Danny Bonaduce Never Disappoints

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

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

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

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

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

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

And It Burns Burns Burns...

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

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

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

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

In The News...

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

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

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

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

Since when do hostage-takers win anything?

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

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

Thanks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Goddamnit, Marcia...

I was having an innocent conversation with Jim Treacher while he contemplated a rumored liason between Marcia and Jan Brady (please read link).

The result:

No, I didn't actually molest Mr. Treacher. My drinkable, organic yogurt came on my face. And my shirt. And the knee of my jeans.

Fluffy

Sometimes I enjoy listening to Gwennie and Emma chatter.

Jethro and I took them to the circus the other night and I bought them a stuffed tiger and a leather whip during the intermission. The following conversation ensued:

Gwennie: What do you want to name him? We both have to agree.

Emma: I think we should call him Fluffy.

Gwennie: What?! He's a vicious tiger. You can't call him 'Fluffy.'

Emma: But he is fluffy.

Gwennie: But he isn't trained yet. We haven't even whipped him yet. He's still wild. You can't call a tiger 'Fluffy' if he's wild, even if he really is fluffy.

They ended up calling him Rory, which I thought was hysterical. You might think it's clever, but I don't think they know that Rory is really a name.




We went to church yesterday. Gwennie became possessed by the Devil. We were standing during opening prayers which went on for a bit. When we sat down, Gwennie breathed loudly and said, "Finally!"


I told her I was going to beat the starch out of her if she didn't keep her mouth shut for the rest of the time, in as low a voice as I could manage. She didn't talk much after that, but she did kick the lady sitting next to us, reached over me to hit Emma, and attempted to sit on the back of the pew in front of us.

I don't really want to go back to that church.

Haiku:



An owl resides in

Our backyard. He is quite disrup-

tive while we have sex.

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Jethro and I made a little trip to the Verizon wireless store in a mall close to our house to see if they would do something about an extremely high phone bill. This was the coversation on the way:


Zelda: If it's a chick, you go in. Ditch the wedding ring, talk in your deep voice, and tell her your a doctor.


Jethro: Do you want me to ask her out on a date?


Zelda: If you think it will help...


Jethro: And if it's a dude?


Zelda: That shrimp I ate last night was pretty salty. I don't know if I can get my wedding ring off. But here. I'll hoist up the girls a little and he won't even look for a wedding ring. I suppose I ought to put on some make-up. I look like a poorly aging goth reject.


We arrive at the mall, and see there is a gentleman manning the store.

Jethro: I'll go in. You don't know any of the details of the bill.


Zelda: This is unfortunately true. I'll be in Express. Is it wrong that I'm hoping he's gay?

Jethro: Yes. Very.

Zelda: Thanks for not allowing me to whore myself to the Verizon man.

Jethro: You're welcome.

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I can't believe how busy we are. We could still use more patients (and they could use Jethro) but I'm finding myself with very little time on my hands anyway. I haven't even shaved my legs in over a week, and I've gone quite retro, pubic-ly speaking. If I go naked for Halloween, the kids will think I'm a scary monster walking on his hands. I'm not sure what kind of insults I'm setting up my face for, but I'll risk it.

So on that terrifying note, have a great weekend.

Current Events

1. I'm about to be stymied by the QuickBooks tutorial. That is how bad at Math I am.

2. The clinic is running smoothly.

3. The front desk girl is a talker. And she's the worst kind of talker because she is interesting and you get sucked into her stories and forget what it is you're supposed to be doing. I like her.

4. I miss Charles.

5. Gwennie and Emma took a RadKids self-defense class this past weekend. Gwennie got tricked into giving her password and Emma can't fight worth a damn. Hopefully they learned that they need to run fast.

I learned that I need to have them surgically tethered to me at all times.

The suited-up instructor got kicked in the balls twice by these giant 12 year old boys. He had to take a few breathers. Those boys seemed likely to actually be predators one day. One seemed quite homeschooled.

There was another kid with Down's Syndrome who was fantastic. The kids were supposed to practice walking past the "bad guy" and then running away from him when he tried to get them to come with him and wasn't able to tell them their password. The kid with Down's started what was supposed to be the nonchalant walking, but he was punching his fist into his other hand while he was doing it. It's hard to explain just how cool that was.

6. I think we are going to stay put for a weekend. We've been back to Houston for the past three, and we're about done-in. And one of my sisters is coming up, so we might as well give the poor pilot a rest.

7. Scrubs are comfy. I'm annoyed I didn't discover them sooner. The only problem is that the hotter looking ones are cut fashionably (which is not to say it aesthetically pleasingly) below the butt crack. I have no intention of giving anyone more than for what they paid. Well, maybe a little. But I do want them to return. It's all about balance.

