Do you ever get in the mood...

...to clean your house? I mean one of those moods where you start out by sweeping up spilled Meow Mix and end up renting a steam cleaner for the rug. I am in that mode and I can't seem to get out of it. For the past two days I've been cleaning and doing laundry that doesn't need to be done. I'm even washing floor mats and closeted blankets.

I'm pretty much to the point where the only thing left is a bedroom that I use for storage. I've been storing my messes there since last summer. I love having an entire room to throw stuff in, until it comes time to clean the room. If I become obsessed with cleaning again, who knows? But chances are pretty good that today is NOT the day that the back bedroom gets cleaned up. I wouldn't mind if it weren't so cold in there or if I had someplace to put the stuff. But, if I had a place for the stuff that I throw in that room, I would have put it IN the correct place to begin with. I only toss really off the wall stuff in there like off season clothes and a desk with no drawers that I can't seem to throw away. It's not that I WON'T...I literally CANNOT throw it away. That's it, the next man to walk into my house is helping me with that desk. And, since I can't do that right now, there's no reason to start moving all of the mess up to the attic yet.

Damn, the attic. For years I never went there. I would have no reason to. And over the years a lot of stuff was put in the attic. Oh, and during all of that time, absolutely nothing came OUT of the attic. For years I watched my ex stick boxes up there but I never remember him taking anything down once it has found it's way up there. Well, the Christmas stuff came down but it pretty much went right back up there. I have no clue what's in those boxes. For all I know Jimmy Hoffa's head is up there. On the rare occasion that I have to visit the attic, I don't venture off of the ladder thing that pulls down from the ceiling. I'll go up far enough to where my waist is even with the attic "floor". I don't have any reason to go back any further and I dread the day that I have to.

Oh! That attic "floor" isn't a floor, is it? I'm not sure what it is but it looks like rodent heaven. OMG...the spiderwebs, flying dust-bunnies and the possible mouse will keep me out of the attic for years...and they did. But now I'm here alone and I have to handle attic related issues and it's dreadful. If I had to go up there, I suppose that I could walk along the wood panels, but the way the roof is shaped, I would have to hold on with my hands at some point. First of all, I couldn't touch those "walls" with my hand if I wanted to. I have a deep and abiding fear of bugs, rodents and very small things with tails. If a horse was an inch high, I would have to have someone step on it for me. I can't do it myself, I hate the crunch under my foot and I'm too afraid to approach anything that needs squishing. The next fear I would have to get over if I were to go into the attic is the fear of something poking it's head out of that fluffy stuff and biting my ankle. That would mess me up for life. It's not a chance that I care to take.

Anyway, I'm not going to bother with that room today. I'd rather take stuff out of cabinets and wipe down shelves. Actually, I might do just that! My word, I think I have a plan then.

Before I start cleaning, I have to get bored and for that I just turn the television on. Within 10 minutes I start to think, "What a hideous waste of time!" That's when I start the cleaning jag. So I'm sorry, but I have to go bore myself so that I can wash shelves!

Once again...

...I slept some freaky hours only this time I did it right. I didn't go to bed at 6 PM and wake up at 2 AM, instead I went to bed a bit after 7 AM and then I slept until 2 AM. I had to finish an article that a publisher needed badly so I decided to finish it before I went to bed. I got in writing/computer mode and before I knew it, the sun came up. It felt like 4 AM, not 7.

The bad part about writing in the middle of the night is that the mind isn't as sharp as it is in the morning. I would catch myself staring at the monitor, forgetting what I was doing and I even started falling asleep sitting up. I've read things that I've written in the middle of the night and they usually contain really bonehead mistakes. But, I am aware of t so I try to be extra careful when I write at night.

I need to stop putting these things off until the last minute. I am a procrastinator extraordinaire. Oh, and it looks as though I have a job writing for another blog. When the contract is signed, I'll put up a link to that site. I'm supposed to be writing about flirting and that's cool with me. I love to flirt. Hell, I'm, cyber-flirting with a guy from high school currently and that sure is fun. It's also quite safe as he lives hundreds of miles north of here. But, I have to say, after some of the things I've said, I wouldn't want to run into him at a class reunion.

OK, I have to straighten up so that I can veg out in a neat room.

:)

I actually have a date...

...for today. I'm still in my jammies, I need to take a shower and that dude will be here in 45 minutes. But you...my blog buddies...deserve at least a quick hello. Although this guy seems really interested, these things usually don't work out and after he's gone, you guys will still be here so, I came here first.

Yesterday I was folding laundry with the TV on and I couldn't zap the commercials easily. I rarely, extremely rarely, watch commercials. I cannot abide them. When you're a bitch like I am, you tend to get irritated by stupid stuff and 99.999 % of them are really, really stupid.

I've been around long enough to have seen marketing for feminine hygiene products that are totally unnecessary. Like a douche for instance. That's not at all good for women but a bunch of them do it all the time. Douching is really a medical thing like enemas...you should only do it if your doctor tells you to. But women everywhere "don't feel clean without a douche". Well, that's what the force does to weak minds.

They have special soap for douching and other such needless stuff. A good shower is all any of us need. They have products that have the same pH as vagina. Well, before the chick douched, she HAD a perfect pH in her vagina. Such silliness. I believe I've seen deodorant specifically made for South of the border. What the hell is going on that these women need douches, sprays and now the "after cleansing/sex/shower/itchy crotch syndrome mint"? That's a helluva lot of stuff and if that's the solution, I don't want to SEE the problem.

Douches are today's Pet Rock.

Anyway, the commercial I heard was for ANOTHER poontang maintenance thing...I think it was called Re-pHresh. I forget...but it was a product you used to make you feel clean after a night of unexpected sex if you don't have time for a douche. You just stick one of those suckers up there and let it dissolve just as you would a Certs with Retsyn. It's a poontang mint is what it is.

Oh, I give up. There are going to be women who think that shoving mints up their vagina is a good thing and nothing I can say will stop them. THOSE are the chicks who douche now and swear by it. Someone, sometime, will tell me that it's not only OK, but necessary. Uh uh. Don't bother...I have a college degree in such matters.

How about this for an idea, a wash cloth and a bar of soap!!! You know, that's just nutty enough to work.

The Beverly Hilton...


...is one of the nicest hotels in the LA area. The environment is one of class and sophistication. But, in honor of the new President, some pin head in the kitchen came up with this gem...The Obamurrito. It must have been a really good Obamurrito because they charged 19 bucks for those stupid things.

First of all, I don't remember anyone serving French Fried Bush at either of the two previous inaugurations. It's a bit of favoritism and I just wanted to let the Hiltons know that I DID notice that. The fact that they put a sign up that said Obamurrito and then only sold one of them is pretty bad. I would wager that most people wondered if it was a joke or not. Golly, I sure hope there weren't a lot of beans on that sucker...but I'm sure that the Obamurrito had at least some beans on it.

You would think that any fart producing food would be named after a guy who farts a lot. Like the Peturrito after Peter Griffin in Family Guy. Or even Archuurrito after Archie from All in the Family. (I love all these family shows, don't you?)

Obama should have a more appropriate menu item created for him, one that signifies change. Maybe something like an Obamelet with the eggs cooked properly at Denny's. That'd be a change. Or, they could go with his infectious energy and call it Obamuccino...mocha and with a double shot of caffeine.

But still, poor lil' W hasn't so much as a meatbush to his name. That's just wrong. I bet that some liberal meat-head would do it...only he'd serve Blowbush testicles. (You have to be careful with those particular testicles because, "Seven diners in northern Japan fell ill and three remained hospitalized Tuesday after eating blowfish testicles...") You know, I think I'd just avoid testicles all together, it shouldn't even be an option when you're about to eat. And where the hell is the penis? On some other customer's able with duck sauce and sesame?

How a man can put a testicle between his molars and bite down is simply beyond me. And all the bloody ketchup in the world won't get me to eat balls. (I mean that literally of course, figuratively speaking, I have been known to grab a scrotum snack every once in a while.)

OK then. I'm going to see if I can find my webcam and make a video so I don't have to type what I want to tell you, it's long and involved and a video would be the perfect way to do it. In the meantime, have a nice day and don't eat any testicles.

OK.

It's almost 6 PM again and that means it's bedtime for me. But I didn't want to crawl into dreamland without popping in and saying hello. I have something specific to tell you, but as I tend to do, I forgot what it was between the living room and the keyboard. Marijuana has nothing to do with it, I'm sure. I might remember, I might not but I guess I can write something anyway.

Oh, I just thought of something, it's almost exactly 4 years to the day since I started this blog. If anyone has a 2005 calendar, check it. I started this thing on the last Friday in January 2005. I was very angry back then. Actually, I'm still sort of annoyed at the way my promiscuous husband handled the destruction of our marriage.

I suppose some people are thinking, "Damn girl, get over it!" I would if I thought that there would be something to gain from getting over such a life altering catastrophe. Nope, I'd rather be one ticked off female. It works well for me and I've sort of taken my anger and embraced it. It's all good. I like being bitchy so the anger thing is quite helpful. Of course, I don't like being bitchy enough to do it if I'm not angry. That's an art and few have mastered it. Off the top of my head, I can think of Rosie O'Donnell, Ann Coulter and Sally Field. (I met Sally, exactly long enough to read the bitchiness and THAT was almost immediate.)

So, I really can't get over it yet. I'm just having too much fun with it. I may get bored someday but today is not that day. I think I'm actually supposed to think about the divorce MORE...don't you dream about things your mind needs to process? I dream that Rick is cheating on me almost every night. I should have seen that for the red flag it was when the dream started while he was still here. But, I AM making progress, last night I asked the mistress if she had to deal with his skid marks and she said, "Oh, yeah! It's awful! We had a woman to woman moment and it was lovely. Up until last night, I never could pin the tramps down. In the dream, I'm always running after Rick and the "other woman". Of course, I never catch them but last night I did find occasion to speak to one of his ho's.

