After a pretty damned long drought...

...I finally got laid Friday night. It was my fuckbuddy of course. It seems as though we've been missing each other for one reason or another lately and Friday we finally got it together. I must say, it was certainly worth the wait. There's just something really nice about looking around and seeing a beautiful naked dude on top of you with a smile on his face. Sweet.

I still don't get it but I sure am glad that he keeps coming. And before he leaves I always tell him to "Come again!" And he always does.

You know what? I was thinking about writing a poem instead of a post and I thought of a couple of rhymes that I thought would be cute but then I changed my mind and went with the usual prose sort of thing that I do. And now that I've done that, I'm sorry that I didn't do the poem because I can't work any of the cute stuff into this post without looking like a bitch unless I do it in a poem.

See, in a poem it's just funny, in a paragraph it's pretty bitchy. So, like the velvet hammer I can be...here is my, "I Finally Got Laid" poem:

I was just sitting there all alone
When all of a sudden I heard my phone.
I glanced over at the Caller ID
Expecting Saxby Chamblis to be calling me.
But much to my pleasure I was wrong
It was a guy who I've been screwing for oh, so long!
Anyway, long enough that he knows how to please
And of course I myself do time on my knees.
It's nice to have someone who can spend more than a minute
Once they've gone through the trouble of getting it in it.
This is the guy who gets me all wet
Because from his nose, nipples and belly, he's dripping with sweat.
I have to mention that he did have me befuddled
When he took me in his arms and we laid there and cuddled.
I was about to ask him if everything was fine
When all of a sudden he headed south for to dine.
It's been a long time since my last orgasm
But this one made up for it all with one helluva spasm.
And it seemed as though it lasted for quite a long while
I had time to think about that, and react with a smile.
For 4 years I've had this same gorgeous fuckbuddy
A sweet sweet change from an old bald fuddyduddy.
I have no fricking idea how to end this silly thing
Except to say, I like to play with his dingaling!

OK then. Now I have to go act like a normal person. Wish me luck.

Meg

When I was a kid...

...my mother's flatware service had plenty of spoons...but it only had one sugar spoon. It was as long as the other spoons, but the bowl on the sugar spoon was round instead of the more oval shape bowls of the regular spoons. Both types of spoons would get the job done, none of us ever starved for lack of the sugar spoon, but every single meal in our house was preceded by 6 kids arguing over who called the sugar spoon first. None of us cared if we had the sugar spoon or not, we just didn't want anyone else to get it.

That's the part about being a jerk that feels good, isn't it? You get to step on the people around you. Some things are just so useless to bicker about that I don't usually get involved in the discussions in the first place. But recently I listened intently to a "debate" regarding same sex marriage. It was like listening to a brood of brats bickering over who called the "sugar spoon" first.

I don't know if they still do it or not, but back in the olden days they taught high school kids how to debate. There were rules to follow. I may not remember all of them but I'm sure there was no name calling.

All the pro- same sex marriage people did was imply that those who disagreed with them were racist, sexist, homophobic and all sorts of other bad things for a person to be. At one time gays simply wanted to be accepted. Most Americans pretty much didn't care so they accepted the gay population. But then the gay peeps upped their request. No longer is it good enough to "accept" them, we must now ENDORSE their lifestyle. Reasonable people are no longer allowed to disagree and that's too bad. Name calling is not a debating point, it's just plain incendiary.

And then the traditional marriage people opened their mouths and started using words like "church" and "sin". Nothing ends a political argument faster than instilling religion into it. One nit-wit asserted that the Founding Fathers were Christians....blah, blah, blah. I guess they were but they did go out of their way to separate the two entities.

Once God was injected into the "debate", a few obviously odd people lost all credibility. If they admit that religion is behind their thinking, can an admission of homophobia be far behind? That just makes people with rational comments look like idiots before they even open their mouths.

I sincerely wanted to hear an intelligent debate about the issue of same sex marriage and I still haven't heard one. Not one of those yahoos made an actual point to support their own side of the issue. It's not like they couldn't have...they had time to prepare themselves with horror stories and hideous violations of civil liberties. But that's all they have. That...and disdain for their adversary.

You could see the hatred in the eyes of these seemingly decent Americans when they discussed that one topic. If they had all met at a birthday party, they would be having a wonderful time. But, since they both come to the table with their own experiences, they are far too hostile to even shake hands at the beginning of the "debate".

In case you should want to debate a point sometime, consider these suggestions:

1. Don't disagree with obvious truths.
2. Attack the idea not the person.
3. Avoid exaggeration.
4. If it is just an opinion, admit it.
5. Do not present opinion as facts.
6. Smile when disagreeing.
7. Stress the positive.
8. You do not need to win every battle to win the war.
9. Concede minor or trivial points.
10. Avoid bickering, quarreling, and wrangling.
11. Watch your tone of voice.
12. Don't win a debate and lose a friend.
13. Keep your perspective - You're just debating!

(http://www.paulnoll.com/Books/Clear-English/debate-advice.html)

Think about it this way...if your kid was in high school, would you want him or her to learn how to debate in such a hostile manner? It IS the sign of a mind incapable of critical thinking.

Oh, and why isn't logic on the curriculum for a degree in Woman's Studies at ANY college?

In 1984, I drank an entire bottle of some trendy cheap wine. At least it was considered trendy in the place where I found my ex. I was relatively young and inexperienced at drinking so naturally the cheap wine made me sick. As I was worshipping the porcelain throne, the lid kept coming down on my head. I became annoyed at which point I took that damn toilet seat lid and I smashed it into the tank. As the laws of physics would dictate, that lid came back with an equal and opposite force.

Did I move my face? Nooooo...I was preoccupied with blowing chunks. So, the edge of the toilet seat lid hammered me in the bridge of my nose. It left me with two black eyes and a huge gash right smack in between them. It doesn't matter what you tell people when you're in that condition, they won't believe you. So, I stopped telling the real story shortly after it happened. I absolutely did not come out looking good, no matter how much I toyed with the facts.

But, eventually the black eyes went away and the gash heeled. I have a small scar that you can see if I point it out. Oh, and not THAT many people saw it in the first place. At least not when you compare them to the people who can see the astronaut chick's tool bag floating in space.

You can see it yourself:

• Click here to see the bag fly by overhead.

When the chick lost "one of the largest items ever lost by a spacewalking astronaut", her blunder was reported ad nauseam by news agency's around the world. Now people all over the planet are following that tool bag with the smallest of telescopes. It floats through the night sky as a monument to total and utter stupidly and proof of her major gaffe.

Heidi-Marie admitted Wednesday that she "made a mistake by not checking to see if the sack was tied down." Yeah, that would do it. It's sort of like me dragging the leash on the ground as I tried to take my dog for a walk.

Then she said that, "It was hardest coming back in and having to face everybody else." You think that's tough? Wait until you're known as Butterfingers...not a good appellation for an astronaut. I feel worse for the other people who have to depend on Butterfingers for something that will get them home. I'd be tempted to stick her in one of those sleep things that Sigourney Weaver and the cat travelled in. She'd be fine...back on earth where she couldn't ask stupid questions like, "What's this button for?"

The dude who was out there with Butterfingers is being rather gallant...he's taking some of the blame. Nice try, but far too obvious. Of course we must have a plan to "help prevent any more leaking grease guns or loose bags." And you can try that, but there's always that one flaw...a PERSON has to engage the stupid thing in some way and if they forget, all that work was for nothing.

Supposedly, "the bag and its contents will eventually harmlessly burn up in the Earth's atmosphere, though it poses a risk to the space station and other orbiting satellites until then." I'm curious, where exactly IS the shuttle Endeavour? Wouldn't NASA look stupid if that tool bag smacked the shuttle on one of the orbits?

I think the part that bugs me the most about this entire tool bag thing is the fact that no one is asking any questions about the thing Butterfingers was supposed to be fixing. It seems as though a very important moving part of the solar panel thingie is "jammed with metal grit from grinding parts." That sounds exactly like something that a mechanic told me about my '71 Impala. I would've thought that they'd be able to come up with some new technology since then.

It's not like they aren't studying new stuff...NASA is now working on a recycling system for turning urine into drinking water. Who thought up that gem? If they need water they could just blast off with one of those Hooterville-type water tanks. I sure don't want to quench a thirst with pee water.

Oh well, I guess that's why I'm not Magellan or some other great explorer. Too many pee issues.

Other chick's poem...

