Now that I'm out of Gogia, I can safely tell you that I've been a practicing coomah for the entire summer. You haven't heard about my Italian keeper because he's been a nice guy and nice guys are no fun to blog about unless they're funny looking or they have a third nipple.
I did date a 3 nippled dude earlier this year. He was rather sensitive about it but it didn't bother me. Most people only have two and there's nothing wrong with having a spare nipple...as a matter of fact, it could come in handy if some psycho slices one of them off. I've noticed that third nipples are usually smaller than the original two. It's sort of like that spacer spare tire in your car. And there's really no need to be embarrassed, most people are easily convinced that the extra nipple is a mole.
You wouldn't think you'd see too many people with 3 nipples in the course of a lifetime. But, this is the third person I've met with 3 nipples. I have a great friend named Melissa who thought her superfluous nipple WAS a mole until she became a mother and the third nipple began to squirt milk. That's definitely a sign of a nipple and not a mole. The third 3rd nippled person that I met was a little boy for whom I used to babysit. It didn't produce milk and he didn't really care about it then so there's nothing to say about that nipple.
But, my Italian stud muffin only had two nipples. Neither one of them was a mole...I examined them...both...thoroughly. BUT...he did have this little Orion's Belt thing happening with a few moles downtown...if you know what I mean. I never neglected to say hello to those 3 cuties when I was in the neighborhood. I would give them a smile and a kiss before I visited the larger bodies in that system. I miss my little constellation.
Italian dude was good for other things besides only having two nipples and a few stars in his pants...he was Italian...and quite the large one at that. His nationality alone frightened my idiot roommates who were sure that he was a connected mobster. They left pretty easily when I kicked them out even though they could have stretched it out for at least a month. I'm sure stud muffin had something to do with that.
I wouldn't have minded if he WAS a mobster. Of course, I wasn't stupid enough to irritate him anymore than I had to...simply by being a woman. Actually, I tried quite hard to keep him smiling. After all, if you're gonna be a coomah, you might as well be a good coomah.
I'm not sure what to do now that I'm thousands of miles away from Italian dude...I suppose I should find a new one. That's a shame because I really like the old one. He had the absolute best pillow belly in the entire world. It'll be hard to replace. Also, every time I look up at the night sky and see Orion's Belt, I'll remember how Italian dude trimmed his pubes so that I could see HIS Orion's Belt as I was navigating my way to it's neighbors. Oh, I'll even miss the 4:30 shadow he had on his balls after shaving them in the morning and visiting me later in the day. Yep, you don't know what you've got til you've lost it.
...in Los Angeles is pretty much a hideous experience. Going from place to place begging a merchant to allow us to buy his product is getting tortuous. All I want is a place for my stuff. It has to be big enough so that I can sleep near my stuff, it would be great if I could cook and eat without leaving my stuff and of course I'd like to be able to hit the head with as much privacy as possible somewhere close to my stuff. Other than that, I won't be doing anything crazy...activities that damage apartments tend to damage your stuff as well and this is, after all...about my stuff.
Without my stuff, I could wander from place to place like a grasshopper and, as the song says, I'd follow the sun. I'd rather do that than live in a hole in the wall, but I can't do anything without my stuff. I'd have to be able to change clothes more than once a week and I'd have to have a bunch of stupid things that people gave me. If they wouldn't have given my these things, I could probably use truck stops and creeks to bathe in but I can't just leave behind the little statues that my dead Aunt Mamie gave me. That's against ALL the rules.
Even if I think about food, any decent cooking spot would require some degree of permanence so I'd have to have, at the very least, a Little House on the Prairie and then I might as well go ahead and get an apartment because I don't think prairie houses have electricity. I could wander from place to place like the kung fu guy but not without a nice pot of coffee first thing in the morning and when I wake up, I'm not in the mood to deal with campfires. So, it seems as though I really need to have, at the very least, a hotel room to live in if I'm to get my morning cuppa as easily as possible.
Oh, at my age, I have to consider the fact that I could die in any apartment that I live in. So when I look at the carpet, the closet space and the access to that wonderful southern California freeway system, I also have to see if the bedroom is one that I could comfortably die in. I wouldn't want to have a Denny's outside the window of my death room nor would I want to die next to a McDonald's. I want the people carting my body off to be paying attention to what they're doing. If one of them starts to think about a Grand Slam or that new Angus Burger with swiss cheese and mushrooms, they could drop my carcass and I probably wouldn't land in a complimentary position.
Also, my daughter seems to like hardwood floors but to me they're simply a manner of death. I could slip on one of those suckers, break a hip, go to a nursing home and die of pneumonia. For the same reason, I have to consider things like stairs, shower stalls and new linoleum.
One other thing about this new apartment...and I will be explaining it to my daughter today...this will be OUR apartment. I am currently in HER apartment. She never fails to let that be known and I can barely take a step without incurring her wrath. I either put the cups in the wrong place, ate all the cheese or left a towel on the floor while I was getting dressed after a shower. I would have picked the towel up after I was dressed, but I was naked and more concerned with the other chick in the bathroom than the towel on the floor. Anyway, it will be known that a new apartment means that there's a new sheriff in town and I come with my own way of doing things and a much larger supply of anger and bitterness to tap into. Put that into your toaster and toast it.
...which is SO hard to believe because I'm SUCH a sweetheart. But, according to an email that I received a few minutes ago, I have so offended some unknown yahoo that he wants $3,500 to buy my life. Otherwise, he will be killing me:
Look here you bastard. You think i have time for this your stupid talk, i justinform you that some one paid me to kill you and you arehere talking no sence to me. this is like the same warning pass on to theamerica government when they ignore it and it became and ignorance tothem, and this is the same warning also pass to the most polular MUSICIAN WHOWAS SHORT DEAD IN SOUTH AFRICA. am also passing thiswarning to you so if you want to ignore it then you too will face in hell andjoin the devil.
If you do not comply and cooperate with me in your reply to this email, youwill leave me no option as to instruct my Boys to get you shot, for yourinformations you are to Pay the sum of $3,500 Usd to live your life as a freeCitizen, but if you ignore.... As a matter of fact the person whom insructed meto get you killed is waiting for your Funeral news.
I don't know who that is, what his beef is or why he wants me to be dead...but I think I can guess. My guess is that this insane loser is trying to get $3500 but unfortunately for him...not to mention me...I don't have anywhere near that much cash. And...I just gave away most of my stuff so all I can offer this fool not to kill me is about two hundred bucks, some used make-up and a bunch of Happy Meal Toys that I had been collecting for my grandkids. I just bought Payton a new leash but if the nutcase wants it, he'll have to take it away from the dog himself, I'm not doing it.
