Bits

Payasita - I enjoyed writing the last post, so I'm going to keep directing people to it. I'm great at self-promotion (not to be confused with self-gratification, but at which I am also proficient).

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And speaking of which, I had phone sex. Never done that before. Phones are hot.

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My house is a mess. I can't clean and I am overwhelmed. Jethro kissed me and pinched my nipple good-bye this morning, but he probably wants to divorce me. I want to divorce me.

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Jen of Therapy Eggs is coming by this morning to go to lunch. It's for business because we are listing her home, but I'm looking really looking forward to it. I just want to escape my house and eat something delicious. I refuse to worry about getting fat if Jethro is just going to divorce me anyway.

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My B-day is coming up. Any ideas? I can't think of a thing. I always wanted to do Karaoke, but haven't had the opportunity. I don't think it will happen. Jethro is inconsistent with presents. Not that I care very much, because I just don't. But when he's on, he is so very on. Like the one time he restored my violin which had fallen into disrepair. And the Aerosmith tickets were good too.

But when he's off, I get nuttin'.

Mind you, I'm not complaining. I'm inconsistent too. But I'm a girl, dammit - even if I am more like a frat brother than a wife.

The Destruction of a Paper Elephant and the Lesson It Teaches

Payasita Update

Sparkling Glitter Rainbow Ponies - Subtle, huh?

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I picked Gwennie up from school today and she was in the worst mood. She plopped down on the grass with a scowl. I asked her what was wrong, and she showed me the remains of a paper plate with gray pieces of paper attached to it.

Gwennie: Dale DESTROYED my elephant.

Zelda: We can fix it. Just get up and let's go.

Gwennie: But he DESTROYED my elephant.

(Dale and his father were only about two feet away).

I finally convinced Gwennie to get up and walk with me to the car. We were right behind Dale and his father.

Gwennie (loudly): Dale DESTROYED my elephant.

Zelda: Hush, you silly girl. It was probably just an accident.

Dale's father (turning around): What did Dale do.

Zelda/Gwennie (simultaneously): Nothing/He DESTROYED my elephant.

Dale's Father: Did you destroy her elephant?

Dale (looking shamefacedly at the ground): Yes.

Dale's Father: Don't you think you should say sorry?

Dale: I'm sorry.

Gwennie: That's alright. But you did DESTROY my elephant.

Zelda (to Gwennie): Get in the car, please. He said he was sorry and that's the end of it.

Zelda (to Dale's Father): I'm sorry, she's really tired.

Dale's Father: That's alright. When Dale does something wrong, he needs to apologize.

We looked at each other, decided we were mutually satisfied with each others' handling of the situation, and went on our ways.

Conflict resolved without a slugfest or name-calling. Grown-ups teaching their children how to behave. Gwennie, as usual, having the last frickin' word.

Perverts Read My Blog

Not that there's anything wrong with that.

These are the more interesting/inexplicable searches:

"zelda nekkid" (this one I fully understand and don't blame anyone for).

"ugly pussies" (I wouldn't actually look for them, but if someone said "look at this ugly pussy ," I don't think I'd turn away).

"watching someones dick fuck through crotchless panties" (Very specific).

"used sex toy Zelda" (I wonder if they wanted to see me using a sex toy, or if they wanted my used sex toy).

"sleeping tushy free samples" (Nothing free here).

"35lbs red grease" (I shudder to think).

"Poke Zelda's Boobs" (That will definitely cost you).

"Wheelchair Zelda" (I can only imagine)

"Joey Degraw dead" (Jealous? I guess my one-time make-out buddy has a hard time making friends).

So anyway, I'm probably going to get my real estate license. I guess this means I have to learn to drive. Seeing as how I detest people who are buying homes, you wouldn't think this is the right line of work for me. But being Catholic, I sometimes think that if you suffer here on earth, you won't get it so bad when you inevitably eat it.

