Just When We Thought Nothing Could Be Gayer Than Menudo

Hamas appeals to Palestinian masculinity with a Creepy Bearded Boy Band.

It's just too damn sexy.


















Take that, Infidels.

H/T: LGF

Tell Me Someone Didn't Do That On Purpose

I was reading this article about Olmert having prostate cancer on yahoo news and I noticed an interesting turn of phrase:

"The disclosure came at a sensitive time in Mideast diplomacy, with Olmert and another one-time prostate cancer patient — Palestinian President Mahmoud Abbas — struggling to bridge gaping differences ahead of a U.S.-brokered peace conference."

Normally, I'd just chalk it up to me having a dirty little mind, but the article is about prostate cancer. Cancer near the asshole. In the asshole. Up the asshole.

And of differences between the Israelis and the "Palestinians," I wouldn't exactly use the word gaping. Vast, extensive, comprehensive, considerable, prodigious, limitless, astronomical, among others, but not gaping.

It fits about as well as a dry thumb in a straight man's....well....asshole.

Who Knew That Russians Swedes Had A Sense Of Humor?

NOT SAFE FOR WORK

Coinkydink

I have a favor to ask all of my friends. Could y'all do me a favor and not die or get divorced for at least 10 years? I'd prefer never, but I'm a realist. Thanks.

Anyway, we had a very interesting weekend. If you haven't read Jethro's post, we went out to a bar to see two friends who are getting married. There was a girl sitting there who was introduced to us as the bride's maid of honor. Jethro recognized her instantly from somewhere, and I thought she looked very familiar. We puzzled over it for a few minutes, and then I got ADD and started drinking.

Jethro was nearly silent while he ate his chicken wings. Suddenly, mid-conversation, he looked up and asked her if she had been to a wine-tasting party. Since neither Jethro nor I had been to a wine-tasting party anywhere near recently, I was totally confused.

It seems Jethro recognized her from a picture on a blog taken at a wine-tasting party. Soho's and Count's wine-tasting party, to be exact.

Don't ask me how the boy did it. I saw the picture later on and it looked nothing like her at all. I think I saw her in another picture though, which was where I recognized her from. But I wouldn't have put two and two together in a million years.

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We went to Charles' memorial service earlier that day, and we brought the picture. His parents got to see it and it didn't disturb them too badly, so now I feel like we can give it to them without causing them any undue pain. We told them we would as soon as we could get it engraved, hopefully by Christmas.

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Anyhow, I wish I had more interesting things to discuss, but I'm all out for now. But don't worry, something will come to me.

Slickness

I consistently underestimate my husband. Everyone does. He's so mild-mannered, he just slips under the radar. But that's the way he wants it, so I oblige.

But yesterday, he got a random telemarketer to make an appointment at the clinic, which the gentleman kept. He's a real slick willy, Jethro is.

Everyone have a great weekend. We're going to be back in Houston. Since we moved, we've seen more of Houston than we have of New Town. It's depressing. Hopefully November will see us relaxing a little more.

Bits 'n' Pieces

http://www.youtube.com/user/JohnMcCaindotcom

John McCain is such a badass, I haven't ruled out voting for him despite McCain/Feingold.

H/T: Blonde Sagacity

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It's a gorgeous day here in New Town. The best part about not being in Houston for a cold front is that it doesn't blow the winds from the refineries and ruin your day. In Houston, a gorgeous cold front will blow through, you'll step outside ready to enjoy life, and then you'll smell it. It's somewhat of a buzz kill.

But as much as I love New Town (and I really do), I miss Houston a little. You have to have lived in Houston to appreciate it, but there were some cool things like bars and restaurants that I am missing a little.

Funnily enough, I'm not missing family.

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We'll be back in Houston for the next two weekends. This weekend is a memorial service for Charles where they will dedicate a paver at the chapel of the college we all went to. It will be nice to see all our friends again, but I'm still sad about it. His parents will be there. I don't want to cry in front of them. I'd break my knuckles on something if I had to come to grips with the thought that there wouldn't be a Charles B. Kitowski IV in my family. I suppose I dwell too much on it, but such is my nature.

The Origin of Sea-Monkeys

"Mommy," said Emma with an air of affected nonchalance. "Could you read this?"

I took from her hands a paper entitled The Origin of Sea-Monkeys, which had come with said sea-monkeys.