Of course, I wouldn't be around one of his tramps long enough to discuss skid marks before I would dude-punch her face. (That's the opposite of a bitch-slap.) I haven't dude-punched many people at all in my life. Actually, there's only been one person who I ever dude-punched and that was in self defense. Well, sort of. I didn't feel like waiting to go on defense so I took the cheap shot and ran like a dog being chased by a giant vacuum cleaner. I was outta there and starting my car before he stood up.

And, yes...the fool had me arrested. I was charged with battery, I think. Whatever...he dropped the charges before court, right before court. The DA spoke to me and then he advised that jack ass to drop the charges and he did. He would have looked pretty stupid in front of a judge, pointing down at me and saying, "She broke my nose!" I'm sure he was disappointed by the DA's advice, the fool even brought his x-rays to prove that I beaned him a good one. He was gonna prove that I was a dangerous woman. It didn't even seem to bother him that he would have to say, under oath, "She took me down with one punch."

Anyway, my point is that I am rarely dangerous. My entire fighting history consisted of that one punch and a roll around in the grass where there was a whole lot of scratching going on. I think I lost that fight because all I remember is Jill Ihrig sitting on my stomach and scratching my face. She must have gotten me good because when my father got home from work, he dragged me and my scratched up face over to the Ihreg's house and shouted at the mother, "Look at my daughter!" He was angry, I was scared and the kids in the Ihreg house were all hiding but peeking out to see what the angry man was going to do.

OK, two fights...not counting spouses and siblings. Not a bad record for a bitch. Oh, I took a margarita to the face for some other chick who apparently said something nasty to the drink thrower chick who thought that I had spoken the offensive words. Imagine my surprise, a margarita in my face...salt and all. I didn't even see that one coming. You know, I'm sort of glad that happened because I always wondered what I would do if someone threw a drink in my face. Now I know, I stand there jaw-dropped and stunned. Nothing in me wanted to hit anyone, I'm naturally a very gentle bitch.

So, what was I talking about?

Oh, dude-punching the ho's...yeah, I think I could do that. I would have loved a chance to hit one of them. Oh, and I should have boxed Rick in the ears for being such an amazing liar. I must say, he was quite good at it. As a matter of fact, thinking about it irritates me so much that I want to fly to Montana, drive into downtown Kallispell, find that sucker and hit him really hard. If I had the money, I certainly would do that. See? The anger IS a good thing, it inspires me.

Damn, damn, damn...I never remembered what I wanted to say so I'll end this here and think really hard of what it was, I seem to remember that whatever the subject was, it was really good. Oh well, ciao for now!

I was so bored yesterday...

...that I went to sleep at 6 PM. I woke up at 2 AM and now I don't know what to do with myself. And now, after staring at the monitor yawning for a few minutes, I realize that I need to get physical to wake myself up, or suck more coffee.

I'll be back soon. You're probably sleeping right now so you won't miss much.

To those who are awake and at home, GO TO BED! If you're awake and at work, I feel ya. Here's hoping that you'll be driving home before you know it.

:)

This MIGHT not be as innocent as it looks!

Wandering through the wasteland...

...that is the dating world has been rather enlightening. The very first lesson that I learned was quite a shock to me. For some reason I thought that men grew out of their groping ways. I don't know why I thought that, I just did. But, as I quickly learned, they haven't lost a bit of their old confidence, just their hair.

So, when I read about a community in Florida where the women outnumber the men 10:1, I wasn't at all surprised to read that men who are even OLDER, like at death's threshold old, are still seeking that "one-night meaningful relationship."

And apparently, they don't want to spend a lot of their Social Security checks in their attempts to conquer an 80 year old woman. "A lot of the men down here are cheaper than heck, and a lot of the women are extremely brazen. Some girls will go into the parking lot with a man and come back a half-hour later like nothing happened!" Well, how can a lady compete with loose women who had breast implants before the Beatles left Liverpool? I saw one of those chicks once, she was lying on her back and she had two rounded things where her boobs should be and if you lifted up her arms, you could find her nipples.

And what the men lack in stamina, they make up for on the black market. "I paid 12 bucks for a single little blue pill." said one old dude who likes to make the rounds at all of the senior citizen night spots.

That's just great. Now we'll have men wielding plumbing long since out of warranty on women hawking parts decommissioned years ago.

It almost sounds like heaven for the decrepit old men, doesn't it? But there is one huge problem stemming from all of this squeaky old people sex...a local gynecologist reported that she treated "more cases of herpes and human papillomavirus at this particular retirement villages than she did when she worked in Miami." These people made it through WWII, Korea, Viet Nam, the entire Sexual Revolution, cheating on their spouses and God knows what else. For the better part of a century, these folks avoided the clap and yet they can't survive widowhood unscathed by any odd lesions, infections or small crawly things. Thank God their parents aren't around to see what they've done.

And shame, shame on those old women! "Whatever you know about 20-year-olds, it's the same with seniors," said Roselyn Shelley, a resident of The Villages Retirement Community. You would think that women would have gotten over any self esteem issues before they turned 70. I don't know why they would service a bunch of cheap old men. At the very least, I would charge the guy a few bucks to make it worth my while.

And of course, where there are women and black-market drugs available, you can expect violence. Local cops do their best to keep the neighborhood safe, but according to Lt. Davis, it's no picnic. "You see two 70-year-olds with canes fighting over a woman and you think, 'Oh, jeez.'"

Important Dating Tip For Women Of All Ages: Women, listen to me, if nothing else, get the guy to pick something up at the store for you on their way over to your house. There's no better time to get a man to pull his wallet out of his pocket. Trust me on that one.

: )

The President warned us...

...he said that we would be personally responsible for our small part in a huge team effort to effect "change". I suggest that we name Obama's cabinet Team America. Our coach/cheerleader would be Obama and then he can order us to do things. Of course, he has to soften up the enemy a bit first, I think that even Republicans who were in favor of the war in Iraq can appreciate that. In a stroke of genius, Obama came up with a mild mind control tactic that I wager will work quite well. So, yes, he's using mind control...but in a good way. He's simply trying to mold us into what he sees as morally correct. It's quite honorable if you think about it.

Our Representatives...the people from our home towns who are in Congress to represent us, were recently told sternly that "they have to stop listening to Rush Limbaugh if they want to get along with Democrats and the new administration." I think it's an excellent idea because it shows the President's genuine commitment to bi-partisan ideals. I like that in a president.

But, if ignoring Rush is good, then I think that we can do much better ourselves. Let's stop listening to Ann Coulter, Sean Hannity and Mormons. Obama knows that those shows could be hosted by people of his own choosing. All we have to do is get the current group of racists thrown off the air.

Ideally, we need to get rid of FoxNews altogether but getting rid of people who are just plain WRONG in their opinions is a good start. I applaud the President's choice, by the way. Rush is an easy one to stomp all over because normal people know that he nuts. Even people who DO listen to him won't admit it out loud. They know that we will absolutely call them out as the racists that they are.That's part of OUR responsibility...to make it difficult for Republicans to speak openly by pointing out the undercurrent of racism and intolerance that flows through EVERY SINGLE THING THAT THEY SAY!!!

If Republicans listen to people like Rob Reiner, Mill Maher and Al Franken, they'd see things the same way that Obama sees things. Lord knows, that's GOT to be a good thing! I agree with everything that he's said so far and he is one special leader. He's the kind of leader that you trust enough to offer your blind allegiance. I love that in a President.

I can't tell you how important is for us to do our part and if we just look to Obama, he will tell us what to do. Some Republican nut job voiced an incorrect opinion and Coach Obama quickly let the Republican know that, "I won," adding, “I will trump you on that.” I have no idea what the Republican said to get Obama's dander up but whatever it was, it must have been really, really evil. And to paraphrase Richard Nixon, "If the President does it, it can't be evil." So, we know that our Coach will act in our best interests...he's the President for goodness sakes!

Like the Coach said, "Change won't happen overnight!" He's right. We learned that in this scene from Broadcast News which clearly states:

"What do you think the Devil is going to look like if he's around? Nobody is going to be taken in if he has a long, red, pointy tail. No. I'm semi-serious here. He will look attractive and he will be nice and helpful and he will get a job where he influences a great God-fearing nation and he will never do an evil thing... he will just bit by little bit lower standards where they are important. Just coax along flash over substance... Just a tiny bit. And he will talk about all of us really being salesmen. And he'll get all the great women."

Obama is a patient man with a plan, I like that in a President.

So, you might wonder, what can YOU do to help Team America? Well, don't be afraid to point out injustice and intolerance whenever you see it. Trust your gut, if you KNOW deep inside your heart that the person in front of you is WRONG, then let him know that! Don't hesitate to call him out for the racist, sexist pig that he is. You have to look closely because some of them don't discuss race at all. Those are the crafty Republicans. They can appear to be discussing the economy and they might even be good at it. But dig a bit deeper and you'll find a racist. It never fails. So, if a person calls himself a Republican, a Conservative, a Libertarian or if he is simply spreading his sinister propaganda, have the courage to do what the Coach does, tell your opponent that "WE WON!...And that trumps EVERYTHING!"

Oh, by the way, a great "how-to" manual was written in the 60's by a man named Ray Bradbury. He called it Fahrenheit 451 and they even made a movie out of it so more people could have access to Bradbury's method of ending bi-partisanship. You guys should all read that bok, you might just draw some strength from it. It would be so cool if the Coach put a copy on his desk...doncha think?

NYUK, NYUK, NYUK!

Well, look at that!

There's a dog carrying groceries down the street! I finally did it. I feel like I can walk to the store, but I have no business carrying heavy stuff. So, yesterday I put a belt around Payton's lower chest and I attached that to his collar with a different collar. The middle collar is what I hung the bags from. It worked so well that after we got back from the store, I didn't wait long to go do it again so that he would have the task firmly stored in his memory.

Then, last night, we went for a third time and he was perfect. He had 20 pounds on each side, one side was a bag of kibble and the other side was canned dog food and light bulbs. It didn't take him any actual training, he just held still so that I could strap the bags to him. The next time that I take him to the store, I'll get a picture of him carrying the groceries. I'll have to do it here in the kitchen rather than out on the street because the only camera here that works is my webcam. And, I haven't been able to use that sucker for weeks.