Satisfaction

Not that I ever need to complain or talk about this, but I finally fucking got some last night. Not those half-hearted (though successful) pokes Jethro attempted during his delirium during which he referred to me as his little dancing chicken, but finally some real, nipple-pinching, ass-grabbing, hair-pulling, legs-behind-your-head action.

I-just-got-some
Sa-tis-fac-tion...

So I'm sitting here smoking a cigarette, and basking in the glow like some small-time mafia thug who doesn't know he's about to be hog-tied and dropped in the East River.

Carmen Electra is a stupid whore. Her workout video, while sexy and easy and fun, is stupid. She's stupid. Just think if you are a middle-aged housewife, 40-50+ lbs overweight, who is trying to lose a little and sex up her marriage, being told to prance around between exercises touching herself all over. Sexy when Carmen does it, not sexy when I, I mean the overweight middle-aged housewife, does it. But if she had pulled up her shirt and told everyone to pinch their nipples, I'd have forgiven her.

I have a thing with nipples. Particularly my own. What am I saying? Only my own. It's hereditary. Emma does too. Hers, not mine.

And that's pretty much all I have for 8:30 am on a Monday.

The comments seem to be thoroughly screwed. Jethro already got haloscan, but I'm going to hold off out of sheer laziness. Just use bloggers comments for now. And please leave one even if you never do. I know someone out there was looking for "mom's suckable anus" (Elliott) but found me instead. So leave a comment and tell me you got some satisfaction.

Ahhhhh, Fuck You.

Just when I think I’ve left NY behind me for good and all, I find myself pulling out of the driveway, only to be beeped at by a car I considered too far away to impede in any way. Some road rage ensued and I found myself forcefully giving the finger to a friendly neighbor who was waving from their car as they passed, beeping happily.

Note to self: Cut off finger and bring over sweet potato pie.

Hoedown

Jethro and I took the girls camping on the beach this past weekend. Unbeknownst to us, it was the weekend of the East Beach Party - a ghetto spring break party. I'm not sure how PC it is to say that, but I don't care. The partygoers have done so much damage to Galveston in the past, that many businesses just close down entirely and the city goes onto full-scale riot alert. The city still hosts the party, but works very hard to keep things under tight control. Luckily for us, we were heading in the opposite direction of the beach party and the hoochies don't go camping. Lest anyone think I have some kind of prejudice, I would be glad to be heading in the opposite direction of any beach party involving hoochies and alcohol, at least as long as I had my kids in the car.

But let me just tell you about the hoochies for a second. Truly this is an underrated subculture. I got my first inkling as to what was about to go down when I saw one riding on the back of a motorcycle, her companion's head lodged comfortably between her voluminous breasts and her copious, mini-skirt clad derriere enveloping the entire back end of the bike. Jethro nearly drove off the road when I told him to check out the gal pooping a tailpipe.

To be fair, there were classy, well-dressed women on their way to this event as well, but let's face it - they're nowhere near as interesting. I saw hints of beaver, I saw cellulite in places I didn't think could get fat, I saw tube tops disappearing into rolls of flesh. Definitely an event that, for better or worse, is now seared into my brain.

Camping was rather dull in comparison, but the girls loved it. The only bad thing was that Jethro got really sick. His fever was so high last night that I was afraid he'd damage some brain cells. Lucky for us, he's done with all his classes, so now he can pretty much drool and crack backs for the rest of his life.

I may be writing sparingly the next couple of days until he's better and my plague-infested house is out from quarantine.

An Interesting Discovery

For me, the odds of hearing a pop song and liking it while it's still popular are slim to none. Everything on the pop stations is overplayed to the extent that if, on the slim chance I hear a song I like, I figure I'll eventually be sick of it before they quit playing it.

So given my fair amount of contempt for pop, imagine my surprise when I was out shopping some months ago and I heard a song that I actually liked a lot. I couldn't really understand the words, so I have no way of knowing who sang it. I heard it from time to time in the car, but the DJ never said who it was by. Finally, I heard it about eight times in one day while we were driving to Galveston, and I managed to snag some of the lyrics. I googled them and discovered the song is "I Don't Wanna Be" by Gavin DeGraw. I read the lyrics over and thought they were pretty cheesy, but I still liked the song.

