enforcement. At first I thought it was a story about an apartment dog, which turned out not to be the case. But that was the only reason I began listening. I'd never heard anyone refer to a dog who lived in an apartment as an "apartment dog." The entire story was liberally peppered with both "dog" and "fool," including this gem of a sentence, "Yeah and my girl she was pissed off, dog cuz I was supposed be in court the next day, fool."
I guess it was better than "like" and "whatever."
And I was right. They are all high. When we have our breaks, if they're not in the parking lot smoking weed, they're dipping. One of my classmates told me about the massive bloody nose he experienced after snorting some coke while suffering a sinus infection. I try to keep my angelic face on so I won't be forced to say something like, "No, man. Pot makes me sleepy." Or some other witty excuse from my unused '80s repertoire.
I guess it was better than "like" and "whatever."
And I was right. They are all high. When we have our breaks, if they're not in the parking lot smoking weed, they're dipping. One of my classmates told me about the massive bloody nose he experienced after snorting some coke while suffering a sinus infection. I try to keep my angelic face on so I won't be forced to say something like, "No, man. Pot makes me sleepy." Or some other witty excuse from my unused '80s repertoire.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
No Big Brother Today
If you haven't caught Mr. Ezra Levant's excoriation of the Canadian Human Rights Commission to which he was ingloriously summoned by a complaint from one, Syed Soharwardy, for publishing the Danish cartoons of Islam's Pedophile Prophet, you really should. (Start at the last one.)
The fact that Mr. Levant has been brought before this "Human Rights" Commission is disgusting. But it's almost worth it simply for the exposure it gives to the false liberalism and soft fascism of Institutional Political Correctness.
H/T: Jim Treacher
The fact that Mr. Levant has been brought before this "Human Rights" Commission is disgusting. But it's almost worth it simply for the exposure it gives to the false liberalism and soft fascism of Institutional Political Correctness.
H/T: Jim Treacher
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
"Seventeen year olds nowadays are crazy. They're up for anything. They even like it when you go ass to mouth." - Clerks II
Well maybe not 17 year olds, but one 25 year old classmate of mine. I'll call him Joe. He's into group sex. I thought you only got into group sex when you were too old to have decent regular sex. Or if you were ugly and had to compromise in order to get laid.
The guy is cute in an everyday kind of way. Nothing spectacular or anything, but certainly not repulsive. And he's smart. But he'll double up with another dude on some chick.
I'm always shocked when I find out someone I know, however briefly, is engaged in sex acts I have only seen in 15 second clips on the internet.
Now every time I see him I'm going to wonder if his balls have slapped another guy's face, or if he's kissed a girl who's just gone ass to mouth.
The guy is cute in an everyday kind of way. Nothing spectacular or anything, but certainly not repulsive. And he's smart. But he'll double up with another dude on some chick.
I'm always shocked when I find out someone I know, however briefly, is engaged in sex acts I have only seen in 15 second clips on the internet.
Now every time I see him I'm going to wonder if his balls have slapped another guy's face, or if he's kissed a girl who's just gone ass to mouth.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Lo! Who is that, striding out of the wasteland! It is Zelda, hands clutching a sharpened screwdriver...
I have come to the conclusion that it is time for Jethro and me to part ways.
While we sleep.
He snores. It's getting worse. If the sleep apnea doesn't kill him, there is a very good chance I might. You know you're on a very bad track when you are waked by a particularly loud reverberation and think you're being logical as you weigh out the reasons why choking him to death is a good idea, and whether or not you should dig the grave first.
Last night was another straw. Since he snores, he doesn't fall into a deep sleep. This makes him prone to sleep activity. Last night he was pawing my face and throat and muttering to himself. When I woke up screaming, "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD STOP TOUCHING ME!!!" he informed me haughtily that he was just trying to help me.
I'm thinking that, given our deep sexual commitment, separate twins and a nice, thick, carpeted screen between them would not necessarily be a throwback to 1950s prudery.
While we sleep.
He snores. It's getting worse. If the sleep apnea doesn't kill him, there is a very good chance I might. You know you're on a very bad track when you are waked by a particularly loud reverberation and think you're being logical as you weigh out the reasons why choking him to death is a good idea, and whether or not you should dig the grave first.
Last night was another straw. Since he snores, he doesn't fall into a deep sleep. This makes him prone to sleep activity. Last night he was pawing my face and throat and muttering to himself. When I woke up screaming, "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD STOP TOUCHING ME!!!" he informed me haughtily that he was just trying to help me.
I'm thinking that, given our deep sexual commitment, separate twins and a nice, thick, carpeted screen between them would not necessarily be a throwback to 1950s prudery.
Friday, January 11, 2008
Musings
Snow falls in Baghdad. IT'S GLOBAL WARMING!!! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!!!!
If you you bother to read the article, note the excessively cheesy James Joyce reference and apology - further proving my suspicion that journalists are just writers who are having trouble selling their works of hack.
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Classes are going. I'll be very happy when I'm done with the drawing portion. I have no hand- eye coordination. I seem to have a fabulous grasp of the concept of graphic design, however. But just when I was congratulating myself on that fact and feeling slightly superior to everyone else in the room, I came to the conclusion that everyone else in the room was high. And they're still better at drawing.
Why does God see fit to bless these peasants with such gifts?
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And if you do nothing else the rest of the weekend, watch this: Swiped from Jim Treacher at Blowing Smoke.
We are staying put this weekend, thank goodness. I don't think I could handle one more trip back to Houston. I like my own bed, dustmites and all.
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I did not watch the GOP debate last night, being in class the whole time, but I hear Mr. Thompson cleaned up. Good for him. I think he might sweep the South. I certainly hope so. Huckabee's evangelicals are getting on my nerves, but they don't begin to compare to Ron Paul's psychos. How alarming is it when the candidate's supporters are scarier than the candidate?
I realize the slightly more conservative (cough...Michelle Malkin...cough) are jumping all over Thompson for not skewering McCain on issues such as immigration and campaign finance reform. I would have thought much less of him if he had. McCain could be a very valuable ally if he wins the nomination, and McCain should be given the utmost respect by Republicans and Democrats alike, even when you disagree. He has earned that in spades.
If you you bother to read the article, note the excessively cheesy James Joyce reference and apology - further proving my suspicion that journalists are just writers who are having trouble selling their works of hack.
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Classes are going. I'll be very happy when I'm done with the drawing portion. I have no hand- eye coordination. I seem to have a fabulous grasp of the concept of graphic design, however. But just when I was congratulating myself on that fact and feeling slightly superior to everyone else in the room, I came to the conclusion that everyone else in the room was high. And they're still better at drawing.
Why does God see fit to bless these peasants with such gifts?
-------------------------------
And if you do nothing else the rest of the weekend, watch this: Swiped from Jim Treacher at Blowing Smoke.
We are staying put this weekend, thank goodness. I don't think I could handle one more trip back to Houston. I like my own bed, dustmites and all.
--------------------------------
I did not watch the GOP debate last night, being in class the whole time, but I hear Mr. Thompson cleaned up. Good for him. I think he might sweep the South. I certainly hope so. Huckabee's evangelicals are getting on my nerves, but they don't begin to compare to Ron Paul's psychos. How alarming is it when the candidate's supporters are scarier than the candidate?