It never occurred to me to threaten murder to get cash. I've thought up some rather unorthodox methods of cash raising but extortion by email wasn't ever on the list.
It does seem easy enough, I must say...just send an email explaining how much cash you're getting paid to kill your victim and if they send the cash, you don't have to do a thing except spend it. While I admit that there are a LOT of stupid people on this planet, I kind of doubt that there are THAT many stupid people. I'm sure there aren't enough stupid people with enough cash to make a career in extortion very profitable. But, if there are any success stories out there, I'd be interested in hearing about them, just leave your story in the comments below this post.
Personally, I would leave out the part about sending people to "hell and join the devil". I don't believe in the devil and if there's a hell, I'm of the mind that I'd "rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints". Also, I'd probably throw in a bit about torture. If the point is to get the money, you night as well scare the tar out of the fools and threaten to flay your victims. Flaying should frighten most people, Muslim, Christian or Jew...being skinned alive just SOUNDS painful.
Well, I'm wide awake but it's 12:30 so I should act like it's really, really late at night.
I'm sitting in my daughter's place right now. She's still sleeping because we had a long, long day yesterday. My day started at 4:50 AM when I overslept through my alarm that I had set for 4:10 AM. I set the alarm at 3 AM and I guess an hour and ten minutes just wasn't enough sleep for me.
I had to get up early because I had a morning flight to Los Angeles. And, since Payton is now considered a "service dog", he flew with me, at my feet, for free. That was cool. Especially the part where they decided that he was too big for coach so they put me and him in first class. I slept the whole way so I can't even comment on the amenities other than to say I did have a big seat so sleeping wasn't as tough as it normally is on a plane.
My daughter and I will be looking for a bigger place today because this place is just too small for two women, a cat and one huge dog. Payton is at my feet right now, very confused about all he's been through over the past day or two. First, the stuff in his house started leaving, then his kitty friends left as I found homes for them. I don't know what was going through Payton's mind but I'm sure it was basically concern for his own future.
I'm not sure what it means, but everywhere we go, Payton takes a dump. He started at my daughter's friend's yard and he didn't stop until I took him for a final walk last night. If LA wasn't full of shit yesterday, it sure as heck is today.
I haven't formed an opinion either since all I've been doing since I got here is shop, clean house and unpack but I do like the fact that there's a marijuana store down the street and I can legally go get myself a golden ticket to get all the weed I want and I don't have to worry about hiding my stash so well after I smoke some that I forget where I put it. I don't have to hide it because it's legal, it's medicinal and it's damn good stuff.
Looking outthe window I can see palm trees all over and the Hollywood Hills in the background. I think we're going to have a lovely weekend before I begin life in SoCal.
But first I have to have a huge cup of coffee and clean up some more. As soon as something happens to me in LA, you can be sure that I'll be back to tell you about it!
This is my pal, Payton. He’s a trained service dog and yesterday I took him into McDonald’s when I bought his lunch and he behaved perfectly.
Oddly, the PEOPLE weren’t so well behaved. I have a tag on him that clearly states that he is “working” and requests that he not be petted. It doesn’t bother me when people pet Payton but it does distract him and it can cause him to break a command. If I have him “waiting”, he should be waiting. If I have him “staying”, he should stay. And, whatever he’s doing, he needs to be paying attention to me.
His service training was faster and easier than most, according to the dude that trained him, because of the way I raised him. Also, since he was alerting me when I was about to have a seizure, it was pretty clear that he understood that I had a problem and that he was more than willing to proclaim himself my caretaker.
When I first got him, a bunch of people told me that I had no business with a dog that was obviously going to be very large. It was right after my divorce and while I was still emaciated from the parathyroid cancer. I weighed about 90 pounds and at 6 weeks old, Payton already weighed close to 20 pounds. Of course, I would have raised him to be a well behaved dog one way or another but I’d be lying if I said that the potential to be able to say, “I told you so!” didn’t play a small part in my doggie “parenting”.
I’ve been living alone for years (except for the occasional roommate nightmare) so Payton and I spent a LOT of evenings just playing and I took that time to teach him “tricks”. After he mastered one of them by voice command, I would choose a hand command to do when I gave him a voice command so that eventually I could have him do things without having to say a word.
We walk a lot as well and I taught him silly things like the difference between left and right. I can tell him to “Turn left.” or “Turn right.” and he’ll do it. We spend a LOT of time together and when I first began falling all the time, I taught him to stay with me and to brace himself so that I could pull on him to get up. He already knew “Back up.”, “Lie down.” and “Stay.” amongst other things so when he began training to be a service dog, it was much easier than training the usual puppy who hasn’t been taught anything yet.
The trainer dude said that I had already covered the fundamentals so Payton caught on quickly to the new tasks he had to learn.
As the MS progresses, Payton will adapt easily to new challenges but he won’t live forever. I can’t imagine life without him. I suppose I could get another dog but the chances of raising my own like I did with Payton are pretty slim.
Now…I must digress. I have a secret that I can’t reveal until sometime tomorrow. It’ll be later in the day before I write about it but be sure to check back in, I won’t be able to keep this one for long…it’s too good!
...sooner or later everything that I enjoy becomes illegal, expensive or just plain stupid. Sometimes the Of course, some things that I like have always been that way. For example, in my lifetime marijuana has always been illegal, travel has always been expensive and getting married has always been stupid. Avoiding stuff that has ALWAYS been illegal, expensive or stupid is bad enough...it's REALLY tough to deal with stuff that suddenly BECOMES illegal, expensive or stupid after you've grown up.
(By the way, I didn't leave out morally corrupt behavior, politically incorrect actions or calling the President a "liar" from the floor of congress...I just lump all of those things under "stupid". Stupid covers an amazingly large percentage of fun human exploits.)
As a child sitting in the back seat of the family Ford Country Squire wood paneled 8 cylinder station wagon, I remember my father telling the gas attendant to put in "Two dollars regular, please." It was Dad's usual request so that two bucks must have bought enough gas to propel that huge Brady-mobile for quite some time. Today it won't get the most gas-efficient of cars around a city block with the AC on. Gone, along with the gas attendants, are the days when two bucks worth of gas would get you anywhere. They're both a thing of the past.
My grandfather had a weekly ritual that included an after-church ride in his Cadillac. Those Sunday rides were like Forrest Gump's box of chocolates...you never knew where you might end up. I inherited my grandfather's prodigious appreciation of enjoyable automobile rides but none of his 2 millions bucks so I can't afford superfluous road trips. My charabanc undertakings have devolved from pleasurable rides down the interstate blasting Bruce Springsteen AND the AC to creeping along slowly with the rest of the Atlanta commuters listening to Captain Herb Emory tell us about the jack-knifed truck full of cows that's causing the delay du jour as he circles above in WSB-TV's Skycopter.
