House

The inspections were fantastic.  A bit of cosmetic work, but the structure is sound as sound.  It's really kind of nice.  I don't dare go nuts until the bank approves our loan, but I can't help getting excited.  I tend to take disappointment in stride and get on with life, but if everything went kapluey and we didn't get it, I would probably cry very very hard for at least a week.

Because, you see, it's the house I want forever 'n' ever.

Here it is:

Front (no, it's the back, Zelda)

Kitchen

Back yard

More back yard (there's a lot of back yard).

View from the long, steep, curved driveway.

View from the long, steep front steps

Jethro and I didn't expect to find anything great at this stage of our lives.  We were planning on buying a small, easy to maintain property, with no emotional investment, and saving up slowly for the house we wanted.  But I love this one.  It's the perfect compromise for Jethro and me.  He  wanted a home in a subdivision, close to the clinic and schools, and I wanted land to grow a garden and raise rabbits.  The subdivision is nice and subdivision-ey with a community center, school, park, and general convenience, but the yard is almost half an acre.  Half an acre of lovely trees and a house on a hill.

And while it's more than we wanted to spend on a little crap-box-eventual-rental-property, I don't think it's too much for a house we'd want to make our home forever 'n' ever.Anyway, I have three more weeks of school, then it will be freedom, blissful freedom.  

However, the fact that the end of school and all the madness that accompanies it coincides with what we hope will be the house closing and a wedding in NY, means my stress level is about to hit a peak I heretofore did not know was possible.  But my loins are girded.  Girded, I tell you. Which probably accounts for some slight spasming.

Indulge me, it's my birthday

I am not having a good day.  My back is killing me.  Jethro is working on it whenever he can squeeze me in, but it hurts really badly all down my left side.  Also, I don't want to be thirty...gulp...three.  Yes I know people are older than me, but I don't want to do it.  I pretty much want to be 12 except with my kids and Jethro.  And I know that sounds icky, but it's how I feel.

And we're buying a house.  We accepted the counter offer last week, and the inspections will be this Thursday.  I have cold feet like anything.  I mean, it's nearly perfect.  It's 2500 sf, 4 bedrooms, 2 and a half bathrooms (you have no idea what a happy thought that is), enough room for our furniture and entertainment center, it's on a gigantic, nearly half acre cul-de-sac lot.   It has a gorgeous view from the front door and the master bedroom.  It's in a very large, but very pleasant, low-key subdivision, and miracle of miracles, it was in our price range!!!

But I'm scared of it.  It intimidates me.  It's this giant house on a hill - the first thing you see when you turn down the street.  It stands out and I'm not quite sure what to do with it.  I was excited to move into a trailer and now I find myself trying to buy a freakin' mansion.

I didn't sleep well all last night worrying about it.  What if we hate the neighbors?  What if there is a mudslide and the house disappears?  What if we have a severe reversal of fortune and go bankrupt? What if I get in great shape from lugging groceries up a hill and up stairs?  What if no one wants to buy it when Jethro and I retire?  What if I go totally insane with self-doubt and burn it to the ground while I dance around outside, naked, with a martini, screaming Shakespeare and Bible verses?

I have a million things to do.  I even have a list.  I never have a list, but today, I have a list.  I want a drink so badly, but I have to drive a million miles today.  I should get going.  I should.  But I want to write more.  I've missed it.

I should write about the bridal shower I helped put on over the weekend.  I made this champagne punch that was awesome.  I fibbed and said I had a recipe, but really I just made it up.  It wasn't on purpose that I made it up.  They didn't have the stuff I needed at the store, so I had to wing it.  But if it turned out badly, I wanted to have someone to blame it on, so I said it was a recipe.  But it actually turned out pretty good, so I should have just kept my mouth shut.

And another time I should have kept my mouth shut was at the shower when we were playing games because I ended up saying "ass cream" in front of the bride's mother.  I blame the champagne punch.

After the shower, we went to the bachelorette party.  I'd rented a limo driven by a man named Kenneth Cole.  No lie.  He had a cooler in the limo stocked with Bud Light and Bartles and James pineapple wine coolers.

It was fun.

The bachelorette party was weird because the bride had requested that it be classy.  And we were classy.  Horribly, boringly classy (for a bacelorette party) and yet we still seemed gauche.

Just think if we'd been wearing penis necklaces!

And I didn't get checked out once.  That was even more depressing.  Usually I can get someone to glance my way, even if they look away immediately, but not that night.  I passed a guy in a very tiny hallway, and not only did he not look at me, he turned his head when I looked at him, as if to say, "I don't want your drunk ass even thinking for a second that you have a shot with me."  As if I wanted one!  Usually I prefer men who are over 4' 11" and who don't comb their hair into phallic little spikes.  And that made me even more sad.  I couldn't even get a first look from a fucking midget.

I'm going to go now.  The sooner I can get things done, the sooner I can drink.

Happenings

Madness surely comes through using more than 10% of your brain.  I don't say this in anything resembling arrogance since I believe the use of over 10% of ones brain is not a gift, but merely the result of having too much information crammed into it largely against one's will.  And the fascinating and horrific result is not Steven Hawking-like abilities, but rather in long, animated conversations (in public) with imaginary audiences about taxes, gardening, or why one would never remarry should one's long-suffering husband finally wise up.  "No really, Imaginary Audience.  I realize it would be a total waste of excellent woman, but should I be so unfortunate as to lose the one man I can tolerate, I would prefer a life of solitude and intellectual pursuit with occasional bouts of copious alcoholic consumption."

Other side effects include facial tics, hand gestures and twitches of all kinds, and a really base, immature impulse to snicker when an instructor says "rectilinear."

I have one term left of school. One. That's it.  And I have senior-itis in the worst possible way.  I don't want to do any work anymore for any class.  I want to work on real stuff, but stupid class stuff keeps getting in the way.

And we're trying to buy a house.  We found one we really liked, but then panicked because we wouldn't have gotten it for anything less then our absolute limit.  Then we panicked about panicking because it was in a really good area with really good schools and was the lowest priced house in the subdivision.  But in a silver lining kind of way, we found out there was a 14 foot easement past the patio in the back yard.  Yeah.  No.  Sorry.  I don't much get along with government these days, and this includes local ones too.  

And of course this all converged with PMS, a trip back to Houston for a crawfish boil, and a house that could really use a nice wife to take care of it.

Oh and my mom and stepdad are not getting divorced again.

Ketchup

I finished my portfolio class last week which had been making me craaaazy. It very much confirmed the fact that I have a weird form of OCD because I went off the deep end, tweaking each and every project to within an inch of it's (and my) life, going without sleep just to think about each project, and ultimately hating everything I put into my portfolio. It really brought home the reason why I never engage in large, time-consuming projects like housework or child-rearing.

Anyway, I went to my portfolio review with a feeling of resigned despair. This was the first portfolio review for the school where they had invited people from graphic design firms around the city. Everyone who went before me had come back from their review saying that the critics had ripped their shit to pieces and made them defend each and every thing they did. I was at the point where I couldn't remember why I did anything. I couldn't even remember why I wanted to do graphic design. So I just decided that to any criticism I would just respond, "I hadn't thought about it that way, and I just might have to consider that" but knowing that I might cry or become sarcastic. I don't take criticism as well as I ought.