I realize the slightly more conservative (cough...Michelle Malkin...cough) are jumping all over Thompson for not skewering McCain on issues such as immigration and campaign finance reform. I would have thought much less of him if he had. McCain could be a very valuable ally if he wins the nomination, and McCain should be given the utmost respect by Republicans and Democrats alike, even when you disagree. He has earned that in spades.
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
The Usual
I haven't read the article yet, but I did like the headline: "Moderate drinking and exercising may lower risk of heart disease." I do hope they mean at the same time. I can see myself enjoying the clinic exercise bicycle so much more.
So classes are interesting, but I'm just as bad as I feared. I sincerely hope they can do something with me. However, I seem to have gone overboard on the humility and can't seem to stop apologizing for my lack of talent. I think I have a decent amount of skill when it comes to concept, but making my hands execute that concept is like trying to escape from a cement coffin. It's always been a struggle to make my hands do what my brain is telling them. It's what keeps me from being a good musician as opposed to a just a strummer or a plucker. Luckily I can type and when the situation calls for it, write, otherwise I'd have no creative gifts whatsoever. And then all I'd have is boobs and I'd have to work out and become a stripper, or find some other profession that utilizes breasts. Nipple piercing model maybe (NSFW)?
Regardless, I'm going to learn as much as I can. It's amazing how much more focused I am now than when I was in school a decade ago. I really wasn't ready, which should have been obvious given that my first thought upon entering any class was how many absences the prof would let me get away with. But as with anything, you're ususally the last person to figure this out.
So classes are interesting, but I'm just as bad as I feared. I sincerely hope they can do something with me. However, I seem to have gone overboard on the humility and can't seem to stop apologizing for my lack of talent. I think I have a decent amount of skill when it comes to concept, but making my hands execute that concept is like trying to escape from a cement coffin. It's always been a struggle to make my hands do what my brain is telling them. It's what keeps me from being a good musician as opposed to a just a strummer or a plucker. Luckily I can type and when the situation calls for it, write, otherwise I'd have no creative gifts whatsoever. And then all I'd have is boobs and I'd have to work out and become a stripper, or find some other profession that utilizes breasts. Nipple piercing model maybe (NSFW)?
Regardless, I'm going to learn as much as I can. It's amazing how much more focused I am now than when I was in school a decade ago. I really wasn't ready, which should have been obvious given that my first thought upon entering any class was how many absences the prof would let me get away with. But as with anything, you're ususally the last person to figure this out.
Monday, January 07, 2008
The Drive Home
I got a handsome high school boy to talk to me last night at a McDonald's in Flatonio, TX. He was so cute. I think it was just because he was nice, but I'm hoping it was because I was wearing my special shirt. We commiserated over McDonald's decision to replace the medium fries with the small fries on the dollar value menu.
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I start my first class this evening. I'm actually nervous. I have been thrown straight into Drawing I and I can't draw anything freehand. I was the worst picture maker in my entire 7th grade class. I am hoping against hope that abstract has not gone out of style yet.
Wish me luck.
I am working on a difficult blog post regarding Transcendentalism and Objectivism. No one will enjoy reading it, but I am thoroughly enjoying writing it.
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I start my first class this evening. I'm actually nervous. I have been thrown straight into Drawing I and I can't draw anything freehand. I was the worst picture maker in my entire 7th grade class. I am hoping against hope that abstract has not gone out of style yet.
Wish me luck.
I am working on a difficult blog post regarding Transcendentalism and Objectivism. No one will enjoy reading it, but I am thoroughly enjoying writing it.
Thursday, January 03, 2008
Schtuff
So I'm back to just the sniffles after a wild crescendo of illness, the zenith being a head somewhere around 6 lbs full of a thick snot pudding, I wanted to shoot myself just to relieve the pressure.
But it's better now. I took the antibiotics and they seem to be doing the trick.
I'm headed for orientation tonight. It will be interesting to see if my pride can withstand an environment related to a subject of which I am almost completely ignorant. I don't like being the dumbest one in the room. It remains to be seen if I can muster the humility to actually learn something, pride being somewhat of an Achille's heel for me. Better work on that for the new year. The housekeeping got far away from me while I was sick, so I have that to work on that too. Squelching pride and housekeeping. Dull business.
On the upside, though, I'm very happy to have the kids back. I missed them. Even though I had the option to make as much noise as I wanted (and I tried, but very little sound escaped from my battered vocal chords) while in certain compromising positions, life seemed very two-dimensional.
Oh, and Jethro and I visited a sex toy shop the night before we left for Houston to pick up the girls. I'm shy about that kind of thing in public, so I referred to Jethro as "Don" and he to me as "Kelly" and we pretended we were going to a bachelor/bachelorette party for two people named "Jethro" and "Zelda."
And boy oh boy were Jethro and Zelda going to have fun.
In fact, Jethro and Zelda had so much fun, they only managed to open the vibrator package part way before they said, "screw it" and had regular old sex.
But I hope this vibrator lasts longer.
But it's better now. I took the antibiotics and they seem to be doing the trick.
I'm headed for orientation tonight. It will be interesting to see if my pride can withstand an environment related to a subject of which I am almost completely ignorant. I don't like being the dumbest one in the room. It remains to be seen if I can muster the humility to actually learn something, pride being somewhat of an Achille's heel for me. Better work on that for the new year. The housekeeping got far away from me while I was sick, so I have that to work on that too. Squelching pride and housekeeping. Dull business.
On the upside, though, I'm very happy to have the kids back. I missed them. Even though I had the option to make as much noise as I wanted (and I tried, but very little sound escaped from my battered vocal chords) while in certain compromising positions, life seemed very two-dimensional.
Oh, and Jethro and I visited a sex toy shop the night before we left for Houston to pick up the girls. I'm shy about that kind of thing in public, so I referred to Jethro as "Don" and he to me as "Kelly" and we pretended we were going to a bachelor/bachelorette party for two people named "Jethro" and "Zelda."
And boy oh boy were Jethro and Zelda going to have fun.
In fact, Jethro and Zelda had so much fun, they only managed to open the vibrator package part way before they said, "screw it" and had regular old sex.
But I hope this vibrator lasts longer.
Monday, December 31, 2007
The Year In Retrospect And A Brief Anecdote
It's been quite a year for us, this 2007 - a red-letter year in so many respects. Jethro ditched his widow-maker of a boss in a unexpectedly timely manner. That in and of itself makes the year worthy of note. But on top of that, we bought our own business, moved cities, and renovated our tiny monstrosity of a home. It will definitely stand out for many years to come for all the wonderful things that came out of it.
And yet I'd trade every good thing in an instant to erase the one bad thing.
Jethro and I went to the cemetery to visit Charles again on Christmas Eve. There were so many things we needed to do that day, but that just seemed to be the most important. And am I ever glad we did. His mom and fiance had gone the day before and put up a wreath and an ornament which the wind had blown down and strewn all over. Jeth and I collected it all and put it back. I found some Christmas ribbon in the car and tied everything down so the wind couldn't knock it over again. I felt better knowing that his grave would be the way his mom and his girl wanted it for Christmas. It's funny the comfort we take in such small things.
Ah well. I don't love ending the year with such a somber post, but I must remember our friend. He is definitely worth it. I'll make up for it with a funny story about him, or actually just involving him. It's mostly about a large girl who was another friend of ours.
I'll call her Tina, and I'll say it again. She was large.