But now...I can use it. I finally got my computer fixed! It was just a broken fan and the guy replaced it for me and now it works just fine and dandy, thank you! Of course, now I'm left with an extra computer. I may give it to my grandkids...I may just keep it here in case mine breaks again.

Ah, you have no idea how nice it is to have my old computer back again. The other one was slow and stupid. It couldn't make videos, I couldn't watch them...it was awful. Now all I have to do is find that stupid webcam and I'll be back in business.

Oh, I need to get my old keyboard as well. It took me a while to figure out that I could still use my monitor, a flat screen larger than the little old one that came with the cheap PC I bought for $100. I thought about it and decided that I could probably hook up the other keyboard, I just never did. Now I'll stop typing "\" when I mean to backspace.

I have to shove food in my face and eat 2 Popsicles. I'll be back later, I'm gonna go watch a couple of South Park episodes before I start work...I find it gives me a wise ass attitude that is much more intense than the wise ass attitude that I come with.

:)

I just heard that...

...President Obama may have a new toy to replace his beloved Blackberry...Blueberry (whatever). Reports are surfacing that the spies in charge are ready to OK a device that does the work of Obama's old toy, only more securely.

Now, keep in mind that I do not own a cell phone, I've only played with an iPod once and that cured me of ever doing it again. Also, I didn't have a microwave until the 90's. I resist change. Well, not all change, I can rejoice in our nation's first Black president, but I don't like major change that affects me personally.

Things didn't change too much when I was a kid. About the only changes that I remember are color TV and push button phones. That's pretty much it. But those changes didn't require an inservice. Everyone knew how to operate a TV and a phone...they were just different.

The changes to the phone itself have me totally baffled. Why would anyone want to attach a phone to themselves? Even if you softly whisper, "Tell them I'm not home!", the caller will hear you. I go to a lot of effort to avoid talking on the phone. If someone should get me on the phone, I spend the entire time trying to hang up politely. Of course, you know me, I'll give up and be rude if I have to. Some more recent hang up lines that I've used:

"I hate talking to people I know...and I don't even know you." Click.

If someone fumbles with my name I say, "If you don't know my name then I KNOW I don't want to talk to you." Click.

"You know what? I've been sitting here trying to figure out a polite way to get you off of the phone but that rude-ass comment let me off the hook." Click.

One of my favorites, "Ass sphincter is holding a dead phone up to his ear." Click.

I sure as hell don't want to take that show on the road. My kids keep bugging me to get a cell phone...they promise to stop calling the Marietta police from Los Angeles and sending them to my house whenever my phone is off the hook if I let them send me a cell phone. Apparently, I "don't even have to use it" except for when my daughter calls me. All I'd have to do is keep it on me at all times.

Get a grip. I lose my portable phone and it never leaves the house. There is no reason on God's green earth that I need to carry a phone out into the world. I can search the house, I can't search the world.

Some changes have been good...I like Caller ID. But other than that, I prefer the phones of old.

I remember when change went from practical to senseless. If memory serves, it all started when they replaced words with pictures on cars. Instead of the word "Lighter", there was a picture of a flame on the car lighters. Heat, Medium and Cold were controls, not red lines, double red/blue lines and blue lines.

Shortly after that, the Boston Fireman's hat became the international symbol for "Fire Alarm" in elevators. What if you've never been to Boston? How would you know that the picture wasn't the button to drop hats from the top of the elevator? Hell, for all I know, that's what it IS for, I've never pushed it myself.

Of course, they followed that up by arbitrarily posting Braille messages about cities, airports and other public buildings. That's actually pretty cold if you ask me. Those messages are sort of the "Where's Waldo?" of the life saving world. If they made the messages play a Stevie Wonder song, I would understand it. But how on earth are blind people supposed to find their way out of a 17th floor hotel room in the event of a fire?

You know, I think that buttons are on their way out. Buttons, typewriter keys, television controls...all the things that were once controlled by buttons will soon be replaced with touch screens and voice recognition programs. That's cool because I am one of those people who absolutely CANNOT throw a button away. So, I have buttons from way back. Maybe my button collection will be worth something someday. I think I'll leave it to my granddaughter.

Ah, my coffee is good. I made it in my 50 year old percolator. If you haven't seen it, this is a lesson in the history of coffee:





That is some good coffee!

Here's hoping that you are making the best of today that you can. Carpe Diem!

I never did find out when...

...I broke my hip. The docs saw a small fracture but they said that it looked like it had been there for a while. Then, over the past two weeks, the pain in my hip has gotten worse so I went into the docs office one day last week and he drained some fluid from my hip joint. It appears as though the problem has been an infection in my hip the whole time. If I would have let them, they would have operated and if they did, they would have cut into an infected joint. God knows what could have happened then.

Anyway, they put me on some broad-spectrum antibiotics so with any luck at all, this should be a distant memory soon. Then, I'll be able to go find Payton a back pack and put him to work. He's easy to teach except when it comes to fetching. He has never grabbed something with his mouth to give to me. He won't even go get the leash and bring it to me although he does stand in front of me staring at the door. He let me put a flannel shirt on him, a back pack shouldn't be tough. I just want to make sure it's big enough.

They say that a dog should be able to tote one third of his own weight. So, he can start carrying 35 pounds of stuff in his back pack. If I can do it, I'm sure that he can. But I'm also sure that someone will think I'm cruel. I've had people complain that I left him in the car too long. When that dog gets in a car, he knows that waiting in it for a couple of hours is an option. He would rather come with me and wait in a parking lot then wait alone at home. He's been coming with me ever since I got him. I leave the windows open and he has NEVER jumped out of the car.

One guy told me that I should "let the poor dog pee". Well, he wasn't peeing, he was marking territory and if I had let him, he would have marked every single tree we passed. And that day I WAS carrying at least 30 pounds in one arm and trying to walk a very large dog with the other. I wouldn't have lasted long enough to let him mark territory all the way home. People can be so stupid.

So, even though Boxer's are working dogs, someone will be offended if I were to put my dog to work. I don't care. He's happy and if it hurt him, I wouldn't force it on him.

Crap, I have to make a phone call...I'll be back before EOB!!!

Those are my brother's dogs...

...aren't they beautiful? I want one now. I guess I'll just deal with Payton although I have toyed with the idea of another dog. Then I think that Payton would absolutely hate that because he's used to being the First Mate. I would hate to displace him and shake up his entire world, that's never any fun.

He's such a good dog until someone asks if he does one particular thing. A friend of mine asked me if Payton ate shoes. He never had and I told him that. Then, within an hour, my then 3 year old dog ate his first shoe. And then, my guest had to walk out of my house down a shoe.

Last week I had Payton on a leash inside so he wouldn't jump on an idiot who happened to be in my house at the time. My nimrod of a visitor asked, "Does he like to chew?" Of course I answered, "No, never." There's a reason that I answered so confidently...Payton NEVER chews anything except bones and pig ears that I give him. He wouldn't be out of the kennel if he chewed stuff up. But for some reason, as I answered that question, Payton chewed the leash in two pieces. I was holding on to little more than a loose string. I thought Payton was just being really good but he just totally wasn't there.

I wouldn't ask if he bites. The only honest answer to that question is, "I don't know." And I don't know...maybe he fights the urge to bite every single day of his life and then, sooner or later he'll slip and bite someone. But so far, he never has. Oh, maybe a nip for touching his food or me...but nothing that would break skin, it would just scare the hell out of most people...but no biting...yet.

I am curious to see what he would do if I let him loose on someone. But I can't think of anybody that I dislike that much. I've seen him in attack mode from behind a fence and he didn't look like a happy puppy at all. Most people are intimidated by his size alone...he doesn't have to bark like a homicidal dog...but he has done that.

Damn, I'm suddenly hungry...gotta run.

You know it's bad when they pull the YouTube Video!

Somebody owes Roseanne...

...a HUGE apology. She wasn't disrespectful when she sang the national anthem at that baseball game...she was merely ahead of her time.

When I heard that Aretha Franklin would be singing at the inauguration, I was absolutely thrilled. I couldn't wait. Can you imagine a voice like Franklin's belting out a patriotic song from the steps of the Capital? The notion has history written all over it.

But, alas...it didn't quite turn out that way...did it? I doubt that you'll be hearing that particular rendition of 'My Country Tis of Thee' over and over again on the news. I'm not sure what happened to the voice that sang R-E-S-P-E-C-T but it wasn't present yesterday afternoon. I don't think too many people would argue with my assessment of this particular performance, but I am pretty sure that those who do will let themselves be known and most of them will use the all purpose insult, "You're a racist." because I voiced my opinion. Or, as it seems to happen regularly, I'm called a "Southern racist". I guess those are worse than Northern racists. (Geographical prejudice runs rampant.)

If President Obama had rolled his eyes and chuckled during the performance, I would have campaigned for him and the repeal of the 22nd Amendment so that we could keep him around forever. But he closed his eyes and put on his game face. I guess he had no choice. But, I must say, a President who is honest enough to admit that Franklin's singing was less than par yesterday is one who can be trusted. That is the test of a true leader.

I can imagine Michelle as she finally crawled into bed with the President of the United States of America...before her head hit the pillow you know she said, "What was up with Aretha today?"

President Obama: "I don't know but it was the only time that I considered running away."

Unfortunately, we can be relatively sure that our new president has already told a lie. Of course, it was a must lie situation, what can you say to the Queen of Soul when she misses a few notes while the entire world is watching?

I don't have HBO so I didn't get to see the concert that was put on in DC over the weekend. But, I did see a snippet of one performer. It was Bruce Springsteen. So, now I've seen a grand total of 2 singers from the festivities and they both sounded like crap.

It is with all due respect that I make these observations...I'm a Springsteen and Franklin fan from way, way back. I know what those two are capable of and I was quite disappointed by both of them. On the plus side, Bruce did have a great choir behind him. Unfortunately, Aretha just brought her big bow hat.