But I didn't even get a chance to defend my work. They loved it. They had nothing bad to say. Not even suggestions for improvement. I was truly overwhelmed. Probably because I was exhausted. They raved the most over my copywriting and typesetting skills. Copywriting is not technically what I'm supposed to be doing, but I did have a couple of funny ads which made them laugh. And typsetting, while not terribly sexy, is somewhat necessary for work in graphic design that pays. So I was thrilled. Too thrilled to do much more than stammer out a "thank you so much" although I did manage to make a crude hand gesture which I didn't intend. I'll explain that one when I post one of my ads.

Anyway, it was quite gratifying, but now that the class is over, I feel like something is missing. And on top of that, my laptop screen cracked from stem to stern and I had to send it off for repairs. I can't wrap my head around the fact that I don't have any projects left to complete so I'm wandering around like a zombie during the day and my nights are filled with dreams of package designs and logos that simply must be done in 4 hours.

If you'll pardon the crudeness of the comparison, I feel like a man who was in the middle of having great sex, but whose lady friend suddenly decided she is no longer interested and he's left violating the air.

Dream Lover

It's another dream post.

I realize this might not be the best way to win back the nice people who've read my genius writing over the last few years, but it was one of those dreams which define my utterly twisted sense of subconscious morality.  I know.  This doesn't sound interesting.  And it may not be, but bear with me.

I was driving somewhere with my friend, Jen, in another state besides Texas.  I think it was Vermont or something.  We were there with our husbands and Jen and I decided to run out quickly to get something.  We were pulled over by three cops in a van.  The leader of the cops was achingly hot in a Harrison Ford in Blade Runner kind of way.  

Looks-wise, very much my type.

His two side-kicks were a thin, gray, silent-looking guy, and a young, fat kid with a scraggly goatee.

The way they approached our vehicle, I knew we were in Big Trouble.

(Que bowm chicka bowm bowm)

Turns out Jethro had left his AR 9,557, 36,000 caliber, Illudium Q-36 Explosive Space Modulator gun in plain view in the back seat, and this kind of weaponry doesn't fly in Vermont.

Hot Cop made that menacingly clear to us with echoes from his chubby friend.  They made us both get in the cop van while they inspected the weapon and pretended to shoot it.  Then they all got into their cop van and explained our legal situation to us while Hot Cop ran his hand up my leg, igniting every nerve ending.

Jen's arm was being similarly mishandled by Silent Cop, and Chubby Cop was making funny, giggly noises.

I wriggled chastely away and tried in vain to explain that it was my husband's and he'd just forgotten to take it out of the car while Jen said she had no knowledge of the gun whatsoever and that it wasn't her fault that her friends were stupid redneck morons and that if Silent Cop didn't stop touching her she was going to weld his badge to his face.

Hot Cop asked if I was going to cooperate, and I (virtuously) proclaimed that I was married and would rather go to jail.  He said that wasn't a problem, got in the van and sat right beside me while Silent Cop drove off.

I was feeling kind of sick because my friend was going to end up in jail because of my husband.  Hot Cop was grinning right beside me, so I knew the offer was still on the table.

So I said, "Fine.  I will kiss all three of you if take us back to our car and give me back the gun."

He raised an eyebrow and said, "Kiss?"  And I said, "Tongue and the whole works for 5 minutes apiece."

I gave him a look that said, "I'll fuck you, and I want the other two to get their hands dirty, but I don't want to fuck them." 

Because in dreams you can do that.

That was fine with him, so Silent Cop pulled over.

Now here's where things went wrong.  

I decided that Hot Cop would have to go last since I didn't want the others thinking I would have sex with them too.

I pointed at Chubby Cop.  "You first," I commanded, imperiously.  "You look like you need the practice."

He was clumsy and stupid, like a giant dog.  After a few seconds of being smothered, I told him to let me do everything. And I did.  I gently sucked on his upper lip first, then parted my lips, slipped him the tongue, and guided his into my mouth where they played a tongue version of tag.  He was slobbery and gross, he had just eaten a meatball sandwich, and his goatee was scratchy and fragile, but I put my hands on the sides of his face and made out with him like it was air and I had to breathe.

When the 5 minutes were up, and it actually seemed like 5 whole minutes in real life, not dream time, I pushed him off me and went to the bathroom (there was a bathroom on the bus) where I spit out a gallon of slobber, bits of meatball, and a loosely constructed ball of facial hair.

Then I woke up.

It was unbelievable.  My subconscious set it up perfectly.  I wasn't trying to save my own skin.  I was trying to save my friend's as well and recover my husband's property, and the situation was all his fault.

I was too consumed with lust NOT to get some, but did I have hot porny dream sex with the blisteringly hot Harrison Ford in Blade Runner cop?  Did I even make out with him?  DID I?  Noooooooooo.  I dream cheated with an absolutely disgusting looked-like-something-that-fell-out-of-Michael-Moore's-underpants-fat guy.

I loathe myself.

Next time there will be only one cop.  ONE.  And it will probably be a hairy, carbuncular woman.

We're Back. Mostly.

We had a fantastic time.  I think it may take a few posts to relate everything, but I'll start with meeting Christina LMT.

Let me just say first off, if you are ever in Vegas, do yourself a favor and avail yourself of her services.  She is something of an artist.

She was nice enough to pick us up from our hotel and drive us around The Strip where she pointed out the various sights.

The Strip is just pure insanity.  My tastes are simple and organic.  I felt like a Lilliputian in an enormous haunted fun house full of blinking lights and giant prostitutes.

But it was definitely interesting.

After taking our picture at the Welcome to Las Vegas sign, we went back to Christina's apartment for our long-awaited massages.  As we entered, we were greeted by a skinny little sprite of a girl, her daughter, Silver, and two of the funniest little dogs.  The hours that ensued were probably the most entertaining (not to mention relaxing) of our entire trip.  Talking to Silver was like looking into a mirror that turns back time 16 years.

And Christina was wonderful.  Just one of those rare, truly good souls that you'd be privileged to have in your life.  They both have an open invitation to visit New Town whenever they like.  I know my girls would adore them.

After our massages and dinner with Christina and Silver, Jethro and I went back up to our room to "rest for a couple of hours" before we checked out the nightlife.  12 hours later, sunlight was snaking it's way through the curtains as it dawned on our 10 year anniversary. My first words to Jethro were "Are you mad?"  But of course he wasn't.  He was in VEGAS, BABY! Woo Hooo!!!***

After cursing myself for wasting that much time, I insisted we have something alcoholic put into our coffee.  As it just so happened, the Bellagio has a coffee shop that served several alcoholic coffee concoctions.  We ended up with cognac in ours which was fitting since it was what everyone but I drank at our wedding.

That started the day off right.

To be continued...

or

Go read Jethro***.....

What happens 15 minutes outside of Reno, stays 15 minutes outside of Reno. Unless I blog about it.