When we were in college, Tina used to throw these crazy parties. We'd fill a Rubbermaid trashcan (designated solely for that purpose) with Trashcan Punch, buy a few cases of beer, and have some fun. We had several awesome parties there including one where we watched the Rockets sweep the Magic in the '95 NBA Finals, loaded 20 people, a keg, and a couple of brooms into the back of someone's pick-up......but I digress.
Tina's apartment complex was in a shady part of town, and not terribly well kept. But it did have a swimming pool. And swimming pools have a bad habit of luring in drunken young college chicks. And drunken young college chicks have a bad habit of removing their clothing, once succumbing to the lure.
On this particular occasion, being a chaste and virtuous maiden, I had passed out in a pool chair after having only removed my top.
When I came to, I found myself alone except for Tina who was happily cavorting in the pool all by herself. Since it was her apartment complex, she was afforded the luxury of a swimsuit, and so had not felt the need to return with the others. Apparently I was chopped liver. No one had bothered to wake me up to go get dry.
I had misplaced my glasses as was usual for me at these parties, but had enough clarity to realize that I was pretty drunk and all alone with a 300 lb. girl who was similarly inebriated. I was pretty sure, should she start to drown, that I could not save her. And I wanted to save her. I liked her a lot, and her parties were great.
"Tina!" I called. "Come backatha party! I need nonother drink. Drinkiepoo. Y'know. Drink."
"But I'm having fun out here," Tina said, floatily. "Tell the others to come back!"
It took a minute or two for this to sink in, but I was pretty sure by the time I thought of a good reply, I could go back to the party and bring a few more people out.
"'Kay, Tina. I'll bre righ-back," I shouted as soberly as I could. "Shtay by th' pool shteps an' I'll go bring 'um back here."
I wobbled back to the party where I procured the help of Charles and tall, skinny girl named Kara. Charles, having lost his own glasses (he wore glasses back then), let Kara lead the way. We chatted merrily, if not coherently, until we got to the pool.
Suddenly, without warning, Kara stopped short and flung her arms out. Charles and I were nearly clotheslined.
"Stop," Kara said in a low voice. "Y'all turn around right now."
Frightened, we obeyed.
"Tina! Tina, sweetie!" Kara chirped in her most endearing southern twang. "You might want to put your swimsuit back on now, honey!"
"But I'm free! FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" sang Tina as she splashed joyfully through the white water of her own wake.
Charles and I clawed at each other for a minute in a mutual frenzy of horror and mirth, and immediately congratulated ourselves not only on having lost our eyewear, but on having need for it in the first place.
I don't remember much after that. I think Tina ended up putting back on her swimsuit, but not before someone called out an order to "man the harpoooooons!" which I thought was very rude. I do know that not once did Charles so much as squint in her direction - a temptation that surprisingly few were able to resist.
Just one of many strange, fond memories...
And yet I'd trade every good thing in an instant to erase the one bad thing.
Jethro and I went to the cemetery to visit Charles again on Christmas Eve. There were so many things we needed to do that day, but that just seemed to be the most important. And am I ever glad we did. His mom and fiance had gone the day before and put up a wreath and an ornament which the wind had blown down and strewn all over. Jeth and I collected it all and put it back. I found some Christmas ribbon in the car and tied everything down so the wind couldn't knock it over again. I felt better knowing that his grave would be the way his mom and his girl wanted it for Christmas. It's funny the comfort we take in such small things.
Ah well. I don't love ending the year with such a somber post, but I must remember our friend. He is definitely worth it. I'll make up for it with a funny story about him, or actually just involving him. It's mostly about a large girl who was another friend of ours.
I'll call her Tina, and I'll say it again. She was large.
When we were in college, Tina used to throw these crazy parties. We'd fill a Rubbermaid trashcan (designated solely for that purpose) with Trashcan Punch, buy a few cases of beer, and have some fun. We had several awesome parties there including one where we watched the Rockets sweep the Magic in the '95 NBA Finals, loaded 20 people, a keg, and a couple of brooms into the back of someone's pick-up......but I digress.
Tina's apartment complex was in a shady part of town, and not terribly well kept. But it did have a swimming pool. And swimming pools have a bad habit of luring in drunken young college chicks. And drunken young college chicks have a bad habit of removing their clothing, once succumbing to the lure.
On this particular occasion, being a chaste and virtuous maiden, I had passed out in a pool chair after having only removed my top.
When I came to, I found myself alone except for Tina who was happily cavorting in the pool all by herself. Since it was her apartment complex, she was afforded the luxury of a swimsuit, and so had not felt the need to return with the others. Apparently I was chopped liver. No one had bothered to wake me up to go get dry.
I had misplaced my glasses as was usual for me at these parties, but had enough clarity to realize that I was pretty drunk and all alone with a 300 lb. girl who was similarly inebriated. I was pretty sure, should she start to drown, that I could not save her. And I wanted to save her. I liked her a lot, and her parties were great.
"Tina!" I called. "Come backatha party! I need nonother drink. Drinkiepoo. Y'know. Drink."
"But I'm having fun out here," Tina said, floatily. "Tell the others to come back!"
It took a minute or two for this to sink in, but I was pretty sure by the time I thought of a good reply, I could go back to the party and bring a few more people out.
"'Kay, Tina. I'll bre righ-back," I shouted as soberly as I could. "Shtay by th' pool shteps an' I'll go bring 'um back here."
I wobbled back to the party where I procured the help of Charles and tall, skinny girl named Kara. Charles, having lost his own glasses (he wore glasses back then), let Kara lead the way. We chatted merrily, if not coherently, until we got to the pool.
Suddenly, without warning, Kara stopped short and flung her arms out. Charles and I were nearly clotheslined.
"Stop," Kara said in a low voice. "Y'all turn around right now."
Frightened, we obeyed.
"Tina! Tina, sweetie!" Kara chirped in her most endearing southern twang. "You might want to put your swimsuit back on now, honey!"
"But I'm free! FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" sang Tina as she splashed joyfully through the white water of her own wake.
Charles and I clawed at each other for a minute in a mutual frenzy of horror and mirth, and immediately congratulated ourselves not only on having lost our eyewear, but on having need for it in the first place.
I don't remember much after that. I think Tina ended up putting back on her swimsuit, but not before someone called out an order to "man the harpoooooons!" which I thought was very rude. I do know that not once did Charles so much as squint in her direction - a temptation that surprisingly few were able to resist.
Just one of many strange, fond memories...
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Friday, December 28, 2007
Emo Post
Life is so unfair. For Christmas, one of Jethro's sisters asked to take the girls to Florida to swim with dolphins at some dolphin swimming place.
The plan was that we would leave the girls with the in-laws Christmas day night, drive back to New Town, spend the whole week nekkid (except for when we were at the clinic), put on some clothes for the weekend and party, then finally drive back to Houston on New Year's Eve to pick up the kids.
It was going to be fantastic.
But I am still sick. Feverishly, bloody sinusly, ear infectiously, swollen neck glandsedly sick.
So I am sitting here shivering and glowering, feeling like a two-year old who hasn't gotten her way. I would stamp my feet if I thought it would make me feel any better. But it won't. It would just make my head ache more.
Good bye, cruel world.
The plan was that we would leave the girls with the in-laws Christmas day night, drive back to New Town, spend the whole week nekkid (except for when we were at the clinic), put on some clothes for the weekend and party, then finally drive back to Houston on New Year's Eve to pick up the kids.
It was going to be fantastic.
But I am still sick. Feverishly, bloody sinusly, ear infectiously, swollen neck glandsedly sick.
