Fortune Smiles Upon Me

I am not a terribly jealous person. I joke about other women being hotter or more organized than I am, but secretly, waaaaaay deep down I am confident that I have (am? I'm not sure of the vernacular these days) the best poonanny Jethro has ever had or will ever be likely to get. I say this with all due modesty. The only thing that ever gets me is when Jethro calls a woman "cute." He can call them hot, sexy, fine, smokin', gorgeous, beautiful, exotic, even fuckable. But cute is mine. It's the only thing I can pull off.

So it was with no small amount of joy that I discovered Jethro's #1 dream girl and celebrity he's allowed to do nasty, nasty things to (if she'd let him) is going to be on Celebrity Fit Club Season 4.

Damned if I don't think Erica Eleniak is the cutest woman of all time and I hate her with an almost religious intensity.

I must say this is even better than when Kelly Lebrock, Jethro's #2 dream girl and celebrity he's allowed to do nasty, nasty things to (if she'd let him and I think would) was on last season. I think Jethro's fuckable celebrity list is getting a little dog-eared. But I like to think that I'm so fucking good, he hasn't thought about other women since the early '90s.

Sick People Make Me Nervous

So you know what's worse than living with a hypochondriac?

Living with a hypochondriac who actually has something wrong with her.

My grandmother (visiting from NY) went to the emergency room last week for a bladder infection. While she was there she had a fake allergic reaction to some antibiotic then legitimately had a mild heart attack.

After every test known to man at the insistence of relatives who would rather make demands from 3,000 miles away instead of actually carting their spoiled asses down here to help care for their mom, it was decided that she would need an angioplasty.

To complicate matters in ways that seem to be unique to my family, a vicious stomach bug laid out me, Gwennie, two of my sisters, and my mom. Not receiving the proper attention due to the fact that everyone was retching over their respective toilet/salad bowls, my grandmother proclaimed everyone Deserters of the Ill in Their Hour of Need and said she hoped she died.

I was better by the time Procedure (notice I do not say Operation) Day rolled around. I went to the hospital to see her. I arrived there at 10:35 am and did not leave until the following evening during which time I got the once over by a clergyman with balloons; fielded 42 phone calls from various relatives one of whom actually had the nerve to yell at me for trying to convince my grandmother to sign a release for the doctors to do an emergency bypass if it looked like death was imminent (she refused to sign); valiantly attempted to translate my grandmother's vague kvetching into actual useful information for the doctors and nurses; found a secret waiting room with free real coffee; attempted to sleep on a waiting room sofa while a soon-to-be-bereaved family had a jubilant reunion right next to my head; raped, cut off ears, cut off heads, taped wires from portable telephones to human genitals and turned up the power, cut off limbs, blown up bodies, randomly shot at civilians, razed villages in fashion reminiscent of Genghis Khan....

Where was I?

Oh yeah.

While there are many blog-entries I could squeeze out of the past few days, the funniest was the soon-to-be-bereaved family in the waiting room. It was around 3 am, and I was attempting to sleep a little. A sudden heart attack victim had been brought up to the ICU amid much commotion and accompanied by a vast family. Two somewhat aged gentleman who obviously hadn't seen each other in awhile decided to establish themselves right in front of the only person in the waiting room who was trying to sleep. Me. This is the story that brought me to consciousness:

"There I was trying to eat my dinner in peace when this girl, she must have been Puerto Rican got a call on her cell phone. She talked and talked and talked so loudly I couldn't hear myself think. This went on for almost 10 minutes. And I couldn't even taste my food. Finally I just stood up and went over her and said, "You sound just like a Puerto Rican chicken."

The man beamed as he laid this priceless one-liner on everyone.

"...And boy was she mad. She put down the phone and yelled at me for about 3 or 4 minutes and I just stood there. Finally she walked out."

I started chuckling in my sleep. I thought I had dreamed the whole thing. Comedians joke about situations like this, but you never believe they actually happen in a way that doesn't need to be exaggerated for effect. I still wanted to eviscerate him, but I woke up happy. They, however, were quite sad only a few short hours later and I felt a little guilty for my thoughts of violence.

So now I'm staying with my grandmother in a hotel near my house until we are sure the stomach bug has been defeated. After that, seeing as how I have no husband and children and I abhor sexual intercourse of any kind, she will probably end up moving in with me.


Feeling Like Every Nerve Has Been Pounded With A Jackhammer, But Ever Yours Truly,

Zelda

Update on Zelda's Whereabouts

Zelda wanted me to let everyone know that she is staying with her grandmother. She just got out of surgery for her heart and is doing quite well. She asked for Zelda to stay with her and help her out for a few days.

Zelda tells me she's got lots of stories for everyone to masturbate to while choking yourself with a necktie when she gets back to posting.