I was going to pose a question to any and all readers awhile back for ideas on what Jethro and I should do for our 10 year wedding anniversary, but I no longer need to because Jethro booked us 3 nights at The Bellagio in Vegas!  I'm so excited.  Neither of us have ever been to Vegas to speak of (I was there once when I was maybe 3 and we went to the circus at Circus Circus of which I actually have a faint memory).  But I certainly wasn't old enough to go to casinos and have actually never been to one.  Not even in Louisiana.  I don't think we want to do much gambling, but it would be fun to at least go and see.

Anyway, while Jethro and I were looking for shows to watch, we started talking about the legal brothels in Nevada.  I've always wanted to see one, but I don't think it's good etiquette to just go there and stare, even though they'll apparently give you a tour for a nominal fee, so we started talking about what we could do if we went.  It would be a shame to go and not do something.  And really, it wouldn't be too fancy, take too long, or even involve sex sex.  Maybe just a blowjob or something.  I'm not sure exactly what I would do, but I better not just be watching.  

Anyway, long story short, we decided it would probably be too expensive and since I'm much better at blowjobs now that I've had my teeth filed down and my tongue extended, it seems like a waste of money.  It's not ruled out altogether, but probably we'd rather just eat.  If we do go, I'll blog about it.

Cogito Ergo Cogito

I have neglected my little blog shamefully and I apologize to it and to posterity for my negligence.  

I am taking Algebra and have high hopes of passing.  And I'm almost finished with school.  Next term will be my last and I couldn't be more excited.  For it means that I will have Finished Something.  And for a chronic Unfinisher such as myself, this reeks of Importance.  It is a Portal, if you will.  A Gateway.  A Viaduct to a Life fraught with Purpose and Meaning and hopefully Freelance Employment.

Anyway, my continued apologies for my continued absence.  It won't be long now.

I've been trying to work out a little more lately.  I'm so busy that it's hard for me to do the things I love, much less things I hate.

I have to say though, that I really enjoy that machine where you step onto these pedal like things and march, kind of.  I'm not describing it well.  Oh the elliptical machines.  That's what I mean.  I like those.  They're much easier on my knees than a treadmill.  So I like doing that, and I've foregone wearing a sports bra.  I just can't stand them, so I wear a regular one, go to the ladies' only room, and just bounce a little.  I realize women probably don't appreciate it at all, but that's okay. I try to stay away from them.

So I go to the gym, dig out my iphone with the ipod inside of it and my earphones, throw the rest of my scattered life into a locker, and head for the ellipticals.

I spend a few minutes carefully arranging my earphones in my ears so they aren't uncomfortable, and then I start.  I always thought working out to music was overrated, but I really like working out to The Pogues, of all things, this song in particular:

I start sweating pretty hard, but then strangely, I want to go out and kick some ass.  It's a good feeling.

The Prayer of Harry Reid (So I can't resisit. Sue me.)

"I Pray to Thee, Lord Obama that Thou continuest to Beam Down Thy Blessings Upon The Senate Leadership...Mothership?...No, Leadership...I was right the first time.  And Deliver Us, O Lord Obama, from Thy Honorable Wrath for having Embarrassed Thee by so Mightily Loading Down Thy Stimulus Vessel with Sumptuous but Wholly Unnecessary Quantities of Pork.

Forgive Us, O Lord Obama, for not Trusting in Thy Divine Benevolence. For Jumping the Gun, so to speak, and not waiting until the Unwashed-But-Unfortunately-Necessary-For-Our-Continued-Reign Masses were Distracted by the Unclothed Antics of some Wanton Harlot from the Wealthy, Useful, Degenerate Land of Hollywood in order that our Pork might go Unnoticed.

And Deliver Us Also, O Gracious Lord Obama, from the Bloated Evil Talking Knight, Who though Much Addicted to the Spirits of Oxycontin, has, Nevertheless, Spread his Garbled Message to this Unwashed Rabble Who seek to Diminish Thy Magnificence and Keep Their Own Lucre In Spite of The Great Needs of The Kingdom of DC and Those Corporations On Wall Street Who Must Suckle At Our Mighty Teats in order that They May Continue to support our Reelections. Selfish Bastards.

All this I Pray In the Name of The Obama, and of The Obama, and of The Holy Obama. 

Amen."

Copied, pasted and slightly tweaked from a comment I left at Blonde Sagacity.

The Jethro No One Ever Gets To See

Jethro - "If I can get her to walk, I'm gonna get cocky.  I'm gonna go find her MD and be like, *aims both middle fingers downward* Can ya hear this?  Can ya hear this? Want me to turn it up? *flips both middle fingers up* Yeah bitch, you like that?  Want me to teach ya?  Want me to teach ya?  *turns his middle fingers 45 degrees* Psych.  Fuck you." *grabs crotch, walks off*

I can't say it was the most elegant show of bravado, and not that I'd want him to be like that all the time, but it kind of did something for me.

GO CARDS!!!

The limes are sliced, the wings are purchased, the Hooters chicks were hot, and we are routing for the Arizona Cardinals this Super Bowl because #92, Bertrand Berry, is a friend of Jethro's from high school.

I've never met him, but he found Jethro on Facebook and asked to add him as a friend.  That won him - and whatever team he ever plays for - my undying loyalty.  Someone who doesn't forget his friends is really one of the best kinds of humans.

I know they have a tough game ahead, but I wish him and the Cardinals the very best of luck.

I have to say, in what is a morbidly depressing political scene, I am really enjoying Rod Blagojovich.  He could be a parody of a sleazy politician, and yet he's so very very real and so sincere in his sleaze.  

He's like Al Sharpton, Ron Howard, and Lindsay Lohan's mom all rolled into one.  He's the Anna Nicole Smith of politicians.  But alas, he was thrown under the bus with such haste and verve, that I don't believe we will never know how far his tentacles (and follicles) of sleaze extended.  Pity.

And President Obama is wasting no time attempting to steal the money to pay off his supporters. Nearly one trillion dollars in the first week.  It's breathtaking.

Almost the first thing he does is put a tax cheat and a lobbyist (in violation of his supposed standards) as Secretary of the Treasury (which controls the IRS).  I don't get it.  Geithner?  I thought Obama was full of crap when he pontificated about not allowing lobbyists to serve in his administration, but I never expected my skepticism to be proven correct so immediately.  It's dizzying.  Geithner must have been owed one powerful favor.  I'm curious about who Geithner worked for before this and how much they are getting from the "stimulus package."

And where were the Republicans?  Only 4 voted against his nomination.  Are they trying to get along or are they complicit?

And then there is the mind-boggling stimulus package we're being whipped into a frenzy to support.

Naturally Obama is going to be absolutely transparent about it.  He has a government website devoted to detailing exactly how he intends to screw us - after the theft passes of course, so no one can protest beforehand.  He's mocking us, I think.

I'm trying to be glad the Republicans are sticking together on this one, but really it's too little too late and as far as I'm concerned, it's just for show.

Make your big purchases now and make sure they are durable because inflation will be beyond your wildest imaginings in 2 years.

I'm not allowed to make out with Jethro at the clinic anymore.  It seems he has hang-ups about sporting a chubby in front of patients.

:-(

Update:

I was cooking chicken and something popped and splattered hot grease from my neck to the tops of my breasts.  I think I'll wear something low cut tomorrow.