I'd been thinking about that song for awhile - something just seemed familiar about it. Finally tonight, I watched the video and found myself staring at a vaguely familiar face. I wracked my brains.

"Gavin DeGraw... Gavin... a Gavin who sings......" and then it hit me. I had met him in NY with my friend Kristy back when I was about 18 or 19. He grew up in the same part of the Catskills we did and he and Kristy became friends. I went up to visit her, and she took me to one of his gigs. It was very local - nothing advertised and everyone there was friends with the band, so it wasn't some big groupie-fest or anything. They just played cover songs, but you could tell that Gavin had star quality. He had a great voice, a great smile, and was really cute. He also played the piano and guitar brilliantly. I met him afterwards because he was hanging around with Kristy, and he seemed like a very pleasant person - almost like he knew he'd better not piss anyone off just in case he ever became famous. I also met his brother Joey. Joey was grittier and (at least in my mind) made Gavin look like a purty little boy. He also played the guitar really well, which was really damn sexy. If I remember correctly, he bartended between sets and gave me free shots.

Kristy had a bad habit of leaving me to fend for myself while she increased her social circle, so I ended up getting wasted and hooking up with Joey. It wasn't the most pleasant experience I've ever had...let's just say that I ended up underneath a couch with my top off, listening to two people fucking in the corner and trying very hard not to throw up. Kristy scolded me the whole ride home. Bitch.

A similar scenario occurred a year or two later. We were at a bar and Kristy and Gavin were busy with their crowd, smooching on guidos, so Joey and I went to his car to mess around. Kristy found me before anything happened, though. Bitch.

All of this flashed through my mind as I re-read the lyrics. They mean something completely different to me now that I know who sings them. One line in particular:

"I came from the mountain, the crust of creation
My whole situation made from clay, dust, stone"

If you've ever lived in the mountains, this is poignant.

You can watch the video here. Joey still plays with him. He's the wild-haired guitarist off to the left when Gavin sings the first chorus, "I don't wanna be anything other than what I've been tryin' to be lately."

Sense and Gullibility

First things first. I've posted something on payasita that should interest prolifers as well as those opposed to judicial activism. Don't anyone get their hopes up though. This isn't a debate on abortion. If you really have something to say, I won't stop you, but I just don't have time to get into it and no one is going to convince anyone anyway.

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Now for the subject at hand. I wouldn't refer to myself as gullible exactly. If you were to tell me that you once saw two politicians poking gerbils and horseradish up each other's asses out behind City Hall, I would take it at face value. This is because nothing anyone does really surprises me anymore.

However, I have always viewed acupuncture with great skepticism until today. I have had a very annoying headache for a couple of days. Jethro had two acupuncture classes this weekend and decided to make me his guinea pig (gerbil?).

I didn't think it would work, but when he poked one needle in right between my eyes, my sinuses started draining immediately. The other points on my neck, hands feet, and top of my head made me feel very relaxed and drowsy. I'm sold.

After he took the needles out, I took a nap which was extremely pleasant. I do believe that it is different for everyone. Jethro said the same spot between the eyes gave him a headache when he had it done during class. I am greatly encouraged that my husband and I haven't paid a small fortune to make him a quack.

Holy Mackerel

Kevin posted.

Jethro's Greatest Fantasy

Zelda: Remind me to do Carmen Electra when we get home.

Jethro (after coming to from his dead faint): Um... Okay.


Jethro finally bought me Carmen Electra's striptease workout dvd.

More Carlos

I wrote that our friend Carlos was joining the army. We went out with him last Saturday night after we got back from the beach. It was a lot of fun. No one threw up, but everyone was drinking.

So I got this email from Carlos today.