Jethro out...or back to work.

The Daily Grind

SUPPORT THE TROOPS

I am leaving that link up until it's over.

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

I have been cleaning my house almost nonstop for the past week. It is looking better. Not great, but better. It now has less of a meth lab quality and more of an insane asylum dormitory feel. I am so much happier now that I can see my feet when I walk. Actually, that isn't quite true. I haven't seen my feet since I was fourteen.

The downside to all of the hygiene is that I have developed hives on the palms of my hands. I think I'm allergic to some cleaning agent. Who would have thought I actually had a medical excuse for my sloth? But seriously. My hands look like a Divine Punishment for masturbation. But I admit nothing.

SUPPORT THE TROOPS

No keyboard yet. After all that, Jethro forgot to leave me his laptop. It's ok though. I got some too.

I figure I'll cut and paste the missing letters for right now. If I miss a few, you'll know why.

I am so excited. I was on the Pat Gray morning show on AM 950. He was nice enough to let me announce a victory rally I am holding to thank the troops for their service. I've never planned anything like it and I have no idea how to get the word out. I was lucky enough to get on Pat Gray, but it was at 6am and I have no idea how many people heard me. If anyone has any ideas, I'd be ecstatic to hear them.

Here is the email I sent out in case anyone who reads this is interested in going.

We will be holding a rally in support of our troops at on Saturday, July 29, 2006 starting at 2:00pm

The proprietors of Jack's Roadhouse (Dixie Farm Rd @ Hwy 3 across from Ellington Field) have agreed to host the event. Our PW group is heading it up and Pat Gray (the morning talk radio host) has agreed to announce it.

As of right now, I am trying to enlist speakers and anyone with any DJ skills/MC skills. I thought we might do an almost open forum in that anyone who would like to speak could submit a sample and be approved for a 5-10 minute speech. The only thing is that it can't be too political in nature - in other words, don't shill for a candidate and keep the message positive and articulate.

I also need anyone with any crafty-like skills to help with making banners and doing decorations for the event.

But mostly we need people to be there. That is the most important thing.

You can find the link to Jack's Roadhouse here. There will be a link on the page that goes directly to information on the event. I'm so excited about this, and I really hope we can get a good turnout. If anyone from the Greater Houston area wants to announce/link the event on their blogs, I would be most grateful.

My keybord is broken nd I'm missing very importnt vowel. There is much I would like to respond to nd write bout, but s you cn see, I'm hving difficulty. Jethro might let me borrow his lptop. But I won't be ble to post until fter the blow job.

And It Burns, Burns, Burns...

Did I ever reveal that Johnny Cash's "Ring of Fire" was playing in my head when I gave birth to Emma? I didn't have an epidural.

Two years ago, I decided that I was now ready to be married. Luckily I already was, so there was no need for anything fancy. Now I've decided that I want children. Not that I didn't want the other two, but I had very little say in the matter. Emma was actually a greater shock than Gwennie.

I don't have a biological clock, thank goodness. I'm pretty much sure that I will be fertile well into my forties. Possibly my 50s. My family seems to be Natural Born Breeders. That's a good thing though because along with the personality disorders comes great genius and low productivity. Just the kind of person society needs, and I insist upon doing my share which should be at least four when all is said and done.

Just Call Me One-Trick Pony (or would it be a one-pony trick?)

Jethro and I were at our friends' house a couple of months ago trying to decide which movie to watch on HBO. Not finding anything, we decided to browse the porn titles and their accompanying descriptions. If you have a chance to do that, I highly recommend it. I haven't laughed that hard in ages.

On a whim we decided to watch a documentary of sorts detailing among other things a pussy-eating seminar (ovular?) managed by two (fat and hairy) lesbians, and a swinger orgy/campout for, and I quote the outhouse dwelling redneck verbatim, "people who like to camp and people who like to fuck."

The seminar was pretty much just a bunch of fat people watching some gal get eaten out. Boring. The juice, so to speak, was in the redneck swinger orgy-in-the-woods.

I must say I've never been what you could call an environmentalist. I'm more of a conservationist, but I don't think trees have feelings or anything like that. Nevertheless, as I viewed four naked rednecks writhing wildly in a sex swing they'd hung between two trees, I couldn't help but wonder what those poor woods had done to deserve such defilement.

There was a hot tub full of naked uglies and after watching a stringy-haired housewife get rocked by a chubby-bottomed housewife and her cowboy-hatted cabana boys, I came to the conclusion that there is no need to even debate the morality of this. Something this ugly can't be right.

The rain is getting to me.

If I were to actually attempt to recall the event, I don't think I could. The memory returns when I least expect it. A moment of tension during a movie. A certain type of tile. Leaving for the airport when it's still dark. Flashing lights in the sky.