I saw a license plate that said BG PCKR.  Do you think they were really trying to say Big Pecker?

The Spelling Bee

At the risk of Mommyblogging, Gwennie made it to the school spelling bee.  We were pretty happy about that because Jethro and I are both good spellers, with Jethro being somewhat better - which irks me to no end seeing as how he's a fucking immigrant - but I digress.  I also said fucking.  I think that makes this less mommybloggish.

Anyway, poor little Gwennie didn't make it past her first word, which was 'yacht'.  I was just glad she wasn't the first one out.  But she was piiiiiissed off.  It was hilarious in a sad little way.  Before the spelling bee, the teacher said the kids who misspelled their words were supposed to sit on the stairs until the round was over and then they could go to their parents if they wanted.  Gwennie paid no heed and marched off the stairs straight to me with a scowl on her face that nearly made her eyes disappear.  I gave her a hug and told her it was okay and that 'yacht' was a pretty hard word that most of the other kids probably couldn't spell either.  "Yeah," she grumbled bitterly.  "It's not like it was "cotton," which was a word that got one of the other kids to round 2.

I let her send text messages to her father and her aunt and the sting abated.  The winner and the runner up got trophies, and all the kids got certificates, which made her a little happier.  She likes certificates.

Anyway, I'm off to do mommy things.  Catch y'all later.

Chicago Ascendant (God Help Us All)

So I'm right smack dab in the middle of exercising my right not to be forced to watch that shyster's inauguration.

I'm so pissed off, I could violate someone.

I am paying for classes in order to learn.  I am not paying to watch some ridiculous hack and his swarm of inebriates pretend they are something more than politics at its worst.

Fuck Obama, fuck the media, and fuck his slavering minions and useful idiots.

Queen of the Double Wide

Jethro and I heard a rumor of a 5 bedroom trailer on 1+ acres in a pretty little town 30 minutes from the clinic that the owner is trying to unload for around 20 thousand.

We went to look at it on Saturday, and it wasn't horrific.  It needs a lot of work, but it's mostly cosmetic - clearing out junk, repairing sheetrock, painting, cleaning.... those kinds of things.  I have to say it's hard to sniff at a home and an acre for less than a new car.  We shall see what we shall see.  I like the country.  And I want to raise rabbits.

Note To Self:

I really must remember that men's pajama pants shouldn't be worn in public and if they are, absolutely must not be worn sans undergarments.  I'm getting funny looks when I flip the switch at bad drivers.  I think I'm sending mixed signals.

To Be Or Not To Be

I'm having trouble deciding whether to be a dick or not.  I checked out a book from the library at my school and I kept it way too long.  I just didn't have the time to return it or even renew it.  Now they want to charge me a humongous fine - more than the book is even worth - and I don't want to pay it.  I know what it says in the student handbook and all that, but I consider most things in life to be negotiable.  I didn't have a problem paying the fine for it being overdue, which I actually did.  The library didn't have change when I went to return the book and pay up, so I have a credit on my account.  The problem is that the librarian says I owed far more (and technically I probably do) and only wants to refund me a few pennies.

What it really boils down to is that I'm irked that I keep getting emails telling me what a jerk I am for not having returned the book in a timely fashion even though the library still owes me money.  Now I just want to be a dick and get back more money.  For fun.

Oh, and I'm sick.  I have a cold and the shivers.  And I mistakenly referred to the movie "Top Gun" today as "Spaceballs" which was funny and not entirely inappropriate, but I didn't catch it until Jethro had stared at me quizzically for almost a full minute.  I'm a little off.

Very Nearly Bits 'n' Pieces

I've had lots of little stories swirling around, but they've been driven out of my mind by a visit from Jethro's parents yesterday.  His sister told us his mom has developed osteoporosis, and when I saw her she looked so frail and weak that I got extremely frightened.  She hasn't looked great for the past year, but it was always late at night when we'd see her and I thought she was just tired from work. She works relentlessly.  But yesterday she looked worse then when I'd seen her at night.  She's had some testing done, but Jethro wants them to do more and the trick is getting his parents and their doctor (who has known Jethro since childhood) to take him seriously.  He thinks her bone loss is happening too fast for it to be just regular osteoporosis and what he says makes sense.  But the old folks, which includes his mom's doctor, think he's just a youngster.  Perhaps if we frame it as "teaching the young upstart a lesson" we can get them to order the necessary tests.

And I'm sure it didn't help her when she saw Gwennie take a header from her bike yesterday.  I know it didn't do anything good for me.  Gwen was showing off and riding much faster than she should have been.  I'm not sure exactly what happened but I think she braked with the hand brakes which only stopped the front wheel, which meant that she (and the back wheel) went ass over tea kettle (in a whirling frenzy of madly gyrating bony little knees and elbows) - in midair - right over the front wheel.  She landed headfirst, somersaulted, and skidded a little on her back.  From a more detached point of view, it was one of the most spectacular bike crashes I've ever seen.  

I've always secretly thought that bike helmets were kind of stupid and why couldn't kids just be kids the way I was a kid, but that hasn't stopped me from religiously making sure that Gwennie and Emma wear them.  Maybe maternal instinct won out.  Or maybe, deep down, I just know that Gwennie isn't a kid the way I or anyone else was a kid and that she needs the extra protection.  I don't even want to speculate what kind of kid she might have been if she hadn't been wearing her helmet.  I heard the sound it made when it hit the concrete.

Anyway, she got a pretty decent scrape on her back and some little ones on her elbows and I think there was a little one on her nose, but that's it.  She was really really lucky.  And my heart has returned to it's usual verge-of-heart-attack state.

The Billboard Campaign

Not that anyone should care in the slightest, but I did promise, so here it is:

In order to produce these poorly drawn images, I had to scour more porn than could be imagined by even the most debased sex offender.  Type in "hot guy abs" in google image finder without the safety filter and you will be led to the most astoundingly objectionable websites that could ever be conceived.  I even found a naked Santa, and used him gleefully and shamelessly.  The Horror.

The only thing I'm proud of is the fact that I turned it in on time, no thanks to my retarded classmates.  One of them was a misogynist (and that word is really too big to describe him) who was disgruntled that a female was supposed to direct the project.  He wouldn't do anything I asked of him outside of class, he completely ditched one class without calling me or the other guy, and then had the nerve to tell me to calm down and not take it out on him the day the project was due.  I was so livid at that, I actually lost my power of speech.  I did not give him any credit in the summary of the project.

The other guy was nice, but didn't really know how to use the programs very well, so the amount that he could help was limited.  At least he showed up to every class, though.  And he did help me mount the projects in the school which we weren't supposed to do, because using spray mount inside closed spaces does something to asthmatics or something.  

Normally I wouldn't have violated the rules like that, but we had 10 minutes to complete the project, and those two imbeciles were running around the school looking for a glue stick.  I led them to the stairwell, which no one ever uses.  Useless-Idiot-Sexist said, "Oh heeeeeeelllllll, no" and turned around.  I said, "Oh for Christ's sake, I will take full responsibility."  The other one hopped from one foot to the other like Nervous Nelly the whole time, but at least he stuck around.  And no one ever knew.

