Emails that can be ignored

Those that begin, "Hi! I'm a 23 year old male..."

Those that end, "Hit me back!"

Those from Nigeria.

Those with lETTErS LIKE tHiS in the subject line or return email addy.

Those containing a request for "more pics".

Those with the words boobs, tits or erotic in the subject line.

Everyone seems to...

...have a cell phone today except, of course, me. I didn't know that everyone was quietly grabbing cell phones up as I was minding my own business and trying to teach myself how to operate a VCR. After all, so far, most people don't have things hanging off of their faces to let you know that they just obtained a cell phone. And, a card carrying cell phone addict looks pretty much human at first glance so it took a while for me to notice that I was entering the twilight zone. I was about to become the last living person without a cell phone.

It's sort of scary but you can learn to live with being the last human without 24/7 cellular contact. There are others of my kind but they are currently living out their lives in nursing homes, a long, long way from the world that we are now living in. My compatriots are all still living in the 20th century. A few of them are aware of the moon landing, but none of them have ever heard of a video, much less a cell phone.

As one of the few remaining cell-less human being's, I feel that I should say something before I lose the ability to type/think coherently/or discern between nice and poor manners. You know, I realize that many of you learned to speak on the phone when you were short and at home. That could mean many different things to many different people. If you grew up in a stoic, Irish house like mine, you knew what it meant to "SHUT THE HELL UP!" But in my ex's family of Chicago Italians, that sentence has never been spoken. Those people were so loud and obnoxious that my milk dried up when I visited them with my new daughter.

I believe that I overheard a Chicago Italian last week on a Marta Bus in Atlanta. The bus was about two thirds full but all you could hear was one lone male speaking on a cell phone. My stern look at him muffled his annoying self but before that glare, I had to listen as he droned on to his friend about things that easily could have been discussed after he finished his trek home. None of that conversation was the type of info that was life saving or even time saving.

Just so that you guys know, there was a time when it would have been considered extremely rude to sit near a person and speak out loud to another person, leaving the original person out of the conversation. Apparently, just using a telephone alleviates the manners required of a person. My right to a peaceful bus ride has just been superseded by the right of another to speak on the phone wherever his ass may be. How did that happen?

You should also know that there was a time when life and reality was what you could see and touch. It wasn't sent to us in the form of microwaves so we had to interface with actual faces. It was a long time ago, but I do remember it. There were time schedules and other's needs that had to be addressed. If you wanted to watch The Brady Bunch, you had to sit down in your living room at 7 PM on Friday night. If you missed it, you had to wait another week to see Marcia and Greg and you had to wait about 6 months before you could see the episode you missed. There was always something to look forward to and since you didn't have that many options at one given time, you generally had a bit more time and energy with which to consider social obligations.

Today the options are overwhelming. With a small hand held appliance we are closer to the rest of the world than we've ever been but somehow our daily interactions with other humans are cut down quite a bit. And to whom do we owe our social graces...the people who are actually around us or the people to whom we are connected by electrical device?

I guess it really doesn't matter what the people around us think, most of them don't know our names and won't ever see us again. That's what makes it possible for people to go grocery shopping in their pajamas. No wonder they want to hide behind a cell phone. But you know what? We can still see them, can't we?

How interesting that the very thing that is supposed to keep us closer nowadays...the cell phone, can be just as efficient at cutting people out of our lives. Cell phones have Caller ID and the people whom we would rather avoid are relegated to the voice mail box, never to be spoken to again. How does one break through the cell phone/blood-brain barrier if the owner of the number doesn't want to let you in? If you were to call a number a few times and get no answer, would it be considered stalking to follow up with a knock on the door? Concerns like that will stop most people from trying at all.

How odd that I have changed nothing and yet the people with whom I speak have all changed the manner in which they speak to me. The tell me that they weren't able to leave a message and then I feel as though I need to justify my lack of newfangled gadgets. As it is, I must explain that my number is a land line and therefore I can't be reached at all times. If that doesn't make a person feel hesitant by itself, the lack of ability to leave me a message is terribly disconcerting.

Unlike the microwave oven that sits on my kitchen counter, I shall not give in to the constant societal pressure to reach out and touch every single person or their voice mail. My father once complained that I had no answering machine. I explained that I didn't want one. Then, after he bought me an answering machine so that HE could leave messages for me, he complained that he didn't like my pre-recorded greeting. Assured that I could not please anyone and was going to waste no further time trying to do so, I took down my offensive greeting and unplugged my answering machine. If you want to call me, you have to call when I'm at home, otherwise you won't be able to speak to me. But, my vow to you is that I will never leave you to speak to a machine. If you call enough, eventually you will get the REAL ME to answer and then we can actually have a laugh or two. The worst thing you can expect from me is no answer at all. But that just means that I'm walking through the grocery store and minding my own business...unless there is someone next to me who is speaking so loudly that I have become a part of their business for a moment...and that I'll answer the phone when I get home so you can just do what your grandmother did, call me back.

From somewhere out there in the Twilight Zone.



Just for the heck of it, I'm posting a typical email scam here so that anyone who hasn't seen one will know what they look like. I'd be surprised if anyone was so naive as to fall for this stuff but I've been surprised often. Since this guy seemed more afraid of exposure than anyone else, I thought that I would adopt that old adage about what sunlight does to scum:

Hello Meg Broderick

How are you? I located you through an agency that helps seek people by their email. Thank you for your response to my mail.Please read carefully as I am going to explain in details why I mailed you.I am sure you are not actually related to this person because I have since carried out a search on his actual extended family ties,which have been to no avail and hence my contacting you.

I had to contact you to solicit your assistance in accessing funds belonging to my late client. I want you to consider the details so you could understand the reasons I need your co-operation.I am giving you my word that all information passed down to me will be kept CONFIDENTIAL.

My mail to you is a matter of last resort because of the circumstances surrounding this claim.My client,Robert Mark Broderick was an oil merchant and he had oil dealings around Europe and Africa. He died in 2000 at 54 along side his wife, Maria, 46, and their only daughter, Katharine, 11.

He lived most of his years here in the U.K,though he travelled often.I served as his private attorney for the last eleven years preceding his death, just after the birth of Katharine.Robert migrated into England a long time ago as an orphan.After the death of my late client,I was informed by the finance company to search for members of his extended family to put up a claim or who could be so represented as managers or trustees for his deposited funds with them which stands due to the fact that he died with his immediate family members.

After preliminary efforts of search that came to no avail,I was given an ultimatum to look for some one to come for the claim or have the funds liquidated and made unserviceable in accordance with existing laws,since it would be assumed that no member of his family was alive.

However,it might interest you to know that after a thorough investigation in the finance company,I found out that some staff of the company are currently planning to divert this fund in their selfish interest and only want to use the excuse that since I am not able to locate any member of his family to make the claim,the money should be made unserviceable and that means reverting the fund to the Government while the company retains a percentage of it.
After unraveling their plans and professional consideration on my part,I decided to look for some one credible,with the same last name with my late client, to apply for this claim,since I have at my possession,legal documents relating to the claims and which can only be provided by my chambers since they have since been with us.

I feel and know that you will be able to make this claim SUCCESSFULLY because of your last name which is the same as that of my late client's.Also I would not want the company to be aware that I contacted you first in order to prevent them from going into much investigations on who you actually are.This can put the success of this transaction on the line.
This is a deal I am offering you and I want you to be rest assured that this is legal with no risk involved, since all the legal documents that give you the right to make the claim is available,though I cannot release them for your perusal now for security reasons until I have attained your confidence.I am taking my time to explain all these to you now because I want you to see the reasons why my name should never be mentioned any time you are discussing with the personnel of the company and why this transaction has to be kept really confidential in order for us to be able to achieve our goals without doubts.