...that she wanted me to post. She

I should have known that sooner or later you'd make me sad
Because of the look in your eye when you sang Two Outta Three Ain't Bad.
Somehow I saw love where there just wasn't any
And he who looks behind doors has stood behind many.
Your jealousy for no reason should have been a red flag
But now that I get it, I've just packed my bag.
And no, I don't have any proof of your dealings
But just for a change, I'll trust my own feelings.
Keep listening to your mother, she's always right
I hope that fact keeps you warm at night.
I'm just the "white trash" that mother can't stand
But it's mom who you cant find without a drink in her hand.
You seem to dislike me more with each passing day
I even asked and you answered that you wanted me to stay.
I just listened again to that Meat Loaf song
...I've only had ONE outta three all along.
I know that I loved you, that surely is true,
But I sure as hell don't want or need you!


OK, I hope that's alone the lines of what you wanted.

:)

These are my words...

...but not my sentiment. I was sent a history of a marriage with some other scattered information and this is what I came up with. A person who shall remain nameless wanted me to write a poem that she could leave on the bed for her husband to find when he came home to find her and her belongings gone. Keep in mind that all I did was exactly what the lady wanted:

If you're reading this poem then you know that I'm not here
And I won't be coming back, so don't wait for me Dear.
I give up, I've tried much too hard
To jump through your hoops, you fat tub of lard.
Here are just a few reason's that I'm leaving you
In time for me to start life anew.
I have to say that you are quite a huge moron
Even if the only word that ryhmes with it's boron.
Your short stubby dick is a novelty, it's true
But I assure, she'll grow sick of it too.
You spend lots of time in the bathroom, maybe an hour
But still you come out smelling like you really need a shower.
Then there's the time your crotch reaked of a dead guppy
I could smell it without sniffing around like a puppy.
When you lie to me you say that I've been untrue
Just how on earth do you live with you?
The manipulation has now come to an end
I'm no longer so pliable my controlling little friend.
It's not bad enough that you're screwing a whore
But why must it be behind our bedroom door?
I hope you enjoy your brand new life
And if you should soon take a wife,
I hope it's the one who sneaks around
With married men all over town.
I'm leaving you for good now honey,
And yes, that means I'm taking my money.
That will probably leave your funds a little bit low
But you can just call your new friend and your dick she can blow.


That's it!


OK girl, how's ten bucks?

Abused women

Read this paragraph and look for the similarities, not the differences:

Over the past three years, Johnson contacted police on several occasions to report domestic abuse. In 2005, she said Brown had threatened to kill her, according to records provided by the Tampa Police Department. "He also hit me several times with the gun," Johnson wrote in a statement given to police. "I just wanna solve this matter by keeping him far away from me." The following year, she told police he'd punched her while she was five months pregnant. The case was closed after she declined to pursue criminal charges.

Try to learn the lesson that Jennifer Johnson never learned before you end up like she did, lying dead in an abandoned building. Now, if you can find the strength to save your own life, then maybe Jennifer didn't die for nothing.

Damn it...

...every single time I start to feel sorry for myself, some poor schmuck one up's me. I can never feel sorry for myself for any length of time and that's not fair. I should be able to have an occasional pity party without hearing about someone who's worse off than I am. It totally blows the entire celebration.

Here I am, freaking out over the worms on my ceiling and as I was whining about that to you guys, a lady was having brain surgery to remove a tumor. At least that's what she thought was happening. She had all the signs of a tumor. But...the story goes more like this, "Doctors in Arizona thought a Phoenix-area woman had a possible brain tumor, but it turned out there was something else penetrating her brain – a worm."

Now, how badly can I feel over those suckers crawling on the ceiling? At least I don't have worms in my brain. Of course, I can't be sure, but I had brain surgery myself in '99 and they didn't find any worms then. If they had, I'm sure they would have mentioned it.

That story reminds me of a time when I was working in the operating room and we had to set up for an abdominal pull through. Without going into details, trust me...it's a HUGE surgery and it took close to two hours just to set the instruments up. This was all for a patient who also had a "tumor". As soon as the patient was knocked out, the surgeon put him in stirrups so that he could access the tumor. (It was supposedly colon cancer.)

The surgeon was able to pull the "tumor" down a bit and out just enough to see that it wasn't a tumor, it was just the biggest hemorrhoid any of us had ever seen. It was easily the size of my fist. That guy expected to wake up with a colostomy and colon cancer. Instead, he woke up down one hemorrhoid and a little soreness when sitting. Can you imagine how happy he and his family were? That 'roid was one for the record books...I wonder if that guy ever did call Guiness?

I'm not sure how happy the worm lady will be...sure it wasn't a tumor but it was a WORM! Something like that would have me freaked out for the rest of my life. Actually, I may remain freaked out just from reading that story.

I just cannot imagine how in the world a worm could get through the blood-brain barrier that keeps stuff out of the central nervous system. But, it did. The story said that this particular type of worm is one that you could get from not washing your hands after using a public toilet. I'll have to start washing my hands every time I use one of those whether there's someone else watching me or not.

When I go into a public restroom, I do everything in my power not to touch ANYTHING. Of course, my ass touches the toilet but I can't just stand in a public loo scrubbing THAT clean. (By the way...to the women who squat over the toilet without touching it...if you can't aim, you should at least wipe the seat off. I sure don't want to do that but if I walk in after you, I don't have much of a choice if the seat is full of old pee.) I can do everything that I need to do in there without touching anything...unless some nit wit pees on the toilet. THAT I need to use my hands for and I can't stand that thought. Men, when your woman bitches that you left the seat up, follow her into a public restroom to see if she left the seat full of urine. There are a LOT of women out there bitching at men for leaving the seats up when all along, those chicks are leaving puddles of pee for other people to sit in. If I had to choose who to follow, a dude who leaves the seat up or a chick who leaves the seat wet, I'd choose the dude.

Anyway, now that the lady has had her brain exterminated, her troubles are just beginning. Once you have a worm removed from your brain, you pretty much have to live with the nickname "Worm Head". Every single time she makes a stupid little mistake, people will ask her, "Do you have another worm in your brain?" Behind her back people will say, "Be patient with her, she's the brain worm lady!"

Is a worm better than cancer...yes. But still not any fun. Now she has to check the rest of herself...and anything that comes out of her...for worms. This is just hideous. My ceiling worms are icky and they make my head itch just knowing that they were up there...but I can't imagine what worms inside of me would do. I can run away from a lot of stuff, but I can't run away from brain worms.

I'm getting the shivering willies just thinking about this crap...I have to stop the worm discussion before I need an appointment to deal with my worm issues.

Before I go, think of me the next time you use a public toilet and remember to wash your hands! And ladies...a worm head is better than a seat pee-er.

I'm not having any fun today.

My phone has been ringing off the hook and it's a debt collector calling to see why I didn't make the payment that I should have made by last Friday. The reason is that I literally don't have the money to do that so they'll have to wait until I do. I can't shit out 75 bucks so there's not much that I can do today.

I answered it at first and told the guy that I could send him half now and the other half when I get my alimony (which is overdue). That nit wit argued with me and said they wanted the entire minimum payment. I went ahead and mailed the check for half anyway. I always send something to people I owe, even if I have to write a bunch of checks for 10 bucks...I send something to let them know that I haven't forgotten.

There's nothing else that I can do and this whack job who keeps calling me is not going to get a different answer other than, "I'll send the other half when the alimony gets here." He can call all day long, and he has, but it won't make me another 30 bucks. I didn't expect to spend the 100 bucks on this tiny computer but I had over a hundred dollars worth of jobs to do so I had to buy this thing, even with my last 100 bucks. If I didn't, I would have had to make that 100 bucks last forever because other than alimony, nothing else is coming in except the money that I make writing and working on movies. I usually juggle the bills and get them paid sooner or later but I can't ever seem to get enough money together to move into a smaller place that I could afford. Its too expensive for me to move and it's too expensive for me to keep paying the utilities in this house. I could scream.

Then, this numbskull starts calling early this morning as I was writing one of the articles. Basically, he was calling me at work. They can't do that. I looked up things that they can't do and here are a few of them:

What types of debt collection practices are prohibited?

Harassment. Debt collectors may not harass, oppress, or abuse you or any third parties they contact. For example, debt collectors may not:

use threats of violence or harm;
publish a list of consumers who refuse to pay their debts (except to a credit bureau);
use obscene or profane language; or repeatedly use the telephone to annoy someone.

It seems as though this guy IS repeatedly using the telephone to annoy me. There's no other excuse. I've already spoken to him and after I didn't answer the phone this morning, he kept calling over and over again and then it started to turn into a phone face off. By lunch time he had called so many times that there was no way that I was going to answer the phone when he called.