I know that I am not the only person in the world who listened to Franklin and thought of Roseanne. Wouldn't it be funny if future generations look at Roseanne's performance and think, "What a lovely sound!" It would be even funnier if they added, "Well, at least she's not Aretha Franklin!"

Hey Addison Illinois...

...if you see the Bug Man...Mark Colletti...give him this message for me:

Dude, instead of harassing my daughter constantly, year after year, why don't you just tell her what you want? Tell her that you will not accept her as your daughter until she totally cuts me out of her life. Just come out and say it. Everyone already knows that...it'll help with my daughter's self esteem. I have gone to great lengths to build her into a confident young woman only to have her father hold back unconditional love. You've made it clear that you will only truly love her if she hates me as much as your psychotic wife hates me. Now just tell her the truth so that she can stop blaming herself for your rejection of her.

What can she do? She has nothing to do with what I'm doing. I don't tell her what I've written you pinhead, you do. Imagine her surprise when you or the nut case ambush her out of nowhere with harassing phone calls demanding that she join in the Hate Mommy party. You should be ashamed of yourselves.

Leave my daughter the FUCK alone. Starting...NOW!

Sincerely,

The She-Devil

Today's the day!

In a few short hours George Wallace, Adolph Hitler and countless other bigoted nutcases will be rolling over in their graves as Barrack Obama takes the Presidential Oath on the Lincoln Bible. AND...he's doing it because American people chose him. Whites and blacks alike put this man into the White House. As luck would have it, the youth of the country, (once again, black and white.) trumped every other group that had a chance to vote.

I saw that coming early but my father wouldn't accept it. Last spring, I told him that we were going to have a black president. He staunchly opposed my posit even after I told him that the youth would make the difference. He was there during the 60's, he should know how our youth tends to shake things up when they set their mind to it. The Freedom Riders made more than a few local sheriffs don their KKK sheets and form meetings.

The older you are, the more you understand the phenomenal historical impact that this man will take with him to the Oval Office. And like the Civil Rights movement, it won't be "just for Blacks". The bravery that The Freedom Riders, the Selma marchers and Martin Luther King exhibited during peaceful demonstrations was all it took. Other groups of people took noticed and believed that they, too, could make life better for themselves. The Civil Rights movement inspired the Women's movement. Yes, it probably would have happened sooner or later...but it DID begin soon after the Civil Rights movement began showing signs of success. And then, not a group to be left out of anything "peace" related, the Hippies also began protesting in Gandhi-like manners.

So actually, while fighting for Civil Rights for Black people, ALL of America was "freed" from old ways of thinking. MLK was right, the problem wasn't as much racism as it was the apathy. So many people had to see the brutality and the injustice that police used against a people exercising their right to demonstrate peacefully before they became aware of the injustices transpiring in our nation. The segregation policies of the time were pretty much blatantly hypocritical to anyone who claimed to be an American. MLK was prodded on by his trust in the innate goodness and sense of fair play of the masses. Except for Wallace, not too many outright bigots were elected to high office. Can you imagine? Wallace became famous SIMPLY for closing his business rather than cater to Blacks. That one act made him Governor of this state. Luckily, we have some other states that didn't participate in the Jim Crow laws. A large percentage of White America...once again, especially the youth...recognized the inherent ignorance that racism accompanies.

MLK was stabbed a half an inch from his heart by a crazy lady. His house was set afire with his wife and daughter inside of it. The victim of many death threats, that young man kept a congregation peaceful as their church was surrounded by bigots of all shapes and sizes. MLK had to call Robert Kennedy to get protection from the mob that was slowly turning violent. I have no doubt that sooner or later they would have set fire to that church with all of those people inside of it. Yet he never wavered. The more you learn about the man, the more awe inspiring he becomes.

Obviously, things have changed. I think it's going to be interesting to watch, don't you? On the news, many reporters spoke of the "electricity" in Washington. They all report an "energy" that seems to be pervading the Capital from the Lincoln Monument to Lafayette Park. You know what? Then they must have sent that energy through my TV because I felt it as well. And I was just sitting in my living room!

I guess it's because I'm old enough to remember visiting my Southern grandparents and seeing Colored water fountains. (Much to my dismay, the colored water wasn't...it was just as colorless as the White water fountains.) I also remember the news of the time. You couldn't avoid it, no matter how young you were. Things were crazy. Some White people behaved in ways that totally embarrassed the rest of us. Now I hope that we can carry a lighter burden of guilt. Too much negative energy isn't good for anybody.

So, I will be enjoying today and watching our nation continue the practice of transferring power in a peaceful fashion. Some have complained that the celebrations of the inauguration are far too extravagant. How can that be? The entire world celebrated the millennium and that was just a date. Today marks the end of a painful era in our nation's history and the beginning of a new one. I think that deserves one heckuva party.

You know...

...it seems to take some people a while to figure things out. I was in my 30's before it occurred to me that if I was in the mood to bicker for no reason, I would be buying Tampons the next day. So, maybe I shouldn't blame Mark Colletti for continuing to fuck with my children. He doesn't seem to get the cause and effect nature of what is transpiring.

Nevertheless, the owner and sole employee of All Suburban Pest Control sits at the kitchen table smoking cigarettes with a washcloth on his head. Then, he chews his fingernails from the flat part down so his finger tips look like Boston Baked Beans after they've been soaked in Liquid Fire.

That's all I had to say...Mark, your turn. But a piece of advice...remember the movie 'War Games'? Sometimes "The only winning move is not to play the game."

I keep trying...

...but I can’t work myself up into the bitchy mood that I was going for. I almost had it and then a great Meatloaf song came on and I started tapping my toe and the next thing I knew, I was fricking happy again. My bad…I should listen to country music if I want to get angry…not great 70’s stuff. Anyway, I have to get this over with so let’s see what I can do with a smile on my face.

In 1978, I met a short Italian dude at a disco. It was literally a disco…that’s what we did in 1978…we went to disco’s. Or, of course, we went to disco record burnings on baseball fields. Anyway, my date was a gay friend who was my perfect dance partner. We practiced for hours and we would go out dancing at the local places where Chicago kids discoed every weekend. We danced for hours that night and earlier that day at my office Christmas party. After half a day of dancing with my friend, a song came on that I wanted to dance to. But by then, our other friends had shown up and my escort wasn’t in the mood. I went off to sulk at the bar and I ordered an apricot stoned sour. After I ordered that drink, I never, ever danced like that again. That’s when Italian Dude sat down next to me. I’ll spare you his lines, suffice it to say they were what you’d expect from a guy in black, high wasted polyester pants and a red silk shirt unbuttoned down to the gold Italian horn that hung between his nipples.

Long story short…we got married and divorced, all pretty quickly. We were kids and it was a mistake. No harm no foul…right?

Well, it was that way. After we separated, my ex was the perfect ex. He gave me anything that I needed for the kids. I knew that he loved them and I knew that he was a man who came from a very close knit family. He would never let the kids down. I was so happy that he wasn’t the type of father who would abandon his kids but looking back, he IS one asshole who might should have.

Within a year he met this teenaged psycho wench from hell who has turned him into someone who honestly believes that creating a home environment full of disdain for me personally is a good thing to do to his kids. How does a nutty kid with substance abuse problems turn a grown man into some pathetic shell of his former self? Where did the spunk that this little guy had go? How about everything that his family taught him about respect? If you can disrespect your own mother, who is out of bounds? Who the hell is safe in a world where it is acceptable to disrespect your own mother?

And my poor daughter has had to hear how she is "JUST LIKE HER MOTHER!!!" My beautiful little girl was told repeatedly that her mother was bad and that she was "JUST LIKE" her mother. That poor kid. How do people live with themselves? God forbid any of my kids did something Mom-like, like listening to that Springsteen guy!

Springsteen's bad.

Mom's bad.

It's just all bad.

I need to be with my daughter.

My kids will tell you that I have always reminded them to call their father and his parents and each other on birthdays and holidays. But I was more into the raising of decent humans thing, not so much a personal army of downright mean people.

But, the crazed wench slowly, and in an extremely passive-aggressive manner, created a home where it was not only good to speak ill of me…the mother of the children she was manipulating…it was passively rewarded to the point where even Pavlov’s dogs would have attacked me for simply walking by. Her control over her little Hate Mommy Party extends to friends, lovers and spouses. If you want into the good graces of the head drunk…you must participate in Mommy bashing. Period. Tst! Tst! (That was the Dog Whisperer.)

Over the years I have tried to befriend her but it’s not worth it. So, I just stay away and assume she’ll get bored. But, she never, ever, ever does. Remember that I haven’t even lived in the same state as this nut since she married a man years her senior and inches her shorter. I’ve never bothered the Drunken Duo, I sit here and live my life without giving them a second thought until someone gets drunk and calls me. I just hang up on her and now I have to hang up on my ex as well because he has totally lost any shred of manly honor that he had when I was married to him. I have lost all respect for him and I don’t know who he is anymore.

He was raised in a family with a “black sheep”…like many of us. His black sheep has stolen from every single person that he could possibly have stolen from and he’s done enough drugs to kill a small woolly mammoth. But, he is always forgiven and always given quarter and the respect that family owes one another. That’s how he was raised…I met his family. But in his household, a mother is disposable…even his very own mother…should she speak to ME. How he could allow his own home and his family to be terrorized by this nasty, nasty female is beyond me.

I remember yelling at one of my kids once and it had something to do with their father. My son begged me to stop and I saw the pain in his eyes. I never, ever, ever did that again. But when he’s with his father, he is in a place where he is taught that it is perfectly OK to disrespect me. That’s where my kids were raised, in the “Who can say the meanest things about Mom?” house.

That’s what they know. It molded them. It was as though my ex took the lessons about respect that his own family had passed down to him and he tossed it all in a gutter. What a slap in the face to ALL family everywhere.

In the 80’s, I drove a Mustang. My kids came back from a visit with their father and said to me, “Mommy, Deanna said only STUPID people drive Mustangs…why do you drive one?” Another gem, “Mommy, Deanna said that people who watch soap operas are idiots…why do you watch one?” And my favorite…”Does your mommy still do drugs when you fall asleep at night?”