NOTE that if they request to know how you came to know that your family member (Robert) had such an amount of funds with them and who contacted you,which I am not sure they will ask, but in order to be on the safer side,be confident to tell them that the extended family discovered some documents in his archives showing that Robert lodged such funds with them and that is why you have been sent by the family to contact the bank.Further deliberations will be held on this as we proceed.

I do not want to jeopardize the success of this transaction which means so much to me at the moment.So you have to give me your word and assurance that you can go ahead with this and also acknowledge that we have to keep it discreet.

Please note that the mode of sharing upon completion of the transaction and release of the funds will be 50% for me,40% for you and 10% for expenses that might be incurred during the course of the transaction.
If you have gone through this mail and you feel it is well understood,get back to me so that we can start planning the process of accessing and securing the release of the funds.Thank you.
Paul Stanton ESQ
Phone:+447024053546

Crap I thought about today...

...stupid people really need to get up earlier.

After watching an episode of Cheaters with two midgets and one midgess, I've come to the conclusion that you can't trust anyone...not even a midget. That is SO sad.

I would have enjoyed watching as a Man Pretending to Fall Off Bridge Actually Falls. Especially since he was half sauced when he did it. I hope that serves as a lesson to the young man wannabe...plunging off of a bridge into a river can be hazardous to your health. I would have loved to have seen the look on his face when he realized that he WAS going into the drink.

Who the hell is Perez Hilton and why is he judging a beauty contest anyway? You don't see Ellen reading People's Top Ten Sexiest Men. Who's taking care of the ugly contests...Tom Cruise? I don't have any cash for a bounty on the fool's ass but maybe we could work something out privately. There...I've said it. Now, go forth and mock Perez and laugh at him. After you've done that, come back here and let me know. I'll make you glad you heckled that angry little gremlin.

I just finished a job acting...for a reality show. Seriously...with my luck this will be the one thing I do that gets me exposure and it's me ACTING...in a reality show! Apparently that means that I can't tell you what I just did. Oh well. I hope you never find out.

I'm really, really disappointed and annoyed at those cheating midgets.

Little Boy Fauntleroy and the Lollipop

What the hell are these two yahoos supposed to be in this picture? Is Pitt taking on a new role as Errol Flynn? Is MaMa taking on a new role as a lollipop? Tell me something...if your head is already so disproportionately larger than your body, would you make it worse by wearing big hair on that big head? I wouldn't advise it. I don't know what sort of circus mirror she had to use that made her think this was a good way to leave the house but I'd like one for my grandkids.

And then we have the dashing Mr. Pitt in his silk scarf. I pray that it wasn't his idea to put that thing on. I sort of suspect MaMa had something to do with the ostentatious little accessory and I hope that Brad got, at the very least, a nice blow job for wearing it. That's about the only reason that a real man would go out in public with a scarf that must be tended to all night lest it fall out of it's perfect placement. Most men just want to get your clothes OFF, they don't want to have to worry about keeping their own clothes ON. Yep, only a man assured of sex would go out of the house in that gay scarf. Of course, someone like Perez Hilton could do it too, he has so little hope of attracting a man, woman or something in between that it really doesn't matter. That's some serious "freedom's just another word for nothing left to loose" attitude he carries with him.

If Perez DID attract someone (potentially using tequila sunrises to ply his date) to his home, how would he explain the mess? Have you SEEN his place? Most people, especially chicks and gay guys, get a little grossed out at fast food trash with hardened pieces of old hamburgers lying around. Only some nut with a trash fetish would enjoy sitting down where Hilton calls Dump Sweet Dump.

Anyway, enough about despicable gay men who hold no respect for women and back to despicable hetero men who hold no respect for women.

I don't really think there's any way for a man to look good with that scarf on but I know for damn sure that Pitt's addition of the moustache du jour from 1934 only made the entire look a tad more humorous. To add to the comic delight, take a look at the way he swankers in with one hand in his pocket (???) and the other around his lollipop. The look on his face assures us all that the hair out of place on his forehead was put there on purpose and while using a good dollop of styling gel.

Brad's pretentious ensemble only serves to highlight the numerous tattoos on the body of his date prompting the question, "How much did he pay for the tattoo lady with the lollipop body?" Do you have to pay freak prices or is it all just one big carnival affair for everyone in Hollywood these days?

Ahhhhh...

...I love teaching my grandkids the things that I enjoyed as a kid. I'm currently teaching my grandson a song that I sang as a youngster and he loves it. I thought he might, it does seem to be a boy's song.

All I remembered of the song was the line "great big gobs of greasy grimy gopher guts" but thanks to the wonderful Internet, I found the rest of the song. If you have little boys in your life, sing it for them, they love it:

Great green globs of greasy grimy gopher guts
Mutilated monkey meat
Petrefied porpose puss
great green globs of greasy grimy gopher guts
and me without a spoon
----

Scab sandwich puss on top
Monkey vomit, camel snot
Parrot eyeballs dipped in glue
Scab sandwich just for you!
----

(I remember the first part as basically the same)
then ....All wrapped up in all-purpose porpoise pus
and me without my spoon
- but I got my straw (followed loud slurpy noise)
----

great green gobs of greasy grimey gopher guts,
itty bitty birdie feet,
big fat monkey meat,
luke warm pidgeon puke,
and I forgot my spoon.
------

Great green gobs of greasy grimy gopher guts
Walkin' down the dirty street
Mutilated monkey meat
Great green gobs of greasy grimy gopher guts
And I forgot my spoon!
------

Great big gobs of greasy, grimey gopher guts,
Mutilated monkey meat,
Toasted little birdie's feet,
French fried eyeballs swimming in a pool of blood --
And I forgot my spoon! :(
---

Great green globs of greasy, grimy gopher guts
Chopped-up monkeys' feet
Assasinated birdy's beak
French-fried eyeballs smoked in a bloody pot
That's what [insert taunted person's name here] is made of.
-----

Great big gobs of greasy grimey golpher guts
Hairy little piggies' feet
Mutilated monkey's meat
All cobbed off with ventilated vulture's vomit
And I forgot my spoon
I for got my spoon
I forgot my spoon
Great big gobs of Greasy grimey golpher guts
and I forgot my spoon
---

Great green gobs of greasy, grimy, gopher guts
Mutilated monkey meat
Little dirty birdie feet
French fried eyeballs rolling in a bowl of blood
I forgot my spoon
-But I've got my straw
-----

OK..Here's what I did. I took words from your original post, the 3 other
people that responded, and my own recollection, tried to keep the lyrics
so that they would all fit into the same "tune" that I remember. I'm sure
that this result wasn't an actual song because it's a compilation, but,
here goes! John

Great green globs of greasy grimy gopher guts
Mutilated monkey meat
Petrefied porpose puss
Great green globs of greasy grimy gopher guts
And me without a spoon

Great green globs of greasy grimy gopher guts
Scab sandwich puss on top
Monkey vomit, camel snot
Great green globs of greasy grimy gopher guts
And me without a spoon

Great green globs of greasy grimy gopher guts
Parrot eyeballs dipped in glue
Scab sandwich just for you
Great green globs of greasy grimy gopher guts
And me without a spoon

Great big gobs of greasy grimey gopher guts
Mutilated monkey meat
Toasted little birdie's feet
French fried eyeballs swimming in a pool of blood
And I forgot my spoon

Great big gobs of greasy grimey golpher guts
Hairy little piggies' feet
Mutilated monkey's meat
All cobbed off with ventilated vulture's puke
And I forgot my spoon

Yep, kids are great, aren't they? I'm so proud to hear that little boy singing this song with a smile on his face. I put that smile there!