Every single time he did call, he would call back 10 minutes later with a different phone number. I might understand trying that once in a while but doing it over once an hour is stupid. It's so obviously him doing it that it's getting to be a signature of his. And this has only been going on for two days! He's already going postal with the phone and if I don't get that alimony soon, I'll just turn the ringer off. I hate to do that because I have kids that could be trying to call but this guy is nuts!

I looked on my phone and it has 23 calls starting at 8:22 this morning. Only one of those calls was a real phone call, that nit wit made the other 22. He got on my nerves so badly that I took a xanax but it didn't work so I finally picked up the phone and said, "Now I'm calling the police!"

He hasn't called back but it's early. Apparently he has until 9 PM to keep calling.

Between those worms and that phone calling dude, I am FREAKING out today. I took Payton to the store with me earlier but now I'm so annoyed I feel like taking him out for a long walk. Yeah, that's the ticket...I think I'll go to the Marietta Square and sit on a park bench like a good old lady. If I'm lucky there will be pigeons all around me.

:)

OMG!

I hate this new Internet server. I guess it's AT&T, that's who I called. I just wrote a really cute post about my worm war and now I'll never get it back because of this cheap piece of trash modem and the cheesy cord they sent with it.

This is just awful. Now the cord isn't only falling out of the modem, now it's falling out of the back of the computer. I didn't think about that until I was already committed to speaking to Wilmer in God knows where. By the way, have you noticed the increasing numbers of "Wilmer's" that are manning help desk phones? The best I can figure is that the help people are in the same country that the immigrant dude from That 70's Show came from. Maybe he's a national hero and all the dudes want to be like him.

Somebody should really tell them that Wilmer is a gay name. It might be a great manly name overseas like Rocky is over here but in this hemisphere, Wilmer is a girly name.

Did you here about those middle eastern dudes who are now "nuclear capable"? I forget which country it was but I hardly think it matters. I'd like to nuke the entire place and call it Iowa.

Aren't you glad that you come from a country that can blow up the planet in the event of nuclear attack? We need to shoot ALL of those things into outer space just to see what happens. They're a bit too dangerous for us to be playing with. Just because you CAN do something doesn't mean you should do it. I CAN screw two men a night for a week. (consecutively, not concurrently) But that doesn't make it a good idea.

All of those politicians can deal with the nukes...I'm fighting the War of the Worms. Not only do I catch them, I burn them slowly to death and then, just to be a bitch, I stick them to the element until they sizzle.

I do all of that with the sticky strip and since I don't need that thing for the moths anymore, I just hang it up near the base camp of the enemy like the pig's head in The Lord of the Flies. Any worm dumb enough to escape past that monument to my might deserves to burn in worm hell. It has a bunch of burned out larvae carcasses on it and that's it. They can't say that they weren't warned.

I must be not only Hitler monstrous, but HUGE monstrous to those little bastards. I don't know if they have eyes, I don't see any. But when that sticky fly paper touches their backs and picks them up, they know that I'm there.

Like a neutron bomb, I blasted their entire nation with Lysol and left nothing but an empty cabinet. Then I did the same thing to neighboring cabinets...some collateral damage is to be expected in any war. I figured that as long as I was emptying cabinets, I could empty them all. I need to act as if I'm moving. That way, if I do collect enough cash I'll be ready to split this worm infested hellhole that I moved into with 3 kids and a worm of a husband back in the mid 90's. I NEED TO GET THE HELL OUTTA HERE!!!

Would you care to help me?

I'm here and as usual...

...there's nothing on TV and I don't have a soul to talk to so I came here. My pawn shop computer is like a teeny tiny toy computer...my good monitor and keypad are much larger than these. I'm relearning how to type on this little thing.

There are few other problems...I don't have speakers hooked up for one. I went to watch that verminator thing that Uneasy Rider suggested ( check it out) and I couldn't listen to it. But you didn't really need sound, watching it was pretty disgusting. I don't know how anyone can live like that.

The first time I ever saw a cockroach was in the apartment my ex lived in when I met him. It was awful. He had boric acid sprinkled all over but those little suckers were crawling everywhere. He didn't live there long, apparently it was the best that he could afford after his first marriage failed. Thinking of that place still gives me the shivering willies and I haven't been there in well over a quarter of a century.

I would have to leave if bugs were crawling around. The moth thing has been bad enough, cockroaches and I would never have gotten along.

By the way, I haven't seen any moths in a few days and the hideous larvae are beginning to slow down. I pretty much emptied all the cabinets on that wall. I through everything away that wasn't in a can. I was so proud of my baking cabinet, I had everything. Oh, and my spices, I had a bunch of bottles of expensive spices that all got thrown away. Hell, I was afraid of my salt and pepper so I tossed them both...even the stuff in all of my salt and pepper shakers. If it wasn't in a can, I threw it away.

Oh, I'm still catching an occasional larvae thingie. (I need to go find a picture of that...BRB...OK, got it and put it at the top of this) I catch them with those sticky strips because I simply CANNOT pick any bug up with tissue, it might squish, I might lose it or it could crawl on my hand. Anyway, I don't hunt the fuckers with Kleenex, I hunt them with sticky strips. When I see one, I turn on the oven and grab my sticky strip. Then I nab the little bastard. Next is time for my to go all Hitler on those hideous things. I slowly put the strip really close to oven element and then I watch the worms die.

They seem to go out in a final blaze of energy. As soon as they perceive the heat they start moving and as you start to get really close to the element, they wiggle vigorously and suddenly stop. I had to kill them because if I just left them alive on the strip, some of them could crawl off of it and that can't be. So, I decided to burn them like a steak.

Another thing this little computer doesn't have is a camera installed so right now I can't take pictures for you but if they're still here when I hook the camera up, I'll show them to you. They're about a half an inch long and maybe as big around as a pencil lead. They're only in the kitchen and after days of observation, I've figured out that they're ALL coming from behind the cabinet that used to have the baking stuff. They're meal moths and quite common in foods that you would put in a baking cabinet. I just let it get away from me somehow.

Earlier this year I relined all the shelves in the house and when I did, I found the source of another moth problem...they had made a nest on one of my canvases that I had started to paint but never finished. Now I'll never finish it because it became the coffin for the queen moth larvae thingie. Anyway, when I started seeing the moths, I thought they were from the other thing so I cleaned out all of my closets. That must have been a different type of moth, the kind that eat clothes. The mealy bug things snuck up on me while I was arguing with the clothes moths.

So, between the moth balls, the fly strips and my little hunting expeditions, I'm pretty much over that problem. Unless that is, there is a another queen back there and if that's the case, I don't know what the hell to do.

I want to move out of this house anyway. It's a good time to do it what with the moths and the leaking sink that I fried with acid. The damn yard is too much to handle even though I spent days every week this past summer working in that yard. It took most of the summer just to clear the weeds off of the back fence. I would have to work on the yard itself next summer, it'd be 2010 before I could actually plant more flowers.

I've been in this house since '96 and I'm ready to leave. I moved here with a family of 5 and now I'm the only one left. It's just that I can't afford to move and I can't afford to stay. I could rent a cute little apartment for less than my alimony instead of this house which is more. I've been looking at apartment guides that you get from the grocery store and I found some places that have dog parks and they're 200 bucks less than I pay here plus the utilities wouldn't be so bad in an apartment.

So, I think I'll have to start up a money collection. Yeah, that's the ticket, a money collection!

There are a lot of people...

...out there who are smarter than I am. And I'm sure that I annoy the heck out of them. But there are many, many more who are much, much denser than I and they absolutely make me crazy. Most of you probably know how it feels to deal with an idiot...it's a no win situation no matter what the stakes.

I've heard it said that everyone has their own type of genius and if that's true, then reading people is my gift. From my perch I can pick out a dishonest person a mile away. (unless that person is family, then apparently I'm as dumb as everyone else is.) But dishonest people are easy...I just refuse to deal with them at all. Stupid people are much more difficult because they have jobs. And, as stupid as their job may be, if you're the one who needs them to do their job, you don't want to offend the morons. Think about it...would you want to irritate the yahoo scooping your fries up with that big scoop thing that fits in a little paper bag? At best he could give you cold fries, I don't even want to think about the worst he could do.