"Thanks to everyone for coming out. Some of you I haven't seen in quite a while, and it was great to catch up. As you can imagine, this hasn't been an easy decision (and the prep a pain in the ass), but everyone has been so supportive, even congratulatory. I can't tell you how much that means. I left Saturday night feeling truly blessed. I look at all my good friends and the caliber of people I know - I feel proud. I know this trip is only for training so I don't mean to be sappy or overdramatic. But most of you are aware that I will probably see action soon after, as some of you and many of our friends already have. Yeah it makes me quite nervous, but when I look at who I'll come home to, I consider it an honor.

Anyway, enough rough stuff. I know I'll be missing some weddings and birthdays and christenings and I'm sorry, but congrats where applicable and we'll just have to party twice.

Special thanks to Big-D for getting us the keg. Love you bro, and we'll have many more.

See you all this fall. Wish me luck and I'll be in touch.

Luv,

-Carlos"


I consider it an honor to have let that man touch my boobs.

Pussies in the World of Blog

Kristin is guest-blogging for Brighton while she's on vacation - which is a nice thing all the way around. I don't know how Kristin does it, but anonymous little pus buckets are just drawn to her. She had written a pretty benign little rant about how cyclists piss her off (a particular pet peeve of mine which I relate to wholeheartedly) and she gets this in the comments:

"You suck...You are killing this blog bitch!"
Anonymous
(Naturally)

Well, the White Knight himself found his IP address and banned him. He also found his [very sucky] blog, which is weirdly, yet amusingly entitled "zen and the art of driving." Anyone care to make a wager that he's from CA?

He has a petulant little entry on how sensitive everyone is and how he's just sorry he didn't leave his name (like that would show us). Very brave of him considering that it is now known and he doesn't really have a choice. Then he whines that "bitch" isn't derogatory towards women. According to whom? He didn't say anything about "suck" though. He also said that he was just saying what everyone was thinking (apparently he is also psychic). He really is a pussy. Not a really dirty pussy, just one with maybe a slight yeast infection, or maybe a little wart. Yeah, a wart. That would be funnier. He makes a big show of not banning Seven or erasing his comment. Who would like to make a little wager that he doesn't know how?

I realize people like this are a waste of skin and time. But that's only if you are really mad at them. As a source of amusement, they are priceless. Who would like to make a little wager that he quits blogging saying that [insert lisp] "there are just too many assholes out there."

Camping

Jethro and I spontaneously decided to take the girls camping in Galveston Friday night. It took us forever to leave because well, I'm disorganized. No, I swear. By the time we arrived, the campground had closed for the night, so we went looking for a cheap motel.

Now Galveston is a pretty typical beach town. There is one street with gorgeous hotels and beautiful beach houses right on the Seawall, but just one street back and you're in the ghetto. Shady motels, ramshackle cottages, and divy bars. Not pretty.

Since Jethro and I are poor folks, at least for awhile, we try to do things on the cheap. We eschewed the nicer motels close to the water for a seedy looking Motel 6. We hauled up the sleeping kids, the blankets, the pillows, a cooler full of tequila, and the weapon. We made note of the condoms in the vending machines and opened the door to our room where we were promptly assaulted by stale cigarette smell. Jethro left the room and I arranged a snoring Gwennie and Emma on their bed.

Jethro came back to the room, mixed himself a margarita, took off his shirt, stuck the gun between his pillow and the headboard and lay there with his arm behind his head. I found it totally sexy, and I realize most ladies probably think I'm making a beeline straight for the loonybin.

There was just something about the combination of being in a cheap motel with vending machine condoms and a gun that just does something for me. I proceeded to engage in what was probably the best sex I've had in a year.

Pathetic, right? If Trashman's reading this, he's probably guffawing in disgust. I can hear him: "Please Woman. I've taken girls I wanted to impress to a Motel 6. Seedy, my ass."

Yooooooooouuuuuuuuu Might Be A Redneck

Payasita Update: Gay Adoption, and it is surprisingly measured for me.