It seems as though the government would like to curb certain activities that we enjoy, if not ALL of them. If there are laws against certain things that we want to do, and we have the money to fund the illegal activity in which we'd like to engage, chances are pretty good that we will go ahead and participate in that illegal and expensive enterprise, whether it's stupid or not. So, what does our leech of a government do next? Why...they tax the behavior of course. Citizens will still suffer the ill effect of the behaviors, but at least the government gets it's share of the revenue so that they can afford to have more meetings to discuss what behavior they want to tax next.
Pope Leo X's parsimonious extravagance elicited the taxation of prostitution, an income tax of sorts. Peter the Great counted upon the vainglorious coxcombry of the average "turn of the century Russian" when he charged his subjects who chose to grow a beard. By the way, that was the turn of the 18th century.
I'm pretty sure that this particular levy applied only to Russian MEN but there was a lot of vodka at the time and they didn't have all of the fancy diagnostic stuff like the tests that doctors performed on that hermaphrodite tennis player. By the other way...the vodka was NOT taxed.
Sin taxes in America have NEVER been very popular with the average law abiding sinner. Alexander Hamilton tried it and he fomented the Whisky Rebellion. The feds had to be sent in to squash the Pennsylvania settlers.
More recently, cigarettes have been taxed badly and all we have to show for it is a bunch of mega-poor lung cancer patients with no/poor health insurance. If the extra tax dollars went to care for them, it would make some sense but that's not what the government does with cigarette tax revenue.
Recently the government floated the idea of a sin tax on soda pop. I don't know what they planned on doing with THAT money. After the soda tax was shot down by people all over the country, I thought that I had heard the last of the soda tax.
I was wrong.
On the Sunday edition of Fox and Friends, I was listening to Allison Camerota who ordinarily appears to have a great head on her shoulders. But she really got to me when I heard her agree to the soda tax. I was STRENUOUSLY disappointed in Alison so I tweeted Clayton Morris the following tweet:
"I never miss weekend Friends, but now I might as well watch NBC if Allison is so liberal. She and her soda tax blew it-see ya."
Morris responded to me with this tweet:
"She's fair and balanced. That tax doesn't make her liberal. This show would be boring is one viewpoint was voiced."
Of course he's right and I don't listen to Fox to hear people parrot my own opinions. But a tax on a bottle of soda? That's simply Arkansas-ish. What silly vice would be taxed next and how does the government know what's good for us as compared to what's bad for us? I can't keep up, they keep changing the health value of everything. Margarine alone has me totally baffled. One decade it's better for you than butter and the next year it's not. I LOVE butter so I'm going to stick with it...until they sin tax it out of my price range. Even cigarettes had their supporters in the medical field at one time:
Obviously cigarettes aren't the best example but consider things like butter. When I was a kid, it was reported that butter was bad for us so we were told to eat margarine instead. Today we're being told that butter is the healthier choice. It the 50's we were told that breakfast didn't get much healthier than steak and eggs. The 70's found doctors instructing us to avoid such high cholesterol meals. Currently, steak is back on a healthy menu along with other low-carb foods. And who would have thought that wine, in moderation, would be a benefit to cardiac patients!
It's difficult enough to keep up with the current thinking on the one food or another but some would have us take TODAY'S standards and use them to increase the government's bank account.
Sunday morning, my favorite morning show, Fox and Friends Weekend Edition was on the telly and as I was listening to my 3 favorite anchors, I overheard one of them say that a sin tax should be applied to a bottle of soda. I don't like soda myself but I can imagine that something I DO like will be added to the list of taxed foodstuff next.
Here are a few ideas:
How about a special tax on McDonald's to help pay for high cholesterol related disease? A "baked goods" tax on the local bakery can help the obese. Men with impotence might benefit from a special tax on reruns of the Rosanne show. We could start taxing KY Jelly to pay for AIDS research. A special tax on Twinkies could pay for diabetes research. A condom tax can be used to pay for research on stretch marks.
Sin taxes are a slippery slope and I'd like to think that my foxy friends would consider that concept before they endorse sin taxes for things like soda pop. Consider the fact that, as healthy as fruit is, fruit juice is loaded with high levels of fructose. There is a school of thought that turns a health "thumb down" at beverages such as orange juice and apple juice. Should we apply a tax to them as well?
How do we decide which things will have special taxes and which will not? Who makes those decisions and at whom do we complain if science suddenly finds an ingredient in Pepsi that cures cancer?
You know, I'm with Pope Leo and the State of California, tax the hookers and the weed.
...I try to be nice. I try too hard every now and then and when I do...I'm left with a conundrum that I cannot solve. So, I thought I'd toss out a couple out there and see what others think.
Like this one...you may or may not have been confronted with it yet but chances are pretty good that eventually you will...what do you do when you are with a person old enough to have one of those hideously huge blackheads of which the afflicted is totally unaware? Rick had one on his clavicle and while it was big then, I'm sure that it is QUITE the monster now. That is, of course, unless he has one of those women who seem to enjoy removing strange things that arise from a man's epidermis. My sisters are of that school and to tell you the truth, I don't know where THAT came from. I'm a nurse and yet, when confronted with skin that is harboring God knows what outside of the workplace, I make a diplomatic exit. Of course, I HAVE been known to make a semi-diplomatic exit in cases of an imminent eruption or a man who wants me to banish the foreign entity from his body. Yeah right. I can refer them to one of my sisters, but that's about all I can do for another person when certain ickyness presents itself.
Last year I found myself behind a much older man and one morning I awoke to his back. I couldn't believe the monster blackhead that I had, no doubt, touched and yes...even made love to. That got me out of bed quicker than would have an approaching kangaroo.
That's the last I saw of that guy...yes, the blackhead did it. That may make me seem shallow...but you never saw that thing.
Trust me, I did the right thing.
I could never have sex with that guy again. I would worry about that blackhead like I worry about my finger that gets too close to an asshole. I don't mean an asshole like Mark Colletti, I mean a real asshole. I would never venture there on purpose (not that there's anything wrong with it....PEREZ!!!), but occasionally, in the past...and against my better judgement, I have tried to do a bit of an anal favor. I quickly took that particular number out of my repertoire.
So much of sex is in your mind and anal involvement simply serves to ruin the mindset, if you know what I mean. I sit there (or lie there) and think about keeping a shitty finger away from anything that I don't want to contaminate. Generally, there isn't a damn thing that you want contaminated in your immediate area...especially if you're naked. There ARE a couple of exceptions...if I can reach the dude's wallet, I'll wipe my finger on it. If not, I'll stick it in his amorous mouth.