I don't remember exactly when I realized that I was brighter than most people but ever since I did, I see stupid people for what they are...stupid people. Most of them are functionally stupid and that's what makes them dangerous. Anyway, I've had a LOT of stupid people experience and I can assure you, the numbers of stupid women are a bit higher than the numbers of stupid men. I don't know why that is but it's true. Of course, you can't assume that any one chick is an idiot and, as my ex has proven, you can't assume that a man isn't an idiot. Ask him where PhiladelTHia is...really, ask him. Then ask him if he's ever been to Pepsi Cola Florida. Do it, I dare ya.

But, the fact remains that in general, women would massacre men in a war of idiots. Being surrounded by idiots is no fun at all. Idiot women are worse because they're women. I don't want to annoy another chick anymore than a smart man would want to annoy one of them. But ordinarily, stupid women experiences are sort of spread out and peppered with a dopey dude here and there. But this morning when I sat down to drink my coffee and read the news...the first 3 stories that I read were all totally about stupid things that women have done.

Now, I can't call them traditionally stupid because one of them is an astronaut, but even an astronaut can be "woman" stupid.

Some chick who should have shortened her name, Heidemarie Stefanyshyn-Piper, "let go of her tool bag Tuesday after a grease gun inside it exploded, and helplessly watched as the tote and everything inside floated away." I imagine some guy gave her a bag of tools and then told her to take them into space but still, she IS the one who let go of them. I haven't ever heard of a man astronaut waving bye bye to a bag of tools.

But, I could almost let that go...it could have happened to anyone, right?

Wrong. I say that because little Heidemarie lost the tools thusly..."While wiping off herself, the white, backpack-size bag slipped out of her grip, and she lost all her other tools." So, she lost both the bag AND the rest of her tools.

Why? So that she could wipe herself off. I'm surprised she didn't rub some lotion on her hands after she did her best to look presentable. Short of those Queer Eye guys, I couldn't imagine a man stopping to wipe himself off, especially not in space. You would think that some sort of guard would be up, knowing that stuff does tend to float away out there.

Whatever. The thing that really bugs me is, couldn't she have grabbed for the bag? How long did she spend wiping herself off? From the pictures I've seen, things don't just bolt in space, they sort of peacefully float through space.

Anyway, after reading that story, I went directly to the next one where I learned of an idiot named Janella Spears. It seems as though "she simply became curious when she received an e-mail promising her $20.5 million if she would only help out a long-lost relative identified as J.B. Spears with a little money up front."

And then just to sound really stupid, "Spears told KATU-TV about the scammers' ability to identify her relative by name was persuasive. 'That's what got me to believe it,' She said. 'So, why wouldn't you send over $100?' "

Well, I can identify her by name too...do I get some cash? Oh yeah, she doesn't have anymore money at all.

This woman "mortgaged the house and took a lien out on the family car, and ran through her husband's retirement account." But she didn't stop there, she went deep into debt over this mess. Even after "Her family and bank officials told her it was all a scam, and begged her to stop, she persisted because she became obsessed with getting paid."

So now when she speaks of her husband she says, "The retirement he was dreaming of — cruising and going around and seeing America — is pretty much gone for him right now." Ain't THAT a bitch? Can you sue your wife for being that stupid?

That lunatic should be civilly liable if you can't prosecute her for stupidity. It may not sound fair, but some people are just criminally stupid and Janella is certainly one of those.

And, unfortunately I have to add myself as the third stupid female this morning. I totally forgot the third stupid woman story that I read earlier and now I can't find it. It wasn't listed in Google under "Stupid Women", but I bet this might make it.

If I should remember who the third stupid woman for the day was, I will let you know. In the meantime...it's gonna have to be me.

I stayed up all night...

...writing two short articles. Together they were barely 2000 words and that shouldn't be tough at all. The tough part is the research and keeping the footnotes and reference's in sync with the numbers next to the quotes. I always screw that up and end up doing it at least twice, usually three times. But last night I couldn't keep from deleting all of my footnotes and quotes before I finished writing the last article.

That pretty much meant that I had to start over again and by that time, it was well after midnight. I already had the first article taken care of, I wrote that one before 11 PM. That took me at least 3 hours so I decided that I needed a short break. I took the break in front of the television which I'm doing less and less everyday and when I did, I did what I usually do...I checked the guide to see if there was anything worth watching. Of course there wasn't so next I just watched previously Tivo-ed Family Guy and South Park.

In an attempt to keep my brain sharp, I drank coffee as I was watching TV (instant, a lot of it in a relatively small cup of water) just to keep alert. I drank so much coffee that it occurred to me that it was too much caffeine for any heart so I stopped and went back to the drink of the South, iced tea.

I even took a walk with the dog. I decided to go get myself one of these great blueberry donuts that they only sell at the store/gas station around the corner. I was already wearing long johns under my clothes and since I was sure that it would be even colder outside, I put two sweat shirts on over the two tops I already had. One sweatshirt was pretty much my size so I put that on first and then I covered it with a baggy old Roanoke College sweatshirt.

Next...my legs. On top of my long johns, I was wearing a pair of soft cotton pants with those things that keep the pants leg down. I forget what they're called but they hang off the bottom of the pants and if you don't shrink them, you can easily but the strap under your foot and into your shoe. That was fine for inside but to go out at 1 AM, I knew that I would need more. Trying to make it easy on myself, I grabbed the baggiest pair of sweats that I had (which were puke green) and put them on. I tied the string so they wouldn't fall down and the other pants were attached to my feet so they couldn't fall up.

Of course I need to take care of my poor little feet but since I was already wearing two pair of socks with hospital footies on over them, I just looked for shoes that I could fit my overdressed feet into. The pair that worked were a very expensive pair of shoes that I hated. Someone gave me a very nice pair of running shoes that I never would have bought for myself. Occasionally I do find a reason to wear them, like last night. But for the most part, they just take up space in my shoe thingie. The reason that I don't like them is that they are so fricking huge. I usually wear little tenny boppers that lace up and compared to them, the running shoes make me look like I have Bozo feet. I feel as though I'm walking with a bucket on each foot. But, they fit over my two pairs of socks and my one pair of footies. So, I put them on, strapped the Velcro (I depsise Velcro) down and stood up ready to go.

But...before I could leave the house I needed to get two more things, a hat and a pair of gloves. I have a pair of pink gloves that came with a matching pink cap so I put those on. I pulled the cap down over my eyebrows and then I folded it up so that I could see and I pulled it down in the back and I was ready to go.

I found the leash and Payton, who was already excited to go out because he knows what it means when I change clothes and put on shoes, was doing his best to impress me so that I would take him with. He was sitting, staying, licking and all the time barely restraining his glee as he anticipated the outing that he hoped was coming.

I looked in the mirror at my layers of clothes. Not ONE thing that I was wearing matched any other thing. It's hard to put on so many clothes and not have something match...but I did it. And, with those Bozo feet. Jeez, I looked ridiculous. But I wanted that stupid donut so I stood there waiting for Payton to remember on his own that he has to sit before I'll leash him up. I stopped telling him, he knows that he has to sit down for me to put the leash on. He stares at me for 3 seconds wondering why I'm standing still with a leash in my hand before it occurs to him that he needs to sit. So when he did, I put the leash on him and out the door we went.

It was pretty fricking cold out there so you certainly couldn't say that I overdid the layers. You could absolutely say that I looked like an idiot, but you couldn't say that I had on too many clothes for the weather.

As I turned left out of my driveway it occurred to be that all I needed to complete my ensemble was a grocery cart full of empty cans, cigarette butts and 40 year old pictures of Donny Osmond. For some reason that reminded me of Delta Dawn so right then I got that stupid song stuck in my head.

Now, if I wanted to go to the grocery store, I would have had to turn right out of the drive but since I was just going to the corner store, I turned left. I should have known better. I had to walk pretty much all the way to the store before I could see that it wasn't open.

I thought about what I should do and since I was pretty comfortable despite the cold, blustery night and Payton was certainly up for anything, I just started walking down that street to the grocery store. That's quite a hike, trust me. But when I would get tuckered or have problems going uphill, Payton would pull me so that actually helped. Of course he occasionally tries to bring me down so that I can break a hip, but so far I've been OK. So, it was off to the grocery store for us.

As I passed the Waffle House I smiled at the thought that even if I wanted to go in and get some waffles, I wasn't dressed well enough. And wouldn't you know it, just as I passed the Waffle House, a Marietta City cop passed by me in the parking lot. He went down the street and I kept walking. Eventually I passed another parking lot and the cop was sitting in there. I must have concerned him because he shone his lights on me and my dog. I would have preferred it if he came right up to me and asked me what I was doing walking around in the middle of the night dressed like a bum. But no, he chose to shine lights on my Bozo shoes. Just for a second, I think the puke green sweat pants gave off a glow from the cops light. He turned it off and Payton and I kept walking.