:)

To quote Professor Henry Higgins...

...."Damn, damn, damn, damn!" I've just spent the better part of my morning trying to fix something that doesn't seem to be broken, but it still won't work. All I did was unplug all of the thing hooked up to the computer and then I plugged them all back in after moving the entire mess. When I finished my little cleaning binge, I sat down at my desk and tried to watch something but I had no sound.

Now, I still have no sound and I don't know what the hell to do about it. I've gone everywhere that I can think of on this thing, installed drivers and updated software but still, no sound. I've done every single thing there is to do, (except for one thing obviously) and nothing seems to be amiss. Every diagnostic thing that I run says all is well but still, no sound. I'm sitting in an awful position that will make my knee hurt in addition to inflaming my hideous sciatica but I have to stay here until I get this dumb thing working. I've been at it for hours and hours...and still, no sound.

A year or so ago, I wouldn't have cared too much. No sound wouldn't have been a huge issue. But ever since I foolishly switched from Comcast to Direct TV, I've pretty much stopped watching television. I used to watch a LOT of TV but now I'm almost totally off of the television habit. I prety much only use it to watch DVD's and Tivo'ed episodes of Family Guy and South Park. But you can watch them both on the computer. Actually, you can watch just about anything on a computer, even TV. I get most of my news, old sit coms and sporting events online and that's the way I like it.

The last phase of my addiction was the phase during which I didn't actually WATCH the TV, I just had it on for background noise. That was a tough point in my recovery but I managed to get past it. I appreciate the silence now like a good old lady.

Tv wasn't too easy but I started by giving up my kitchen radio first. Those stupid disc jockeys talk too much and there are far too many commercials on the radio so I just play a playlist of my favorite songs of all time. Perfect.

If it weren't for my kids, I'd get rid of my phone too. I don't mind emails as much as I do phone calls. I get to them when I want to and they don't sit there ringing until I do. And, on a regular basis, I chat live with an old friend in Chicago. I can see him and hear him, it's pretty cool. It reminds me of an exhibit at Chicago's Museum of Science and Industry. When I was a little girl, school kids waited in line to sit in one of two glass walled rooms and watch a complete stranger who was sitting in the other glass walled room on a monitor and talk to them on the phone. It absolutely fascinated me. Anyway...the museum was right, the ability to see the people to whom you're speaking long distance has come and it's really no big deal anymore. I wonder what fascinates kids today that seems like science fiction but is, in reality, science future?

So, the TV, the radio and the telephone are all just a waste of money because I can replace each of them with a computer. Of course, one of the things that I need to actually do this is SOUND!!!

Who's dick do you have to suck to get a computer fixed?

Stupid, one way or another!

Isn't it sweet that people all over the country are lessening the blow of certain words? It seems as though the young man who hijacked a parked plane in Montego Bay is being described as "mentally challenged" instead of "crazy as a loon". How sweet.

Personally, I see a few other "challenges" that the dude is facing. Consider the fact that he "robbed several travelers before setting them free, but continued to hold the crew." Now, unless he robbed them of some nicely cooked steak, he couldn't really think that he would be able to use any of his ill-gotten gain. If he had asked me for my stuff, I would have said, "No. The cops are just gonna give it back to me after they shoot you and I don't want it all to have blood on it."

Also, his entire plan was stupid from the get go. He "barged through security...and forced his way onto the plane". First of all, how the hell did that happen? How did some 19 year old kid armed with a gun basically cut in front of EVERYONE, including the security people and actually make it on the plane? Apparently, he is not in the least "physically challenged".

A bunch of doors could have been shut while he was making it through the check point. Shutting any one of the doors would have been a major impediment. Nobody is going to open one of those, no matter how hard the "nut...(I'm sorry, the mentally challenged dude) is pounding on the door of an airplane.

Once again, I would have handled it differently...I would have tripped his ass. That would have been effective AND funny. I can't believe that not one person he ran by thought to just trip the fool...I'm sorry, the "mentally challenged" dude. Oh, and I guess I would have had to shut the damn airplane door. (If young people aren't thinking of tripping mentally challenged armed running guys, it's a sign of a complete lack of The Three Stooges in the lives of these "do-nothings".)

Next we have the fact that he actually hijacked a parked airplane. You'd have to be seriously intellectually challenged to think THAT would work. But, I guess if your plan began with running through security, taking control of an airplane that isn't going anywhere is standard operating procedure. Again, I would have handled it differently and would have asked the cops to bring me a petite fillet Mignon before I let ANYONE go. If all else fails, I'll still have a nice steak before I go to jail. I understand they don't have steak in prison...EVER. Hijacking could get a person a life sentence and that's a long time to go without steak.

Apparently the young man convinced the police that he was strategically challenged enough so that they could basically board the plane and say, "You're under arrest."

Another sign of the man's dreadful maturity challenge, he did this because he was "upset over a failed relationship". If I'm going to be on the news over a "failed relationship", there will be a big bottle of anti-freeze and a large insurance payment in the story.

Oh, and a sign of his “good luck challenged” status, he also chose to hijack the plane to Cuba. That, right as Fidel and his brother are kissing up to Obama, this guy wants to go visit America’s new friends, the Cubans. I could see them saying, “Here, you take the fool” just to get in the President’s good graces. Pity he didn’t read the news lately, he’d know that before long Americans will be able to do something the rest of the world does all the time, travel to Cuba for a vacation. Apparently, he suffers from a severe educational challenge not to mention how challenged he is when it comes to current events.

Did you ever...

...notice how after you learn a new word, you seem to hear it all the time? Well, ever since I heard the word succubus on South Park, I've been hearing it constantly. I don't know how I missed that one. When I heard it on South Park, I thought it was a word that the boys made up. But now I know, there is, indeed, something called a succubus and it is pretty much what the boys said it was...a female demon who comes to a man while he is sleeping.

Oh, and ladies, don't feel too badly, we have our own demon, the dreaded incubus which comes to us whilst we are sleeping.

You know, that sort of makes me wonder...who visits gay people? Would an incubus visit a women whether she's a lesbian or, like me...strictly dickly? And I have no clue how a gay dude would respond to a succubus. That's a tough one to read, especially since I've never been gay or a dude.

I guess these creatures are responsible for those sex dreams where you wake up just before you cum. Like dying, you can't cum in your sleep. Only a demon could be responsible for that behavior.

You know, I believe that some incubi can take human form. That would explain my ex-husband. Yep, he was one evil demon, he was. And he didn't smell good...another sign of a demon.

I wonder if incubi and succubi ever trade places? If so, that would also explain my first ex's wife. She insane evil and clearly a demon if ever there was one.

Well, I'm off to see if I can find an incubus...then I'll get a real man to finish the job.

:)

You know...

...the weather in Georgia sucks. I know that it could be worse but there's something dreadfully wrong here. Ordinarily, you'll get a few days in the 80's as early as February and by March, you could easily hit 90. This year, cold, damp and overcast weather has taken over. Luckily, I did get my lawn taken care of.

Over the weekend I was looking at the yard and wondering how I was going to deal with that mess when it occurred to me that I needed to use my most appreciated tact...blatant honesty. Yep, I advertised online for a "Bored man with a lawnmower and some free time." Here's exactly the deal I was willing to make:

"I'm bored and alone today so I decided to mow my lawn but the lawnmower won't work. I need a bored dude with a lawnmower who wouldn't mind mowing my lawn in exchange for dinner and a movie this afternoon!"