Any one of those things bring back The Memory.

Oddly enough, it's not a bad memory. It's exciting. Something is Happening.

I see myself after I've died being handed the story of my life as if were a puzzle inside a giant eggshell. I'll crack it open, lay it out and all the pieces will be there. That thought is as satisfying as peeling paint off a cracked door.

Happy Fourth Y'all

Strangely enough, it's the words of a Brit that have caught my attention today.

"Faced with a complete beast like the late Abu-Musab al-Zarqawi, who has been trying to kill us for several years, millions of Americans appear to believe that he only appeared in Iraq because in some way we made him upset. Well, even if this was true — which it is not — it wouldn’t be such a bad thing. (What would you say to a policy that made him contented, instead?).

Thus, for a Fourth of July message, I would suggest less masochism, more confidence on the American street, and less nervous reliance on paper majorities discovered by paper organizations.

Happy Independence Day."

~Christopher Hitchens
July 4, 2006




























































"Never in the history of the world has any soldier sacrificed more for the freedom and liberty of total strangers than the American soldier.

And, our soldiers don't just give freedom abroad, they preserve it for us here at home.

For it has been said so truthfully that it is the soldier, not the reporter, who has given us the freedom of the press.

It is the soldier, not the poet, who has given us freedom of speech.

It is the soldier, not the agitator, who has given us the freedom to protest.

It is the soldier who salutes the flag, serves beneath the flag, whose coffin is draped by the flag, who gives that protester the freedom he abuses to burn that flag. "

~Zell Miller
September 1, 2004
Republican National Convention

H/T: Michelle Malkin and Little Green Footballs

I am feeling much better. Just when I think I'm never going to recover, I suddenly discover I'm fine. It was all a dream...

One of my biggest fears is that someone will nominate me for What Not To Wear. I think if someone were ever to come up to me followed by a camera and offer me $5,000 for a new wardrobe, I would tell them thank you very much but would you please go fondle yourself with something large and uncomfortable. It's not so much that I like the way I look, but the task of spending $5,000 on nothing but clothes, having to try them on and then have those two idiots touch my pleats...I'd rather get my nipples pierced 5,000 times.

And speaking of butts, Gwennie and Emma took pictures of each others' with my cell phone. Gwennie then set them to wallpaper and screensaver respectively. The child is an evil genius. I had no idea how to set wallpaper on my cell phone. They are so pretty and innocent looking in that unique little Asian way. It's hard to believe it's all a facade.

Man, I'm so out of it. This cold is kicking my ass. I decided yesterday that I would be all better, so I cleaned, shopped, and came home deciding that death could not be as bad as my headache and fever. I took some cold medicine which had the opposite of it's intended effect in that I got all hyper instead of drowsy.

I finally got to watch Crash. I borrowed it from my sister-in-law who loved it. I don't exactly know what to say about it. It was a pretty simple premise: We are all evil bastards, but we usually come through for each other in a pinch. At any rate, I didn't come away from it wanting to sell myself into slavery for being white. Surely that is an improvement from past racially themed movies. But if Crash won the academy award, Brokeback Mountain must have sucked harder than cowboys in a pup-tent.

And speaking of sucking, I think I sprained my tongue during an act of fellatio. Jethro and I had agreed to have some sex, but got into a mild argument over illegal immigration. Mid-discussion, Jethro complained that he could not have sex and talk about illegal immigration at the same time, and it was all my fault for bringing it up in the first place. Resisting the urge to place the blame on him for putting on Fox News as background for the lovemaking, I decided to offer up a little oral encouragement so he would just shut the fuck up and get it done. In my enthusiasm, my tongue went in the opposite direction of my head. I gagged a little, but the mission had been accomplished. He shut the fuck up.

I am now completely in favor of drug legalization. Any drug, and all drugs.

I just came back from my local Kroger and they wouldn't sell me a box of Advil Cold and Sinus because I didn't have my i.d. on me. I am quite obviously sick as evidenced by the greenish liquid streaming copiously from my nasal cavaties, I only want one fucking box, but clearly I am running an eeeeeeeeeeeevil meth lab and all that stands between me and the downward spiral of thousands of hapless innocents into the muck and mire of drug addiction are the brave little soldiers at the Kroger pharmacy.

So fuck everyone. If you want to pump yourself full of toxins and remove your skanky ass from the gene pool early, be my fucking guest. I don't care.

But the government has to forget about paying for rehabilitation. In order for drug legalization to work, we must allow addicts to kill themselves as quickly as possible. That will reduce everything from drug related traffic accidents to prison spending. Basically, it's a self-inflicted abortion. You had a chance at life, you couldn't hack it, and now you are aborted. It's tidy, and no one else is responsible.