Sometimes Jeff Goldstein is perfect.

Through the Tears

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

so much depends upon an orange scooter...

As always happens when something important occurs in Real Life, blogging takes a backseat. As odd as it sounds, and as busy as I am, I don't want to get out of the habit. Blogging is my deal. It's helped me through so many moments in my life where I might have gone crazy from Events Beyond My Control.

And since I have nothing career-wise except helping Jethro with the clinic (and I'm more than fine with that), I'd like to have some kind of outlet. And this, dear friends, is it. It's not a lot, to be sure, but it is me and I need it.

Just had to get that out there.

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

Jethro, the girls and I have been running back and forth from New Town to Houston for two weekends now and are planning to go back again this weekend. We have a lot of crap at the old house to clear out, sell, or throw on a bonfire. It's amazing how much junk I considered important and still would if the thought of sifting through it didn't set my ADD into overdrive.

Anyway, this past weekend, Jethro, the girls and I stopped at my mom's house on the way back to New Town to say "hi" to my family and "happy birthday" to one of my sisters.

In the midst of our visit, my Lesbian Sister showed up looking quite eccentric with her hair windswept into a somewhat terrifying coiffure and wearing a bike helmet as well as a t-shirt that said I *heart* Frat Boys. She wears shirts like these to tease men then cock-block them into complete emasculation when she insists that she's gay. She intends the Patriarchy to suffer greatly at her hands. But I digress.

The girl had bought herself a little orange scooter and had driven about 40 miles out to my mom's house on some fairly speedy roads. She then proceeded to take my youngest sisters on it sans helmet, while I clucked my disapproval. And I'm a tool for doing it. I should have just punched her in the face and welded that helmet to their heads.

She then tried to make me let Gwennie and Emma on the scooter.

I said, "no, no, no."

She said I was one of "those" moms.

I said she sounded like a teenage drug dealer.

She said my children were going to be jealous of her children.

I said I was sorry I wasn't a cool Lesbian scooter-rider, but the answer was still "no," and any rebellion on their part would be paid for in belt welts. And I meant it.

She changed the subject. She told us how truck drivers had no appreciation for the fact that she was trying to save the environment and how she'd gotten into a middle-finger duel with one of them on the way.

Since she has converted to Lesbian Environmentalism, I have decided it is prudent to hold my tongue. Pointing out that truck drivers' more pressing concern of not running over idiot scooter-riders, takes somewhat of a precedent over an environmental agenda is like trying to convert a Jehovah's Witness to Satanism.

What is it with my family and joyless sanctimonious ideology? Can't they just relax for awhile? Haven't we been on that train long enough?

And So It Begins...

I accidentally dropped a bar of Ivory soap in the toilet. It does, in fact, float.

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For anyone who doesn't know, we closed on the clinic and are now proud business owners. Jethro has worked the past two days and is kicking ass, if I may be so bold.

I feel a little useless now. I've schemed and dreamed for this clinic and I believe it's ours just on the strength of my determination. But now that everything is said and done, I'm not quite sure what to do with myself. I don't know the first thing about running a clinic, and there is a lady who has been there for years and knows everything backwards and forwards. It's a stupid idea to get rid of someone like that, so we'll keep her as long as we can afford her, which will hopefully be until she retires. I say we. What I really mean is Jethro. I keep forgetting that this is his deal now. I'm involved in an advisory capacity, of course, but it isn't my show to run. And I don't want it to be. I just have to keep reminding myself of that.

I guess I'll just try to find ways to market. More patients mean more money and we really really need it.

Anyway, I just wanted to blog briefly and update everyone as to our whereabouts.

Question of the Day

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

A Little Levity

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

H/T: Jackie Danicki @ Blowing Smoke

A Mounting Anger

The last of the South Korean hostages have been released, secured, no doubt, by one of the huge sums of money that have made hostage taking extremely profitable. I'm happy they've been released, but I know that money will translate directly into the murder of more men and women like Charles. Why we didn't have every media outlet screaming about the barbarity of this depraved act is beyond me. I mean, it had all the makings of a fantastic news story. Pretty, virtuous Asian girls, plenty of blood, a clear bad guy, what more could be asked except for them to be forced to put some panties on their heads (which they are lucky to still have)?

And where were the governments? South Korea is an ally of the West. Why weren't we threatening the complete annihilation of the Taliban and everyone else within a 500 mile radius? That these inbred queers got away with it is nothing short of vomitous.

Meanwhile back at the ranch, we are worried about Muslims having foot baths on publicly funded school campuses. I'd say if we're going that far, let's give them showers and free soap. That way they can be holy, and the rest of us don't have to smell them.