I read the first paragraph:

Sea-Monkeys are a true miracle of nature. They exist in suspended animation inside their tiny eggs for many years. The instant-life crystals, in which the eggs are enclosed, preserve their viability and help to extend still further their unhatched life span! Sea-Monkeys are real Time-Travelers asleep in biological time capsules for their strange journey into the future.

I glanced up at her. She was trying to appear casual, but her eyes were wide with excitement.

She had obviously read the paper, and while I was impressed that my first-grader had read all of it, she was impressed by the idea of sea-monkey time travel.

I did my best to explain what they meant by calling them "time-travelers," but I don't think she really listened. The big words, and the fact that I had read it out loud, convinced her of the absolute literal truth.

Now both of my children have a habit of loving animals, including tiny, time-traveling brine shrimp, to death. So it was with very little surprise that I discovered the little tank full of water which should have contained three sea monkeys, but didn't.

Jethro quizzed the girls about it, and Emma finally said she thought she spilled some water from the tank onto the floor. But she couldn't explain how the carpet was dry, and she had no idea what happened to the sea-monkeys. Gwennie earnestly denied any participation whatsoever. It was all very mysterious.

Later that night I was tucking Emma into bed.

"Mama?" she whispered as I was about to close the door. "I didn't see them leave, but I think they did."

"Who leave?" I asked, knowing full well.

"The sea-monkeys."

The light from the hallway shone in her eyes and they were strangely bright.

"Good-night, Little Emma," I said.

"Good-night, Mama."

Business

Jethro and I went to a business networking meeting yesterday. I have dreaded going to those things for two reasons. The first is that I hate speaking in public. I mean really hate it. I tend to get clammy and turn bright red and I can't think of a thing to say.

The second reason is that all my observations of business networking events have found them to be pretentious, humorless, brown-nosing affairs, the worst of which was run by a televangelist whose idiot, televangelist wife sang the Star-Spangled-Banner after tantalizing the crowd with a Christian pop medley.

This group was completely different. I actually enjoy it very much. They are laid-back, realistic, concise with their points, and have an actual sense of humor. No one snickers when the plumber gets up to speak, but the plumber isn't such a douche that he doesn't realize there is some humor associated with his profession.

There are probably a few more men than women in the group, but it isn't a good-old-boy network at all. Even the interior designer gets full attention when she's speaking, and if the men can't use her services, they acknowledge that their wives can.

I realize I'm speaking from the perspective of one who now owns a business that will be largely dependant on referrals, so there is the possibility that I'm being more open-minded. But I simply can't ignore the fact that at no time during these networking events has a woman in a backless, peach pants-suit ensemble sang "This Little Light of Mine." This has to be a good sign.

Aggravation

We drove back from Houston last night, loaded up with crap from top to bottom. We were a little nervous driving with the U-Haul trailer attached to the Pilot, so we made sure to drive very carefully. We made it back by 2:00am making wretched time, but safely so we didn't care.

Today, as Jethro was driving back to the clinic after lunch in our second car, he was rear-ended at a red light and sandwiched between the car who hit him and the car in front of him. He's fine, but the car doesn't look so good.

I went to pick him up with G and E and they started crying when they saw Jethro and the car. I think that made him feel better. Nothing like little girls weeping over the thought of you possibly being injured to make you feel special.

This is quite inconvenient, but on the bright side, neither of the kids were with him, he wasn't hurt, and it wasn't the Pilot.

Anyway, I have a headache, and my buns are killing me from all the heavy lifting. I might be hot by the time all the moving is complete, which would be awesome.

Headed back to Houston this weekend for a marathon cleaning and packing session. I'm having pains just thinking about it.

I've also been working on several blog entries, but they require more time than I've had to devote to them.

I was writing out my grocery list this morning. When I read it over, I discovered I'd written

6. Butter
7. Twat spray (I enjoy a certain amount of dryness at certain times of the day, and I couldn't think of excatly what it was called).
8. wine

Quite the unappetizing list.

Have a good weekend.

Exercise

Jethro: Do it for me.

Zelda: I am. (huff huff) (puff puff)

Zelda: You totally deserve a hot wife. (huff huff) (puff puff)

Zelda: But at this point..... (huff huff) (puff puff)

Zelda: I'd rather divorce you and let you start over.

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.