So I am sitting here shivering and glowering, feeling like a two-year old who hasn't gotten her way. I would stamp my feet if I thought it would make me feel any better. But it won't. It would just make my head ache more.
Good bye, cruel world.
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
The Magic 8 Ball
It was a nice Christmas. No major dramatics (miraculous for a family consisting of 12 females and 2 sperm donors), just the heartfelt observation that we could use some men in the family. Jethro cannot carry the load by himself. Every time we leave my family's estrogen plantation, I see just a few more gray hairs on his head. It's already driven my stepfather to insanity.
I am still not feeling well. I was doing better yesterday, but seem to have had a relapse. I have the energy for one funny story, but then I'm spent.
Gwennie and Emma had themselves a great Christmas and got a pretty nice haul. One of Gwennie's presents was a Magic 8 ball. It was a last minute present because Emma was getting a high school musical poster, and Gwennie's Pokemon poster hadn't come in yet. They have to have an even number of presents. Be quiet, they just do.
Anyway, Gwennie had left her Battleship game all over the floor and I asked her to pick it up. The third time I asked, I didn't ask nicely. She snatched up her game in a manic huff and nearly threw it at me.
"What is your problem?" I asked, nonplussed.
Tears formed in her eyes. Real, legitimate tears.
"My family doesn't love me," she said simply.
"What on earth would give you that impression?"
"I asked my Magic 8 ball if I like pie and it said "yes." Then I asked it if my family really loved me and it said, "no." Her voice broke.
"Oh my god. I'm going to smash that thing into pieces. Gwennie. Look at me. You can't ask a piece of plastic important questions like that. It's just a game. You're only supposed to ask it questions like, 'Should I wear my red shirt today?' You know, things that don't really matter. You know I love you. I love you and Emma more than anything in the world. The day I had you was the happiest day of my life."
She brightened considerably.
"Do you understand what I'm telling you, Gwennie?" I asked seriously.
"Yes. I feel much better now that I know it's just a game."
A mischievous look came into her eyes. She shook up her Magic 8 Ball and asked, "Am I going to get presents next year?"
She turned it over and read: "Outlook not good."
She frowned a little and said, "I'll ask it again."
She turned over the 8 ball and read: "All signs point to no."
She sighed. "I'll ask it one more time."
Once more she asked the question and shook up her 8 ball: "My reply is no."
She looked at it for a second, then said cheerfully: "Well, that's it for today."
I am still not feeling well. I was doing better yesterday, but seem to have had a relapse. I have the energy for one funny story, but then I'm spent.
Gwennie and Emma had themselves a great Christmas and got a pretty nice haul. One of Gwennie's presents was a Magic 8 ball. It was a last minute present because Emma was getting a high school musical poster, and Gwennie's Pokemon poster hadn't come in yet. They have to have an even number of presents. Be quiet, they just do.
Anyway, Gwennie had left her Battleship game all over the floor and I asked her to pick it up. The third time I asked, I didn't ask nicely. She snatched up her game in a manic huff and nearly threw it at me.
"What is your problem?" I asked, nonplussed.
Tears formed in her eyes. Real, legitimate tears.
"My family doesn't love me," she said simply.
"What on earth would give you that impression?"
"I asked my Magic 8 ball if I like pie and it said "yes." Then I asked it if my family really loved me and it said, "no." Her voice broke.
"Oh my god. I'm going to smash that thing into pieces. Gwennie. Look at me. You can't ask a piece of plastic important questions like that. It's just a game. You're only supposed to ask it questions like, 'Should I wear my red shirt today?' You know, things that don't really matter. You know I love you. I love you and Emma more than anything in the world. The day I had you was the happiest day of my life."
She brightened considerably.
"Do you understand what I'm telling you, Gwennie?" I asked seriously.
"Yes. I feel much better now that I know it's just a game."
A mischievous look came into her eyes. She shook up her Magic 8 Ball and asked, "Am I going to get presents next year?"
She turned it over and read: "Outlook not good."
She frowned a little and said, "I'll ask it again."
She turned over the 8 ball and read: "All signs point to no."
She sighed. "I'll ask it one more time."
Once more she asked the question and shook up her 8 ball: "My reply is no."
She looked at it for a second, then said cheerfully: "Well, that's it for today."
Saturday, December 22, 2007
Got Tagged
Still feel like shit, but I was fortunately tagged, so I don't have to do any great thinking.
I guess I must post the rules so here they are:
1) Link to the person who tagged you. That would be Sohos.
2) Share Christmas facts about yourself.
3) Tag 7 random people at the end of your post, and include links to their blogs.
4) Let each person know that they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.
1. Wrapping or gift bags? Wrapping. I like difficulty.
2. Real or artificial tree? I prefer a real tree, but have had an artificial one until this year. The artificial one actually broke at the base the first year we got it and we've jerry-rigged it for seven years now. Last year if fell over three times, so we decided it's time had come and gone.
3. When do you put up the tree? Whenever we get the chance, but not until the beginning of December.
4. When do you take the tree down? Again, whenever we get a chance. I once left it up until February.
5. Do you like eggnog? Oh yes. But definitely with rum in it.
6. Favorite gift received as a child? A Barbie Dream House. We'd just finished with the Best Christmas Ever in the way of loot, when I looked over and saw this strangled look of delight on one of my sister's faces. My dad had pulled off a sheet exposing a brand-new Barbie dream house. We were really into Barbie, but never expected the dream house for even a second.
7. Do you have a nativity scene? Yep. Two actually. Gwennie broke Mary and Jesus last year with a yo yo, I think, and I was quite peeved.
8. Worst Christmas gift you ever received? Haven't really received a bad one. I've liked, or at least appreciated them all.
9. Mail or email Christmas cards? I ought to mail them, but I never do. This year I emailed them.
10. Favorite Christmas movie? A Christmas Story. "FRA-GI-LE. Must be Italian." Cracks me up every time.
11. When do you start shopping for Christmas? I always say I'm going to start early, but I always end up starting after Thanksgiving.
12. Favorite thing to eat at Christmas? Marie Callenders Razzleberry pie
13. Clear lights or colored? Colored
14. Favorite Christmas song? Fairytale of New York by The Pogues and Merry Christmas from the Family by Robert Earl Keen
15. Travel at Christmas or stay at home? I usually go to my parents' house.
16. Can you name all of Santas reindeer? Yes, thanks to Gene Autry, the Christmas Cowboy.
17. Angel or star on the top of your tree? It's a nativity tree topper that should have a star over it, but it broke. Gwennie again.
18. Open your presents Christmas Eve or Christmas morning? The adults open theirs' in the evening, but we make the kids suffer until morning.
19. Most annoying thing about this time of year? Lunatics on the road.
20. What do you leave for Santa? Cookies and milk for Santa, carrots for the reindeer.
21. Least favorite holiday song? Let It Snow. It's just cruel to play it in Texas.
22. Do you decorate your tree with any specific theme or color? Nah.
23. Favorite ornament? A silver martini glass. It's just cool looking.
Anyone who wants to do it is more than welcome, but I'm specifically tagging Angi and Jeanette to be answered at their leisure.
I guess I must post the rules so here they are:
1) Link to the person who tagged you. That would be Sohos.
2) Share Christmas facts about yourself.
3) Tag 7 random people at the end of your post, and include links to their blogs.
4) Let each person know that they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.