Well, it worked. I received hundreds of responses, my inbox was full of pages like this:

Of course, not all of the men fit the bill but they all had an alternate "plan". They could come over and fix my lawnmower. A lot of very rude men wanted to change my part of the deal. They didn't need dinner and a movie...but they had a back-up plan of the oral nature. A lot of guys couldn't get away right then (It was Easter Sunday.) but they were available any other time. Of course, there were those who would have loved to help me had I not chosen the day of the Master's here in Georgia.

Most of the guys responded very pleasantly and gentlemanly. Here is the winning email:

"You are the cutest thing! I live in Dallas Ga. so I am not too far, I need to get mine done first today and would help if no one else steps up, but I would rather mow the lawn and let me take you on a date, dinner movie whatever your ad is so darn cute I bet you are a great woman to date! Do you like karaoke?

John

I love your smile.

How nice...he has to do his OWN yard first so I figured that he would be all funky anyway. That automatically lowers the standards that I have to live up to. Actually, I did put effort into primping for that guy and it paid off. We never did karaoke...we sipped margaritas and talked for hours.

My father wouldn't be happy about this...only because the guy's last name ends in a vowel and my father doesn't think that we should mix ending letters. He's old enough to get away with that old people, folksy racism that he learn decades ago.

Now, I HAVE had some vowel ending dudes and to a man, each of them has been a disaster. I should have heeded by father's warning. But this time, I think it's OK...his last name ends in a vowel but he's half Irish too and luckily, his brains seem to come from his Irish ancestors.

Oh, he doesn't break any of MY rules...that's cool.

I feel like Sally Fields accepting an Oscar, "He likes me! He really, really likes me!"

I don't want to jinx anything...but...

Look at the email I just received:

"Hi sweetheart! I tried to call but I guess you're still in bed getting on plane give me a call"

It's amazing how happy something so simple can make a lady. My cheeks hurt from smiling.

A funny thing happened on the way to the protest

Like most sane people, I think that the government is losing a few marbles with the astonishing spending spree they’ve recently embarked upon. As one of the “saners”…my interest was piqued when I heard that one of the Tax Tea Parties would be occurring here in Atlanta. Curious as to the details, I found a web site dedicated to the local event and began to read about all of the particulars.

Now, correct me if I’m wrong but these “parties” are being held in order to let the government know that we are sick of funding every pregnant pig study that some nit wit in a lab thinks up, right? We no longer want to see millions of dollars going to political committees. Committees are pretty much doomed to fail, you will NEVER get a group of political types to agree to anything. Just look at those nimrods in New York City. It’s been eight years and there’s still a gaping hole in the Big Apple where the World Trade Centers once stood. And exactly what does a committee need millions of dollars for anyway? Post-it notes? Citizens are sick of watching their own 401K plans shrink by more than half while paying taxes that fund the healthy retirement funds of the fools who caused this mess in the first place. Americans feel duped, mislead and downright hornswoggled. Hence…the Tea Parties.

That was the thinking that led me to the event’s web site in pursuit of the logistical information. I hadn’t been on the site for more than 2 minutes and 23 seconds when I felt the first pang of being suckered.

Someone, it doesn’t tell you who, is asking for cash “for the Tea Party”. The person who said only that “I am collecting money” doesn’t say for what their anonymous self is collecting the money. How much does it cost to let people stand next to each other in unity? I doubt they’re serving cheese danish and a fine Earl Grey.

Then, as I read further, I saw that another anonymous entity is collecting money to build a stage, obtain large television screens and other various electrical things that I don’t understand. Apparently, “Since Sean Hannity has announced and promoted the Atlanta Tea Party so much, our needs have grown.” Well, I love Sean and call me kookie, but perhaps he shouldn’t come if they can’t afford to accommodate him. After all, it sort of reflects on the main issue…DON’T SPEND MONEY YOU CAN’T AFFORD! If all they need is an angry person to bitch about the government, I could do that and I don’t need $25,000 worth of equipment to do so.

As I read on, I saw how the local hotels are doing the American thing. They’re blocking off floors to be made available to the party-goers at “group rates”. In itself, that doesn’t seem bad at all. But add it to the list of people trying to get cash from people complaining that their cash is being taken from them and somehow, it appears unseemly.

By the time I read the following, I was already getting annoyed at the Tea Party people so perhaps I’m a bit sensitive right now but wouldn’t you think that people going to a protest should have a working knowledge of the issues being protested? So help me understand this request for people to carry signs: “Wondering what to put on the signs? Click here to find out.” How stupid would someone have to be not to be able to at least come up with a 3 to 12 word shibboleth to place on a sign? If you’re really stumped, just paint “Hell no!” on your sign. It’s a safe bet that it’ll work, no matter what you’re protesting.

Now I’m all deflated over the Tea Party thing and that’s sad. I was so looking forward to sending a message to the government in a manner befitting a proud, non-hypocritical American citizen.

Happy Easter to SOMEBODY!

Today is a holiday…one of the biggies…and you wouldn’t know it from visiting my house. I have no plans, no one to plan anything with and I’m down to my last 5 eggs. I won’t be dieing them because I don’t want to eat 5 hard boiled eggs all by myself.

My kids aren’t here and my siblings are spread out all over the country so I could sit here and feel sorry for myself but I won’t. This Easter may be boring but it couldn’t possibly compare to the disappointment that I suffered on Easter morning of 1966.

The day started out well, I was the only one awake when the sun began to peek over Lake Michigan AND I was the oldest (by implication the smartest) and I was ready to find every egg the Easter Bunny had hidden before the brats even had a chance to find one.

As soon as I woke up, I noticed that something was amiss. There was no basket at the foot of my bed as there had been in years past. I didn’t mind too much, I figured that it had to be somewhere. So, I jumped stealthily out of bed and wandered through the hallway to the bathroom, keeping a watchful eye out for any eggs that might have been hidden in the crocheted toilet paper roll holder that sat on the back of the toilet. It didn’t surprise me that I found none, the Easter Bunny usually confined his egg-hiding tactics to the other side of the house.

As I walked into the living room, I noticed very little evidence of any bunny activity. The light wasn’t good yet because it was rather early, but all I found was my mother sleeping on the couch.

Appalled, I tapped my mother on the shoulder and said, “Mom, the Easter Bunny didn’t come!”

For a moment, mother seemed as shocked as was I. She opened her eyes and looked out the sliding glass doors. I don’t know what I thought she could do about the situation but I didn’t know where to register Easter Bunny complaints and when I was that short, Mommy’s were in charge of pretty much everything so I was sure that my own mother would find the Easter Bunny, wherever he was, and demand that he come to our house immediately.

I was about to be severely disappointed.

Mother shouted, “Shit!” Then she jumped up and said, “Help me hide the eggs…QUICK!”

Can you imagine how my little mind processed that unexpected turn of events? I had to come to terms with the fact that there was, in fact, no Easter Bunny. Not only that, but I had to hide the eggs myself while Mother tended to the Easter Baskets. That was a very vexing day for me and Easter has never been the same since.

Oddly enough, months later my father made that Easter even worse by blaming me for the egg that no one found. It had been stinking up the house for days and as a child, I never made the connection. It was only after an exhaustive sniffing out of the house by a family of 8 that the source of the foul odor was found. I had stuck it in a planter that hung on the wall. In the 60’s they used a lot of fake plants so it’s not like anyone watered it or tended to it. So, that egg just waited to be found through the spring and well into the summer of 1966.

How was that MY fault? It was my fault because I should have “known better than to hide an egg so high off the ground”. After all, how could my 3 year old brother Wayne find an egg that was 3 feet above his head? You know, that kid found a way to run out of the house naked on a regular basis so who would have thought that he wouldn’t be able to find an Easter Egg in a planter 5 feet off the floor?