Another cop came from the other way and slowed down to look at me but didn't stop. I never made eye contact with them because I wasn't wearing my glasses and I wouldn't know how to respond, with a smile, a hello or a scowl. Whatever. I bet they both would have said something if I was singing Delta Dawn out loud, but it was just stuck in my head.

Those two cops drove around the blocks that I was walking along all the way to the grocery store. When I got there, I went in and bought a sad replacement for the original blueberry donuts and 4 Totino's Pizza's. I'm getting sick of Ramen Noodles and hot dogs.

Once we got to the store, after walking the LONG way...it was an easy hike back home. Payton and I started off down the road that I've been walking and driving for 12 years. Between my house and the grocery store, there are only two roads. One right turn and then you go straight until you get to my house. That's easy enough, you would think that I could do it blindfolded.

But at some point after I made the right turn (and I don't know where) I noticed a side street that I never noticed before. I thought, "How could I have missed that street for 12 years?" Well, just then I was approaching a street sign that I couldn't quite read but I could tell it didn't say Polk Street and that's where I thought I was. I saw another street that I was pretty sure would lead me back to Pauline which would take me back to Polk. At that point, I had no clue what the hell I was doing. If I was lost in a subdivision in the middle of the night, half blind...what should I do? I decided that if I had to, I would follow the North Star. I had no idea in which direction I was going but it would have kept me moving straight.

I needn't have worried, I was right about the first street. It led me to Pauline and then to Polk. By the time I got home I was beginning to get uncomfortably cold. Even with the gloves I had to switch carrying arms so that I could warm up the other hand in my pocket.

That trip took well over an hour and by the time I ate one of the pizzas, it was close to 3 AM. I busted my ass doing what I could to finish that article. By the time I finally went to bed the morning news was on.

Now I have to go back to the article and see what I did. The coffee and cold weather training was supposed to wake me up but it didn't. There's just no way to avoid the stupids after 24 hours of being wide awake and I passed that at 5 AM.

I don't think I'll be writing after being up for 24 hours straight anymore. Besides, at my age I should be going to bed at a decent hour every night. Of course, I shouldn't be walking a dog that outweighs me either...but I like to live life on the edge.

: )

Hello you guys!!!

You would NOT believe everything that I went through to get to you today!

First, my computer broke yesterday. It was getting no power. I don't know why and I don't care why and I don't have enough money to get it fixed, considering that I don't even know what's wrong with it. I called the puter people in India and the chick tried to sell me a 2 week warranty (mine is expired) that would fix any and all software problems that I might have. So much for the people who made the dumb thing.

I don't know much about computers but I don't THINK that a total lack of power is a "software problem" and I didn't want to pay fifty bucks to find that out. So, I hung up.

Next I called Circuit City, that's where I bought the computer in the first place. I started talking to the tech and at one point he said the word "motherboard". That's all I needed to hear. There was nothing that I could do to fix that thing and I know damn well I can't afford a fricking motherboard...even if I could I'd have to put it in myself because I couldn't afford the labor. I don't have teeny tiny butter knifes so I couldn't unscrew the old one much less screw in the new one. And something tells me there's more to putting one of those in than a few tiny screws. Something would have to hook up to something else, otherwise it would just be a wall hanging for the inside of my computer.

Next, I had company over and the mother tried to help me fix it. She couldn't do it so she tried to hook my old computer back up. Windows came up and I figured that I could install the Internet thingie myself so we left it at that and I went back t0 playing with kids. Before I went to bed, I interviewed a family for an article that I should have been working on but I couldn't because my stupid computer was dead.

This morning I woke up and went straight to the computer at about 6 and by 9 I still hadn't gotten Windows to stay up long enough to do anything before it said, "You must now turn off your computer". As bad as that was the first 50 times, it was ever so much worse the last 50 times. It reminded me why I bought the new puter in the first place.

I couldn't do anything before 9 except repeat the same things over and over again. I unplugged and replugged every plug on both computers. I accomplished a bad mood, nothing else. As it got close to 9 I started running through my options.

If I had to, I could have always gone to the library. But that wouldn't really work too well because I would be too uncomfortable to fart at will. If you can't fart out loud, you certainly can't write about anything worth reading...you must be totally open if you want to touch your readers...and that requires that you be able to fart at will.

So, the library became my last resort. I thought about how many people I know who have spare computers who would be happy to loan me one...but how do you ask someone for something like that? You can't really borrow a cup of computer, you pretty much need the whole thing. And think about it, unless I could TELL people that I had no computer, they couldn't even OFFER me one of theirs. I needed a computer to get the word out. Heck, I needed a computer to get to look on eBay, Craigslist and FreeCycle.

I even considered Rent-A-Center but...and this is shocking...they don't actually RENT things! They sell them. If I wanted to rent a computer for a week or so, I would have to buy the whole damn thing. That was disheartening.

Then I thought of pawn shops. I called one and the guy said that they had some for a hundred bucks. He said there was nothing wrong with them, they were just old. That sounded fine, now I just needed to GET to the pawn shop. So, I called a cab and Mohammad took me to the pawn shop.

We got to the pawn shop (it was nice, not at all how I pictured a pawn shop in my head) and I took one look at the puter for a hundred bucks and said, "I'll take it." They stuck it in a box and I wrote a check for money that wasn't in my account and came home.

I got the puter hooked up and after a really, really long time, I got online. Then, I had to run to the bank and stick a check in there so that the one I wrote didn't bounce.

So, here I am on a totally different puter at the other desk, the other monitor is where it's always been and there are three computers sitting around me. I have at least two articles that I should almost be done with and I'll certainly get to them. But right now I am simply exhausted and I feel the need to lie on my couch and space.

Yeah, that's what I'm gonna do.

Hi Chip!

Earlier this week...

...I cleaned my house well. (All except for the kitchen floor, the animals just mess it up again so I usually just sweep it.) There's a small amount of evidence that I've been living here, but I could probably clean the whole place up within an hour or so.

That's a good thing because I'm having company this weekend. Not for the entire weekend, just for a while. I'm so excited about it that I don't know what to do! Naturally I have to do that last hour of housework...but after that, I'm all a dither.

I'd bake something but I have to toss every single box, bag and bottle of food in my house. I'll keep the cans, but only after I wash them in soapy water. I think that's the only way that I'll ever get rid of the moths that have decided to live here with me.

If anyone out there knows anything else I can do about the Indianmeal moth, let me know. The only info that I can find says to throw everything away. I would think there might be something else to do after the food is all gone.

You know those fly strips that you hang from the ceiling to catch flies with? I hung one up over the sink yesterday and I have to throw it away today. Not because I caught a lot of moths, but because I nabbed a bunch of larvae. After I knocked them off the ceiling, I used the strip to pick them up with because I was just too creeped out to use tissue. They're only in the kitchen but that's bad enough.

Anyway, now the strip is moving because of all of the little fuckers that are on it. Here, look at it move, just a little bit:




It so gives me the willies. I keep thinking that there's a bug of some sort in my hair. I live in a heavily wooded area and there are spiders and giant ants and all kinds of creep crawlys. This is like my absolute worst nightmare.

And now to have them invading my home. It's just too much for me. I even asked 2 ex's yesterday. One owns a pest control company and he's never heard of worms on the ceiling. He did say that "worms" wouldn't be able to stay on the ceiling so I guess I should call them by their rightful name, moth larvae. Ick, ick, ick. The other ex was totally useless and said that I should "kill them when I see them..." Well...DUH! I wasn't going to let them run and hide in my cabinets. I don't even know why I bothered asking Rick...I guess because he was on the phone while I was thinking about them. And, OMG I've been thinking a lot about them lately!

Damn...it keeps feeling like things are in my hair! And there's too much hair to go through. Rick and I discussed that too. He always said that he preferred short hair so I pretty much kept my hair short for our entire marriage. I haven't cut it since he left and now he says that he likes me with long hair. Go figure.

That fly strip is moving more now than it did before, I guess some of them are having the fight of their lives up there. I hope they suffer. I made a deal with things under 10 pounds...if they stay outside, I won't kill them.

Once those little shits enter my adobe, game's on!!!

When I was researching those moth things, one site said to take the boxs that are full of the worms and feed it to the birds. Another site says to bury it deep in the ground. I think I'll let the City of Marietta handle those little bastards.

I wish I had one of those protective suits that the guys wore in E.T., I don't want to take the slightest chance of a bug, no matter what stage of life it's in, touching me and I have a feeling that I may very well touch at least one as I empty my kitchen of hundreds of dollars worth of food.