1. Wrapping or gift bags? Wrapping. I like difficulty.
2. Real or artificial tree? I prefer a real tree, but have had an artificial one until this year. The artificial one actually broke at the base the first year we got it and we've jerry-rigged it for seven years now. Last year if fell over three times, so we decided it's time had come and gone.
3. When do you put up the tree? Whenever we get the chance, but not until the beginning of December.
4. When do you take the tree down? Again, whenever we get a chance. I once left it up until February.
5. Do you like eggnog? Oh yes. But definitely with rum in it.
6. Favorite gift received as a child? A Barbie Dream House. We'd just finished with the Best Christmas Ever in the way of loot, when I looked over and saw this strangled look of delight on one of my sister's faces. My dad had pulled off a sheet exposing a brand-new Barbie dream house. We were really into Barbie, but never expected the dream house for even a second.
7. Do you have a nativity scene? Yep. Two actually. Gwennie broke Mary and Jesus last year with a yo yo, I think, and I was quite peeved.
8. Worst Christmas gift you ever received? Haven't really received a bad one. I've liked, or at least appreciated them all.
9. Mail or email Christmas cards? I ought to mail them, but I never do. This year I emailed them.
10. Favorite Christmas movie? A Christmas Story. "FRA-GI-LE. Must be Italian." Cracks me up every time.
11. When do you start shopping for Christmas? I always say I'm going to start early, but I always end up starting after Thanksgiving.
12. Favorite thing to eat at Christmas? Marie Callenders Razzleberry pie
13. Clear lights or colored? Colored
14. Favorite Christmas song? Fairytale of New York by The Pogues and Merry Christmas from the Family by Robert Earl Keen
15. Travel at Christmas or stay at home? I usually go to my parents' house.
16. Can you name all of Santas reindeer? Yes, thanks to Gene Autry, the Christmas Cowboy.
17. Angel or star on the top of your tree? It's a nativity tree topper that should have a star over it, but it broke. Gwennie again.
18. Open your presents Christmas Eve or Christmas morning? The adults open theirs' in the evening, but we make the kids suffer until morning.
19. Most annoying thing about this time of year? Lunatics on the road.
20. What do you leave for Santa? Cookies and milk for Santa, carrots for the reindeer.
21. Least favorite holiday song? Let It Snow. It's just cruel to play it in Texas.
22. Do you decorate your tree with any specific theme or color? Nah.
23. Favorite ornament? A silver martini glass. It's just cool looking.
Anyone who wants to do it is more than welcome, but I'm specifically tagging Angi and Jeanette to be answered at their leisure.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
What A Night
I'm going to try to explain the night I had last night, but I was feverish, so there is a good chance this post will make no sense.
Nope. I changed my mind. I don't feel well, so I'm just going to sum it up.
A skunk set off our smoke alarm.
Nope. I changed my mind. I don't feel well, so I'm just going to sum it up.
A skunk set off our smoke alarm.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
*SSSSSSNIIIIIFFFFFFFF*
I'm not feeling very well. I have a runny nose, an earache, and a sore throat. I'm dripping on the keyboard as I speak, so I'm going to bed.
Everyone have fun and avoid the malls.
Everyone have fun and avoid the malls.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Friday, December 14, 2007
Something To Make Your Head Explode
I read this courtesy of Michelle Malkin. I just want to cry. I can't even waste thought on those two pieces of raw sewage who gave her up. Just give her to me. She can be my little girl and she will never have to worry about fitting in with disgusting eurotrash.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Ignorance Is Bliss. Damn the Internet.
Gwennie is supposed to write a little paper on Johnny Appleseed, so I helped her look him up on Wikipedia. I thought it prudent to skip the part that discusses his views on marriage.
Which leads me to the bad part of the internet. There is so much I never wanted to know. I didn't want to know that most of the Riders of Rohan from the Lord of the Rings movies were women. I didn't want to know Errol Flynn's friends propped him up in a hotel lobby after he died so people could get a look at him (actually, I don't really mind knowing that for some reason). And I most especially didn't want to know that Grandpa on the Waltons was a bi-sexual. I don't even like thinking of him as a unisexual. I hope it's a rumor.
Which leads me to the bad part of the internet. There is so much I never wanted to know. I didn't want to know that most of the Riders of Rohan from the Lord of the Rings movies were women. I didn't want to know Errol Flynn's friends propped him up in a hotel lobby after he died so people could get a look at him (actually, I don't really mind knowing that for some reason). And I most especially didn't want to know that Grandpa on the Waltons was a bi-sexual. I don't even like thinking of him as a unisexual. I hope it's a rumor.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
The Spectres From Our Past Never Die
I have not encountered anyone on this planet who has the capability of annoying me more than Jethro's former boss. 'Annoying' might be too mild a word, but I hesitate to reveal the psychotic depths of anger to which that ugly, stupid bitch can drive me.
It could probably go without saying, but she owes Jethro a not insignificant amount of money from when he worked there. Knowing her as we do (she is tighter than the asshole of a straight man who isn't into that type of thing), we have not exactly been expecting it to be paid. It doesn't change the fact that she still owes it.
But now to the part that makes me want to ruin her self-esteem (puzzlingly intact for such such a boring, witless, unattractive woman).
She wrote Jethro an email explaining why she was not going to pay him. Dumbass Bitch would have been better off not bothering. Her reasons were that 2 people he referred had not panned out according to her expectations and she had trouble collecting from one of their insurance companies - neither of which have anything to do with the fact that she owes him money.
Now I, in my haste to injure her emotionally, would have sent back the following email had I been Jethro:
Hey Dumbass Bitch,
I expected some kind of excuse from you regarding the money you owe. You are quite predictable in this regard. Luckily, it is quite well-known that you are not a person of her word, so we didn't rely upon it. Hopefully you will use whatever you've screwed us out of for a complete physical makeover - a benefit to all who cross your path in the future.
Best Regards,
Jethro
Jethro, being somewhat less hot-tempered than I, actually responded with a cheerful, positive email detailing how happy he was to be on his own, how pleasant it is here, and never once mentioning the money.
Upon reflection, this was the best type of email to send. There is nothing in this world that would chap her ass more than knowing Jethro is doing well on his own, and better than she was doing when she was first starting out. She is a very jealous person.
No doubt she'll try to convince herself his comparative success is due to the fact that he has a penis, or because he knows Asian people, or because he bought an existing practice, or because his hair swirls in a particular direction on his head. She'll do everything but acknowledge it's because he is a far more pleasant person, a far better doctor, and not physically repulsive. But she'll know.
It could probably go without saying, but she owes Jethro a not insignificant amount of money from when he worked there. Knowing her as we do (she is tighter than the asshole of a straight man who isn't into that type of thing), we have not exactly been expecting it to be paid. It doesn't change the fact that she still owes it.
But now to the part that makes me want to ruin her self-esteem (puzzlingly intact for such such a boring, witless, unattractive woman).
She wrote Jethro an email explaining why she was not going to pay him. Dumbass Bitch would have been better off not bothering. Her reasons were that 2 people he referred had not panned out according to her expectations and she had trouble collecting from one of their insurance companies - neither of which have anything to do with the fact that she owes him money.
Now I, in my haste to injure her emotionally, would have sent back the following email had I been Jethro:
Hey Dumbass Bitch,
I expected some kind of excuse from you regarding the money you owe. You are quite predictable in this regard. Luckily, it is quite well-known that you are not a person of her word, so we didn't rely upon it. Hopefully you will use whatever you've screwed us out of for a complete physical makeover - a benefit to all who cross your path in the future.