There are 2 kinds of people in this world…those who hide the eggs and those who find them. I’ve been hiding eggs ever since 1966 and I’m ready to find one…just one. Is that too much to ask? One damn Easter Egg? I don’t even care that I don’t have a ham, an Easter Basket or a bonnet…but the fact that I could look all day and not find one colored egg makes me want to take my 5 eggs and scramble the dickens out of them.

Rejection doesn't have to be a totally negative experience!

I’ve been rejected by men in a few different ways. After all, I’ve done my share of rejecting as well and there are only so many ways to go about doing it. Personally, I prefer the upfront method…a warm hand shake, a “Have a nice life!” and away I go.

Of course, if I’m rejecting you because you’ve frightened me, I’ll have you take me to my pool team’s home bar under the guise of shooting a game of pool or having a margarita. In the evening, there is always SOMEONE who I know well enough to ask for a ride home. I wait for your scary ass to go to the can and then my buddy and I escape before you pull out the lizard. And no, I don’t feel guilty. It’s the one way to assure that no one gets hurt…especially me.

Unless a guy won’t get the hint, I generally don’t reject them by phone and I’m sure I’ve never rejected anyone by email. I may have OFFENDED them by email to the point where they didn’t think a response necessary…but I never sent an outright “Dear John” email. If I were to do so, knowing me, I would find the truth as easy as any silly line of BS…especially if all I have to face is a monitor full of my own words. It’s cowardly enough to lie. It takes a special kind of coward to lie by email. That takes a serious Scaramouch… … and guess what, I found one!

Once again, as usual, I don’t really mind. I’m not a stalker and it takes a helluva lot more than one date for me to really give a shit so it’s all good. Actually, it’s all great. These yahoos give me fodder for you guys and that makes it time well spent. This guy’s email should evoke more than a few chortles.

I suppose I should set the scene for you first. The guy owns a landscaping business and I need one of those more than I need a man but if there’s a landscaping company with a man attached to it, I’m game. So, after hearing my sad tale of tall grass and pine needles, the nice man offered to come over and help me out last Saturday. I was only wearing knock-about clothes and no make-up…but I really needed the use of his leaf blower so I jumped on the chance.

He came over and worked for a while and then he decided to come back the next day with more appropriate equipment. Apparently his industrial size back pack leaf blower was no match for my pine needles. Whatever.

By the next day, I was back to raking a bagful of pine needles a day and assuming that leaf blower dude would find something better to do on a Sunday than my yard work. I didn’t really feel like entertaining him and when a guy works up a sweat on your behalf, the polite thing to do is invite him in and feed the bastard. That would have meant that in addition to bagging pine needles, I would have had to clean my house and come up with something tasty for the help. My freezer contains a bag of French bread from January, about 5 bags of various types of frozen vegetables and a pack of hot Italian sausage that I accidentally bought and I hate hot Italian sausage. Oh yeah, there’s ice in there too.

The bottom line is that I didn’t hear from him at all on Sunday. But…Monday morning I did receive this chortle producing email from him:

“Sorry I missed you yesterday,I was very busy making plans,decided to move back to South Florida,I have lots of tools that I will be selling,so if You need somethings,let Me know!”

If I wanted to, I could have corrected his spelling and grammar but I thought it added to the spirit of the email, showing his intense desire to get away from all things me.

Leaving town AND offering to sell me stuff. That’s priceless.

Strike 3!

I have to apologize...

...to a lot of people who I don't even know. I was thinking about a couple of posts that I wrote and I realized that attempting to back up each post morally was hypocritical of me. The posts were both about suicide; one was pro, the other con.

I wrote that the dying have the right to choose when life is too tough for them, when the pain is too great and the quality of life too dismal. I was quite good at it too. As a nurse who has cared for countless dying people, I knew of what I spoke. I told the story of a patient who was dying in pain, alone and with enough fluid in his lungs to make him feel that he was drowning. I declared that HE had the right to an early escape from the pain that he was suffering.

Then, when an otherwise healthy young celebrity attempted suicide, I didn't even wonder why. It didn't matter to me at all WHY he felt as though he had no other way out of his pain, I self-righteously called him "selfish" and summarily dismissed whatever it was that led him down Suicide Street.

I believe some would call it hypocritical to maintain those two stances simultaneously. I would be one of them.

I don't know how I let that one get by me but I did. I guess it's because I can SEE physical suffering, the indignities of life as it fades away and the pain of loved ones left to hear the prayers of the dying soul as he begs God to take him sooner rather than later. I think we can all empathise with that patient to some degree.

The suffering of a depressed person, however, is relatively easy to miss. We aren't there when they wake up in the morning and think, "Damn...I'm still here and nothing has changed." We aren't in their minds as they suffer silently for years because they "wouldn't do anything to hurt their kids". We aren't there when the kids grow up and move away and friends are few. We aren't there as they ask themselves, "Why do I pay for a phone that never rings?" We aren't there as they spend hours a day worrying about children who rarely call, friends who have been swept away by the years and relatives who seem to be dying on a regular basis.

Suicide is a Street. It isn't usually an impulse item. It's something that you think about for years. At first, it seems like a ridiculous thought and it's more of a fantasy than anything else. As you travel a little bit further down Suicide Street, you sort of get used to the idea like people get used to hearing about mass murder on TV. As hideous and it is, we become desensitized as we are exposed to more and more of it over time. The thought of suicide is losing a bit of it's "bite" and slowly, it begins to seem almost acceptable.

That's not to say that exposure to the thoughts alone would do it, but it does make one start to weigh the increasing ease of suicide against the increasing difficulty of living another day like the one before.

Add to that the burden of guilt carried by one who knows that there IS a way off of Suicide Street, but he just isn't strong enough, smart enough or motivated enough to attempt navigation of that route. To most people, it would be called weakness of character. To the depressed person, it's simply another reason why the world would be better of without him.

So many of us spent out lives nurturing, supporting and investing in others. That responsibility keeps us busy and alive. But what happens when you have no one to nurture, no one to support and no one in whom to invest your time? And to make matters worse, there isn't a familiar support system in sight when you need one the most.

Think of the worst mess you ever walked in on. Remember the most daunting task of your life. Consider the most hopeless day of your life. Feel your first broken heart and do all of these things on a day when you feel as frightened as you've ever felt in your life. Look around for help and find none. Look for the light at the end of the tunnel and see none. Try to find the words to get yourself up and face the crisis but find none.

Now, spend days, weeks, months or years waking up to that situation...morning after morning as you peek out a little window. All you see is happy people taking care of business day after day. You desperately want what they have but you can't seem to find a rope to climb up, much less a hand up.

Every night when you've failed again, think of how weak and useless you must be not to be able to help yourself. Think of the people you thought you could always count on who are nowhere to be found. Think about the fact that tomorrow is going to be more of the same. Then, as you take your evening medicine, you think to yourself, "That was easy...I could just as easily swallow more of them and just go to sleep."

Who am I to judge anyone else now?

I accepted a bowling date. Ordinarily, I have enough trouble getting the front half of me date-ready so I think I made a boo boo. Now I have to find a look that works from both front and back. And that’s not as easy as it sounds. I would figure the odds of looking great from the front AND the back…but I don’t know algebra. Hell, I don’t even know if algebra would help, for all I know, you’d need calculus. Oh…one more thing, Jimmy crack corn and I don’t care.

The pressing problem is that I have to find a pair of jeans that look good from the back and a sweater that would ALSO look good from the back. But then again, you don’t want the guy to stay behind you all night so you have to work on the front as well. Crap.