I found out some more of the details surrounding Charles' death. That he didn't suffer is the most merciful thing. Other than that, it's pretty gruesome. I don't want to repeat any specifics here, because it's too difficult to write about. When you talk about it, you can fill in the gaps with innuendo and inflection. No such thing with the written word. And I must stop before I break down and render myself useless for the rest of the day.

Moving Day

We moved!!!

I was sorry to leave Greater Houston on such a somber note, but it has been in the works for some time.

Let me just say right now that I love where we are living. For safety reasons, I'm not going to reveal exactly where we are, but I am so happy to be here. The girls' school is beautiful and brand new, the neighborhood is very cute and there are lots of little neighbor children for them to play with.

Our friends Jen and her husband came to help us move and they were amazing. They've moved a lot over the years, and they have some mad moving skillz. Despite Jen's little girl damaging a corner of the wall with her forehead, their girls and my girls had the most fun ever, I think. The only thing wrong with them coming up here was realizing how much I am going to miss them.

I'm tired though. Jethro had to back to Houston to work one last week, and I am up here alone with the kids. I hate it and I am lonely without him even though it's just for a few days. I simply do not understand how military wives deal with it. Bless them.

I'm just trying to stay positive and busy. Charles' death really threw me for a loop. I find out now, and it isn't exactly being mentioned within our ever-vigilant-of-whatever-half-naked-celebretard-has-shaved-her-head/cooch-and-acquired-herpes media, but there is quite a bit of fighting going on in Afghanistan right now. You know. The fuckers who are hiding bin Laden. Pray for our troops and that our mission is accomplished.

Quo Vadis?

So for the final farewell to Charles at the bar, Jethro, Benton and I had a picture of him blown up and framed. It was great since he even made it into a few pictures with us, as you can see:

However, not thinking terribly far ahead leaves us with somewhat of a dilemma - one Charles himself would no doubt find hilarious.

What do we do with him?

It's a humongous photo - bigger than our family portrait. I love Charles, but I was thinking of a somewhat more discreet personal memorial. I could make-out with this one. Jethro suggested hanging it on the ceiling over the bed that way he could pretend he was high-fiving him from time to time when the occasion called for it.

Someone else suggested meeting up in August every year and drawing names for who gets to keep it for the next year. It's a sweet idea, but I think it would be too awkward. We don't exactly want to be raffling him off once a year.

We thought of letting them hang it in the bar, but we don't want anyone being disrespectful towards him even accidentally. And as we all know, you can't always count on respect in a drinking establishment.

We are also considering donating it to the college we all attended, but I don't know where they would put it. No one else has a picture like that anywhere and the only place I think Charles would have appreciated being hanged is in the dorms, watching the drunk hotties float by.

So I think we are going to have it engraved and give it to his parents. I don't want to upset them with it, though. It is ginormous.

Any thoughts would be appreciated.

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

Pics from Saturday night:

Friends again

Me and two girls

To Charles

These gorgeous photos are courtesy of Jen of Therapy Eggs.

TAPS

The funeral was the most terrible and magnificent one I've ever witnessed. Jethro and I and our friend, Mason clung to each other and sobbed as taps played.

I had never been to a military funeral before. You know what they do, as we've seen it parodied a million times, but seeing it for one of your dearest friends brings a whole new dimension of beautiful pain and overwhelms you with the magnitude of his sacrifice.

I choked out, "Goodbye, Charles" at the casket and that was about all I could handle. Jethro, Mason, and I went to our cars to take a few swigs.

Liquor and sympathy have been about all that's gotten me through the past week.

I must say though, that in our grief, all of our friends have come back together. Petty differences and real hurts have been set aside and forgotten. I made amends with my former best friend and Jethro's ex-girlfriend (Micky) after an 8 year grudge. I loved her through all of it, and regretted our lost friendship, but was far too stubborn and prideful to reconcile. I emailed her on Tuesday evening asking her to forgive my part in our fight and asking for us to be good again. She emailed me back a beautiful response and asked to meet the following day at a mutual friend's house.

As I walked in the door and saw her, we ran to each other and hugged tightly and cried. We talked for hours. I found out Charles was the last guy she hooked up with before she settled down with her husband. I told her I once made-out with Charles and Jethro in the same evening. She said that had her beat.

Saturday evening after the funeral, we and all our friends went to Griff's Tavern to celebrate his life. Jethro and I and our friend Benton had gone to Kinkos and had a picture of Charles blown up and framed. We set it up on the back patio and prepared to settle in for a night of toasts.