That may seem a bit much, but it's better than being obsessed with washing the e. coli off of my finger during sex. And don't forget that I had already said "ICK!" before I was coerced into some guy's asshole. I have too many other talents to be worrying about asshole involvement during sex. By the way...yes, there is that certain area AROUND an asshole that I don't mind exploring...but penetration is NO LONGER an option.
The above policy covers MY asshole as well. Besides the fact that it's annoying, I could potentially be holding back a fart.
I've slept on my anger and let it go away. Now I'm back in a funny mood so it's all good. BUT...I have decided...for a plethora of reasons...to make a huge change in my plans.
To that end, I've been taking roads that I had never considered navigating. One of the turns has me asking my most recent ex husband to consider a one time payment of the balance of my alimony that would benefit both him and myself.
I'm not happy about that and I may still yet back out if negotiations should downhill and it looks like it won't be worth it to me. I made a fair offer, I assure you. It was so fair that he jumped on it. But, should he get in the mood to haggle, I'll push away from that particular table. My plan will not change, I'll simply have to set course on a different road. By the way, all roads lead to Chicago.
All I wanted to do was to be with my daughter and my ex husband has done a number on her while she is in a particularly pliable condition. That's all I can say without breaking confidentiality but trust me, I wanted to be with my daughter to help her through it. Now that the little Italian wart dude has manipulated my daughter in the way he has...I can safely say that he has attacked my very last vulnerability and like Aragon in 'Lord of the Rings, I have decided to ride out amongst the Orks and meet Sauron's army head on.
That translates into a move to Chicago. This decision was not made without careful consideration. I had to list some pros and cons to be sure that I was doing the right thing so I did.
MOVE TO CHICAGO: PROS
1. All of my children make NUMEROUS trips to Chicago and I have enough of short, round and bald's family members who would keep me abreast of when the kids were there if no one else did. That's a guarantee to see them on holidays.
2. I have friends and family in Chicago, I know the city and it IS my home after all.
3. This would drive my PERFIDIOUS, DUPLICITOUS AND SURREPTITIOUS INVERTEBRATE of an ex-husband, not to mention his corpulent, addlepate miscreant cohort absolutely BONKERS!
4. I LOVE Chicago in the springtime!
5. CUBS GAME AT WRIGLEY!
6. I don't discuss the Sears Tower much in Atlanta but I would think that in Chicago, there would be a LOT of opportunities to, in protest, continue to refer to the tallest building in the country as "The Sears Tower".
7. If I asked for directions to a guitar shop, I will not be sent to a "gud tar shop".
8. Many, many more men in Chi-Town...and they are men of some quality. (And I already know where a few of them are. :)
9. EXCELLENT radio stations.
10. One word...OPRAH. My antics could keep her busy for a weeks worth of shows.
11. Other "First Wife's" will live vicariously through me as they watch me leave my exile in Georgia and move alarmingly close to my bully of a cheating ex and his freak of the fenales. Other "First Wives" (and some husbands as well!) will understand the havoc wreaked upon an emotional terrorist when the terror victim decides to say, "Let's ROLL!"
12. Chicago has some of the best museums in the world and I ADORE museums.
13. Vienna Beef
14. I want to stare at the Bean some more.
15. Many more sailboats and a lake so big that you sail away from the glaring eyes of the people on the land. Lake Lanier is nice, but if I fell out at any spot on it, I could easily breaststroke to the shore.
16. SNOW! I may eventually get sick of it, but it will take a few Chicago winters.
17. I won't miss my next class reunion.
18. This move may send my ex to Georgia...need I say more?
19. MANY opportunities to run into my short ex and his freakishly tall cohort.
20. I'll be ever so much closer to the REAL Acorn money.
1. I'll need more xanax.
2. Oh yeah, I'll need a winter coat, gloves, a scarf, ear muffs, boots and those cool hand warmer things that you can also stick in your shoes.
3. After decades of a failing "live and let live" strategy, I'll have to get closer to my attackers. (But, I think this is also a good thing as those 2 are good at long distance attacks but they suck at defending their own back yard.)
So, what do you guys think? Any constructive suggestions will most assuredly be considered. Also, if you'd really like to see me stick it to an ex who has left me no others coices, let me know. I can use all the help I can get.
...I said that I would do it so I will. Mike Mallon wanted me to say something nice about him so I'll do my damndest. He just did me a huge favor that no one else would do so I'm going to flip on this one and say that, yes, Mike did something nice. I appreciate it.
I almost feel like I should come up with more here. On the other hand, HE'S the one who keeps telling me what a jerk he is so he shouldn't be too annoyed that I haven't done a better job here with nice stuff.
How's that? It's about all you can expect when you're afraid to get out of your car around me...not that I blame you.
...the Broadway production of Mamma Mia has pretty much ruined Abba for me. That's OK, I guess. There's a LOT more music.
But there are some joys in life that are rather limited and shouldn't ever be stolen...from ANYONE...whether you like them or not. It's just not a nice thing to do. So Mark...are you happy with yourself now?
When I wrote an article about Parental Alienation Syndrome, I mentioned that it most often occurs with bitter women. Well, sometimes it travels with a bitter little man who sneers down at the heretics he refuses to run from. Go figure.
After my marriage to Mark Colletti, I thought that I had discovered a new personality type, those whom I believed were suffering from Short Man's Syndrome. I soon found out that Napoleon's buddies were all over that one. Yep...some short men will prove their strength by bullying those he has already tagged as a "victim", no matter how much damage he inflicts. Once you have been proclaimed the victim of the short man...you don't ever walk away with all your toys so you need to learn to simply walk away.
I'm sick of being this freak's punching bag...and sick of being used as a distraction to his hideously unsatisfying life. I'm sick of having my favorite things snatched away from me while I thought I was holding on so tightly. After all, I've been aware of his propensity for harm for ions...I never should have let him get the advantage on me. But, he is unrelenting and I'm struggling to survive...sooner or later my guard dropped and over the walls of my life he came, with his nasty little wart ridden partner in crime...Dee. What a duo.
Those are two people that I have ignored for years. I've only seen them at a handful of graduations and I'm fine with that. But, they will NOT allow me to go away, not with all of my toys mind you.
The way I see it, I have two choices. I can stay here and fight a losing battle that taxes everyone far too much or I can walk away. I must admit, walking away has the added bonus of ensuring that Mark and Caulifower Pussy chick will have to find another enemy to hold themselves together over.