With the circular nature of your head, hair is another problem that must be addressed from all angles. Make-up is the one thing that only requires attention from the front. Of course, jowls, turkey gobbler things and ears must be considered from angles, but make-up won’t do much to help that.

I heard that people are spray-painting 6-packs on their bellies. Whatever. I just want to know one thing, what do you do when you sit down and your 6-pack rolls over your bathing suit?

Apparently, many people spray-paint many things nowadays. And to think, I laughed at the Atlanta weather-dude who spray painted his head on TV and thought he was fooling us. Jeez, how bad could a thinning scalp look? Oh, and I see they’re spray painting tans on themselves in one of the sunniest places on the planet, LA.

It seems as though the fact that tanning is bad for them (not to mention it will age them) has the stars wanting to LOOK tanned, but not actually spend too much time in the sunbed. Next they’ll stop smoking and fake cough. These yahoos make no sense but who am I to say anything? I’m just about the whitest woman on the planet. If you’re on the beach without sunglasses, wait for me to walk out there, I’ll blind ya. I’m getting ready for another few months of burning and peeling and I just can’t wait! Nothing looks better on a date than face dandruff.

Man…did I digress! I still have to find jeans that are long enough to wear in my own shoes PLUS bowling shoes. My butt must also look as good as is possible at this last date…but I can still wing that if I put a bit of effort into it. The hard part comes when I need for my jeans to be low enough in front so that my sweater covers by belly unless I decide to raise my arms. Oh, and the shirt itself has to touch the back of my jeans. I’m going for the illusion that I didn’t MEAN to wear a shirt that would show my midriff, but if a bit should peek out every time I roll the ball, so be it! At the very least the pants and sweater should keep the guy wondering if he will get a peek. It’s best not to tax them with tough stuff. Skin, they understand.

Hair comes next. Braids won’t work at all with the sweater I’m thinking of so I’ll have to go with Marcia Brady hair. Easy enough, looks good from all angles and it seems so natural. It shouldn’t take more than an hour with a flat iron.

That leaves my make-up. This one might be tough. It has to look good up close and from the foul line. That’s pretty much a matter of applying just the right amount of eye liner and I think I can do that. Of course, you have to be careful with your lipstick as well. Elvira is not a good look no matter how close or far you are.

OK…cologne. I don’t think I’ll pull out the Obsession for bowling. I’ll stick with my old casual-date stand by that I’ve been using since I was 16…Avon’s Honesty. I spilled a bit of Red the other day and I never should have been using it in the first place because we ended up in a sportsbar that smelled like cigarettes anyway. (Things to consider, ladies!)

If, for one moment, I thought that I would be getting lucky, I would also use the Honesty body cream, powder and body spray. But I don’t see that happening after a bowling date. Well, maybe…but it would have to be one HELLUVA bowling date. He’d have to bowl 300 and I mean that figuratively.

That leaves me with jewelry and I never bother with that until I see what I finally come up with. I’ll change jeans a few times as well as shirts and shoes. By the time I get to the jewelry, my bed will be covered with my rejects du jour.

The sad thing is, no matter how much you try to prepare, it’s always a toss of the dice so I may be really sorry that I put so much effort into bowling. Oh! I haven’t even decided whether to use a back up ball or a curve ball yet. Hmm…

Calling an audible...on me!

OK…they don’t say that you have to “kiss a lot of frogs before you find a prince” for nothing. But I seem to be in a lily pad jumping marathon here.

Most recently I learned that I should forgo the lunch date for something either fun or very nice. That way I wouldn’t mind primping for a couple of hours. But if someone wants to start off with a lunch date, they’re gonna get a chick dressed for lunch.

Yesterday I wondered, “If a guy asks you out at the last minute, are you still obliged to offer him a “first date” primp job? I hadn’t figured it out yet and I was getting sort of curious because I had another last minute date and I really hate primping. And…he DID sort of spring it on me…so I figured, “Screw him. He gets what he gets.”

I think that’s fair, don’t you? The guy wants a cheap date, he’s gonna get one. If he took me to Paris (Which, by the way, is specifically what I requested.), he would most likely get his own new dress. But, lunch on the Marietta Square is gonna get most guys a pair of old blue jeans and a sweater. Oh, I’m probably not going to go too far out there with my hair, either. I think for the time being, lunch dates will be getting braids.

I used to go all curling iron on a date but I give up. I’ve gotten more compliments from men who like braids than I ever did with curls. They also like cheap shoes and things with lots of colors. So, you should be a little creative on a lunch date…but I wouldn’t get out my Estee Lauder make-up for it.

It’s not like we’re going to Churchill Downs in May. Heck, for all I know, we could end up at McDonald’s Land. After all, guys call audibles too.

I hate to be on the receiving end of an audible, don’t you? You have to spend the rest of the date knowing that the other person doesn’t want to go on the big date you guys had discussed and most likely would rather be anywhere else but with you at that moment.

The last time that happened to me, I could pick up on it within 48 seconds. I’m very perceptive and that wasn’t tough to pick up on. Before I even saw the guy look at me, he had stopped looking at me. That was fun.

I tried very hard to make pleasant conversation, all the time knowing that if he had waited until I had time to primp and dress up nicely, he wouldn’t look so forlorn right then.

Looking back those awkward silences were rather amusing. They were the type of things that aren’t amusing when they happen but when you look back on it, it sort of makes you chortle.

I think that we women and men should have a built in, ready made way to overcome uncomfortable silences. We should take turns breaking them. I broke far too many that time…when I could have just as easily shut up and let him deal with being ill at ease. Actually, I think I’ll do that next time! I’ll just let the fool think about what a DREADFUL uncomfortable silence he is currently stuck in. And sooner or later I’ll just laugh out loud uncontrollably because that’s what I do.

I think the trick to enjoying uncomfortable silences is to know when you are wasting your time trying to be pleasant. Just in case you don’t know, here are a few signs that your date has “called an audible” on you:

1. Within two minutes of picking you up he says, “Today was an unusually BUSY and HECTIC day at work.” He’s setting up his escape and you’re still putting the seat belt on. Not a good sign.

2. He orders soup. You might just as well order soup too. You won’t have the time to finish a burger, much less fries.

3. He watches the game on the TV over by the bar…and it’s just a rerun of a Japanese baseball game.

4. He spends more time looking at the decor than he does looking at you. And then, to make matter worse, he actually begins to discuss the decor.

5. It occurs to you that you could flash the dude and he’d never notice.

Yep, those are just a few of the signs that it’s time to become responsible for your own fun. I’m going to have a plan from now on. I pity the next guy who isn’t captivated by me!

I can be so stupid!

I can’t quite put my finger on it but something has been altered drastically from the dating world of my youth. I’m doing it wrong.

So far, I’ve told one guy that I smelled badly, I had one guy totally confused with another and I actually went out with a guy who reminded me of my ex…how’s that for frightening?

It wouldn’t have been too bad if he had my ex’s one positive trait…the fact that when he has a stupid thought, 9 times out of 10 he keeps it to himself…but this guy was a normal talker. He chatted just like any guy out on a date would chat. We were speaking to another couple and it seemed like a good time. But if I had been paying attention instead of having fun, I would have noticed that the chick from the other couple was moving in on my date. I didn’t care too much, it just seemed like bad form. But that’s where the memories of my ex come in.

I didn’t give it any thought until the next day but when I did, it occurred to me exactly what was going on when the chick told me, “Call me, your date has my number!” I know, most people would see that for what it was but as my ex knows, I’m somewhat of an idiot when it comes to such matters. I would never think the worst right off the bat. It simply would never occur to me that people would do that sort of stuff. I wonder what the guy thought when he heard her shout out that he had her number? He must have had a Maalox moment until he saw what an idiot I was.