Best Regards,
Jethro
Jethro, being somewhat less hot-tempered than I, actually responded with a cheerful, positive email detailing how happy he was to be on his own, how pleasant it is here, and never once mentioning the money.
Upon reflection, this was the best type of email to send. There is nothing in this world that would chap her ass more than knowing Jethro is doing well on his own, and better than she was doing when she was first starting out. She is a very jealous person.
No doubt she'll try to convince herself his comparative success is due to the fact that he has a penis, or because he knows Asian people, or because he bought an existing practice, or because his hair swirls in a particular direction on his head. She'll do everything but acknowledge it's because he is a far more pleasant person, a far better doctor, and not physically repulsive. But she'll know.
Monday, December 10, 2007
Little Bit of Nothing, Little Bit of Elvis
I guess it's hard to top a post about dream bestiality, but I really don't want to leave it up any longer.
Not much to talk about. I start classes on January 7th. I'm borderline excited. There is a lot I want to do with it, but anything specific is as yet unformed in my mind. Regardless, Jethro had his turn in school, and now it's mine. Mine won't be nearly as long or as expensive. If I may be serious for a second, I feel like I have an overload of creativity and no outlet. Certainly no market. We'll see where it goes.
I really don't have much else, so I'll leave you with Elvis jamming my favorite Dylan tune.
"I ain't sayin' you treated me unkind,
You could have done better but I don't mind
You just kind of wasted my precious time
Don't think twice it's alright."
Not much to talk about. I start classes on January 7th. I'm borderline excited. There is a lot I want to do with it, but anything specific is as yet unformed in my mind. Regardless, Jethro had his turn in school, and now it's mine. Mine won't be nearly as long or as expensive. If I may be serious for a second, I feel like I have an overload of creativity and no outlet. Certainly no market. We'll see where it goes.
I really don't have much else, so I'll leave you with Elvis jamming my favorite Dylan tune.
"I ain't sayin' you treated me unkind,
You could have done better but I don't mind
You just kind of wasted my precious time
Don't think twice it's alright."
Thursday, December 06, 2007
I Had A Dream
Yes, it's a dream post, but before you run away screaming, I must inform you that it will probably be the most embarrassing post I've ever written, perhaps with the exception of this one.
I must preface this by saying that I'm the world's most masochistic dream-cheater. In the dream state, I can be about to copulate with the hottest of BLY(M)HwLSE***, when suddenly, millimeters from pure bliss, I'll remember I'm married, and virtuously put a stop to it; whereupon I will wake up and ravish Jethro.
However, when I'm about to copulate with some hideous troll of a man/woman (yes, I said woman) or some other person with whom a sexual interlude would cause eternal social discomfort, I don't remember I'm married until after the fact. Or worse yet, I do remember I'm married but I'm too consumed with lust to care.
I'll have to blame the dream I had last night on the unhealthy combination of watching Naruto, and reading Trashman and Jim Treacher all in one day. It's too much for anyone.
So, to be concise, I dreamed Trashman was a giant toad who gave it to me good with his tongue. And it was pierced (the tongue, that is).
And there was no remembering I was married. Even if I had it would have done no good. The tongue was waaaaaaay too sticky.
***Barely Legal Young (Male) Hottie with Low Self-Esteem.
I must preface this by saying that I'm the world's most masochistic dream-cheater. In the dream state, I can be about to copulate with the hottest of BLY(M)HwLSE***, when suddenly, millimeters from pure bliss, I'll remember I'm married, and virtuously put a stop to it; whereupon I will wake up and ravish Jethro.
However, when I'm about to copulate with some hideous troll of a man/woman (yes, I said woman) or some other person with whom a sexual interlude would cause eternal social discomfort, I don't remember I'm married until after the fact. Or worse yet, I do remember I'm married but I'm too consumed with lust to care.
I'll have to blame the dream I had last night on the unhealthy combination of watching Naruto, and reading Trashman and Jim Treacher all in one day. It's too much for anyone.
So, to be concise, I dreamed Trashman was a giant toad who gave it to me good with his tongue. And it was pierced (the tongue, that is).
And there was no remembering I was married. Even if I had it would have done no good. The tongue was waaaaaaay too sticky.
***Barely Legal Young (Male) Hottie with Low Self-Esteem.
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
It Seems I'm Lacking Development
I did some testing at the school of graphic design I'm going to attend in January, and I had to write a stupid essay. The computer (yes, I said computer) graded and critiqued the essay as soon as I had submitted it and informed me that I had excellent sentence formation and grammar, but that my content needed development.
What was particularly galling was that it was true, but how much could I do with a 600 word limit? However, there is no arguing with Com-Pu-Tor, so I had to deal with my 9/10 score on the essay.
I also discovered that I am retarded in Algebra. They won't even let me take a class until I pass some remedial program. It's a bit humbling. Jethro makes fun of me. He seems to think that just because he can read, I should be able to add letters and numbers as if that makes any sense whatsoever.
I told him when he can read without moving his lips, I'll learn to multiply letters. It wasn't really fair. Jethro doesn't move his lips that much, but I'm sensitive about my lack of mathematical skills, and I'm pissed because he shaved his face and it makes me look like a child molester.
What was particularly galling was that it was true, but how much could I do with a 600 word limit? However, there is no arguing with Com-Pu-Tor, so I had to deal with my 9/10 score on the essay.
I also discovered that I am retarded in Algebra. They won't even let me take a class until I pass some remedial program. It's a bit humbling. Jethro makes fun of me. He seems to think that just because he can read, I should be able to add letters and numbers as if that makes any sense whatsoever.
I told him when he can read without moving his lips, I'll learn to multiply letters. It wasn't really fair. Jethro doesn't move his lips that much, but I'm sensitive about my lack of mathematical skills, and I'm pissed because he shaved his face and it makes me look like a child molester.
Monday, December 03, 2007
Bits
This is hilarious. Especially if you like Shakespeare (or were forced to read him ad infinitum in college).
H/T: Phlegmfatale
So things are rolling along here. Jethro had a spectacular day at the office today, and I am going back to school.
I don't dare get my hopes up though.
One day at a time.
Keep on keeping on.
It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven.
Roses are red, violets are blue, my husband's johnson is an ungodly hue.
H/T: Phlegmfatale
So things are rolling along here. Jethro had a spectacular day at the office today, and I am going back to school.
I don't dare get my hopes up though.
One day at a time.
Keep on keeping on.
It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven.
Roses are red, violets are blue, my husband's johnson is an ungodly hue.
Sunday, December 02, 2007
So I was going to get a serious buzz on last night, but Emma came down with a stomach ache so bad, she was writhing and crying and I had to give her a Fleet, or as she put it, "some butt medicine."
I knew it was bad when she asked me to give it to her.
Turns out she was constipated on top of having eaten a great deal of broccoli and some onions.
Poor baby.
She was fine this morning, so I feel justifined in having consumed nearly a bottle of chianti and one of Jethro's fabulous Bloody Marys.
Now I'm going to watch Tombstone and get laid.
Ciao, y'all.
P.S. According to the AP (which I have yet to take with anything but a grain of salt) Chavez lost.
I knew it was bad when she asked me to give it to her.
Turns out she was constipated on top of having eaten a great deal of broccoli and some onions.
Poor baby.