This from a woman I’ve seen maybe 4 times in my entire life and the last time was when you didn’t need a 2 to write the year.

I go back to Chicago occasionally but they never know when I’m in town…unless of course she reads it here. But she would never find me and I wouldn’t think of her with so many other options…(Hi Hickey Guy!).

I pretty much leave them alone because I’m not stupid and I hate drama. I sit here and shut up and over the past 20 years, everyone who had listened to her and my ex speak ill of me have seen nothing to indicate that I am indeed, the devil incarnate. But that doesn’t stop these two from crying “Druggie!” every time they hear someone bring my name up, in conversation or in a late night drunken phone call. Basically, I’d have to be a glutton for punishment to WANT to be involved with those 2 lunatics and I get enough punishment all on my own. I don’t need to import any from Chicago.

Last year my ex sent me paperwork from the Catholic Church so that we could have our marriage annulled. I spoke to him and said, “If there’s anything that I can do to make this easier, just let me know!” He thanked me and our marriage was dissolved in the eyes of the Church. I was pleased because I thought that if this last link was gone, they could get married in the church and she wouldn’t be so insecure and she might leave my kids alone. I was way wrong.

As always, I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t. Of course that probably means that my ex is ALSO damned if he does or damned if he doesn’t…I would feel sorry for him if he didn’t help her make me look like Satan’s spawn in front of my children.

I give up…that’s it…that’s all I can do. I’ve raised the kids, I’ve stayed out of state, I’ve left them alone for years at a time. But sooner or later, someone gets drunk and finds the phone.

If it were just me…I could deal with it. I always have and jimmy crack corn and I don’t care. But she calls my kids. And…if my kids aren’t angry at me over some transgression, she will berate them into submission. It’s pretty much a done deal now that they’re older…my kid’s father let some piece of trash create an environment where it is OK to disrespect your mother. He knows better than that. At least he used to.

I speak to in-laws, the family of my children, who see the situation for what it is and we just don’t tell anyone because if Jabba the Bitch knew, she would make life miserable for the person who should speak to me. Once she had my elderly ex mother-in-law in a hideous state because she had committed the atrocious sin of allowing me into her home on a visit to see my daughter. That poor old lady is still paying for that gracious behavior. So, now instead of just sitting back and listening to everyone be honest with her, she has created a situation where everybody with a backbone just does what they want to do and tells her what she wants to hear.

Personally, I would have gone with open and honest but I never even would have considered trying to wield that much power over other humans. It just never would have occurred to me…and I’m a much nicer person.

Oh, before I go…every single mother fucker who knows that nut will also know that I am absolutely, 100%, dead on balls accurate. Every single one of them. Of that I am sure. Another thing that I’m sure of…there’s a special place in hell for those who abuse children and old people…and those who stand by and allow them to be abused.

Mark and Deanna Colletti…behold the world your deeds have wraught.

Happy Monday!

I bet that it's particularly tough to think about holiday spirit today...especially if your team lost yesterday. But there's a pretty darn good feeling going around the world right now with the whole inauguration thing. Slow down and pay attention or you might forget some of it. If you're young enough, you'll live to see people who only read about this in history books. You'll want to be able to tell those people what it was like, because you'll be Grandma or Grandpa and it'll be your job to tell such stories. You'd be amazed how quickly today will be history...I remember JFK's assassination. Of course, I only remember it because it interrupted Bozo...but I do remember it.

Anyway, That's not what I came here to say, I hate when I get all turned around like this.

OK, some of you may have noticed a short message that I left to my other ex-husband's insane drunk of a wife. It may have seemed somewhat curt and if so, I'm sorry...but that wench really pushed my buttons when she messed with my kids. I'm funny like that.

I've ignored her for 20 years now and for some reason that one can only ruminate over, she is in awe of me. She hasn't turned her attention away from me since she claimed her betrothed...an event that would have been considered statutory rape in most states without her mother's signature...and ever since, she has tried her best to inflict pain upon me in her drunken passive aggressive manner. Since I live a thousand miles away and I hang up when she calls me in a drunken stupor, the only way she can bother me is through my children and I specifically requested that she NOT to do that anymore.

Anyway, I have to write something about that but it probably won't be funny and I'm in such a good mood that I wanted to start off lite instead of going straight into bitch mode. As I've said before, it's not a natural state for me but I know how to get there. And, as Jerry said, "I'm not unskilled...I'm in the union." With age comes great potential for effective iniquitous behavior. But, as I said, it's not in my nature to behave malevolently so I'll work that up in a while...maybe while I'm doing the dishes. Then, after due consideration, I shall return and attempt a direct hit that will have repercussions for years to come. I shall follow up that hit with a few occasional surprise attacks. Then, I'll quickly bore of this and it'll go back to the way it's always been. It almost makes it a waste of my time but only in the same way that changing a shitty diaper is a waste of time. You clean up the shit and then it happens again. In all aspects of life, you have to clean the shit out every so often and that's all I'm doing.

But first, I'd just like to enjoy the new day as it begins with my coffee and a PB&J on toast. I might even read the morning news too. Ah, it IS a very peaceful morning. The only thing interfering with my morning joe is Tony DeFranco. I've got 'A Heartbeat is a Lovebeat' stuck in my head. I hesitate to act without thought because once I did that and I ended up with 'Down in the Boondocks' stuck in my brain. That was supposed to get 'Never on a Sunday' out of my head and I can't figure out which song was more annoying.

If I'm gonna have a song in my head, it should be one without much redundance. I could try 'Blinded by the Light' or 'American Pie'...I think I'll go with 'American Pie'. My theory is that something will interrupt me before I finish the song and then I'll forget where I was and go on about my business. Even if you're interrupted by Jehovah's Witnesses, you can go back to "A heartbeat it's a lovebeat, and when we meet , it's a good sensation".

Well, that's enough brevity for right now. I'll be on my way to do a chore or two and then, as I said, I'll be back.

Deanna Colletti,

You white trash piece of shit. Now I see why you were calling me. When you sobered up you remembered that you had fucked with one of my kids in a drunken stupor again...and I believe that I made a promise about that. This is gonna be good.

:):):)

PS You know something fat ass, even RICK didn't fuck with my children. That was way stupid. Now even the fact that you're dying a slow alchoholic death isn't as appealing as it used to be. First I waited for you to grow up, now I'm waiting for you to drink yourself to death because you grew up to be one nasty skank. If I were fat, tall, ugly and stupid, I would be one NICE mother fucker. You have reached out of your own personal slum of a life to mess with my children and you've done it for the last time. You've made yourself impossible to ignore. Have a lovely day.

I've always said that I grew...

...up in a suburban area, sort of like some old Leave it to Beaver place. I remember suburban friends who listened to Jethro Tull and smoked weed. In the fall, they all played football and in the spring they all went to Florida for vacation. Weekends meant yardwork and a backyard bar-b-que.

When I moved to the South, it was like culture shock. The girls peed outside and the guys all owned guns. I became rather intrigued by the indigenous Southern people and I've spent decades studying them.

Fall in the South is all about hunting and when people hunt, they need a place in which to slaughter their kill. Many of you don't know this but some Southern people actually have bulidings in which they do nothing but chop up animals. I guess their wives wouldn't let them chop up a deer in the kitchen so they had to build their own place to hack up their meat...ARRR...ARRR...ARRR. You'll know if you ever stumble into one because there will be hooves all over the floor.

There's an entire mindset down here in the South that occasionally pops up in modern society. It's a mindset that says, "By God, why pay someone to do it when I dang sure do it my damn self!" Apparently some such story is behind Hickey Guy. He's the nice young man who sucked my neck back in '74 until there was a HUGE purple mark that could not be hidden from my mother for two minutes. I found that behavior odd but he was the first guy I really made out with so what did I know? Maybe I was supposed to suck him right back...but I had just put away my Barbie Dolls and I didn't know much about such things. (My most meaningful relationship to date had been the one that I shared with Donny Osmond. It wasn't physical at all, it was pretty much postal and posters. Oh, and Donny, I want my 6th grade bus pass back! I sent it to you in '69 and since you married someone else, I want it back now if you don't mind.) Anyway, I always assumed Hickey guy was just a normal suburban kid but he left a comment that created some question in my mind about that. He dressed like a normal person back then, but how would we have known the hippies from the Southerners? If you think about it, there's not a whole lot of difference except for the guns.

Hickey dude said that while "working outside building a house we were placing house wrap on the gable trusses putting them in place". That commented startled me. What the hell is a truss? He seems smart enough...he must know that you can buy houses, you don't have to build one. Then, in a very un-citified like comment he mentioned that "geese kept flying overhead." I would understand pigeons...but geese? Where the hell did this happen, Newfoundland? I thought you were from Chicago, dude?

And then, "in an attempt to shoo them" (Northerners do NOT say "shoo", we say "fuck off"), "we fired a nail gun." If he is orginally from the South, he's losing some of his inate ability to hunt. A nail gun is no good for shooting geese.

But, the very last sentence did him in. He said that the geese "returned fire...(and he) rolled across the ground to keep from getting hit." And what lesson does he take away from this experience? "Careful the message you sent to flying geese...you might not like the answer you get back!"

Hickey Guy, how about this for a message...don't shoot at armed geese in the first place.

Did you guys know...

...that a small bird could down a large jet? I thought that was an old wives tale. But apparently it was a bird or a flock of birds (the jury's still out on which) that brought a commercial jet down into the Hudson River. How stupid is that? We have kamikaze birds up in the air and people don't do more to stop them in their brainless attempts to down our airplanes? Maybe a screen or something like that would just smash the little suckers to bits. I like the idea of little machine BB guns attached to the wings with radar that could shoot the birds down. I'd pay extra for that window seat.

But I guess you can't expect those bureaucratic types to change things much at all. Not when they come up with well thought out scientific facts such as this one, "Obviously, geese or another large bird would be much more hazardous than a little black bird". Ya think? I don't know, I didn't go to rocket scientist school.

