Here are all of the words…

…that I’ve contributed to the Urban Dictionary. (You can find them now by going to this site, http://www.urbandictionary.com/. )

At least those are all thus far.

I plan on bestowing many more utterances before my life is over…"I declare before you all, that my whole life, whether it be long or short, shall be devoted to the creation of words and to the great glossary of our democracy to which we all subscribe.

And on that note…my words thus far:

Co-porker

A co-porker is a female who enjoys sleeping with married men at work. They can hardly be called a co-worker because that would imply that work of some sort is being accomplished. Rather than getting any work done...they spend their time porking. Co-porkers are usually trashy and have herpes.

Smother Fucker

A man who does not hold his weight up during missionary sex. His weight is all on the woman and she has a very hard time breathing.

Antagoblog

Used as a verb, Antagoblog is something that one does. He or she who antagoblogs creates and maintains a blog and does so in order to annoy, pester or otherwise irritate another person. There may or may not be any creativity at work during antagoblogging, quality is not a factor. The main features of antagoblogging are that they are specifically redundant in focus and predominantly derogatory in nature.

I created this word after my divorce.

I think it’s well past the time to add some new words to the vocabulary…any help you could offer in this arena would be greatly appreciated.

While we’re all thinking about that, I wanted to tell you that I went to pick up my new washer this evening. I found it on Craigslist. When I spoke to the lady who was selling the machine earlier in the day, I told her that my son and I would have to go get a dolly first. She said that she had two teenaged sons so we just drove over there so that we could get it out of her house and over to mine. First things first. As to how we would get the sucker out of the Kia and into my house...we decided that we “would think about that tomorrow. After all, tomorrow is another day.” (So, the washer is in the back of my Kia right now and my son is sleeping on MY couch! But at least the washing machine is here!)

Anyway,…we drove into Atlanta and to her house. She did, indeed, have 2 teenaged sons who dutifully assisted my son in getting that cumbersome behemoth into the back of my Kia. As they did so…I watched them. They grunted and groaned as they struggled to get that washer 3 feet up off the ground as their sister peeked her head through the door, sandwich in hand, wondering aloud what everyone was doing. We told her.

Then, she went back to doing whatever she had been doing.

As I watched those poor young men, I sympathized with their plight as I remembered the days when I had to baby-sit my siblings instead of going out with my friends because I was “the oldest”. My heart went out to them when I contemplated the days when I had to cook dinner and clean the kitchen afterwards because I was “the oldest”. Deep down, somewhere inside of me…I cried for them as I recalled the days when I had to change the shitty diapers of my youngest siblings because I was “the oldest”.

Those days were grim indeed. I was treated in a harsh and callous manner all because I had the misfortune of being born “the oldest”. Now…through no fault of their own…these 2 deprived unfortunates who were born with penis's...and for no other reason...were lifting a big boxy thing into the back of my KIA. I thought to myself, “Under similar circumstances...when I was their age…what would have assuaged my injured psyche?”

I thought about it long and hard when suddenly, I had a brainstorm. I finally thought of the perfect tonic for the young men-to-be…for whom life holds many, many, many more such sad and prejudical incidences.

I gave them each a fin. I think that did the trick.

When I was 12, I LOVED being the oldest. Then…when I got to be about 32, I didn’t like it so much. But…my brothers and sisters had begin to act as though “The Oldest” was my title or something like that. To this day...when they introduce me, it’s always, “This is Margaret, she's The Oldest”.

Sometimes I feel like turning that one back on them. I’d love, just once, to say to someone, “Here’s my sister Lori, she’s the fattest. Here’s Marie, she’s the dimmest. Here’s Kevin, he’s the weirdest.” And so on and so on.

Yep, I think I’ll do that one of these days. That ought to get me stripped of that title...“The Oldest".

I’ll get those bigots one way or another.

OK then, now I’m going to write a letter to MacDonald’s. They screwed up my order at the drive through AGAIN! Not only that…they continue in their tradition of cleaning out the shake machine early so that they can get out of work sooner. I had a COLOSSAL, FERVENT, IMMENSE hankering for a McFlurry and I couldn’t get one. Not only that…I specifically asked for FRESH fries even if I had to wait. McDonald’s fries are great if they’re fresh but if they aren’t…they’re nothing more than nasty little grease sticks with salt.

OH! One other thing. My utility bills are all caught up. I paid them a while ago and when I got out of the hospital...I called them all to make sure that I didn't have any past balances. They all said, Nope." So I decided to dismiss them all from my mind for now. Then today...I got my gas bill.

When I pay my bills, I round them off to make the math part of checkbook balancing easier. I always round up, of course. When I called the gas company a week ago, I actually had a $9.02 credit. When I opened my bill today, it was for $45.27...$36.25 with my credit. And yet...with my bill they sent a Disconnect Notice. They actually send those fuckers WITH the bill...even if you aren't the tiniest bit late with your payment. Isn't that ridiculous? I think so.

Meg

OHHHH! I have a new word...McMoron- a person who, even though they've heard you ask for 2 burgers and a small fry, hands you a bag with one Filet of Fish and an apple pie.