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First things first. This is very disturbing and we all need to be aware of it. I don't want to sound preachy or paranoid or anything, but we can't stand by and do nothing.

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Onto the story:

Jethro and I went fishing with his friend Mason on the Saturday before Easter. We both love it. It doesn't matter if we even catch anything. I always come away with all the knots in my back unwound. So my SIL took the girls to one of her nephew's birthday parties and Jethro and I headed for the Texas City Dyke.

I've said before that fishing is completely universal. There must have been 20 nationalities within 5 feet of us. And the people who fish come up with the funniest contraptions. There was one family who'd pitched a tent and brought around 17 kids. Another family had a trailer. The teenage sons watched TV and everyone else fished.

Jeth, Mason, and I were sitting on the rocks talking, when I noticed a guy not far away from us. Complete redneck. Overalls, no shirt, talking in a very loud southern trailer accent. I thought I'd tease Jeth and Mason a little and started making lewd comments about him - like they would have done if it had been a girl in overalls and no shirt.

As luck would have it, one of his friends got his line caught on a rock, so Redneck Boy - aware that I was observing him, decided to strip down to his boxers and dislodge it.

As his overalls came down, I was saying, "That's right baby. Take it all off. Yeah, you don't need those itchy overalls," to Mason's amusement and Jethro's lesser amusement.

In he jumps wearing nothing but some ratty old boxer shorts. He spashed around for awhile and then decided to get out and strut a little. He climbs back up on the rocks, sucks in his gut, and starts making manly noises while his friends deride him. As he's doing this, I'm encouraging him to "take of those wet wet boxers."

Let me tell you, friends. I can talk the talk, but I apparently can't walk the walk. Deciding that his strutting just wasn't taking it where he wanted it to go, he obliged. Pulled those boxer shorts right off and wrung them out, displaying a brilliant white heiney. I covered my eyes, but not before saying, "Thank you."

Mason and Jethro were dying laughing. Mason especially who isn't completely used to my idosyncracies and thought it was funny that after all my talk, I covered my eyes.

Inanna's Visit

Inanna's visit was a blast. I really felt like I'd known her for years. We talked for a long time on Tuesday, she met Gwennie and Emma, we got our margaritas, and she accidentally saw my underpants. It was fabulous.

Brighton, Travis, and Tinyhands were way cool. Tinyhands has christened himself thus because he thinks he had a small ring size, but I can assure you all that his hands are beautifully long and slender. Yet powerful and manly. Oh so manly.

Brighton was so cute. She didn't look anywhere near the age she claims to be, and in my personal opinion is so so so much cuter than her sexy pictures. Her husband was really cute too. I feel bad now that we talked so much and barely let him get a word in, but what he did say was always spot on funny. They were just the perfect Texas couple.

I still can't believe how 5 hours just flew by. The girls definitely took over the conversation. Apparently we have mouths to match our boobs. I broke down in tears of laughter more than once. I got to see both Inanna's and Brighton's tattoos which were just as cool as they sound. I don't have any tattoos, so I told them about getting my nipple pierced. What cracked me up is that they had sat perfectly still and let people drill ink-filled needles into their skin for however long it took to get those gorgeous tats, and they still winced and cringed like men hearing about balls getting caught in machinery when I told them about getting my tiny little nipple ring. Incredible.

I was dragging today, but Vietnamese food perked me right up. I am pretty sure Inanna liked it, but I was so busy stuffing my face that I can't be sure.

My girls adored her. They are usually really shy, but they just took to her like white on rice. She made them cute little hemp bracelets which was really cool of her and they both loved. And when she left, they waved at her car until it was out of sight. Anyone who endears themselves to my kids surely has their name in the Book of Life.

It's probably too soon to write about everything. I'm sure down the road something will pop into my head and I'll write about it. But suffice it to say that it was a great time and I would do it again in a minute.

Easter Sunday

A millblogger, Francisco G. Martinez, was killed in action while on patrol in Iraq. You can pay respects to his family and fiance here.