As we were lighting the candles around it, two young men came out and asked if this was a private party or if they could come hang out also. You know those awkward moments when you don't quite know what to say? It wasn't technically a private party, but we didn't want them to feel embarrassed when they realized why we were all gathered. Somehow I managed to say the right thing. I said, "If you want to come have a drink to our friend who lost his life in Afghanistan, you are more than welcome to stay out here with us."

The young men also did the right thing. They fell silent and walked over to his picture. After a respectful moment, one of them said they'd both be honored to drink to him.

And that was how Charles would have wanted it. Everybody drinking.

Micky and I made sure to tell those guys how Charles was with the ladies. I don't think there was a chick in the bar he hadn't snogged at some point. They were impressed.

Jethro and I spend a quiet day yesterday and I finally stopped breathing out steaming clouds of whisky.

I don't think I will have closure until this war is ended and we have won, but I feel a sense of calm and kindliness towards everyone I know. Everyone from the internet to real life has been tremendously supportive and kind. And I want to thank everyone for their lovely messages and Jack, Dick and Trashman, and Tinyhands for their phone calls. They seriously kept us going over the past week.

I guess I don't mind admitting here that I'm not doing so well. Neither is Jethro. Even though we want to be tough, I don't think that's possible. The type of person Charles was doesn't make that possible.

If I had to describe him succinctly, I'd say he was 1/3 class clown, 1/3 party boy, and 1/3 chick magnet. He was the type of guy everyone wants to come to their party because you know it will be a good time even if someone ends up in the hospital, which happened on more than one occasion. There were some great times -mostly involving fire, Everclear, and someone's leftover prescription of codeine. And maybe a ferret or a squirrel.

I found out Monday night. A friend of mine called and asked if I was driving. I said no. She told me what happened and I started screaming. Jethro knew it was something bad. He also knew the girl who called me was very close to him. He mouthed "Charles?" I nodded. Then his phone rang.

When I came back to my senses, I realized I was pounding on the stairs and yelling no no no no no no over and over. My poor friend was near hysterics herself, so I tried to calm down and apologize. We agreed that we needed to contact as many people as we could so they wouldn't have to hear it on the 10:00 news. As bad as it was, that would have been much much worse.

I found that telling someone is just as horrible as hearing it. If I never have to do that again, it will be too soon.

Jethro and I decided the girl who called me shouldn't be alone, so we left the kids with his parents and went to her place. We were all still in shock. Jeth and I left around 3am, but none of us really slept.

Yesterday was bad. I cried in spurts all day. Jethro came home for lunch and we both started crying. Somehow it is worse knowing that the person you love most in the world is hurting as badly as you are.

People called all day. I cried with every one of them. We met a bunch of friends at a restaurant by our house. Jeth and I had a beer dinner. One girl came that I hadn't spoken to in 8 years because of a falling out. We hugged each other and cried and said we were sorry. Then we laughed because she is practically a midget and her head had nearly disappeared between my boobs. And that was the evening. Tears and laughter.

Jethro and I went home and proceeded to get bombed. Not to brag or anything, but we could be professional mourners.

Jeth eventually passed out and I left a bunch of drunken rambles all over the internet. I think I was even in a chat room.

Charles left us a lot to laugh about. He was one funny motherfucker. His nickname was Asshole - given him by one of the many psycho-chicks he toyed with, and worn by him with something like honor - if that tells you anything. I used to curse him for destroying my left big toe when he forced me to kick him once. Now I'm glad and I hope it never heals.

So now I'm going to get up, wash my face, and and press on. Obviously we are not moving until after the funeral, but we are going to have to move eventually, so I need to get going.

Thank you all so much for your condolences. Your words have been so precious to Jethro and me and we treasure each one of them. Keep Charles's family in your thoughts and prayers this week. He was their only child.

Carlos

One of our dearest and best friends was killed by a roadside bomb this week in Afghanistan. I've written about "Carlos" many times in the past, but I hoped and believed I'd never have to write something like this.

Everything I try to say sounds so maudlin and wouldn't begin to do him justice.


But the truth is there are a countless number of broken hearts tonight, mine and Jethro's among them.


I am ashamed to say that I didn't take the news with anything resembling courage. I want to be strong and brave just like he was, and I will try, but he was simply on another level.

I know in my heart why he went, and I know in my heart why he fought. And I will carry that with me for the rest of my life. His fight will be mine.


He left his job, his family, his girlfriend and his friends to make a better world for those who had nothing, and he deserves the sleep of the just.


Rest in peace my brother and my true friend. I loved you and will love you always.



More Carlos stories here, here, here, and here.

Jethro shares his remembrances.

And I would like to thank Dick for being around tonight.

Semper Fi

This is awesome.

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