I think walking away is a good idea but not without one last rally. The depth of my loss in this one warrants it.
Emotional bullys are some hella-serious bully's!!!
I've been held hostage...
...by a socially insane little bug killer man who sits around his house with a wash cloth on his head to keep the hairs from falling out. The Iranians got nothin' on this leech...he feeds on my emotional tears and he isn't ready to die so he MUST continue to evoke those suckers.
That's OK...like Rick, this shithead of massive proprtions has done what you should NEVER to do a perceived enemy, he left me with nothing to lose. As this blog nears it's wooden anniversary, I can tell you that I'm nothing if not persisent, consistent and downright tenacious when I'm cornered.
I'm in a corner and I just figured out that I'm pretty much alone in it so what the hell? Thinking about having no one else to worry about other than myself, I suddenly feel a great deal freer.
To the Bug Man...Mark Colletti of Addison, Illinois, and his vermin queen...what's her name...kiss my ass...and one more thing, I come out of corners swinging.
RAYMOND JOHN CLARK III HAS BEEN ARRESTED FOR THE MURDER OF ANNIE LE AND IS NOW IN POLICE CUSTODY.
He won’t be leaving this time, not even with a huge police presence following him. After DNA samples proved to be a “match” with evidence collected from the crime scene, an arrest warrant was issed at which time Clark and his attorney David Dworski came in to the New Haven Police Department to turn himself over to authorities. Authorities continue to investigate 3 other persons of interest in Annie's murder.
TO MR. CLARK…today is the beginning of the rest of your life. Enjoy.
I remember a lot of stuff. I heard them say that 18 is the magic age, after that we're on our own. Of course, as the oldest of 6, I was dumb enough to believe it. After I left, very few siblings ever left home on good terms.
I heard them say that we needed to shut up, clean up and grow up. I don't know about growing up or cleaning up, but I learned the wisdom of shutting up quite early. I don't think I spoke a thousand words in my parent's house over the last 5 years of my "childhood".
I heard a lot of "Go to my closet and get me my belt." That was quite a task, not because it was difficult...it might have been easier had I already been schooled in physics. Then perhaps I would have been able to answer that age old question, "Does a wide 60's belt hurt more than a thin 70's belt when applied to the thigh?" I never had to be quick about that task so I was able to spend a LOT of time in front of the closet as my patient father sat waiting with a newspaper.
That man was far too calm about spankings...no kid deserved to get spanked if the crime didn't invoke anger, terror or some sort of passion in a parent. Not that you need to go off half cocked...but if you have time to premeditate a spanking, chances are pretty good that you had time to discuss things and threaten all kinds of crap should the incident be repeated. I saved spankings for kids dumb enough to run into streets without looking both ways, rock throwing incidents and spontaneous "Fuck you's!"
But by then I had already considered the fact that perhaps my parents were nuts. It occurred to be that I had learned all sorts of what NOT to do's...but the to do's had been left out. Certainly the CAN DO'S were non-existent. What self-esteem I did have was garnered when I pretended to be a Brady kid.
I remember my fifth grade class standing around a piano as Mrs' Nichols was playing. We sang some long forgotten song and I seemed to have made some sort of impression on Mrs. Nichols from behind her. She turned around and told me that I was a very good singer. That meant so much to me that I thought about it often afterwards. Only when I was in my 20's did I realize why it meant so much to me. It was the very first positive comment that I had ever heard about myself. As the years went on, that comment pretty much remained the only nice thing that I ever heard from an adult.
That is, until I met Frank Tarango....teacher extraordinaire. I'll go to my grave remembering the look of glee on his face when I told the DUMBEST joke IN THE WORLD during my try-outs for the speech team. We eventually competed in Reader's Theater statewide with a scene from "Do Black Patent Leather Shoes Really Reflect Up?" That guy can still crack me up and it's been decades since I've seen him.
For years I've been aware of the implications of not ever hearing positive stuff. You don't have to do it often, although often could only help, but you really need to point out the good in a child at LEAST as often as you do the bad.
It’s being reported by sources close to the investigation that Clark is being held on a body warrant which gives police the right to take samples off of the body itself. Look for police to hold Clark for a lesser charge until the lab results from this search come back at which time you should see an arrest for murder. Police are also asking questions related to fiance Hromdaka. Look for more search warrants to be issued soon.
Le strangled to death, very personal MO for murderer, up close and in your face. Killed in one room, taken to the other room and stuffed down mechanical chase. Blood droplets found in room near where body was found.
The man in this picture is Raymond Clark III and he is lawyered up and locked down in Connecticut. A NHPD officer states, “We have enough to ensure that this man never sees the light of day again.” NHPD may be denying his “arrest”, but as anyone in his neighborhood will tell you, he was led away by police yesterday and he couldn’t go to MacDonald’s if he wanted to…what do you call that?
He is engaged to marry Jennifer Hromadka and has been living with her for the past 6 months or so. On their MySpace page and WeddingSite, she has been deflecting rumors that the freaky dude had been cheating on her. Now she is in full denial mode and has not yet taken in the entire situation. She is still defending her man…as of her last post. Rumors that the couple were planning on leaving town have been circulating.
Police may deny it but they probably won’t be able to do that for much longer:
Police are sitting on this guy's house: Raymond Clark – email@example.com name: Raymond Clark known_as: Raymond Clark III title: Animal Techn Animal Resources Ctr campus_location: 470 Congress Ste 110 office_phone: 785-2526 email_to: firstname.lastname@example.org department: Animal Resources Ctr physical_office_address: 333 Cedar St New Haven, CT 06510-3206 us_mail_address: Animal Care PO BOX 208003 New Haven, CT 06520-8003
Rumors have it that this guy failed a poly and possesses defensive wounds. Is also rumored to be on the lam from cops at this point. One of only a few people to have access to the basement in which Miss le’s body was found. Cops awaiting DNA results. The New Haven police are also trying to avoid comparisons to the unsolved 1998 murder of 21 year old Yale student Suzanne Jovin.
Police have called Clark a “person of interest” which is basically like saying, “We have enough to mess you up but not enough to arrest your ass…YET!
UPDATE: Mr. Clark is not on the lam, he is in custody. After receiving preliminary lab results, police have "trust me...MORE than enough" to suspect and arrest Mr. Clark for murder in addition to other charges which should be announced shortly.
"TerryMoran: Pres. Obama just called Kanye West a “jackass” for his outburst at VMAs when Taylor Swift won. Now THAT’S presidential."