She was fine this morning, so I feel justifined in having consumed nearly a bottle of chianti and one of Jethro's fabulous Bloody Marys.
Now I'm going to watch Tombstone and get laid.
Ciao, y'all.
P.S. According to the AP (which I have yet to take with anything but a grain of salt) Chavez lost.
Saturday, December 01, 2007
I'm Not Think About What I'm Writing, So Whatever Comes Out....Comes Out.
I think I'm turning into a dirty old gay man. Barely legal young men have been kind of working me over lately.
I love Naruto. I hate my husband for turning me onto the program, but I love it. Better than Harry Potter.
I hate Windows Vista. I want to get rid of it and go back to whatever it was we had before.
I'm going for an interview at a school for graphic design on Monday. We'll see.
Is anyone else turned on by their own boobs? Men? Lesbians?
I'm gonna go get another beer now. Have a great weekend.
I love Naruto. I hate my husband for turning me onto the program, but I love it. Better than Harry Potter.
I hate Windows Vista. I want to get rid of it and go back to whatever it was we had before.
I'm going for an interview at a school for graphic design on Monday. We'll see.
Is anyone else turned on by their own boobs? Men? Lesbians?
I'm gonna go get another beer now. Have a great weekend.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Creepy vs. Stupid
So I've been sitting here trying to decide which world leader is the most creepy/stupid.
Shut up. It's what I do.
Anyway, it's down to Ahmadinejad of Iran, and Chavez of Venezuela.
I'll start with Ahmadinejad since I will never be able to spell his name correctly, at least not without cut and paste. I'll get him out of the way first.
Creepy:
1.) He doesn't think homosexuals exist in Iran. But he wants to find them so he can "study" them.
2.) (I realize it's been hammered to death, but) his continued desire to debate whether the Holocaust really happened is always good for tingle of incredulity.
3.) The fact that the former U.S. hostages, taken during the Carter administration swear that he was one of the kidnappers.
4.) He wants nukes. For energy.
Stupid:
1.) He thinks homosexuals don't exist in Iran.
2.) The beard
3.) The dinner jacket
4.) He wants an Iranian envoy to monitor U.S. elections in '08 so he can see for himself if we really want to vote for the Bush administration again.
I'm guessing he's a bit ignorant of the Great Satan's political structure. I don't know if it's possible for him to conceive that a President would peacefully and voluntarily step down after his Constitutionally mandated 8 year limit in the political grinder. But I suppose we should make exceptions for him since he comes from a land where they routinely assassinate political opponents, outspoken journalists, and rebellious teenage girls.
Now for Chavez.
Creepy:
1.) Wants to amend the Venezuelan Constitution so he can be "elected" indefinitely.
2.) Threatens to have the government take over the businesses whose leaders disagree with him.
3.) Wants to be just like the Socialist Paradise of Cuba (!?)
(Happy Contented Cubans on a Delightful Proletarian Cruise to America)
Stupid:
1.) His face
2.) His fat, fucking face.
3.) Insists CNN and Globovisión were sending subliminal messages to have him assassinated.
4.) He told a women's group that "they should drink coffee, eat chocolate and stay awake through Saturday night -- just like the nights when they gave birth -- to ensure they were up early and getting backers to the polls en masse."
I actually can't decide whether this last #4 is creepy or stupid.
I originally thought it was stupid, but the thought of Chavez imagining a horde of coffee-drinking, chocolate-eating, completely addlepated females giving anything resembling birth to his plans for a totalitarian dictatorship has a definite creep factor.
Decisions, decisions.
Tallying the numbers....6+6+14...carry the 1....-2.7314...............
Okay. It's close, but the Iranian midget is the creepiest and the Venezuelan Oompa Loompa is the stupidest.
There. Now I can sleep.
Although the homosexual thing will no doubt cause some second guessing.....
Shut up. It's what I do.
Anyway, it's down to Ahmadinejad of Iran, and Chavez of Venezuela.
I'll start with Ahmadinejad since I will never be able to spell his name correctly, at least not without cut and paste. I'll get him out of the way first.
Creepy:
1.) He doesn't think homosexuals exist in Iran. But he wants to find them so he can "study" them.
2.) (I realize it's been hammered to death, but) his continued desire to debate whether the Holocaust really happened is always good for tingle of incredulity.
3.) The fact that the former U.S. hostages, taken during the Carter administration swear that he was one of the kidnappers.
4.) He wants nukes. For energy.
Stupid:
1.) He thinks homosexuals don't exist in Iran.
2.) The beard
3.) The dinner jacket
4.) He wants an Iranian envoy to monitor U.S. elections in '08 so he can see for himself if we really want to vote for the Bush administration again.
I'm guessing he's a bit ignorant of the Great Satan's political structure. I don't know if it's possible for him to conceive that a President would peacefully and voluntarily step down after his Constitutionally mandated 8 year limit in the political grinder. But I suppose we should make exceptions for him since he comes from a land where they routinely assassinate political opponents, outspoken journalists, and rebellious teenage girls.
Now for Chavez.
Creepy:
1.) Wants to amend the Venezuelan Constitution so he can be "elected" indefinitely.
2.) Threatens to have the government take over the businesses whose leaders disagree with him.
3.) Wants to be just like the Socialist Paradise of Cuba (!?)
(Happy Contented Cubans on a Delightful Proletarian Cruise to America)
Stupid:
1.) His face
2.) His fat, fucking face.
3.) Insists CNN and Globovisión were sending subliminal messages to have him assassinated.
4.) He told a women's group that "they should drink coffee, eat chocolate and stay awake through Saturday night -- just like the nights when they gave birth -- to ensure they were up early and getting backers to the polls en masse."
I actually can't decide whether this last #4 is creepy or stupid.
I originally thought it was stupid, but the thought of Chavez imagining a horde of coffee-drinking, chocolate-eating, completely addlepated females giving anything resembling birth to his plans for a totalitarian dictatorship has a definite creep factor.
Decisions, decisions.
Tallying the numbers....6+6+14...carry the 1....-2.7314...............
Okay. It's close, but the Iranian midget is the creepiest and the Venezuelan Oompa Loompa is the stupidest.
There. Now I can sleep.
Although the homosexual thing will no doubt cause some second guessing.....
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Bubbie
I'd never burn down my house with my grandma in it.
I've been wanting to write about my grandparents for some time now, but I've never been sure of what exactly to say.
All four of them are/were interesting people, and all have had a profound impact on my life.
I think I'm going to start with my grandmother who is currently renting my old house. I don't think I'd be doing a disservice to my other grandparents by stating that she has probably had the most impact on my life. This is due in no small part to the fact that she has been around through thick and thin, never allowing us to withdraw from the family no matter how much we craved solitude in times of crisis.
When I was 15, She lost her husband and two sons (my uncle, my grandfather, and my father in that order) within a 6 month time frame. As terrible as it was for me, I can't begin to imagine the cold brutality of her loss.
I won't say I gave anyone in my family an easy time of it back then. That included my grandmother. All of my sisters and I gave our mother and grandmother our fair share of grief. But she remains to this day, steadfast in her love for her family.
I don't want to give the impression that she is a tower of strength. She is fragile and rather delicate. But she has a her love for all of her children and grandchildren, and now great-grandchildren, that has never been shaken, no matter how hurt she has been.