When I shortly reveal my holiday schedule, you will forgive me for not posting sooner. I've been like Rip Van Winkle since 9am on Christmas day. But hopefully my narcolepsy will be forgiven eventually.

The one nice thing about being so busy is that I haven't had time to read about politics. But then I come across this article and realize that it's because no one is writing about politics.

I'll leave you with my comment to the intrepid Mr. Colvin, which I am quite sure will not be published in the interest of keeping the public's right to worship intact.

Sweet Weeping Willow. Could Mr. Colvin raise his loins any higher in the direction of Obama's face?

This is bad for a high school girl, but for a professional journalist? I'm cringing for him.

If he wants to write about a bad-ass whom he could never hope to be, he should write about a marine, not this ivory-towered poseur with less street cred than Barry Goldwater.

Hope Everyone Had A Great Holiday. Will Post More Upon Return From Houston.

Make No Mistake. They're Trying To Take Over The World.

Chappy Chanukah!

Bustin' Out All Over

To make up for my lack of posting, I have here a photograph of my sisters and I at our other sister's wedding.  It was the end of a long night.

I'd love to post something. I really would. But I'm drowning in ass. I explain later.

School Daze

I really do get caught up in my work at school, so sometimes I forget just who I'm going to school with.

One of my classmates, oh, I'll call him Hector, wandered into class the other day, an hour late, completely disheveled, and walking very slowly. He asked if the instructor was around. Someone said he stepped out for awhile. Hector just stood there and finally someone asked him if he was sick.

"Naw, man," said Hector looking pale.

"You don't look too good."

"I spent the weekend in the hospital," said the rumpled Hector.

"Did you have surgery?"

"Naw, man," said the increasingly vacant Hector.

"So WHAT HAPPENED?" The classmate's curiosity finally getting the better of him.

"Oh, I got stabbed, man," said Hector returning to Earth briefly.

"How the hell did you get stabbed?" asked the curious classmate.

"I was hanging out with this girl and her ex-boyfriend came over. You know how shit like that goes down."

Now I don't know about any of you, but I really don't know how shit like that goes down. No human being on earth seems worth the stabbing or the receiving of the stabbing. However, 3/4 of my classmates were nodding their heads sagely.

And then that evening, I was talking with my group for the Starbuck's project, prattling on about various ideas. Finally, I stopped and asked if anyone else had something to say.

I was stared at blankly for a few seconds, and one of them says, "Well, what I think we need to do is find a way to sell the product."

The other one offered his girlfriend up as a prop - a sexy prop - for the photo shoots.

Tears came into my eyes momentarily and I'm still not sure whether it was from mirth or frustration.

I'm doomed.

Appeal to Cleverness

For one of my classes, I have to do an ad campaign for Starbucks.  We're supposed to do 3 magazine ads, 3 billboards, and 1 direct mail piece.  This is a group project and the two guys I'm paired with can draw very nicely, but are idiots.  I hate putting it so bluntly, but there isn't time to be nice.  Anyway, I've been put in charge of the group, which means my grade will be affected more if it turns out crappy.  And this has me very, very worried.  I don't foresee being able to brainstorm with my group members, so I'm resorting to my good friends in the Blogland.

My instructor really likes sexy (bordering on risque)/funny, which is good because that amuses me too.  But Starbucks, to me, is neither sexy nor funny.  To me, Starbucks is expensive and pretentious - two nearly unforgivable qualities for advertising.  Plus, they don't really have any previous ad campaigns to work from, except some deadly serious tv commercials.

So I need a clever theme that I can carry through 7 different ads.  It doesn't have to be sexy, just clever.  Starbucks is desperately in need of some kind of retooling with people spending less on things like overpriced coffee, so maybe there's a crack in the door there.  

Any ideas would be most humbly and gratefully accepted.  The best I can do by way of reward, is post the final project and write your name in blazing color on my blog.

I Feel Rather As If The Turkey Stuffed Me.

Ok, Trash, ok.

So all my best laid plans were for naught.  I meant to give Douchebag his note back on Wednesday, but my class got our early and I wanted to get home, so I kept the note in my pocket and decided to give it to him when I got back from Houston.  Alas, and to make a long story short, I washed the jeans with the note in the pocket and it is now but a soggy, shredded memory.

So now it's on to plan B which is to ignore completely.  I can do.  And if he brings it up again, I'm going to point at his crotch, snicker, and say "I don't think so, jefe."

Problem solved.  Except that I might get my tongue cut out in the parking lot.

Thanksgiving went off with only one major psychotic episode involving the use of my grandfather's car, which is probably a record.  One good thing about having a million sisters is that one, tiny lesbian girlfriend goes virtually unnoticed.  She's a quiet little thing and just for that I like her.  Probably better than most of my sisters.

Anyway, there is more, but it isn't very interesting and I have major shit due tomorrow, so I will say adieu for now.

Okay.  I'm going with Tater's suggestion.  I'm going to write something brief as in "no, and please don't bring this up again. Ever." on it and give it to him.  That way I've given everything back to him and he knows there is no question lingering.  I get what people are saying about ignoring him completely, but it isn't a large school, I will definitely have him in other classes, and he would be very difficult to avoid.  Also he was a little too persistent to ignore and I really want to avoid any further conversation.  It was intensely embarrassing.

I just love blogging.  You gain access to such clear thinkers, even if you do have to wade through mounds of troll droppings sometimes.

So enough of that.

What is everyone doing for the holidays?  We are going to my mom's house and my "lesbian" sister is bringing her "girlfriend" whom she will be introducing as her "roommate."  

*whine* I don't waaanna go home!!!  I wanna stay in New Town with my sexy American boyfriend and make my own stuffing and cranberry sauce and turkey.  */whine*

Anyway, I am going to finish my logo projects and post them when I'm done.  I'm doing one for the Ice Hotel in Scandinavia, which is the coolest thing ever.  I can't wait to show off that one.

The *Heart* Letter

Men are so frickin' weird. I really think they would molest a wasps' nest covered in broken glass and lemon slices if it looked like it had boobs.

Here's a letter I got from one of my classmates. After coming on to me repeatedly tonight in spite of my gentle, yet consistent negativity, he followed me out of class as I was leaving and gave me this note (spelling and grammar all his):

Zelda,

Hey thanks for talking to me . Just to let you know I wouldn't want to cross no lines

But maybe a little flirtation. I've always found you attractive and I know you situation.

But if you ever become Free let me know. Hope we can talk as friends and just a little Flirting wouldn't Hurt.

well you can answer me back or throw this away. well my email is ---------@-----.com

ok.

I think you are sweet, too Very sexy & Hot. your man is lucky.

Mmmm. Honestly I would love to Be with you. I don't think you can Image what I'm thinking :-) well talk to you later.

Classmate

P.S. Would I Have a chance?

And he put a heart around the word 'love'.  

I told Jethro because we promised to tell each other shit like this, and I gave him the letter. Then I ran away and hid my head under the pillows in our room while he read it and laughed his ass off.

I'm not quite sure what to say. It goes against my nature to be harsh or cruel directly to someone's face or even in a letter back to them, mostly because I am rather pathetically grateful that anyone finds me attractive enough to write a cheesy letter to.