A Night Out

Jen, Vince and I went out last night. I won't go into the mental and social labyrinth I had to negotiate in order to get 2 sisters to a date at the ice-skating rink, another sister to blow off two friends in order to babysit Gwennie, Emma and Jen and Vince's daughters, and then loading 6 people into a very cluttered Honda Accord, but suffice it to say the combined efforts of Superman, King Solomon, and Atilla the Hun would have gotten them nowhere.

Jethro had gone fishing, or to be more precise, "flounder gigging," which is what you call it when you hunt flounder with a spear. Or your dick as Jethro claims. Personally I have my doubts. Regardless, he was not around to play a part.

So Jen, Vince, and I scooted around town stopping at three bars. I remember when three bars was a slow, slow night. I had started drinking red wine earlier in the day at a wedding, and I saw no reason to stop. This is what happens when you are preoccupied with the logistics of getting out. You stop thinking. Red wine makes for a nice buzz, but a terrible hangover.

But while we were out we heard the worst pick-up line ever, drove right through the gay pride parade, and saw a transvestite prostitute and a man running after him. In that order.

The worst pick-up line ever was delivered to two girls at the first bar we were at. They were probably about 21 and pretty cute. The deliverer was about 45, hapless, yet under the delusion that if he spoke loud and fast enough, no one would notice that he was old, desperate, and probably not very good in bed. He came over and introduced himself to the girls and asked if he could buy them a drink. They politely declined to which he said, "But how can I take advantage of you if I can't get you drunk?"

We left shortly after. It was too painful.

We decided to hit another bar and ended up driving through a very colorful, sparkly, but utterly disorganized Gay Pride parade. Jen and I tried to talk Vince into rolling down his window and catcalling some very pretty young men in blue glittery hot pants, but he refused. He's an Irish boy through and through.

The transvestite prostitute was kind of tame after the gay pride parade and not exactly an uncommon site in Houston's Montrose/Midtown area, but I've usually been too drunk to notice them. As I mentioned to Jen and Vince, if you're gonna pay for it, you'd think you'd go for the real thing as opposed to the sure thing. And as Jen said, it's really the difference between Dr. Pepper and Dr. Thunder.

Afternoon Delite

We got a little on Jethro's lunch break. It was 1 1/2 hours long but for some reason he waited until the last 15 minutes to proposition me. Nothing like urgency to carry you through.

All the rain has been driving me batty. But when I stop to think about it, I should just shut up and enjoy it. When it's raining, the temperature is bearable and the mosquitoes don't fly. The humidity is so bad in Houston that you are damp even if it isn't raining, so what's a little water when compared with the moist human soup created by sweat, oil and heat?

I want to move back to Callicoon, NY where I grew up. I know I've bitched about my childhood, but if I show you these pictures, you'll bitch-slap me for complaining. No one could have asked for a more beautiful place to grow up.


One of the many houses my parents rented.





The view from that house. I woke up to this each day.




The view from down the road.







The "hideout." We actually had a stick war with some other kids over it.

The playhouse. I married a lot of boys and planned on setting up housekeeping here with all of them.











Main Street











The Water Hole. Spent many happy summer hours here and rescued a younger sister from drowning just off the right bank




The Delaware River and the Catskill Mountains




St. Mary's. Just one of many churches my family frequented.




The view upon entering the town. Quaint, huh?

Floods and Stuff

Nothing much to report here except some flooding in the Houston area. I must say it's fun watching the government monkeys dance and make promises and look on the bright side of things. It's the weather. We live in a basin. Shit happens - especially when you drive through standing water. But we are determined to hold someone accoutable.

For the rain....

I'm in the middle of scrubbing out my kitchen. It's no barrel of monkeys, but it must be done. Secretly I've always wondered what it would be like to just let nature and the sugar ants take their course, but then I think, "Bad hippie. BAD." And I slap myself hard across the face. It doesn't make me that much more hygenic, but it keeps me from going too long without a shower.

Soybeans and Soybean Accessories

What I thought was a terrible case of food poisoning from undercooked edemame last year, turns out to be vicious and thorough intestinal rejection of soy.

I discovered this a couple of weeks ago when we went to dinner with our friends Jen and Vince. I ordered the vegetarian dinner just for laughs and it came with this huge hunk of fried tofu. Very healthful. I ate most of it, but just couldn't quite see my way to finishing it, which is highly unusual for me. Not half an hour later, I was vaguely uncomfortable. An hour later, I was rushing into our other friends' apartment to take care of emergent business.

Now I ask you. Who can't tolerate soy? Soy is what they give people who can't tolerate normal food. It's like having an intolerance to gruel. I suppose it's just one other way that I don't play by the rules. I'm such a rebel.

Peace Offering for the Last Post

I remembered this from when I was a kid. I never thought I'd see it again.