Are you kidding ME?! A less than professional action by a media type yahoo is far more telling than the fact that our President called some jack ass a jack ass. Kanye West showed the behavior of a true Scaramouch last night and the fact that our President called him on it is something I would think Obama’s staff would be proud of. Instead they're trying to cover up all aspects of this story so that it appears as though it never happened. People try to be so politiclly correct and never stop to think if they are actually being socially neglectful. It’s simply neglectful to avoid giving credence to the man on the street and his real thoughts.
I think we can safely assume that 99.1 % of ALL people felt that West was beyond the realm of RUDE when he took a microphone away from some country singer who had just won an award and was simply giving herself that ridiculous personal blow job that they all seem to give themselves after winning stupid crap.
West shouted into the microphone, for all to hear, that he felt as though Beyonce should have won the award. Perhaps she should have…I don’t know, I couldn’t pick either of them out of a group of today’s young singers. But I do know that regardless of where the talent lay in that particular category, the class, decorum and self control categories have all eluded Kanye West.
That guy went so over the line that he did, indeed, venture into the land of the jack asses and the White House should let it be known that they never thought that a professional media type would report such a NON STORY. And who could have known that the “reporter” would SO misread the non-story?
Moran made the sarcastic Tweet thinking that we, the stupid flyover people, would agree that Obama made a social faux pas and that we would cackle like the hens we are over that story for a while. I don’t know what Moran thought of West’s behavior but I think that he underestimated the opinions of we, the stupid flyover people. We all know a jack ass when we see one and clearly there is one sleeping in Kanye West's bed at night.
It’s nice to know that our President can recognize a jack ass on the loose. It sort of gives me hope. Message to White House…trust yourself because you are one of us and we are worthy of your trust.
It would seem as though another Hollywood legend has left us far too soon. Patrick Swayze passed away last night surrounded by his family. I've seen a LOT of deaths over the years and I can honestly say that those deaths that take place in the midst of family are the most peaceful. I've had patients tell me that they wanted to live to see one more Christmas or to see a family all in one room one more time...and then they do exactly that. It's amazing how a person can will themselves to live long enough to experience just one more experience...just one more time.
At the end of life, that "one more thing" usually has to do with family. And for all of his accomplishments, Patrick Swayze, his marriage and his own family are his greatest. I didn't know the man but I knew one thing about him that tells me so much more than any of the roles he played ever could have...Patrick and his wife Lisa were together for over 30 years through the sadness of not having children and the heartbreak of miscarriages. A man who can honor the most basic of all promises...the promise to simply stay where he promised to stay...is a man you can trust, a man you can depend upon and one you can be better for knowing.
When in training for life, there are certain fundamental building blocks that we are taught. Upon those building blocks we build our own character. If those initial building blocks are flawed, so too is our character. Swayze's commitment to family and to his word tells us that his building blocks were rather well founded and his wife seems to have those same excellent building blocks. The success of his marriage tells me that Patrick most likely chose another well founded character to be his partner for life. That was quite smart, wasn't it? She turned out to be all he needed to leave his mark on the planet.
There was a time when people would have said, "In Hollywood, you rarely see a marriage that successful." Now we can pretty safely say that, "In life, you rarely see a marriage that successful." Very few people are taught HOW to make a marriage stay together. That's because it's not so easy. If you haven't learned the building blocks by the time you ask the question, chances are pretty good that nothing you read, study or practice will help.
A successful marriage requires someone selfless enough to consider the fact that his own actions might have effects beyond those which he experiences. You also need a person who is able to walk back in to a room with an angry wife when everything in his head tells him that he could just as easily turn around and run. The strength to stay when all those around you are leaving is an awesome power and one which easily outshines the strength to lift the heaviest of weights.
A life long marriage takes a person who remembers the promise that was made on a warm June afternoon and one smart enough to know that the commitment to that promise is one that will pay off handsomely...and a person patient enough to wait indefinitely for that pay off. You must also have a person who can see things in life bigger than himself, things that are stronger than the sum of it's own parts...things that matter when all of the superfluous trappings of a modern life are stripped away.
Not only did Patrick possess those qualities, he possessed enough of them to be able to spot them in another person when he was relatively young. In his 20's, Patrick was able to choose a wife who would be able to fight for her family as strongly as Patrick would fight for his. He found that person and made her his own. And he was wise enough, strong enough and decent enough to honor her, their marriage and himself by holding true to the ideals he possessed over 30 years ago when he first chose the course that he stayed...until death made him drop anchor and take a well deserved rest.
Patrick Swayze can rest in peace knowing that he gave life his best and that life gave it right back to him. And he can also rest in peace knowing that he left behind a wife who will honor him in death as he honored her in life. He can rest in peace knowing that he possessed the love, honor and respect of his peers. With such a successful life, there cannot be failure in death so Patrick can simply, because of his commitment to excellence in every aspect of his life, rest in peace.
If Patrick made a commitment to live until he proved himself worthy of a space in Heaven, he has certainly done so. He went younger than most, but perhaps that's simply because his work on this planet was done more quickly than most. So, although the timing seems rather arbitrary and capricious, it does make some sense.
As for his wife Lisa, the pay off has yet to be fully realized.
...was raided recently and the women inside freed. It seems as though the women had agreed to be locked up in a house equipped with numerous cameras for a "reality show" being filmed in Turkey. That's not Turkey, Texas. Nope...it's Turkey Planet Earth...the country Turkey. I would understand women in the San Fernando Valley being that stupid...and yes, the women from Turkey Texas could be that stupid as well...but are European women that stupid too?
It appears to be true. But, appearances, as the young women have now learned, can be very deceiving. Women aren't really stupid, they're just naive. That's NOT the same thing.
We are dumb enough to take most men at their word and they seem to know that. It never occurs to us that someone would go to such lengths to get a streaming picture of half naked young women. And who thought that someone could be so damned creative while trying to get that stream? Oh well...it could be worse...what if no men had watched them? Only men themselves know how unlikely THAT would be. You could put old fat ladies on camera naked and all of the men would pop in...at least to see the boobs, or maybe the ass...and they would likely do so more than once.
Once, I mentioned the confusion that I suffered upon the realization that I'm nothing special at all and I refer back to that comment now. I am nothing special. But even so, I could have a man in my bed before the sun goes down. Not tough at all for a woman to do. Men find it harder so they actually NEED the stupid Turkey chicks to get any type of relief in the evening. I guess men need porn like women need lower standards after midnight.
These poor women didn't really do anything WRONG...so much as they chose the wrong men to work with. There are decent men out there, plenty of them. But...the indecent ones go out of their way to be charming while the charming ones are just going about their business most of the time. They don't understand why women are aways taken in by creeps and THAT'S why...creeps are very good at charming. They do it often and well and they've learned what sends women away so they avoid that very thing...honesty. It doesn't come off as well so those guys simply steer clear of it.