You're not gonna believe this one, but I'm telling the truth...when a bird hits an engine blade ( or two or three), the resulting Dali like carcass of the bird is now called "snarge". I kid you not. I know it sounds made up but it's true. I wouldn't have used snarge, I would have used birge...but snarge it is.

So, it would seem as though snarge in the engine is sort of like the notorious cup of sugar that would supposedly damage a nice little car engine. I don't know if sugar would work...once I again, I'd do it differently. I'd shove a Snicker's bar down the gas tank on a hot summer's night as I offered my throat to the wolf with the red roses.

Anyway, back to snarge. The people in charge of snarge (PICOS...in charge of snarge...LOLOLOL) have taken many measures to keep the birds away. Many educated people formed committee's and the like, the government spent God knows how much and NASA's spokesman came up with this gem, "...they often don't plant many trees nearby...". And then, as though he thought he was speaking to a large group of blond women, he added that this was necessary because trees "are nesting areas for birds."

NASA spokesperson Allard Beutel also stated that NASA has a bird abatement program because according to PICOS, "Bird strikes are on the rise." And since there is no known use for snarge, it's to our benefit to have a committee that has meetings, serves pastry, sends memo's and employs administrative assistance at the taxpayers expense. PICOS also came up with another brilliant plan, they're gonna make a lot of noise. It's not that it isn't a good idea but Dick Van Dyke did it first over 40 years ago when there was a wild woodpecker attacking Ritchie. Even the loud bang isn't a NASA original...didn't someone shoot something in The Father of the Bride...or some wedding movie?

NASA also has a special countdown that they can stop in case any overhead birds need to pass by the shuttle. They must have come up with that one late on a Friday afternoon before a 3-day weekend. I can hear it now:

NASA DUDE: OK, we haven't done anything all week but eat pastry, we have to do something before Memorial Day.
OTHER NASA DUDE: Yeah, and our job is to make decisions and I haven't made one since I ordered the multi-colored post-it notes.
GAY NASA DUDE: O...M...G...I ADOOOORRREE those! Was that your idea? Good one! (Little gay clap)
NASA CHICK: I thought we'd be out of here by now...I have to get a mani-pedi before my date!
NERDY NASA DUDE: I know, how about this...if there are birds in the area...we tell them to stop the countdown.
NASA DUDE WHO LOOKS LIKE PETER GRIFFITH: You know, that's just crazy enough to work!

And another 8 million dollars goes to pastry and post-it notes.

But first things first, "The first step calls for employees to call in any reports of road kill around the space center." Is this a problem? Does that huge rolling thing that takes the shuttle to the launch pad really kill many animals? I could understand a turtle, but most other animals could outrun one of those behemoths. But, if they do have a lot of road kill, why do I keep seeing pictures of starving people? Now THAT'S an idea that could help people....Road Kill for Ethiopia. I'll be in charge of that one...I'd like to get Bruce Springsteen to sing or maybe someone with a lot of road kill experience like Garth Brooks or Angelina Jolie.

Beutel, a wealth of information, once famously stated, "There are going to be birds out there." I hadn't really thought about it but...yes, there ARE going to be birds out there! After attending countless meetings on the subject, Beutel added, "You don't want to run into a bird and possibly slow your glide down." By gosh, this dude is amazing.

I do have one problem with the PICOS. They say that, "We're not looking to kill any wildlife." I don't get that. I would shoot a bird down to save a bunch of people, but then again, I don't really go to many meetings. I just think that if I have to take off my shoes, those PICOS should treat snarge with the same intensity as they do terrorism threats. If I were to go down, I don't really think I'd care if it were a bird or an Iranian who did it.

:)

I woke up with another...

...hideous dream that won't stop. As usual, it consists of me finding incontrovertible evidence that Rick is cheating on me and yet when I beg him to tell me the truth he won't do it. I dream that particular dream more often than I've dreamt any other dream in my life. It's really getting old. It woke me up and I lay there thinking that I wish I would have let that fool be a one night stand. He really wasn't worth more than that and looking back, our marriage was a cacophony of one night stands.

If I would have stuck to the rules that I had then, I would have been fine. One of my top rules was "Do not get involved with a man who was in a marriage or long term relationship within the past 6 months." Then of course there was the "Don't date men that earn less than I do." thing but that was just there to wean out gold digging men...and they do have them. He broke those 2 and others. Oops, I guess I broke them. Crap.

I think I'm going to add a new rule to one night stands. In the case that there is a one night stand which was NOT of my choosing, meaning that the dude just stopped calling...I charge $500. Cool. I like that idea. I would be willing to fork over 500 to a guy I wanted to get rid of...certainly if I went to bed with him. I'd just want it out of my mind. So, since I can be more annoying than most people if I set my mind to it...I think $500 is a good price to be able to forget about me.

On top of that, I think I'm going to make it retroactive. It'll cover one dude that I've known for 10 years and then never heard from again after we slept together. Actually, that was a pretty bad lay so I should probably demand double for it.

Oh! I just had an idea! I could go to the sports bar around the corner and have a one night stand with a regular. THEN, from now on when I go in and he's there...I could just drink on his tab! I LOVE my new rule! Free drinks for me FOREVER! Yes...I am good.

Ladies...we need to make this a new social rule...don't you think? The more of you that agree with me and help follow the rule, the more likely it will be that our daughters will benefit from our actions. They won't even have to ask. They'd just get an envelope after 3 days of no phone call.

And no, it's not prostitution. The sex was free. That's over now. This is business. The night I spent with a one night stand could have been better spent elsewhere so if he was just wasting my time, it's more of a tort situation, legally speaking. So, it can't be considered prostitution.

It's not blackmail because we aren't threatening to do anything if they don't pay. As I said, if I made a wrong move and had a one night stand that I never wanted to see again, I'd give the guy $500 bucks to stay out of my life forever. Men should be at least that willing to get us out of their lives.

I wish that I had a tiny lapel camera that I could wear when I mention the money to the guys. That'd be so cool. Of course, if one were to pay me, I wouldn't bother showing it to anyone. It would only be interesting if the dude refused to pay. That would be great YouTube material...doncha think?

Well, I'm going to wash the dishes because it's too early to begin collecting my money.

That picture is a little reminder...

...that it's still "holiday" time. If it were 3 weeks before Christmas you'd all be drinking eggnog so 3 weeks after shouldn't be a stretch. Try to picture your favorite memories from this past Christmas. If something dreadful had happened, youd remember that and if you got a Porsche you'd remember that too. But if you just had a regular family holiday, you could easily forget it. So, you have to make an extra effort to make those memories stay put in your brain. That's why I said to remember your favorite memory right after Christmas. If you did, remember it again. Don't ask any questions, just do as I say. I'm older than most of you and I know what I'm talking about.

Men are just as cute as they can be:

I don't know how I stumbled, unless you were trying to get me shook up .....not going to happen remember I was once too a married man...married to a 9.9 on the richter-bitch scale...and trust me you don't EVEN come close. And how long has it been since we were last together??? You should be afraid...very afraid.

The word "whoops" ALWAYS implies a stumble. Once again, I don't make the rules, I just abide by them. And I've never, ever, ever tried to be a bitch to you. I'm not a natural bitch, I have to put effort into it. But, like Sumo wrestlers, I really enjoy it. We last sucked face in 1974...but my virtue was safe with you so I don't know how "together" we were. But, since I caught hell for that damn hickey...I must get you for that this year.

Now...what's this crap about me being "afraid"? I haven't been afraid since The Omen came out and my dog kept sneaking into my room. I think that was sometime shortly after you assaulted my neck.

What possible scary things could you do? I was already married to an abusive cheating liar (Rick Kelso of Kalispell Montana) and a short dude who wears a washcloth on his head (he is NOT Muslim...just afraid of losing his hair). I've dated more men than I could ever count and although I've gone on alert with one or two, I've never really been afraid of any of them.

So, how scary can you possibly be when I refer to you as "a guy I sucked face with in high school?" The worst part of my experience with you was when I WAS afraid of you. You were huge to me back then. Two heads above everyone else in the halls, I could see you coming from anywhere.

But today? Afraid...very afraid no less. As if.

It would seem as though you have no clue what I've been doing since we last met. So, big boy...I'll play along...what do you have that's so scary? I admit you're bright and that's a tad freaky with a guy but no scarier than the usual morons that I marry. (I must remember to stop marrying men who's names end in vowels. It would do all ladies well to remember that...unless you have a moustache, then I guess that's who you're supposed to marry.)

To frighten me, a guy would have to turn himself into a giant lizard or something like that. Otherwise, he's a mere mortal and I've got him covered.

Verbally, I don't lose. Many men have tried to freak me out from the first sentence they speak to me. I offer a witty retort and generally one that shuts others up. Then, I take a sip of my Margarita and I go on my way.

Emotionally, I'm hard as a rock. I open up occasionally, maybe when Leonid's Beads fly across the sky. But other than that, you can't shake me. I'm 4 steps ahead and always ready to sprint away. I fly over hurdles effortlessly and with a smile on my face.

Psychologically...well I guess this one is a toss up since I don't know what's buried in your crawlspace and you don't know what I have hiding in my attic.

Socially, I'm outgoing, friendly, bright and quite the quick witted female. Even if you were an "outgoing, friendly, bright and quick witted dude"...I have boobs. They break all ties.

Morally I'm stable...your rights end where mine begin. Simple enough.

Sexually...at my age, I'm not afraid of anything. When I was in my 20's I wasn't confident enough to sit up on a guy with no clothes on unless the lights were out. Now the lights are on and I am having some fun. I walk around naked and jimmy crack corn and I don't care. Anyway, I may not frighten people, but I have been known to raise a few eyebrows.

Now, what else is there...oh, intellectually...the jury's out on that one. Obviously I'm smarter than the average bear but the best I can say about you at this point is that you smarter than the average man. (Of course I did spend a lot of time with a couple of guys named "FillInTheBlank-vowel.) I'll figure it out as I go along. You best be on guard at this point.