I wouldn’t have thought of it if he had come over for dinner as he said he would. But the fact that he cancelled by email got me thinking. I had nothing to do and no one to do it with, so my thoughts turned to trying to figure out the reason for that. And after ruminating on potential scenarios for a while, I realized that I had been had.

I also tried to learn from the mistake and this is what I’m taking away from that date…if your date takes another woman’s card while you are with him, call a cab. You don’t even have to explain why. Just say, “I called an audible.” and run like hell. It saves so much time and effort. I stayed up for a good chunk of the wee hours of Sunday morning preparing for a bar-b-que. Now I have a huge bowl full of chicken and macaroni salad and no one to feed it to.

Had I picked up on the fact that I was out with a scaramouche, I wouldn’t have bothered. I would have fed the chicken to a dog or a cat and eaten the macaroni with cheese or red sauce. No one wants cold macaroni salad every day for a week. I don’t even want it today and I only had one bowlful yesterday. To make matters worse, I made the salad the way the guy told me HE liked it…no onions…my ex has returned! So, now I have to go buy an onion, mince a bit and toss it in my salad. I hope he’s happy, men aren’t supposed to cost me a dime.

Oh well, I suppose it’s just one more mistake I have to correct on my way to perfection.

I think what bothers me most about men who do this sort of thing is the fact that they ARE such a waste of my time. It’s not as though I have a LOT of alternatives, but I’d rather sit in my recliner cleaning under my toenails than to be in the presence of such a cad but you never see them coming. Guys don’t call themselves “Cad” and they don’t list it on their resume so how do you know until you’ve been had by a cad?

That was the one mistake that I made with my ex. I believed that he would behave one way when he was genetically programmed to behave another. You just can’t make a sow’s ear into a silk purse, whatever the heck that means. I just wish I didn’t run in to so many sows.

I was wandering aimlessly around the Internet this morning and I read a pretty good story about a 75 year old woman who shot her sleeping husband in the face. In her defense I should tell you that she did apologize “for shooting him, but (she was) relieved he was gone.” I hear ya soul sister, sometimes all you have is yourself and a 357 Magnum, what else could the poor woman have done? But, I do have to say that while I understand some of what she did, most of it was just poorly handled.

The problem with the lady’s plan was that she didn’t really have one. This is why you should never kill people in the heat of the moment. She did it all wrong. First of all, “Myrtle Walker told police she aimed at her husband’s head, but did not know where she shot him because the bedroom light was off.” People, if it must be said, turn on a light before you aim the pistol. You might be able to get away with shooting in the dark if you have a 12 gauge shotgun, but not a hand gun. You just can’t be shooting into the dark at a sleeping husband with a pistol because he could wake up annoyed from the bullet that grazed his head and get lucky enough to wrestle it away and turn it on you. So, use a bit of common sense, it doesn’t take long to shoot a sleeping man, anyone can flip on a light for a few seconds.

Apparently she did graze him with the first shot because when he moved, she had to shoot him two more times. Now, that was just unnecessary and a waste of ammo. See, a light would have prevented that. Now she has to explain why she was at her “wit’s end” over his “mental abuse” to the extent that she had to pump numerous bullets into his body to assure that the SOB never moved again. One shot is always easier to explain. No need to go into overkill.

Then, she tossed the gun on the bed with the body and went to make a phone call. That’s too much like Jamie Leigh Curtis when she puts the knife down in Halloween. Has this woman never seen a slasher movie? They all come back to life SO…no matter how dead a man might LOOK, you should never leave the deadly weapon with him. That’s just pure folly and women that stupid almost deserve to be shot.

Oh, and the phone call…that was NOT at all the way I would have played that one. She called her daughter and had the poor kid come over. Call me kookie, but I wouldn’t invite a kid over to see her dead father and homicidal mother. You have no idea how they’ll react. You may THINK that you called the right kid but things like murder seem to bring out increased sensitivity amongst people. This sort of thing could blow up in your face so I certainly would have visited my daughter, but I wouldn’t have made her a witness in my case. I would have just gone to her house, had coffee and cheese danish and then I would have kissed her on the cheek and walked away. There’s no reason to create anymore negative memories than is absolutely necessary. Any good mother will tell you that you should ALWAYS consider the kid’s feelings.

I would have just let the cops tell my kids because I can’t really think of a way to make “I shot your father dead.” sound conversational and I sure as hell don’t know how to buffer that sentence so that it isn’t so caustic. I’m pretty much a straight talker and I try to use my words economically so I would probably say it just like that, “I shot your father dead.” I suppose you could say it like that if you put one hand on the kid’s shoulder and look down as you say it, but even so, you should be prepared for some sort of reaction at this point. As I said, this is really a task better left to the authorities.

Once the daughter arrived at the scene of the crime, she pretty much had to call the cops or risk going to prison herself. That left no time for Myrtle to mess with the cops. I would have taken the body and turned it over and spun it around so that those forensic guys couldn’t figure anything out. I’ve always been one to pull a practical joke or two when given the opportunity and this would be a good one. Man, I could really mess with those guys. I’d throw fibers that I had collected from every carpet I had seen in the past month all over the dead guy and the bed, just for kicks.

And finally, if you even THINK you might want to go with an insanity defense, leave the body where it is and go out for the evening. You could sit at a bar, get drunk and tell people that you just shot your husband. If you pick the right bar, there might be a few other women who have done the same thing so you would have some emotional support. Look for bars with a lot of pick up trucks in the parking lot.

Then, play Mack the Knife on the juke box and find someone who can jitterbug. Can you imagine the look on the jury’s face when they say, “She shot her husband and then she JITTERBUGGED!!!”? Not only is that final hurrah before prison one helluva party, it supports the insanity defense. Oh…whenever possible, shoot your husband on a weekend. There will be more people out there to party with. You wouldn’t think that it needed to be said but too many women shoot husbands on Tuesdays and weekdays are just not good for this particular chore. It’s just common sense.

The way I see it, if your hubby doesn’t complain about you going out drinking, there’s no reason not to. Drinking really does help in these situations. How do you think women come up with the idea to stick dead husbands in the freezer? Four Harvey Wallbangers will make you do crazy things. The freezer thing is cool if you want to stay out of jail for as long as possible, but it really isn’t a long term solution. Sooner or later that freezer will have to be moved and now that you’ve shot your husband, the onus to move it pretty much falls right in your lap.

I should mention that it’s NEVER a good idea to drink BEFORE you shoot your hubby. The jury is less tolerant of booze than psychosis. If you save the drinking for afterwards, your attorney will probably thank you for it. Also, it’s a wise, wise woman who has her husband mow the lawn and take out the trash right before she shoots him in the face. And, if you enjoy a prank as much as I do, you’ll want to get rid of the weapon. Bury it under some random rose bush miles away from your house. I don’t know why, but cops always seem to want the murder weapon. You’d think a dead body would be good enough but NOOOO! They want to see the gun that you shot him with! Let ‘em look, they’ll never find that sucker if you dug deeply enough.

Finally, once you actually DO get arrested, there will be some period of time when you will be asked a few questions by the cops. You should have chosen a song to sing to them at this point. Personally, I would look the cop asking the questions right in the eyes and belt out “God Bless America”. You never know, it just might play well if you have a patriotic jury. If you absolutely cannot come up with a song on your own, you could always just go with “I’m Henry the 8th, I am, I am” or “99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall”.

Remember, there’s no shame in shooting your husband. The shame is in mishandling the entire undertaking. OK that’s pretty much it. I need to go take my prozac now. See ya!