I don't know how these yahoo's hide their dishonest traits so well. I just know that...like skidmarks...after a while they simply begin to show up with greater and greater frequency. You wouldn't think there was enough charm in the world to make up for skidmarks...but somehow, there must be. I washed enough of them out of my ex's jockeys over the years...and I never ONCE mentioned them...until the day I started this blog. Being sweet did me no good so I quit being sweet. Actually, I went the OPPOSITE way...I went with bitter.
Bitter is OK as long as you see the humor in it. Luckily for me, I come from a sarcastic, dry and bitter Irish family.
...that I truly am harboring the ghost of Lucille McGilicuddy Ricardo deep in my guts. Most of the time I know what I'm doing and things go off without a hitch. But every so often, I screw up something relatively simple...like every so often I break a yolk. I try NOT to break the yolk...I know how to flip an egg WITHOUT breaking the yolk...but, no matter how hard I try, every so often I break the damn yolk. Sometimes I break the stupid thing before it even comes out of the shell. I don't know how that happens but it does.
But most of the time, I enjoy a nice egg, over easy, without breaking the yolk. And most of the time I can do basic crap pretty easily. I can walk, I can talk, I can even walk and talk. I can push a cart and place it where you tell me to. If you only wanted me to do TWO of those things, say, walk and push a cart...that should be easy enough, wouldn't you think?
One WOULD think so. One would also think that you could get an intact yolk more than 9 times out of 10. But you really can't. I don't know if we get cocky, hurried or distracted, but one person out of a party of ten will ALWAYS get a broken yolk. And I don't know why I couldn't walk and push a cart the other day but I couldn't. And because of that, I held up production of Tyler Perry's Meet the Browns on Friday.
All they wanted me to do was push a cart around a corner, maneuver it to a position that the principles could work with later and walk away. Sounds pretty fricking easy on the surface and because of that I assured the director's assistant that I would be able to, of course, walk and push a cart at the same time. I didn't even have to talk. But for some reason, I kept getting it wrong until the director himself walked over to explain it to me in case the assistant was a moron. The director wanted to make sure I understood exactly what HE wanted. Naturally, he soon realised that the assistant was not, in fact, an idiot...but I, on the other hand, most assuredly WAS one.
Take Four is understandable if you're giving the Gettysburg Address, but you shouldn't hear it because of cart movement in the background of a sit-com. I felt like a total jack-ass.
All I had to do was walk around the back of a set and perform basic chores doable by most primates. Not only was I extremely confident in my ability to take direction, I even went so far as to "get into character". I actually GOT INTO the character that I developed in my head. I KNEW what I was gonna do. Me and my character self planned to get through a 10 second job without a hitch. But for the life of me, I couldn't do what they asked. I either did it too fast or too soon or just plain wrong. It was interesting how I found different ways to mess up. I suppose I would feel worse if I screwed up the same thing over and over again. But instead, I just found new and improved ways to evoke a loud "CUT!" and then..."Take Four..!"
You may not know this if you've never seen a show being taped or a movie being filmed but they go through a lot of preparation for one of those things. From placing magazines on the shelves to building the walls...things on a set are carefully placed and then everybody comes in and they practice a bunch of stuff. By the time the nit wit who's supposed to push a cart around a corner comes on to the set, the production staff has been working their butts off. The last thing they need is some woman who is the age of their mothers on the set screwing up.
I don't know why they didn't get someone else to do it. My guess is they had too much respect for my age...which is cool...I'll take that. But I absolutely would have understood if they traded me with someone who only had to WALK. I was even waiting for them to do that so I could run away and hide my shame.
Oh well. I just hope that somewhere, there's useful footage of me pushing that stupid cart around the corner, realizing that I might have screwed up the timing before my amazing brain decided to fix the situation by arbitrarily pushing the cart off set. Yeah...that's the work of a true professional, isn't it? An ad libbing extra...or a nutty old lady on set...every director's nightmare.
One good thing came out of that shoot...Tyler Perry wasn't directing when I screwed up. One of the dudes in the cast was getting a shot at it, Perry is a good guy. But as for the poor schmuck who I worked with Friday...I don't know what else he'll be directing or if I'll ever see him again. I DO know that I see Tyler Perry too often to have my face seared into his mind as the idiot who can't walk and push.
...today that I liked..."If you starve a tiger, the tiger eats last."
I think I'll sit in the lotus position for a long, long time and imagine that I'm a tiger. Then I'll do a shoulder stand and imagine myself chewing up a few certain people who bug the hell out of me. But like karma, the starving tiger can be very patient in it's pursuit of it's victim. So for, now, I guess I'll just free my own mind from all of the hate, most of the anger and a modicum of the bitterness. Ah, I love yoga.
No matter how hard I try, I can't obtain complete control of my mind. The other day I wrote that I never dream about my Italian ex. Wouldn't you know that I DID dream about him that very night? I had to think to figure out if it was a dream or if it really happened because the dream was just more of the same ol' same ol'. He was bitching at me and telling my children how rotten I was. Then, he got mad at the kids who didn't agree with him and they cried. He hid the kids who DID agree with him a hotel room bathrooms so that I couldn't see them and then he continued to yell obscenities at me like he does when I'm awake. I hang up on the fool when he starts that crap with me but you don't have that option in a dream. I had to listen to his pompous rants and hyperbolic ramblings.
Imagine being stuck in a room with the angriest, nastiest, most repugnant little man wannabe whom you have ever met. It was terrifying.
At one point in the dream I asked his wife, "Doesn't it bother you that your husband is so obsessed with his ex wife?"
She responded, "NO! You ARE that EVIL!" OK then...if the psychopath says so, it must be true.
In Dreamland AND in real life...the only thing that I could possibly do to stop their wrath would be to lie down and die. Notice that I'm typing these words? I will NEVER die as long as there is breathe in my body!!! (I meant that, it's funny to me. Kudos to those who know of what I'm speaking.)
I don't care how depressed I were to become, I would NEVER...UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES...give those 2 yahoos and their minions the satisfaction of seeing THIS bitch give up. As long as they continue to interfere in MY life with such glee...I shall always have a reason to live. High five!
You'd think that I could at least find happiness in my dreams...wouldn't you? Even lovely things that happen in my life evoke mightmares. When I was a kid, my grandmother's aunt lived on top of a mountain. It was great, we picked wild berries for home made ice cream and played with the old lady's arm fat (one of my fondest memories of Granny and her sister, Aunt Willie).