I was looking through some of her old photos while I was supposed to be helping her move in. She was everything I am not. Gorgeous, glamorous, with an impeccable fashion sense, and home decorating/design skills that have yet to be matched as far as I'm concerned, she is everything a woman ought to be. Even at 79, she is elegant and sophisticated beyond compare. For example, she turned my dreadful old house into something wonderful. I hated that house. I couldn't imagine this woman, accustomed to such beautiful homes, living there and being happy. It has none of the charm of her other residences. Yet somehow, she has transformed it into an enchanting place, full of memories, treasures, and comfort. It's a rare gift. And so is she.
I've been wanting to write about my grandparents for some time now, but I've never been sure of what exactly to say.
All four of them are/were interesting people, and all have had a profound impact on my life.
I think I'm going to start with my grandmother who is currently renting my old house. I don't think I'd be doing a disservice to my other grandparents by stating that she has probably had the most impact on my life. This is due in no small part to the fact that she has been around through thick and thin, never allowing us to withdraw from the family no matter how much we craved solitude in times of crisis.
When I was 15, She lost her husband and two sons (my uncle, my grandfather, and my father in that order) within a 6 month time frame. As terrible as it was for me, I can't begin to imagine the cold brutality of her loss.
I won't say I gave anyone in my family an easy time of it back then. That included my grandmother. All of my sisters and I gave our mother and grandmother our fair share of grief. But she remains to this day, steadfast in her love for her family.
I don't want to give the impression that she is a tower of strength. She is fragile and rather delicate. But she has a her love for all of her children and grandchildren, and now great-grandchildren, that has never been shaken, no matter how hurt she has been.
I was looking through some of her old photos while I was supposed to be helping her move in. She was everything I am not. Gorgeous, glamorous, with an impeccable fashion sense, and home decorating/design skills that have yet to be matched as far as I'm concerned, she is everything a woman ought to be. Even at 79, she is elegant and sophisticated beyond compare. For example, she turned my dreadful old house into something wonderful. I hated that house. I couldn't imagine this woman, accustomed to such beautiful homes, living there and being happy. It has none of the charm of her other residences. Yet somehow, she has transformed it into an enchanting place, full of memories, treasures, and comfort. It's a rare gift. And so is she.
Monday, November 26, 2007
So in case anyone couldn't tell, the NaBloProMo thingy isn't going all that well. In fact, it isn't happening at all.
Tough titties, I suppose.
We had a long Thanksgiving week in Houston. Jethro went back for three days of last week to work at the clinic. I missed him.
I was very much looking forward to not going back to Houston for at least a month, but at the last minute, we realized we'd have to back next weekend because my grandmother, who is renting our old house, wants us to get rid of the paint cans in the garage which can only be done the first Saturday of every month. Why she cares, I have no idea. They're not bothering anyone, she's never going to use the shelves that they're on, and finding a place to take them has been a collossal pain in the ass.
And although making numerous 3+ hour trips for small, bullshit details is better than listening to her constant nagging, I don't think she's realized how close I've come to burning the whole house to the ground with her being in it of little to no concern.
I exaggerate, but still.
Anyway, perhaps the weekend after next...I'd like to get our Christmas tree at some point.
Oh, and I have decided against purchasing a Nintendo Wii for the kids. Firstly and most importantly, we can't afford it. Secondly, and rather less importantly, we've come into posession of an Xbox 360. Corin gave Jethro his (which he got from a friend who owed him money) to use while he's in Iraq.
We decided that we'll "give" it to the girls for Christmas and just get another one by the time Corin comes back. As long as the girls can play Dance Dance Revolution until they're as good as all the other little Asian geeks in the arcades, they'll be happy. That, and anything related to Pokemon. I think they could also use some warm pjs too.
In the spirit of NoBloPriMo, I will try to write more, but I'm releasing myself from the Treaty.
Tough titties, I suppose.
We had a long Thanksgiving week in Houston. Jethro went back for three days of last week to work at the clinic. I missed him.
I was very much looking forward to not going back to Houston for at least a month, but at the last minute, we realized we'd have to back next weekend because my grandmother, who is renting our old house, wants us to get rid of the paint cans in the garage which can only be done the first Saturday of every month. Why she cares, I have no idea. They're not bothering anyone, she's never going to use the shelves that they're on, and finding a place to take them has been a collossal pain in the ass.
And although making numerous 3+ hour trips for small, bullshit details is better than listening to her constant nagging, I don't think she's realized how close I've come to burning the whole house to the ground with her being in it of little to no concern.
I exaggerate, but still.
Anyway, perhaps the weekend after next...I'd like to get our Christmas tree at some point.
Oh, and I have decided against purchasing a Nintendo Wii for the kids. Firstly and most importantly, we can't afford it. Secondly, and rather less importantly, we've come into posession of an Xbox 360. Corin gave Jethro his (which he got from a friend who owed him money) to use while he's in Iraq.
We decided that we'll "give" it to the girls for Christmas and just get another one by the time Corin comes back. As long as the girls can play Dance Dance Revolution until they're as good as all the other little Asian geeks in the arcades, they'll be happy. That, and anything related to Pokemon. I think they could also use some warm pjs too.
In the spirit of NoBloPriMo, I will try to write more, but I'm releasing myself from the Treaty.
Friday, November 23, 2007
Spent a lovely day at the family homestead yesterday. We ate a lot, drank somewhat more, politely discussed both religion and politics (a feat made possible by the copious consumption of turkey and spirits), and had our step-brother take a picture of all the girls jumping on the trampoline in the back yard. My bosoms obscured my face. This was a good thing.
I always take on at least one impossible task during the Christmas season. Usually it's making one extra dish that leaves me stressed out, sweaty and pressed for time. This year it's going to be finding the Nintendo wii for the girls at a retail price. Actually, I'm hoping to score two so I can sell one on ebay for double the retail price. The mere thought is giving me irritable bowel syndrome, but I still plan on going through with it. Wish me luck. If I am successful this week, I will report my strategy.
I hope everyone had a happy Thanksgiving.
I always take on at least one impossible task during the Christmas season. Usually it's making one extra dish that leaves me stressed out, sweaty and pressed for time. This year it's going to be finding the Nintendo wii for the girls at a retail price. Actually, I'm hoping to score two so I can sell one on ebay for double the retail price. The mere thought is giving me irritable bowel syndrome, but I still plan on going through with it. Wish me luck. If I am successful this week, I will report my strategy.
I hope everyone had a happy Thanksgiving.
Monday, November 19, 2007
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.
Keep Corin in your thoughts/prayers so we can do it all again when he returns in 15 months.
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.
Friday, November 16, 2007
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.
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.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, November 12, 2007
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.
Friday, November 09, 2007
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
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.
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
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.
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.
Sunday, November 04, 2007
Saturday, November 03, 2007
Thursday, November 01, 2007
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
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
It's just too damn sexy.
Take that, Infidels.
H/T: LGF
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
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.
"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.
Monday, October 29, 2007
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.
----------------------------
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.
-----------------------------
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.
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.
----------------------------
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.
-----------------------------
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.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
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
----------------------------------------------
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.
----------------------------------------------
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.
John McCain is such a badass, I haven't ruled out voting for him despite McCain/Feingold.
H/T: Blonde Sagacity
----------------------------------------------
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.
----------------------------------------------
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.
Friday, October 19, 2007
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."
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."
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, October 15, 2007
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.
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.
Friday, October 12, 2007
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
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.
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.
Friday, October 05, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, October 01, 2007
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.
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.
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