Income tax cheat or brilliant airhead?

Dating in the New Millenium Part 2

One of the rules I broke when I dated my ex was my minimum height requirement. After marrying into a family of men all vying to be the poster children for some Napoleonic Syndrome committee, I developed a 6'2" height requirement that I pretty much stuck to. But, I was young and innocent and totally unaware of the "Male Ego Inch".

That's the inch that all men add to their own height. (YES...your man too!) I was unaware of the M.E.I. years ago and I don't know why. It's so undeniably common that I can't believe that it took me so long to notice it. That's probably because men even seem to have convinced themselves that the M.E.I. is real. But I'm telling you, if you measure the average guy, you'll find that at the very least, 1 extra inch is added to the height on their driver's license. (Ladies, whatever you do, don't buy the "I must have shrunk!" line.)

I'm not terribly strict about the height requirements today but never again will I look down at some Italian dude's head as he tells me that he 5'9" when I'm 5'8". I shouldn't be able to see over a guy's forehead, I sure as hell shouldn't be able to see the beginnings of a bald spot.

Speaking of bald heads, I never really had any rules about bald dudes, they never bothered me one way or another. It's not how much hair a guy's lost that I'm interested in, it's what he does with the hair that's still there. So, I don't mind if a guy is bald, but they can't have soul patches, shoulder length hair and certainly no braids. Also, I've learned that if I notice a hat on a man, chances are 3 out of 4 that he's bald under that hat, no matter how much hair he lets hang out.

By the way, bald men come with extra body hair and that's OK and long as I can find someplace to breathe should I go on an escapade through the landscape. With some of those guys, they're like a cat in the summer. You end up with hairs going up your nose often and I really, really hate it when that happens.

Also, a new rule is that I'm going to stay away from Type A personalities unless they're OK with my Type B self. As long as I don't have to the do things ON the list, I don't mind if a guy has one. But the first time he tells me that I "need to make a list", out the door he goes. This is non-negotiable.

It's beginning to appear as though my new list might take some time to complete. I thought that I could finish it in 2 parts but I don't think I can. I haven't even gotten to guys who french with stiff tongues, disappointed men who thought that they could get more than one orgasm up on me and the importance of not sleeping with extremist Muslim's.

Oh, and a few things that I learned from my most recent ex...I'll call him Rick...don't date men who routinely have to go to the ATM before a date to get out 25 bucks, don't believe liars when they tell you ANYTHING, and if something smells, you probably shouldn't kiss it.

OK, I have to go find a movie to watch. I feel like escaping reality for the evening.

Ciao.

Rules for dating in the new millenium

I've looked and looked and I can't seem to find my old set of rules for dating. But I remember most of them, especially the rules I broke when I dated my most recent husband.

I created these rules when I was in my mid to late twenties, after a good bit of dating experience, but only with younger men. Now that I find myself divorced and surrounded by men my own age, I really, really need to update those suckers.

First of all, "Never date a guy who doesn't have his own place." I had good reason for that rule but I didn't think to add, "...but hovels don't count."

Also, not to be greedy, but just to weed out greedy guys, I had this rule, "Never date a guy who makes less than I do." The problem with that is that I don't know any CEO's and I haven't been out with an attorney in months. This one I think I may loosen a bit. I don't care what the guy makes as long as he doesn't take a dime from me. There. I've said it.

Next was the rule about cars. "Never date a guy with an old car unless it's a renovated 62 Corvette." Now I think I'll just say this..."Only date guys who car seat warms your butt in the winter."

Of course there was the, "Don't date a guy who's been in a major relationship or marriage within the past year.", rule. Once again, I had very good reasoning behind my rules but now that I'm older, I think I can only make them better. So, now I WILL date a guy recently out of a relationship but only if he looks malleable and worth manipulating.

I still think my rule about drinking is a good one, "Never make decisions regarding sex after you've taken the first sip of booze." If you decide to drink before sex, that's one thing. But if you start drinking at the bar and some good looking cowboy type saunters in and sweeps your heart away, DON'T DO IT!!! It can lead to confusion at best and heartbreak at worst.

I have a few new rules as well, things I never would have thought of when I was younger. I was quite the innocent little thing and never thought to add, "Avoid ex-cons." to my list. Also, "Run quickly from men who have little metal plaques engraved with their name on the bar in front of his favorite bar stool." Oh...and more important than all of them so far...and I'm ever so serious..." Assume that every compliment a guy gives you is an attempt to get in your pants." You'll be right more often than not and it will tend to prevent accidental one night stands.

I have a few more things to consider and when I do, I'll let you know. I'll even put all of the new rules down in one place so that you can print them out. Of course, your experience may have taught you to be on the lookout for some type of man who I have yet to come across. That's OK.

It's just that I'm going to treat flirting like a research project this year. I'm going to specifically target men who don't break my rules and see what happens. Even if I don't find a keeper, imagine all the fun I'll have flirting!

Hello again!

Last night I caught the house cleaning bug rather late so I ended up cleaning my house and doing laundry until 3 AM. That made me sleep until noon, which I hate, but now I'm up and it doesn't feel at all like it's almost the late rush hour. But it is and the housework isn't completely done so before long, I'll get started all over again.

I would rather procrastinate but that only works for so long. Especially if you procrastinate about dishes. That can be a mess. Oh, yesterday I found a mess in a place that I didn't expect one and it wasn't procrastination, it was just in a place I never look.

I clean my bathrooms when they need it and if I start to see things growing in the toilet, I know I've waited too long. I never let that happen but there's something that I didn't know. Apparently, a girl can use a toilet for weeks and look right down into it and think that it's clean. For some reason yesterday I picked up the toilet seat and what I saw was quite unnerving, especially when I think that my ass was centimeters away from the hideous overgrowth of black mold. I had no idea it was there because I never lift the seat. The rest of the toilet is suspiciously clean so I didn't even see that one coming.

I hate things that grow where you don't want stuff to grow. My ex didn't seem to mind so by the time I took over the yard work, I had to pull down 10 years of ivy that had grown all over the pretty bushes, back fence and even into the yard. I don't even know why in the world we need weeds...or mold for that matter. Mold is simply a sign that the unidentifiable stuff sitting in a bowl behind a gallon of milk is ready to be thrown away. Hell, some black shit even grows on my bathroom ceiling so I have to put bleach in a spray bottle and spray it every so often.

The bathroom is pretty much the place to grow a bunch of stuff. I don't know why, maybe it's all the water. Somehow when you clean yourself, the shower curtain becomes a breeding ground for something icky. I don't let it grow long enough to know whether it's mold or mildew and frankly, I'm not really sure what the difference is.

Oh well, I guess mold and mildew are simply reminders that it's time to quit procrastinating and do something. I've been procrastinating about my taxes all year and I'm thinking about making it easy on myself and just ignoring them. I doubt that I'd have to pay this year but I am in arrears to the government and no one has offered to bail me out.

So, I'm bailing my own self out...by not discussing income tax with a government who helps everyone who already has money. Screw 'em.

That'll be my own little exercise in civil disobedience. I am civilly disobedient every so often and I'm bored today so it seems like a good day to do it again. I can't wait to put my taxes off as long as humanly possible.

I almost did the taxes Monday but I ended up melting wax instead. I had no reason to melt wax, I just did. I used Sterno and a contraption that I set up. I could just show you because when I do really meaningless stuff, I like to take pictures.

Here's my ingenious set up:


Here's the wax all melted down:

I carefully add more to see how long it will take to overflow...seriously:

Here is the wax today:

It sort of looks like a pretend grapefruit. Maybe I can sculpt one out of the wax!