Damn, I wonder if those cookies I made last summer were...no, they couldn't have been. I refuse to accept that.

Jolie and other liars should take notes

"...Jolie denied she and Brad hooked up while filming "Mr. and Mrs. Smith," saying in an interview: "To be intimate with a married man, when my own father cheated on my mother, is not something I could forgive. I could not look at myself in the morning if I did that..."

"...That is until Maddox's mommy told a reporter that she and Pitt had fallen in love on the set of "Mr. and Mrs. Smith," which happened to be while Pitt was still married to Aniston. Oops..."

Hey you nappy headed hoe you...tell the truth, it's easier to remember.

Stupid Friday Morning Poem

I'm sitting right here at my computer
With a cat on the printer, he couldn't be cuter
The dog is all curled up down by my feet
The last cat is wandering around looking for heat.

There's a worm on my ceiling that has me disgusted
After I cleaned and I vaccuumed and I carefully dusted
Those bastards they give me the shivering willies
I think to myself, "Is this common in hillbilies?"

Maybe it's time for me to move to a new house
That's so clean it has not a worm nor a moth nor even a louse
Even though it's clean, my entire head itches
Every single time I see one of those sonsofbitches.

I look down at my sort of dirty kitchen floor
I usually just sweep it, you can't ask me for more
I live here alone so I do as I please
I am the only person I care to appease.

I only have sex in months ending in -ay
And I have pubic hair, What can I say?
This is the end of my Friday morning poem
So Good Morning to you all with a hearty Shalom!

There are countless bed wetting stories but only one common truth among all bed wetters. Bed wetting is, to one degree or another, traumatic to any child under the best of circumstances.

I wet my bed until I was 9 years old and my parents handled it perfectly, they totally ignored it. My mother would change my sheets and life would go on. I tried to train my own body to do what it just wasn't capable of by doing the obvious things. I would go to the bathroom before bed and refrain from taking in liquids for a while before bed as well. It didn't matter. There was simply nothing that I could do to prevent waking up in a pool of cold urine.

I don't know if I slept too hard or if my bladder was weak but I do remember waking up and thinking that I had to go to the restroom only to incorporate the information into a dream. I would dream that I had gone to the restroom. And, as I dreamt that I was voiding in the toilet, I was actually voiding in my bed.

Christmas mornings are not seared into my memory as strongly as the nights that I wet my bed as a child. I can easily recall the feeling of warm urine turning cold enough to wake me up. I would have to get out of my bed, change my pajamas and lie in the middle of a big round rug with tassels all around it. I would lie there for the longest time, feeling badly and trying to fall back asleep. To make my mind stop thinking about the bed wetting, I would count the tassels on the huge rug, then the individual yarns in each tassel and then I would multiply the numbers to find out how many yarns were in the rug. I spent a lot of nights on that rug counting pieces of yarn.

At 9 years old when you are trying everything that you can think of to stop the bed wetting, the only thing that would have been worse was if my parents pointed it out at all. I would hate to be a bed wetter today with alarms that wake a kid up rudely as he or she wets himself instead of the gentle awakening the kid would experience as the warm urine turned cold. As a child, I hoped that I wouldn't wet the bed at home and I prayed that it never happened while I was spending the night somewhere else. I cannot imagine being 8 years old and worrying that an alarm would tell the entire household that I had slept through another bladder emptying.

I wet the bed well after I was old enough to do everything in my power to make it stop…and I did, I absolutely did. But my efforts were for naught. I couldn't prevent the bed wetting no matter what I did. If I couldn't stop it at 9, there's no way that a younger child could possibly learn to control it.

As a parent, the only thing that you can do is protect the child's mattress and keep the bed linen clean. The decision whether or not to use diapers should be the child's. If an older child wants to wear a diaper, let him. If he doesn't want to wear it, don't push it. Find a quiet and private way to let the child know that diapers are an option. Tell them that you don't actually think that they need the diaper, but if they want it, you will discreetly provide it.

Here I am again...

...and it's a cold, dreary morning in Atlanta. The leaves have mixed with rain and unless the sun comes out and dries up the planet, I'm not walking the dog today. There's nothing that I need from the store and I have enough work to do to keep me busy through the weekend. So, I'm good.

Last night I went out to dinner with a friend...that guy who I've been friends with since before my divorce. Rick always thought there was something going on between us (at least he accused me to appease his own guilt) but to this day, nada. That's a dude I don't understand. After 7 or 8 years of being friends with an occasional boob grab during a movie, you'd think that sooner or later he would kiss me.

If it weren't for the boob grabs, I would just assume that we're only friends and leave it at that. He's a good guy and a good friend. But, once a man plays with your boobs, a line is crossed. As Seinfeld used to say, "Sex occurs when the nipple makes it's first appearance." And, he takes me out to dinner and pays all the time. I'm not sure how to play this one.

Yesterday was easy because of the pitcher of Margarita's that we shared at dinner. I just played with his leg. He had to leave too soon for me to grab him good. I'm rather befuddled. I asked him earlier if he had to work today and he didn't. So, I don't know why he had to leave by midnight and I don't know why I had to climb into bed alone with my pubes again.

I always think that I'm going to ask him what's going on but then I never do because it seems so stupid and needy. I'd rather come off as pleasantly aloof. So, I never ask this guy what's going on. He's never been married and he's pushing 50. You don't meet too many of those out there. When you do, you have to wonder why.

I haven't seen any psychotic behavior out of this guy although he does play the accordion...well.

Maybe someday I'll get in his pants. I must say, I've never been in this situation. Ordinarily, once you give a guy the go ahead by playing with his inner thigh, he pretty much takes it from there. Between Little No Peep and my very busy fuckbuddy, I have some serious frustrations going on over here.

Oh well, I've gone without before...I actually went a year after my separation. After 9 months, I pretty much was going without any penis so that I would be able to say that "I went without sex for a year." So there, I said it. I know damn well I don't want to do THAT again.

I suppose that I could call Secret Encounters...a new phone service for meeting strangers to have sex with. I actually have commercials for that mixed in with my South Park and Family Guy episodes. They're shown after the "Girls Gone Wild" commercials. I just don't have good luck with dating services...I end up meeting every short person in Atlanta who said that they were 6 feet tall. That free Plenty of Fish site where I found my ex husband's profile was pretty bad...I wouldn't want to have the freaks speaking to me before I got a bit of info.

Speaking of getting info...I have a friend who is in the middle of a divorce. Somehow, she easily guessed her idiot husband's password and hacked into his main account. She reads his correspondence with his attorney, his Filipino girlfriend and his grown kids. She even prints it all out. She said that the hardest part is knowing that he's lying but not being able to say anything or she'll give herself away.

He doesn't know how my friend's attorney always knows exactly how much money he has. When she needs to, the attorney acts on information that my friend got from her hubby's email account.

She has pages and pages of emails that prove he is lying to the Filipino chick and she's just using him to get to America. I don't know if she can see through his lies, but he sure as hell falls for hers.

Just think about it, my friend has access to every important communication with every important person in her hubby's life and she has for well over a year, closer to two. He never changes his password so she just keeps on reading all of his emails and financial statements. What a nimrod.

I could never have kept my mouth shut for that long. I hacked into an email account of a guy who made it easy to hack into and found out that he had an eye for men. It's tough to carry on with a heterosexual relationship after a bombshell like that. Not only am I strictly dickly, I must insist that the men that I sleep with have never shoved Mr. Happy up some dude's ass. Not that there's anything wrong with that...but I couldn't deal with knowing that my competition is some teamster from North Jersey.

Well, kudos to the chick who has found the Enigma to her hubby's life and to the rest of the nit wits, go change your passwords.

: )

Jennifer Aniston has finally...

...spoken out about that hoe that spread her legs for a married man. For some reason that I don't understand, Jen let Brad totally off the hook and then the best she could muster about the sperm dumpster who stole her husband was to call her "uncool". Well, that's the understatement of the millennium.

Sleeping with another woman's husband is more than uncool and if Jennifer is too nice to say it, I'll do it for her. Jolie is a lying whore. Her dishonest and manipulative nature is quite apparent to even the casual observer.

The first and most obvious evidence is her absolutely laughable claim that she has "only slept with 4 men, 3 husbands and one other guy that I won't name." Duh...I wonder exactly how many men think they are that 4rth sucker? This is a lie told by a bitch in training...it's quite transparent to a full fledged bitch such as myself.