Anyway, I'm emailing him back tomorrow and here's what I have so far:

Classmate,

I read your letter and I would never consider the idea. If I wasn't clear about this at school, I'm very sorry and I'm glad for a chance to be direct. I am deeply in love with my husband and my relationship with him means everything in the world to me. There is no one on this earth that would make me put it in danger. You're a nice man, but I know you have a wife and children and I'm sure they need you the same as I need my husband, and my daughters need their father. I don't mind being friends and colleagues, but even a flirtation would be out of the question. I wish nothing but good for you, but there is no good that would ever come of what you suggest, for you or for me.

May God bless and keep you always.

Zelda

I think this is pretty unequivocal without being unnecessarily mean. I think mentioning God might help too. He has a habit of putting somewhat of a damper on sexual fantasy. Maybe it's a little cowardly, but sometimes God comes in handy.

Now I'm just wondering if it isn't too pious/arrogant/overly thoughtful a response to someone who just considers me a warm hole.

I guess I don't care. I'm spelling it out in no uncertain terms.  

And I'm not just a warm hole.  

Sometimes I get really frickin' cold.

Anyway, feedback would be appreciated, but it will have to be quick because I'm going to send it tomorrow.

Where I Discuss Vibrators and Design. And Capitalism.

I finally managed to buy a new vibrator after the old one flamed out so grotesquely.  I think it's telling and rather sad that I actually took note of the package design before I took note of the product.  Learning about design makes you see things differently.  I don't know if I like it.  I was happy just being brainwashed like everyone else.  And that sounds far more arrogant than I mean it.

But I refuse to look at what I'm doing as brainwashing.  Yes, ultimately it's about trying to entice someone to buy a product.  But there is no way for a superior product to go up against its old, established competition unless they have some good advertising.  And that means pretty pictures.  And that's the fun part.  Really, the capitalism is a lot of fun.

Anyway, I'm swamped with procrastinating on my school projects and carting the kids everywhere.  And the house really needs a thorough cleaning especially because Jethro bought me an i-phone for my Christmas present and he thinks that now entitles him to sex and a bed free from clothes, dinnerware and small animals (how can he want the sex and not the small animals?).  Honestly, I don't know what he's thinking sometimes.  I allow him to provide for me in a manner to which I have yet to become accustomed...isn't that enough?

So this will have to explain my lack of posting, but I did want to show you a logo I am working on.  It's not quite done yet, I'm going to make the speed lines less uniform, fix the tail, put a little shadow under the back tire of the bike, and maybe put a little crash helmet on him, but I thought the idea was cute.  Everyone in my class liked it.  And most of them aren't completely short-bus.

Upstream

Jethro and I took the girls on a little camping trip over the weekend to Garner State Park on the Frio River with our friends Jen  (who took some fantastic pictures) and Vince and their two little girls.

I don't think I can describe how much we needed it.  It was absolutely beautiful.  The Frio River is crystal clear, which is kind of unusual for rivers in Texas.  Usually they're brown and full of water moccasins and other unsavory creatures.  At least that's how I imagine them, and there is a reason:  

In upstate NY, where I grew up, the streams and rivers were pretty clear and you'd never see anything more threatening than a turtle.  When my family was moving down to TX (which was a two week process involving the summer, 7 girls, and camper with no a/c - did you know girls can smell not-so-great after two weeks in a camper without a/c in the middle of the summer?) we stopped at a campground in Louisiana to sleep for the night.  It was still light out when we pulled in and there was a big pond.  Since it was hotter than I ever believed could be possible, I thought I would take my little sisters wading.  Sure the pond was had a little algae and it didn't smell quite right, but why not?

We got to the water's edge and I was about to cautiously put my toe in, when I saw something slithering in the murk.  It was about 7 feet long.  I stared at it, my toe hovering cautiously, and an evil head came up and opened its monstrous, fanged mouth lined in startling white.  I hustled my sisters away from there as fast as I could and spent the night not sleeping and getting up periodically to stuff shoes and socks through the cracks in the camper.

I hate snakes more than I fear hell and this phobia does not improve with age.

But enough of that.  The Frio was gorgeous and we really had fun.  We took the girls fishing, hiked up into the hills and saw a great view, made a campfire, roasted marshmallows, drank some beer, and bundled up during the night like I haven't done in years.

Jen and I also took the girls to hear a park ranger expound upon the geology of the TX hill country.

This particular park ranger was a gentleman probably in his early to mid-40s.  He wore a cowboy hat like everyone with any type of authority (real or imagined) does in TX, had a little beer gut, and was mostly nondescript except for a massive handlebar mustache.  It was distracting in its luxuriant perfection.  I immediately started imagining having sex with him just because I wondered if it was possible to convince a man with a handlebar mustache to have sex with me.

Then he started talking and I realized he was as gay as a trout in a stream and that my imagination is forced to draw the line at having relations with gentlemen who flick their wrists in an airy fashion, even if they do have gorgeous handlebar mustaches.

I Can't Decide If It's Ironic or Bittersweet

Obama campaign workers angry over unpaid wages

" 'I want my money today! It's my money. I want it right now!' yelled one former campaign worker."

" 'I'm disappointed. I'm glad for the president, but I'm disappointed in this system,' said Diane Jefferson, temporary campaign worker."

" 'It should have been $480. It's $230,' said Imani Sankofa"

" 'They gave us $10 an hour. So we added it. I added up all the hours so it was supposed to be at least $120. All I get is $90,' said Charles Martin."

" 'I worked nine hours a day for 4 days and got paid half of what I should have earned,' said Randall Waldon."

" 'They say that they gonna call you or they going to mail it to you, but I don't know. We'll see what happens,' said Antron Grose."

" 'Talking about they'll mail it to us. I ain't worried about that, man. They're not going to mail nothin',' said Martin."

H/T: The Incomparable Jim Treacher

Levon

Levon wears his war wound like a crown

He calls his child Jesus

`Cause he likes the name

And he sends him to the finest school in town



Levon, Levon likes his money

He makes a lot they say

Spend his days counting

In a garage by the motorway



He was born a pauper to a pawn on a Christmas day

When the New York Times said God Is Dead

And the war’s begun.

Alvin Tostig has a son today



And he shall be Levon

And he shall be a good man

And he shall be Levon

In tradition with the family plan

And he shall be Levon

And he shall be a good man


He shall be Levon



Levon sells cartoon balloons in town

His family business thrives

Jesus blows up balloons all day

Sits on the porch swing watching them fly



And Jesus, he wants to go to Venus

Leaving Levon far behind

Take a balloon and go sailing

While Levon, Levon slowly dies...

From time to time, I dust off my liberal arts education and apply it to something. My blog drafts are one long series of philosophical ramblings which I would probably never allow to see the light of day. I know just enough to be aware of the limitations of my intellect.

But since I'm feeling rather apocalyptic and since this is the last day what I write has the possibility of really seeming prescient, I'll allow my musings some air time.

Now to anyone who has really studied philosophy, what I'm about to write will undoubtedly seem hopelessly amateurish, and I'll concede that right now. Philosophy interests me more and more lately, but I'm no scholar.