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We went to an odd Mass on Sunday. We got there as the last Mass was ending so we could get a seat. The choir was singing the last song a capella and they were awful. The large lady choir director dressed in a hot pink suit and a humongous white hat started gesticulating wildly trying, I'm guessing, to build to a magnificent crescendo filled with goose-bump inducing high notes. It sounded more like a wraith-filled haunted house. I can't imagine Jesus was pleased.

Trying to enter a church against a crowd of departing, hungry churchgoers on Easter Sunday is as hard as well, trying to enter a church against a crowd of departing, hungry churchgoers on Easter Sunday. If you find yourself in a similar situation, I recommend hitching your wagon to a star of fearless fat people. They parted the crowd like Moses parting the Red Sea, and we were seated without too much trouble.

The priest was a Brit. He mentioned necrophilia during the homily. I will reiterate my formal opinion that Europeans, especially the French, are perverts.

Fr. Limey said, "We know grave robbers didn't steal Jesus' body because they left the cloths. We don't know why they would have stolen just the body. Actually we do know why, but I'm not allowed to preach about it."

I was the only person in the entire building who laughed. I don't feel bad. My dad would have laughed.

Then the man doing the intercessory prayer accidentally prayed for the "rich" instead of the "sick." I laughed again.

We left during communion since I am no longer allowed to receive it and Jethro isn't Catholic.

In the car, I was letting Gwennie have it for misbehaving during Mass. She had fooled around and dropped the kneeler on my foot, which made me swear a little.

I said, "How would you like it if I dropped the kneeler on your foot?"

To which she replied, "How would you like it if I threw you out the window?"

She has never been that defiant before, and I don't anticipate her doing it again anytime soon. I think there were children on the other side of the city who learned a lesson.

Happy Easter

Emma: "Lookee my pitchur, mommy! It's a Princess Emma and a King Daddy!"

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(Gwennie and Emma completely destroyed the living room. Jethro got mad and yelled at them and made them clean it up).

Zelda (upon walking in and seeing a subdued Gwennie and Emma picking up their toys): "Did you get spankings?"

Gwennie (ruefully): "Not yet..."

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Jethro (in bed): "Do you love me, baby?"

Zelda: "Oh God, so much!"

Jethro: "Then stroke me."

Zelda: "Fucker"

It's A Sunny Day Outside

I can't talk about Terri Schiavo anymore. She's going to be murdered by her husband while we comply, wagging our heads at the cruelty, but determined to do nothing, and it makes me want to kick something. And my toes already hurt because I've already kicked something.

So onto something useless and hopefully more amusing.

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Gwennie had "Multicultural Day" at her school today. In lieu of actual education, they asked that if you had an outfit representative of your "culture" that you wear it. Normally, I look with disdain on these types of events and the note did say that you were not required to participate (I'm sure that was for all the white kids who have no culture). But Gwennie is the proud owner of a cute little Vietnamese wedding outfit she wore for her aunt's wedding when she was a flower girl. I thought it might be fun for her to wear it, so she did. But next year I'm going to put her in overalls, black out her front teeth and teach her to spit. I see no reason why my culture should be ignored.

Update: Jethro suggested a baseball cap and chewing gum as a less controversial alternative. Damn him for his logic and common sense.

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Today is the most gorgeous day in Houston. No clouds, no humidity, a slight breeze - gorgeous. I was nearly overcome with a desire to ditch school and take my eldest as far as our full tank of gas would take us. Just her and me against the world. Then I remembered that I'm scared to drive the freeways. Then for good measure, my car stalled.

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A word of advice to anyone searching for a home. Don't call up realtors and say, "Can I have some information on a house? I don't have the address, but it's white and it has a little path leading up to the front door. You know, the one with the bird feeder on the porch. It has a Re/Max sign in front. You know that one?"

I will be forced to roll my eyes and pretend to help you and finally force you to admit that you should probably go back and collect the address before you waste anyone's time.