We know that Jolie is a liar because of her own stupid mouth. She is the one who put out diametrically opposed stories about when she and Brad began deceiving Jennifer. And, as I learned with my lying cheat of a husband, a liar is a liar is a liar. PERIOD. Dishonest people do not suddenly become honest anymore than honest people suddenly become dishonest.

Jen, don't worry too much. This bimbo is totally insecure and once again, quite transparent. She is trying to keep Brad as far away from Hollywood and you as she can, not to mention other leading ladies. Her prior claim that she wouldn't marry Brad until gays could marry isn't as important as it once was. Now she says her kids want her to get married. What a crock. Kids know what they know, and nowadays Hollywood kids can handle parents who aren't married. Look at Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell. Now...it may take a year or it might take ten...but sooner or later Brad will get sick of France, a bunch of kids and a manipulative bitch.

Think about it, when he cheated on Jennifer who didn't do anything wrong...somehow he justified that to himself. It'll be much easier to justify cheating on another cheat. That cow doesn't have a chance...she can't stay pregnant forever.

Her tackiness begins with her stupid tattoos and covers her comment that she would be "open to meeting" with Jen. If Jolie had the slightest bit of class she would know to be too ashamed to even suggest such a thing. Her lack of honor and a sense of decency is stunning and her pious rejection of her own father is further proof of her total lack of class.

People who treat others like pawns can only do so for a short time out of a long life. Before she knows it, she'll be rolling out on stages for benefits like Elizabeth Taylor and 4 of her kids will have written books about her that will be a mix between "Mommy Dearest" and some scary old movie where Betty Davis drowns children in bathtubs.

I just adore Karma.

As I laid in bed...

...last night, I decided what I would write about this morning. I remember thinking, "Should I get up and write it down?" Then I thought, "No, this is too obvious to forget."

Guess what?

Not that writing it down would have helped, I did write two ideas down on an envelope that I can't find. If I can't come up with something else, I'll have to start off with pubes again and run the risk of being called "That Pubic Hair Chick". I'm already working on "Old Cat Lady Down The Street That Children Are Afraid Of". I don't have time to live up to another title.

But, I did sort of imply that I would let you guys know how my own shaving experience went so I do owe you, at the very least, a pube update.

Well, I'll tell ya...it went like this. I started out by bracing myself as I entered the steaming hot water. I laid there watching my boobs float for a while and then I realized that I had that "Cold Boob Thing" going on so I slid down and warmed them up.

I have names for my tits, Left boob-Sally, right boob-Sue. (Makes no difference who takes who. : ) Once you've named something, you sort of empathize with it and my boobs are no different. I'm sure they didn't want to be cold. They weren't quite nipple hardening cold, but they could have gone that way if I thought about it at all. So, I warmed them up.

Then I washed my hair and applied conditioner. While I was sitting there waiting for the conditioner to work, I looked at my legs and realized that those were two hairy little appendages. It occurred to me that I haven't been laid in a while and I'm not quite sure when I will be laid again. That's why my legs are so hairy. That, and of course the knee high socks that I wear every single day. This time of year all women let those leg hairs go a tad longer sooner or later.

Then, I rinsed the conditioner out of my hair and clipped it up so that it didn't hang in bath water. You never know when a soap scum island will float past you and I didn't want any in my hair.

Then I looked at my pubic hair. I remembered how proud I was of the first 3 that I found in 1970. How could I just whack them all off now? I may have to give those pubes a name too. (I just thought of a name for my pubes...Shelly. I've already written this post, I just came back to tell you about Shelly.)

So, although my hairy legs and pits were shaved clean, my pubes are right where they've always been except for that short time that I did shave them for my unappreciative ex.

There was absolutely nothing in that for me. I would do it if a dude asked me to. He knows how he likes his box lunch and I'll put parsley next to it if I have to. But in the meantime, I'm not going to harm one hair on my coochie coo coo. It's not bothering me and there's the possibility that I could be standing up in the shower shaving my pubes and somehow slip and break another bone. What would I tell the docs?

I hate falling down but I seem to do it on a regular basis. Yesterday I was walking the dog and he sort of pulled me a bit as I stepped on a small dip in the sidewalk covered with leaves. My right knee and wrist took the brunt of the fall but it was just one of those scraped knee things. I scraped it good, even the touch of my pants hurt the stupid thing today. It scraped a hole in my jeans AND in my long johns. Anyway, I quickly got up and tried to hobble away.

Naturally this was rush hour and there was quite a bit of traffic right there. A LOT of people saw me go down and I had to get up, walk away and wait for the cars with people who didn't just see me get pulled down onto the concrete by a dog obviously bigger than myself. Of course, someone stopped to see if I was OK which made the situation worse because now my tumble was a traffic issue. She stopped the traffic and therefore the people who hadn't seen me fall and I really wanted them to come along soon.

I was still in that, "Am I OK?" mode so I couldn't answer her except to say, "Ouch." Then I started walking. I figured that if I could walk I was probably OK so I just kept walking.

The other day I jumped up my steps in the dark. That was wrong on so many levels. I didn't have my glasses on and I'm as night blind as they come...I have no business jumping up or down stairs in the daytime, much less the nighttime.

I forgot that I had put a large plastic container the size of a large microwave oven at the foot of the stairs. (Thank God there were only two steps or it would have been a lot worse.) My leap probably would have been fine if that box wasn't there. I was trying to clear the stairs and the box was in front of them. Down I went again. This was just last week.

Do you really think that I should be getting all off balance with a razor blade in a shower? I think not.

As I stretched out on that sucker again, my mother came into my mind. She died broken hearted in a small apartment that she could barely afford on her Social Security. Father went on to marry woman after woman and used the law degree that mother helped him earn on other wives and their children. After my father left her, she pretty much went back to her home state of Virginia to die near the graves of her entire support system.

How on Earth could anyone allow a death like that to happen? Yet there really wasn't anything else that could be done, mother had resigned herself to her fate, refused help and smiled as much as she could. Only now do I fully appreciate all that she smiled through. Her cancer took her and she let it. She had the perfect opportunity, a 3-6 month death sentence from lung cancer. All she would have had to have done was to walk right up to the bastard who left her to die like that and shoot him in the face. Who would have blamed her?

If stealing a life is a crime, then stealing one back is the penalty.

My husband stole not only my life but he even stole my mother's death from me. I wanted to be near her yet he needed me here. He never told me that I could leave to care for my mother and he never made me feel as though I could leave without coming home to court ordered child support from some piece of trash that he found on the side of the road.

And yes, I blame myself. I take complete responsibility for every single thing that I ever did. It's all on me. But that doesn't make it one bit easier to carry around. The death of that sonofabitch did just that...I must say.

My grandmother was lucky, I guess. She died before her husband ever had a chance to leave her. Of course, not before he cheated on her. I learned that as an adult. You just don't think of grandfathers whoring around town but hell, my husband was somebodies grandfather.

My mind was swimming in thoughts that wouldn't leave me alone but I never really tried to stop them. It was like a huge mathematical problem and I felt as though if I kept on looking, I would figure out the answer and see what I had done wrong. Then my head would say, "YOU did nothing wrong!" It's just that type of thinking that got me where I am today.

At one point a lady guard slid a tray into my cell but I left it on the shelf. I didn't even want to look at it because I really doubted my ability to refrain from retching after so much as one glimpse of the culinary torture du jour.

I was so focused on my own personal nightmare that I didn't notice that the guard was still standing near my cell quite a while after she dropped off the food. I smiled at her and she smiled back. Then she let a tear escape down her left cheek and she whispered to me, "My husband is cheating on me too."

I looked up to see if there was a camera pointing at me. There probably was but it didn't matter, that lady guard walked away and I put my head back down without saying a word to her.

Eventually I was taken back to jail and back to my fellow violent offenders. They all seemed to know more about what was happening to me than I knew myself. Apparently I would be going in front of the judge again the following day for a bail hearing.

The girls all wanted to talk about what had gone on in court but there wasn't anything to tell them. "I sat in a cage all day." That was pretty much the truth. A bunch of them nodded as though they had spent their own time in holding cells.

Anna Nicole asked me if I met my attorney yet. I didn't know what she was talking about. She pulled out the morning paper and showed me a blurb about some famous attorney who was speaking out on my behalf. The picture of her was taken in front of the courthouse that I had just come from. She was in this town...for me?

Julie and Claudia, the lesbian couple, grabbed my arm and started singing Leaving on a Jet Plane as they almost skipped around the pod. I couldn't do anything else. I skipped sang along with them, "I'm standing here outside your door, I hate to wake you up to say good-bye..."