If you haven't studied philosophy at all, it will most likely seem pretentious. That isn't my intention, but I'm not going to tell anyone what to think.

I realize Elton John would probably faint dead away at this because I think he’s made it clear what an enormous erection he has for him, but this song rather forcefully brings to mind the possibilities of an Obama administration. And since Bernie Taupin wrote the words, I'm not sure that even Sir Elton knows what they really mean.

Now if you’ll briefly allow me a few liberties I’ll show you why I was a lit major instead of pursuing a more lucrative course of study and why the government should never, ever, finance students of the liberal arts.

“Levon wears his war wound like a crown”

Bearing in mind the theme of the Trinity in this song (Alvin Tostig, Levon, and Jesus), and Obama’s God/Messiah complex, Levon is Obama as President. He wears the scars of his political/"racial" battles like a crown of thorns.

“He calls his child Jesus
`cause he likes the name
And he sends him to the finest school in town

He thinks he’s God. And I see America as the Jesus in the song. He’s promising us all the best, but promises do not mean results, and we just may end up on a cross.

“Levon, Levon likes his money”

Maybe not his money exactly. More like OUR money.

“He makes a lot they say”

He certainly will if he has his way.  But at whose expense?

“He was born a pauper to a pawn…”

I don’t know about him being a pauper exactly, but certainly born to a pawn. Two pawns, actually. Both supporters of a cause that cared nothing about them and left more helplessness than help.

“…on a Christmas day
When the New York Times said God Is Dead”

So now we get hot and heavy into Nietzsche, and, I think, the meat of both the song and my interpretation.

The song is from an album entitled "Madman Across the Water."

The famous headline was in Time Magazine, not the NYT.  But Nietzsche's famous quote, while attributed to his more widely known "Thus Spoke Zarathustra" was actually first stated in "The Gay Science." It was mentioned in three sections of the work, but Sec 125, where the idea was given the most detail is entitled "The Madman." And the words were spoken by a madman addressing atheists and agnostics.

“God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers? ….. What festivals of atonement, what sacred games shall we have to invent? Is not the greatness of this deed too great for us? Must we ourselves not become gods simply to appear worthy of it?”

If you take Heidegger’s approach, that the “death” of God is actually the death of metaphysics and with it the concept of the Christian God, the idea has been both lamented and embraced. But it can’t really be argued that there hasn’t been a scramble to invent “festivals of atonement” and “sacred games” to stave off the nihilism Nietzsche insisted was inevitable. The need to punish ourselves for our sins did not end with the “death” of the Christian God. The racial guilt evoked by Obama’s candidacy is just one manifestation, but his entire campaign and platform has seemed like one long festival of atonement.

Obama's entire Messianic persona has been given to him by the god-killers, looking for a new god to make them worthy of having killed the old one.

"And the war's begun"

Certainly true, but maybe not the war everyone knows right now. There is an ideological war that will be lost if the god-killers gain permanent ascendence. Our rights and freedoms, inherent in the Constitution, are completely dependent on the idea that there is a Higher Power to which we are answerable. The government cannot control us because we are not answerable to them. Read The Federalist Papers, I beg you.

I see a relentless quest to destroy this idea without any alternative structure that will keep our rights and freedoms intact. Even worse, I see the opposite. A deliberate destruction of the idea of a Higher Power in order for the government in the form of a god-king to gain control over everyone from business owners who will be forced to sacrifice their earnings, to the paupers who will find themselves completely dependent on the government and subject to it's every whim.

"And he shall be Levon
And he shall be a good man"

It's the plaintive cry of those looking for a god-king. Projection will not make it so, but it doesn't stop the hopeful, even wistful chanting.

But Levon is not actually a good man.

Of course there is more of the song to interpret (most of it scarily appropriate), but I think I exposed a bit of the center. Or at least the inner covering of the center.

Feel free to skewer.

I'm so busy with school I haven't been able to post anything.  But this doesn't mean I don't have things to write about.  I figure I'll list them right here, right now, so when I have a second to write about them, I won't forget.  Hopefully the subjects are titillating enough to keep people returning.

In no particular order:

Gwennie and Jethro's drawers.

Zelda's Annual Sexy Halloween Picture - Less sexy with each passing year.

Emma at the All-You-Can-Eat Dessert Bar

Bathilda (one of Jethro's patients)

Maybe I'll post a project or two.  I would post more of them, but I'll finish one and think it's good enough for class, but then when I think about the general public seeing them, I am overcome with crippling anxiety.  I don't think it's a good attitude for a wannabe logo designer, but there is always the possibility that I suck, and I want to live in denial for a little while longer.

I'll resurface soon.  Promise.

Friday Night Joy

Zelda: "It's a fun size Snickers. I just want a bite. One little bite. I've been so good. If you don't let me eat it I'll just go get a big one."

Jethro: "I'll give you a big one."

Zelda: "As long as it's chocolate and there are no surprises."

-----------------------------------------
Haiku:

I saw a fat man
Licking an ice cream cone and
Riding a scooter

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

Really, it was funny.

Or We Could Just Elect Someone Whose Mettle There Is No Need To Test...

I've been trying to find a full transcript of what Biden said at a fundraiser in Seattle when he didn't know the press was listening, but one hasn't been printed yet.

I've got as much as has been printed, but I'm sure there's more.

"Mark my words, mark my words. It will not be six months before the world tests Barack Obama like they did John Kennedy. The world is looking. We're about to elect a brilliant 47-year-old senator president of the United States of America. Remember I said it standing here if you don't remember anything else I said. Watch, we're gonna have an international crisis, a generated crisis, to test the mettle of this guy.

And he's gonna have to make some really tough...I don't know what his decision's gonna be but I promise you it will occur.  As a student of history and having served with seven presidents, I guarantee you it's gonna happen.

I can give you at least four or five scenarios from where it might originate, and he's gonna need help. And the kind of help he's gonna need is, he's gonna need you - not financially to help him - we're gonna need you to use your influence, your influence within the community, to stand with him. Because it's not gonna be apparent initially, it's not gonna be apparent that we're right."

These are all his words with no breaks.

Here is where I heard them.

I believe there are some statements missing right after that, but he continues....

"Gird your loins.....we're gonna win with your help, God willing, we're gonna win, but this is not gonna be an easy ride. This president, the next president, is gonna be left with the most significant task. It's like cleaning the Augean stables, man. This is more than just, this is more than – think about it, literally, think about it – this is more than just a capital crisis, this is more than just markets. This is a systemic problem we have with this economy." 

More missing statements but he actually, for some unknown reason, continues.

"I've forgotten more about foreign policy than most of my colleagues know, so I'm not being falsely humble with you. I think I can be value added, but this guy has it, this guy has it. But he's gonna need your help. Because I promise you, you all are gonna be sitting here a year from now going, 'Oh my God, why are they there in the polls? Why is the polling so down? Why is this thing so tough?' We're gonna have to make some incredibly tough decisions in the first two years. So I'm asking you now, I'm asking you now, be prepared to stick with us. Remember the faith you had at this point because you're going to have to reinforce us."

Possibly more missing here, but incredulously he goes on...