Although I would never out you...this blog began with me outing my ex and since he still hasn't told me the truth...I don't mind speaking of him. He's the one whose penis is not only twisted, the head is smaller than the shaft. It looks kind of like a pencil with a worn out eraser. His IQ was definitely in the double digits. I can't say that he's the dumbest guy on the planet...because I haven't met them all yet. But I'm pretty sure he'd be up there with Gilligan, Gomer and Goober. He's a compulsive liar and possesses no honor whatsoever. Add to all of that, skid marks, smelly shoes, pungent body odor and a taint he just couldn't seem to get clean...and you have one frightening dude.

And you want to warn me? Bring it on big guy.

Yesterday...



...I turned my heat off. It was actually getting too warm in my house so I just cut it off. Then, I forgot about it when I went to bed. By the time the dog wanted to go out for his middle of the night pee, the right side of my face was pretty damned cold. The thermostat said 54. I don't think it was that warm. Now I have it up to 64. That's not bad if you come in from outside but it's certainly not barefoot warm.

When I got back in bed, I turned to the other side of it and grabbed a buddy and decided to turn him on. In the lack of a big warm blob for me to spoon with, I just use a heating pad. The blobs are nice, but you have to feed them in the morning. I'll mix some kibble into a can of Alpo but I'm not frying eggs when I wake up. The heating pad works just fine and the dog doesn't seem to mind the heating pad as much as he would a real live big warm blob.

My ex was a good blob but sometimes he didn't smell just right so that was hit or miss. Most guys at least wear Mennen...as I said early on, his sudden interest in personal grooming gave him away so badly that it should have been prima fascia evidence of an affair. The daily tooth brushing was the first sign, before long that nimrod bought clothes without me...something he hadn't done since we met. What a dufus.

Anyway, between the dog and the heating pad, I've pretty much replaced the need for that blob. I'm not cold at night and I have a friend who never runs off with trailer park trash.

I saw some guy was advertising to "Rent a Gent" or something like that. I guess he's one of those fixer types that I never seem to marry. I had one and called it my son, but I never married anyone who knew anymore than I did about most things. All I lacked was the physical motivation and men seem to come pretty well equipped with that stuff so I just let them do what they do...work. I wouldn't ever rent a guy though...all you need are boobs. Why the hell would I pay someone to do work when I have 2 perfectly good tits right here on my chest? Hell, if I got implants I could probably get my kitchen redone.

I haven't bothered with implants and I don't know why. I guess it's because most men have said that they didn't like them. Even if you do it for yourself, you don't like knowing that most of the men fondling your ya-ya's would prefer your natural old knockers. I don't anyway. Besides, it's like a tattoo. If I want one, I can always get one. If I don't, I'm good. But for now, I don't have implants, tattoos, more than 4 piercings (all on my earlobes), horns OR a cell phone. And, there's none of those things that I want. Hell, I still have pubic hair and apparently that's like my rotary phone, outdated and too much work for the fingers.

By the way, I can't run off without saying something to Hickey Dude.

You seem to have stumbled a bit while you were writing that last comment. I can imagine what it would have sounded like in real life. Man, I CANNOT believe that I was afraid of you in high school! You're just a really sweet big warm blob. Well, I have to go now, I just caught a chill and now my nipples are hard so I have to put on a bra. See ya!

OK then, I guess that's it. I don't even know what the hell I was talking about. I just know that I'm a sneaky monkey.

I was wondering if anyone would notice...

...what I was doing the day before I went to the hospital. Well, someone finally put it together. Yes, I broke my hip getting laid. At least that's when it started hurting real badly. I couldn't walk in the morning. But...no, he didn't "break me"...I climbed on top without any prompting and if memory serves, that's when it started killing me and I had a tough time getting off....I mean down. Getting off is rarely a problem.

This is the first time that I've mentioned it to anyone. The guy who helped me do it doesn't even know. Just you guys. I couldn't tell the doctors that at the emergency room, they would write it in my medical records and that can't be. And who else could I tell? The people at church? The publishers for whom I write? My friends? My friends are almost all guys. They always have been. I would tell a girlfriend that I busted my hip riding Space Mountain but I can't tell a guy friend that. Well, I would if he were gay.

But if my guy friend is not gay...there's no way our relationship would ever be the same after I said, "Dude, check it out...I broke my hip riding this guy last month."

I don't know why that is, I just know it is. It's a lesson that I've learned over the years. After a man and a woman TALK about sex, no matter the context, the guy will want to have sex with that chick. I don't know why that is. Other people have sex too...they just don't talk about it. Every person who's hand you shake has been all over the sex organs of not only the owner of the hand, but more than likely it's been in other people's crotches...maybe up an ass or two. Now go shake a hand.

So, my little friend who gave me my very first hickey...I hope you're very pleased with yourself. And...I am duly impressed. Of course you realize, YOU brought the subject of sex up...I called you on it and now we have spoken about it. You know what that means don't you? It means that I know you will be thinking about me sexually for a long fricking time. I love this kind of power.

Damn it. Now I've forgotten what I came here to say.

My options are pretty limited now. You can't just talk about anything once you've written a few paragraphs about sex. I probably should have left church out of it altogether but I'm pretty sure church people have sex too. One week I sat there looking around, picturing all of the peeps in the pews having sex. I had a problem with some of them but I could at least picture most having missionary sex, but I couldn't picture many of those women bucking their bronco's.

I seem to be getting myself deeper into the whole "sex" thing now. I might as well just finish up with sex and end with a pithy sex comment...ya think?

Uuummmmm...what to say...what to say. Oh, I had some of that stuff this past Saturday. That was actually pretty good considering the pain in my hip. I chose to deal with that instead of taking a percocet. The percocet would have made it easier but it also would have made it useless for me and it's been a while since I stopped screwing guys who didn't screw me right back. I mean that in the "orgasm" sense of the word. As I've stated, no guy gets 2 up on me anymore. Well, maybe, but only on a birthday or after delivery of diamonds. But in general, if you leave in an orgasmic debt to me after the first time, you don't get a chance to make it up. These are the rules and I must abide by them.

Loving living live life on the edge, I even climbed back up on my little perch. It seems to make people smile. :)

Now, just to be a bitch, I'm going to tell Hickey Dude something...you know what you did to my neck? Well, I did the exact same thing to his dick. I didn't leave a mark...not that I know of. But, I must say, I did a very, very good job.

Pithy comment:

It's a bitch to have a hard on at your desk when you can't do a damn thing about it.

In my attempt to keep some...

...sense of holiday spirit around for a few more weeks, I thought that I'd bake a ham. So, I baked a ham. And now I have a 15 lb. spiral ham in the fridge. I don't even know why I bothered baking it. They come cooked. Now a few slices curled over and burned. Even the dog wouldn't eat those ham jerky suckers. But...I can finally listen to my play lists at the bottom of this thing.

I thought that I had done everything to install the speakers and when they didn't work, I assumed that I didn't have a sound card on this cheap thing. I was wrong. Some guy came over last night to check out a spare room I'm planning on renting out to someone in exchange for working like a sonofabitch for me. Poor guy has no idea what he's walking into.

Anyway, we were talking about the computer and I told him what I just told you. He sat at this thing for 2 minutes and found that I had done everything right...except when it came to plugging the speakers into the computer. Apparently the "It wouldn't fit if it wasn't supposed to go there." rule doesn't apply to computers.

So, I've been overdosing on music this morning. And not those hit and miss songs that you hear on the TV music channels, but the songs that I like best. Yee-haa.

I keep wanting to go out at night but I always think about it until I'm so tired that I just go to bed. But today, I'm going to start thinking about it early. The biggest hurdle in the nighttime primping routine is the hair so I think I'll get it out of the way early.

Yeah, that's the ticket.

I was serious about watching It's a Wonderful Life...I know you've seen it before, we all have. Maybe you saw it last week and maybe you saw it in 1982. But...somehow you have to watch it this weekend. I guess if you had to, you could make do with Miracle on 34th Street...but it has to be the original. And for today, I'm celebrating the fact that it's Saturday! That's pretty cool. It doesn't mean that I don't have to work...I always have something to work on. But the article I'm working on right now is waiting for quotes from people who have PR people. Apparently even nobodies have "people". I didn't know that until I started doing this kind of writing, the kind dependent on OTHER people's ideas. I could right an article about anything I wanted to if I didn't have a list of sources from the publisher. I may just go after my own.

Oops...I digested again.

So...it's Saturday and my hair is ready for nothing but a pony tail and I'm not in a pony tail mood so I'm going to go do something with it. Have fun and watch the damn movie. I'm going to celebrate Saturday.

Bingo, bango, bongo...

...I'm so happy in the congo I refuse to go.

So. I was trying to think of a way to make the Holiday Spirit last a bit longer. Anyone who's following that month long effort...here's another pleasant little chore for you. This weekend (or whenever you're equivalent to a couple days off is) watch It's a Wonderful Life. Of course, this movie happens to be about Christmas but that's almost incidental. You can change Clarence to the guy in charge of making oil last for 8 days, it doesn't really matter because the story is so universal. So anyway, watch that movie.

If possible, watch it from the floor and with a quasi holiday spread. I don't mean you have to roast chestnuts over an open fire...maybe some crackers and a cheese log would be good. By the way, I have got to say something.

You know when you go to pot-luck holiday get-togethers? Well, someone always seems to bring these hideous little sausage and cheese balls baked in little piles of Bisquick. The Bisquick is always doughy and there's never enough cheese or sausage so you're basically eating little dough balls with the cheese melted out of it and hardened into cheese chip-like stuff. (Personally, I would make them in the shape of a stick so that you could dip the dry blobs into something...anything...that would give them a bit of flavor. But, I'll never have to worry about that because I don't make shitty dough balls as hors dourve.)

The worst part is that these women (or men) always seem to think that those hideous little balls-O-shit are C'est Magnifique! (Kiss the tips of your right thumb, pointy finger and Fuck You finger right here.) The appetizer may be a family favorite but you never know what that family has to compare it to.