This happens at least once a day.

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I want to have a party. Actually, I want to go to a party. We have a friend who usually has a huge birthday party in February, but he didn't this year, and now I need a party fix. I will be making due with margaritas next Tuesday. Inanna, you have a large burden on your small shoulders.

Breaking My Own Rules

There is a new blog (to me) I have to shill for. He's actually been up since December. Scooter is a hoot. I've met him, read his blog, and I've decided that his is what a political blog should be. Pithy and to the point. I think many of you would enjoy him tremendously, so without further ado, I present "the def conservative." I won't tell you to leave him comments because if you read him, you will want to.

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I was going to blog today about something stupid like how many rooms of my house I've actually had sex in, but I'm going to blog about Terry Schiavo instead.

Normally this is something I would post on Payasita, but somehow it just feels personal.

The law must be changed.

It is inhumane to starve someone to death. I don't care what their mental status is, if they are alive and all they need is food and water, you can't starve them. If it was humane we'd use it to kill dogs or criminals. But it is not so we don't. Why are we making an exception for a woman who can't speak for herself? If we were really humane, we'd shoot her in the motherfucking head.

Now I've heard people say that they wouldn't want to be kept alive if they were that brain-damaged. Fine. Write it in your will and die. I don't care. But if you were/are a woman who had left no such document, would you really and honestly want your fate decided by a man whose only reason for not divorcing you is so that he can ensure your death? Not me. If my parents and family believed that I was able to take some joy out of their presence, then I don't want to die. And I will also offer a suggestion. Do some research into death by starvation and dehydration and decide for yourself if this is the preferred method of your demise if you are so unfortunate as to be faced with a similar situation. I wouldn't hold it against you if you said it wasn't.

I understand if my husband wants to move on with his life, I would never expect him to stay married to me if I couldn't be there for him. But I would hope that he would do the honorable thing: Divorce me, and then remarry.

I also understand about a DNR order. My father had a DNR, and I wouldn't want to be brain dead and have a machine breathing for me for months. But Terry is not brain dead, and she is not being resuscitated by a feeding tube. She is merely being sustained. There is a huge difference.

This honestly makes me ill. This Schiavo person, who had such contempt for her that he would cheat on her multiple times, gets to decide whether she lives or dies. Feminists? Anyone? Their silence is deafening. I may secretly, deep down, take the side of women on certain he said/she said issues, but this is the reason I will never call myself a feminist or have anything to do with their organizations. That they would leave a helpless woman in the hands of a creepy husband who won a huge settlement for her care and then sued to have her killed, just because the issue dovetails with their abortion apologist cult of death, is disgusting.

Have at it folks.

Continued

Payasita Update - More Moonbat Protests

Well after all my bitching, I got to go out on St. Paddy's Day after all. Without the kids and even without Jethro. Jen of Therapy Eggs and her friend couldn't go out after all and Jethro had to study for boards. Drunken Birthday Boy called up to see what we were doing and I told him to come out here and go get a drink with me.

Wedding ring firmly in place, we went to a local pub and talked politics for a couple of hours while I got a little tipsy first on a whisky and then on two amaretto sours. It was pretty mellow especially compared to past St. Paddy's Days, but it was more fun than watching the girls destroy the house after being inspired by The Incredibles to test their "powers."

Thank God Jethro is done with boards. I've been going nuts so I can't imagine how happy he must be. He came back from his last test with lots o' liquor. Which was cool.

I have to just say that I'm really excited to see Inanna. She is coming in just over a week, and I really can't wait. I've been running all the best places to get Margaritas through my head and down my throat in anticipation of her visit. Which reminds me that I probably ought to clean my damn house. I have a feeling that the only rooms Inanna will not have the privilege of seeing will be the Zelda and Jethro den o' love and the adjoining facility. Lucky for her we've had sex in every other room in the house, so she won't really be missing anything.

That's all for now. I hope to have more inspiration in the near future.