"There are gonna be a lot of you who want to go, 'Whoa, wait a minute, yo, whoa, whoa, I don't know about that decision', because if you think the decision is sound when they're made, which I believe you will when they're made, they're not likely to be as popular as they are sound. Because if they're popular, they're probably not sound."

He says more in here about bin Laden and Pakistan "bristling with nuclear weapons" but the exact quote was not used.  And still he continues...

"You literally can see what these kids are up against, our kids in that region....the place is crawling with al Qaeda. And it's real....We do not have the military capacity, nor have we ever, quite frankly, in the last 20 years, to dictate outcomes.  It's so much more important than that. It's so much more complicated than that. And Barack gets it."

At the end of his incredible, slightly insane, but illuminating rant, Biden noticed the press and said, "I probably shouldn't have said all this because it dawned on me that the press is here..."

But I think we have the gist of it.

And don't worry, Joe.  I will be marking your words.  We are going to be attacked in some way because they are going to "test the mettle" of a "brilliant 47-year-old senator president" (who has no experience and could very easily be such a complete weenie that it would totally be worth it)  and Obama is going to do some things that very few people are going to like.  Sounds good to me.  I'll be sure to remember the dichotomy and what a liar you were during the debate when you knew the cameras were on you.

What really blows my mind out of this completely mind-blowing event, is when he says: "We do not have the military capacity, nor have we ever, quite frankly, in the last 20 years, to dictate outcomes."

Well who is the party on record for slashing the military to that point?  Obama made a lovely speech about how much he wants to cut the defense budget and the military...the same military (according to Biden) that doesn't have the capacity to dictate outcomes.  Biden, himself, that foreign policy expert extraordinaire, has a record of voting to cut the military almost every time he's had the opportunity.

This man, Obama, has no experience which in and of itself makes us a target for any nutball country  who thinks they have a shot.  That's the truth, as painful as it is to hear.  Now that in and of itself might be worth the risk for the right candidate, but Obama hasn't made any statements that might give our enemies pause.  And even worse, he has associated with people who truly hate this country.  Ayers is a Anarchist/Marxist (probably not even realizing the irony) who plotted and arranged the murders of his own countrymen.  Jeremiah Wright is a hate-filled race-monger.  Tony Rezko is a felonious scam artist who bilked the Illinois government out of millions, and ACORN engages in mass voter fraud.  If they don't think Obama is a pushover, they're going to think he's a fucking ally.

The question is why wouldn't terrorists, dictators, and totalitarian governments think he'd roll over on his country?  Everyone around him has.  Except maybe his poor, sick, typical white granny whom he called a racist just before throwing her under the bus along with his other unsavory friends (but only after their associations became known, of course...)

I guess it's lucky for him that the press doesn't care enough to give this a headline.

The Perils of the Art of Dance

Jethro and I decided to attempt to learn the Texas two-step.

We've both lived in Texas for years, we've been available to each other for awhile, and we've watched other people do it nearly every time we've gone out dancing, so it's ridiculous that we never learned.

Well we have a wedding coming up this weekend, and while there probably won't be too much country music played, we thought it might be nice if we could do a nice slow two-step if one came along. So I looked up a few songs on youtube and we began with not a little enthusiasm. We're in love, right? We find each other reasonably attractive when fully clothed, right? We rock the house a bit on occasion, right? Dancing to a rhythm using actual steps instead of the pubescent grinding we usually do shouldn't be too difficult, right?

Wrong. So very very wrong.

We couldn't agree on the steps (how hard can slow, slow, quick, quick be?) and the playful (yet so not playful) jabbing at each others' rib cages in quasi-frustration, quickly degenerated into a real scuffle and then somewhat of a brawl which included biting, kicking, scratching and punching with me eventually pinned down on the tile floor screaming that Jethro better release my arms or I was going to tear a chunk of flesh out of his personal area with my teeth sometime when he was least expecting it.

We began again somewhat more disheveled.

Zelda: "Long, long, short, short, 1..2..3..4.. It's not that difficult."

Jethro: "I can't follow your Jew rhythm."

Zelda: "Watch it, slope....2..3..4.."

Zelda: "For the love of shit....walk, don't bounce."

Jethro: "You have to take longer steps."

Zelda: "You have to take shorter steps."

Jethro: "You just cut my foot with your toenail.

Zelda: "You did that to me 15 minutes ago, but I didn't complain.

Jethro: "How the fuck do you think you're going to lead when you're going backwards?

Jethro - "You're not moving your feet in time to the music"

Zelda: "Because you're swinging your hips. Why the fuck are you swinging your hips?"

Jethro: "Because you have big hips and I'm trying to keep up with them."

Zelda: " You didn't just say that."

Jethro: "Oh the fuck. That's not what I meant. I just meant that women have wider hips than men and ..... oh the fuck. The fuck. I don't know what I meant anymore."

Zelda: "I think we better call it a night........"

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Zelda: ............."Don't touch me, please."

I Feel Sicky, Oh So Sicky, I Feel Icky and Sicky And....

How do you "spread the wealth around" by forcing business owners to lay off employees?  How is the government desire to steal money and give it to whomever is likeliest to vote for them more efficient than people working for it and getting paid directly out of the business profits?  

Money is diluted when it goes through Washington.  One big fucking bureaucracy has to get paid/bribed just to collect/steal  all of that filthy lucre.  And there is no efficiency in D.C.  What makes Obama think the government can do a better job of paying people than the businesses that are actually paying people?  The government doesn't have so good a history with that kind of thing.

This just makes me sick to my stomach.  We're in our first year of business.  We have debt upon debt upon debt.  But if our gross income exceeds $250K, and it just might, we will have to pay upwards of $9,000 in federal taxes.  And this doesn't include an increase in the payroll tax which we have to pay even if we don't make any profit at all.  Adding upwards of $9,000 dollars to our debt when we are just barely scraping by means we will be forced to lay off the lady who works for us if we want to stay in business.  So the government, by taking around $15,000, will have forced us to lay off someone who was making over twice that with us.  And for that measly (in comparison) price, the government will have removed a perfectly life-sustaining job from the workforce in order to give much less (if anything) to that person by way of government handouts.

How is this sane, again?

Don't Do It

U.S. government mulls plan to take ownership stakes in banks

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Please, please, please, please, PLEEEEEEASE don't make me write in Ron Paul.  I can't stand Ron Paul.

The government can't run the government.  Don't let them take over the banks.

Say A Prayer

For my dear blogger friend ALa tonight.  She's a tiny little lady trying to deliver a very large baby.

An Evening Spent Gathered Around the Family Laptop

Setting: The Living Room sofa where Jethro is reading aloud an email he is writing to his friend, Corin...

Jethro: Dude, we were so glad we got to hang out with you and Serena before you left.  We definitely have to do an anime convention next time.  Zelda could go as the chick with the big tits....you know, all of them.

Zelda (in a solemn, quasi-feminist mood after watching Sarah Palin do very well in the debate): Jethro, you really need to stop being so sexist.

Jethro - What?  I love big tits.  How is that sexist?

Zelda: I don't know.  Maybe I could go as that lobster guy who does that thing with his claws.  He seems smart for having an exoskeleton.

Jethro - You don't have the ass for it.