I have watched people cook as though they were behind the looking glass. Up was down, down was up...boiling and frying were combined into one act called froiling. I actually watched an old friend of mine make home fried potatoes for breakfast once and instead of boiling them, frying them or frying them after she boiled them, she froiled them. I stared in amazement as she poured a quart of half water and half oil into a skillet full of potatoes. She knew they were done when the water simmered away. She's spent a lot of time working at nursing homes...but not in the kitchen. Maybe she just took the recipes home one night.

I watched an ex husband take leftover mashed potatoes that I had made and mix them in a saucepan with pork and beans. Then, he topped it off with torn up cold hamburgers. All he needed to make that a nursing home treat was the blender. The sad thing about that man was that he actually enjoyed cooking. It's really odd, they almost all do.

Some other interesting food show-downs, the time my high school sweetheart's mother invited me to stay for dinner. I was having a wonderful time...that is until she placed a bowl of boiled tomatoes next to my plate. And I wasn't supposed to take a bit and pass the rest down...it was all for me. It's was just awful. Before that night, I had only eaten tomatoes once they were turned into ketchup or pasta sauce. I was already worrying about spilling something, getting food caught in my teeth or, God forbid...burping out loud. I didn't need the added stress of trying to eat something so hideous before I matured enough to smile, pick up my fork and just pretend that the slop is boiled grasshoppers.

Once my youngest son decided to make me breakfast. I'm not sure why, but for some reason, he was making me eggs. I'm not sure what he added to the egg itself but the finished product looked like a quiche crepe. He didn't even have to turn it over...it was pretty strong on the top already. He pulled it off the bottom of the frying pan and tossed that round quiche crepe on a plate and served it with a spoon and a bottle of ketchup. It was the first food that I was ever afraid of.

The last food that frightened me was another family favorite. Not my family...as my son always said, "You're a good cooker, Mommy!" I learned it all from watching my mother, grandmother and Aunt Jean all cook. Nope, this last mess was a family favorite from my last ex's family. It was called Fat Pizza.

Now, you don't even have a clue what that could be...do ya? Could it be an otherwise normal pizza with fried bacon fat? Maybe even some whale blubber? No sir ma'am. It's literally a FAT pizza. You make some pie crust and roll out a piece big enough to line a 13 X 9 baking ban. Then, you make about a gallon of this sloppy joe type mixture (apparently made with the cheapest ground beef you can find...the kind with bone chips.) You dump the gallon-O-slop into the pie crust lined baking pan, cover it with four squares of American cheese and cook in a 350 degree oven until it's good and hot. I don't even think you could counteract the cholesterol from that meal with a huge salad and fruit for dessert. It would pass through your gut congealed in beef fat.

So, before you go watch the movie this weekend, hand this to whomever is doing the cooking. You could just leave it anonymously on the fridge. But in the meantime, do you guys have any hideous cook stories? Those are fun and I'd like to read some of yours!

Mark

Lie to Dee if you want to but keep me out of it. Don't worry, I understand. Call when you can talk so we can figure a way out of this mess, dude!

deeandmark
Country
United States
Region
Illinois
City
Oak Lawn
ISP
At&t Internet Services
Returning Visits
102

And that's just since I got back from the hospital.

Good morning!

First of all, my dog is driving me nuts. Ever since I got back from the hospital, he has been needier than any two premenstrual women whom I have ever met. He is next to me constantly. He’s always liked me but this is insane. I don’t know how to deal with it and nothing I do will stop it. He is constantly knocking my arms with his head and putting it in my lap or trying to climb into a chair next to me. That would be OK if he were a poodle but he weighs more than I do and the recliner is a one seater. I can’t believe that HE doesn’t get sick of this. It’s literally every waking moment of the day. He starts the day by climbing off the bed and sitting on the floor on my side of the bed, quietly whining until I wake up and whine back at him. Then, he annoys the hell out of me until bedtime when I climb into bed and he jumps up on the bed and lays over my legs in an apparent effort to keep me pinned. I’ve NEVER had this problem before and I don’t know what to do, any ideas? I don’t want to put him in the crate if I can avoid it but he’s gonna trip me one day and I won’t be able to talk my way out of the hospital next time. It’s literally a safety hazard.

OK, I also have another problem which is much nicer to contemplate. It’s a problem that I’ve had for my entire dating life…men younger than I am are about the only nibbles I seem to get. There’s occasionally a guy my own age, and once in a while there’s even a old, old dude. But for the most part, all of the guys who ask me out are at the very least, 10 years my junior. I don’t advertise my age, so they have no clue how old I am and it wouldn’t be a problem except for one thing…if a 37 year old wanted to, they could easily get a chick in her 20’s. I do NOT feel like dealing with that in the least. I know I won’t ever marry one of these guys, but if I don’t go out with them, I don’t go out.

A mid 30’s guy (the age that I seem to attract the most) wants to take me a comedy club this weekend. I’d love to go out to a comedy club and I don’t even know who’s appearing yet. I’m sure that we would have a great time and ordinarily I would leave it at that but this is getting ridiculous. The last guy I dated who was even NEAR my age was the Confusing Dude and I’ve known him for years. Even my fuckbuddy is in his 30’s but that’s OK, who would want an old fuckbuddy? That would be like hiring Nancy Grace to poll dance. It’d just be stupid. But in the meantime, I have to deal with all of these youngsters. It isn’t too bad until I put it in perspective. My son is 31 and these guys aren’t much older than he is at all. I could have been their mother if I had been a 12 year old slut…but when I was 12 I was still playing with Barbie Dolls.

It’s not like I go hang out at 30 Something Dudes-R-Us…I don’t. They come at me from every direction. I can’t seem to avoid them. Of course I’ve never really tried, as I said, they come at me from everywhere so I wouldn’t even know how to avoid them. And seriously, I don’t want to. I suppose the only solution to that problem is to say “Cheers!” and be on my merry way to that comedy club but every time another guy that age asks me out I just wonder again.

I immediately think that there’s no future in this and I’m a chick. We think about future’s and stuff like that early on. And then I ask myself, “Do I really want to ride that particular horse if I know it’ll break stride somewhere before it crosses the finish line?” Then I usually think, “Oh, what the hell, it’ll be fun.” So off I go on another one of my escapades. If nothing else, they could be good for a post or two.

That, of course, is another problem…even if a relationship DOES begin, sooner or later this blog will pop up in conversation and then the guys can go back and read everything that I said about them. That’s never good, no matter what I’ve said. I don’t keep this thing specifically to keep the men away, but it does work really well. If you wanted to get rid of a guy, copy January of 2005 from the archives and paste it into a blog of your own and tell him that’s what you did when your hubby cheated on you. That’ll get him to run swiftly away. You have my permission to do that.

OK…OK…OK. I just called an audible. Beware of quiet guys. Sometimes they’re mysterious but more often than not they’re complete morons. This is one date that will never come to fruition because that guy just called me and he is one stupid mother fucker. I knew that he lived in Macon because I remember that from when I met him. I noticed the thick southern drawl at that time but one of those could actually be endearing. That is if you aren’t out with Jethro Bodine.

I learned a long time ago that good ol‘ boys were just that, good ‘ol boys. I enjoy them. But they aren’t all idiots. Andthey all had vehicles…they may have been big up trucks with a confederate flag on them, but they always seemed to work. Good ‘ol boys work on their own rides.

Shortly after I realized that I had made a hideous error in judgement, and halfway through a conversation that was going nowhere (and he didn’t seem to mind which concerned me in itself), I tried to hurry things up.

ME: So, you wanted to go out this weekend?
HE: Yeah, I just need to figure out how to come and get you.
ME: Well, what are your options?
HE: Huh?
ME: Do you have a car?
HE: Nope. I have a scooter.
ME: That wouldn’t be good to ride all the way to Macon on…would it?
HE: Naw…it wouldn’t.

That’s about when I finessed my way off of the phone and laughed and laughed and laughed. I laughed so hard I had tears in my eyes. I laughed all of my mascara off. I pictured the headline, “50 year old woman injured in scooter accident on Interstate 75 between Atlanta and Macon while on date with much younger man.” Yeah, at my age it’s best to avoid doing things that you wouldn’t want to drop dead doing. I last felt like that on Christmas Eve when I was in that Alabama Casino. That’s not so long ago so I best not take any chances again this soon.

OK…so enough of that. I had this post planned out just perfectly but that phone call knocked me off track. I planned a segue into the story about a doctor who’s tramp of a wife screwed her physical therapist AFTER he gave her a kidney. Now he wants it back. He’ll take 1.5 million for it if she wants to keep it. I believe he could just go get it himself if he wanted to, after all, he is a surgeon. I think that’s the one thing that would be worse than what my shady ex did. I have to say, my hat is off to Dr. Richard Batista. He is one victim extrordinaire.

Dawnell Batista, Long Island’s most short sighted and selfish wife, like other evil, evil women, is doing her best to simply avoid the situation which means she won’t even let him see his kids according to Dr. Batista who also says, “I saved her life and then to be betrayed like this is unfathomable. It’s incomprehensible.”
Yep. It’s all that and a bag of chips, dude.

Just remember that donor kidneys don’t last very long so maybe you can have it back when she croaks. Rest assured that a man who would screw a married woman will definitely not stick around for 3 dialysis treatments a week. I have no idea when karma will grant me the retribution that I seek, I just know that it will. You know that you’re yucks will most likely come in YOUR lifetime. Heck, you may end up raising your kids before it’s all said and done. Imagine what that knowledge is doing to her? I’d say you should sit back and let her implode upon herself. That type always does.

Well, now I’m all a dither after my close encounter with an indigenous Georgian. I must be going now so that I can laugh some more.

Ciao.

OK, I had to come back and tell you that the Indigenous Georgian has already called me back after a half an hour. I don’t know what the hell he wanted but apparently he’ll call me back at 12 and when he gets home from work. I had a bad feeling when the phone rang, but I thought it was just a bill collector. If I had known how bad it would be, I never would have answered that damn phone. I have to get a phone with Caller ID…SOON.