After what had to be a couple of hours, we gave up the skipping and sat down at a table. Julie pulled out some M&M's and said, "Let's see how Jean cleans up!"

Five of my cellmates came over and helped Julie "pretty" me up, jail style. What an amazingly resourceful group of women! They used the candy coating of the M&M's to color my lips, cheeks and eyelids. Then, with some sort of jail type mascara wand, they applied ink to my eyelashes. I was really quite fetching in my jail make up alone. But, when the sisters came over and did my hair, I couldn't have been more pleased.

"All dressed up and nowhere to go!", I said to the ladies standing around me.

Someone made a lesbian joke and then one of the sisters, Margaret, shouted out, "That woman is strictly dickly!" I laughed so hard than my laughter turned into tears. I couldn't make them stop so I walked over to my cot and curled up in a ball until the emotional wave that had gotten the best of me had passed.

When I finally had the composure to look up and face my pod mates, I did so. To a woman they all cracked up as if on cue.

From my left I heard someone say, "The M&M's will be gone by tomorrow, but that blue ink isn't going away any time soon."

Margaret snapped, "Girl, you ain't supposed to CRY when people put ink on your face!"

Those women helped me more than they would ever know. For a group of women in jail accused of violent crimes, what a lovely group of people they were! Melissa was to become my best friend while I was locked up. She was facing over 20 years probation for an assortment of crimes. She looked like a child to me. She was about 22 years old and as smart as any woman that I've ever met.

Unfortunately, her entrepreneurial skills were directed toward criminal enterprises such as prostitution and drugs. Except for her last arrest, assaulting a john who she claims was trying to rape her, you could almost be impressed at all she had accomplished in her young career as a madame. But every single night she sang us all to sleep with Christian music with a lovely voice.

That night was no different. I literally fell asleep listening to her singing Amazing Grace. My mother loved that song.

Murder Confession continued

I didn't know what to think about the cameras. That's not something I had considered although I did expect some media attention.

As the "paddy wagon" backed into a side entrance of the courthouse, I tried to mellow myself out a bit. I wasn't sure what was going on because I still didn't have an attorney. But, as I said, I wasn't worried about that. Nothing mattered if it didn't take place in front of a judge and that's apparently where I was headed.

As Ol' Man pulled me out of the van, I looked straight ahead to the electronic door and used my tunnel vision skills. I couldn't tell you what was happening around me at that moment. Before I really looked around, I was in a small cell where prisoners wait to see the judge. I stretched out on the metal bench and tried to clear my mind.

I should have left it where it was because instead of thinking clearly about how to address the judge, I was wondering how I could have been so wrong. I don't have any words to state this anymore forcefully so these words will have to do...I gave up my entire life and my entire self to a man who said that he would never leave me and for that I am truly an idiot. My bad.

I married a liar. Once my father told me that for every lie you catch, the liar has gotten away with 10. It works so damn well for them, why wouldn't they keep lying? There are two kinds of people on this planet, honest people and dishonest people. That's all there is to it. I should have known better. But, like a mother who refuses to see the little brat that she bounces so happily on her knee, I trusted that my husband would always be there, no matter how many times he screwed up or how many hoe's he screwed. How lame was that?

Hindsight can be a cruel 20/20.

I see all the lies for what they were now. And if he lied another ten times for the ones I'm aware of, how many women did he screw that I never found out about? The tortuous thoughts kept running through my mind long after I had sensed a certain physical numbness. It had to have been an ancient human defense mechanism to guard us from pain...a sort of emotional endorphin that kept me from sensing a dreadful ache that humans are not prepared to perceive.

But the thoughts kept coming. How could he do this? What the hell happened? Was any of the past 25 years real? And if so, which parts? I have to know. I can't stand not knowing and not knowing is pretty much how I had spent my marriage to this bastard. I never knew. From the first lie, I never knew.

But somehow, even though I never knew, I still found the insanity to place that shithead on some sort of "Honor" pedestal upon which I could never hope to stand. I had me a good man, an honorable man, a soul mate for life. Anyway, that's what he said.

So, if I didn't have the soul mate, does that mean that there was never an honorable man in the first place? These sorts of thoughts can keep parts of your soul comatose for hours. Does that make any sense? Does it matter?

Then I think to myself how gently and kindly I would have let him down if I had to do so. I would have held onto him tightly and told him softly that I loved him. I would have shown respect for the years that we shared if not for the love that we supposedly found in our youth. It would have hurt but I would have found the strength to do it. I would have done it for him if I could have. But, how could I if he knew the truth and I didn't?

Imagine looking into your life and not knowing what is real. If he had given me the truth, I could have figured it all out. Instead, I was left to stare into some abyss of bullshit that was my life. How could I put any of it together? I didn't know which parts were real. There was only one thing that I ever needed in order to put myself all back together and figure out my next move...and that was the one thing that he wouldn't ever consider giving me...simply, the truth. I was paralysed without it.

I even gave the yahoo openings. I gave him chances to be honest with me.

I spent my days calling the man who once would call me, just to say, "I love you." But those calls stopped and busy signals took over. In all the years that I had known him he had never spent so much time on the phone while he was working...ever. But he was always johnny on the spot with the answer to any and all questions such as, "Who were you speaking to for so long?"

God, he was an amazing liar.

More than once I said to him, "Please, I'm begging you, man-up and tell me what's going on so that we can both go out and find a life." Not once did he take the bait and tell me the truth. I couldn't get it out of him to save my life, much less my marriage.

The begging didn't stop there. I remembered begging him to make love to me. How degrading that was, let me tell you...never, in my entire life did I ever have to beg my own man to make love to me. I remember a time when I would have never crawled so low. Where was that woman?

You know, he said that was what he wanted. He said that he wanted the "confident young woman" that he married. That SOB murdered that her with his first affair and his inherent dishonesty. If he would have just stopped, just stopped lying for "one year", I could take the leap of faith again. But not one year of our entire quarter century together went by without some lie that would completely frazzle my nerves and send me into some insane forensic detective mode.

When the empty shell of that confidant woman needed a little human touch, what did he say? He told her that, "The intensity that I used to feel with you is gone." When he said that to me, I realized that I was right...he was screwing me to shut me up. That was screwing me under false pretenses and that's a step away from rape. And all the time he was thinking about someone else, there was no other excuse. I recognized the behavior of a man distracted by another woman. But he never, not once in his entire miserable life, ever told me the truth unless I had so much hard evidence that he had no choice.

Instead of trusting myself, I became obsessed with finding the proof that I needed to walk away. Unfortunately, I didn't see it when I crawled right over it. I was looking for the wrong signs.

When he left for work in the morning, I would dart to the dirty laundry to hold his dirty clothing up to the light checking for hairs. I would do the same with his pants and naturally I would check the car for odd fibers and the like. I spent hours combing every inch of my home, looking for something, anything that would tell me one way or another if my suspicions were true.

I asked him, of course I asked him. But he told me that nothing was wrong and that I "was doing it all to myself". You know, that was just crazy enough to be believable. Naturally it was easier to believe that I was a complete and luny moron than it was to believe that the man up on that pedestal was a lying mother fucker. It was also much easier to handle after my entire psyche had been choked dry of all self esteem.

"Well then", I asked my soul mate, my lover, my best friend..."What should I do to fix this hideous thing that is me?" He decisively sent me to the psychiatrist to deal with my "trust issues" declaring, "The only hope for us is if you get help."

That was when the hoop jumping was getting tough because of the cancer in my parathyroid glands. Looking back, I had been jumping hoops for years. They were just so easy for me that I didn't really notice the hurdles until I was just too weak to clear them.

How could I be so stupid? Well, it seems as though, if you are weaned on the little lies, the big lies get easier to swallow. And I swallowed some whoppers, I did.

The summer from hell was the fight of my life and in the end, I did the only thing that I knew how to do. I killed the bastard. It's the only thing that would ensure a lesser degree of pain than living on this planet while he gives another woman the life that he promised me. I'll be damned.

I think I was about to fall asleep when the guard dude came to my cell and opened the door. He took me to the courtroom and directly in front of the judge. There wasn't really anyone else in the courtroom except some press people. I guess they kept the prisoners for last. Lord knows we aren't going anywhere.

I was in and out in 30 seconds after answering this question, "You're charged with murder in the first degree, how do you plead?"

"Not guilty"

Next he asked me if I had an attorney and of course I said that I did not. I had to fill out some financial paperwork and then I was taken back to my little cell where I laid back down to see if I could catch a few winks before I was taken back to the jail.