There was one minor inconvienience, Aunt Willy didn't get indoor plumbing until my grandfather had it installed in the mid 70's. So, as a kid from the Chicago suburbs, in the 60's, I had to use an outhouse. It was a nightmare in itself. Day trips were bad enough, at night you couldn't see the spiders. OMG...it was hideous.
Now, the dream comes into the story...EVERY SINGLE NIGHT that I spent at Aunt Willies found me dreaming that a flood had caused me to have to swim to the outhouse...at night. My little brain didn't think about the fact that we were on top of a mountain in the Blue Ridge and that a flood would be unlikely to touch us...it just HAD to make the thought of using that outhouse even worse than it was whilst I was awake. That was hardly necessary, I truly abhored that outhouse. Of course, the home made ice cream was cool.
So, as you can see, I cannot escape the nightmares of daily living, no matter how long I sleep. That's probably why I hate to sleep so much. It'd be cool if I could empower myself in my dreams in a way that I can't seem to do in real life.
I could dream that I'm a Herculean woman who can pick up sniveling, whiny, miserable little ex husbands and squish them in her hand. Yeah, that'd be cool.
Better yet, I'll do what my fellow campers did to daddy long leg spiders...I'll pluck off various appendages and toss them back on the ground, right where I found them. See how much use they are minus a leg and a penis.
...and haven't already come across tweeter http://twitter.com/Tweepism2 , you should be aware of the tactics that I have noticed so that you might save time by NOT following this particular twit.
I am just going to tell you what happened with me...you decide what to make of it.
One day Tweepism2 tweeted that I was a "great tweeter". Well be that as it may, I was the not the only "great tweeter" in his tweet.
Intrigued, I went to check out one of my co-tweeter "greats" and found a chick who had only tweeted once...months ago. My humorously pithy tweets ;) were being grouped along with a chick who set up a Twitter account and immediately forgot about it last February. One red flag.
This morning I found myself proclaiming some article "great", along with other tweeters I have never heard of. My name was being used to hawk some site that sold stuff. I hadn't tweeted him/her/they at all, nor did I read the article I was supposed to be promoting. Two red flags.
The third flag is on me so I decided to prevent it by blocking Tweepism2. That may or may not help...I don't know; I'm a relative ingenue when it comes to navigating Twitterland. But I'm not stupid enough to continue a Twitter affiliation with a Tweeter who follows NO ONE yet has 100 followERS. Well, maybe 99 now that I've blocked him/her/them.
I'm sure that many people have caught on to this particular...let's see, I don't want to call it a scam, that's not verbally correct...how about ruse? Shell game? Flimflam? Snow job? Contrivance? Yeah...I'll be generous and call it a contrivance. Some, like me, were and are unaware of such contrivances...so here it is.
There. Now let me write something fun...that was just a PSA.
...given one cat and one dog baths. Not together of course, I did the cat in the kitchen sink and I did the dog in the tub. Neither one of them were very "into" the process although the cat had his moments. A couple of times as I held most of him underwater by using one hand to two of his legs and lying him down on his side, he stopped fighting I could feel his little cat muscles relax but those episodes didn't last very long.
That was the first bath for that cat, they don't usually need them. But I did a flea dip thingie and bathed him at the same time. I gotta be honest, I did NOT expect compliance from either animal so I seriously considered giving them Xanax, especially the clawed feline crazy animal. But, I'm running low so I chose to avoid a Dr. Conrad Murray maneuver and allowed both animals to proceed with nothing but their Flight or Fight response to fuel them. It was a massive undertaking, I must say.
That cat fought as though he was a Nancy Pelosi foot soldier and like one of those Frisco freaks...all it took to overcome that cattiness was brute force. It works everytime.
I even used that on the dog although he is a BIT more reasonable than the cat when being given a bath. Once you get him in, he pretty much accepts the hose and the shampoo after a while. He has to, if he doesn't I use brute force again...I just hold his body down in the water using my knees and a sharply honed sense of leverage. He no longer makes that necessary although once he has me lulled into a false sense of security and I'm soaping up in left groin area...he jumps out of the tub.
That's not going to help him much because there's no way for him to get out. I'm at least smart enough to shut doors. So, I just turn around and sit the other way on the tub wall and soap that sucker up really, really well. It's sort of like making lemonade out of lemons.
Anyway, after he's good and soaped up...all the way down to his paws...I just do what I did to get him in the tub in the first place. I stand up, get in the tub and grab his leash. Then, once again using brute force, I pull that sucker in the tub. To be honest, at least one leg is usually his idea but...by the time he relents, I've gotten his two front legs in myself. There's a big splash but by then it really doesn't matter, he's already jumped out once and there's been a bit of physical confrontation as well so the bathroom is already wet. It couldn't POSSIBLY get any wetter so I just go with it.
So now I rinse him with the hose, pouring more water on the floor when I have to rinse his big stupid head that will NEVER be all the way IN the tub. He finds some way to stick his head over the tub wall and it's just easier to hose his head down even though the water is pouring all over the bathroom than it is to fight with him.
If you look around at that point, you might see a dry spot. But that will go away soon because after you rinse off a dog with hose and let him out of the tub he's going to shake that shake that they all seem to shake. Now the walls are wet too and I had long ago reached my own point of aqueous saturation.
Foreseeing that I would be getting wet, I was wearing a dirty t-shirt and some running shorts. I long ago learned that a bathroom full of water with a bathtub full of dog hair is just begging to be super cleaned. Especially when you consider how much easier dog hair is to clean up wet than it is dry. There's no pleasant way to clean dog hair out of your own personal tub...but it ABSOLUTELY must be done, and well. So, you might as well do it the easy way while the hair is still wet and so are you.
That's a great time to get scrubby things and bathroom cleaners and scrub like a maniac. You know, dog hair isn't the ONLY thing that's easier to clean at that point...the splashing water and humid air should have even loosened the scum a bit. High Five!
Then, of course, once you get your tub, tile floor and tile wall all sparkling clean...it's time to take off the funky clothes you're wearing and take a nice, long, hot shower...wouldn't you think? It probably would be if there was anymore hot water left after I lathered up my hair.
1. Why does my remote only work when I point it up and AWAY from the TV? 2. Why do so many men think ALL women are stupid? Even if stupid women outnumbered not stupid women 100 to 1, you'd think a dude would worry that he MIGHT run into that one not stupid chick. 3. Why does my coffee pot turn itself off after 2 hours? Sometimes I'd like a cup-o-sludge if I get really, really tired. 4. I stick my feet in dark, moist places for hours a day, walk on them and clean them with a rock...yet the skin on them is as taught as it was in 1974. BUT...I'm developing jowls on my face. 5. I could have bought a bunch of penny candy in 64 and sold it today for a huge profit. How would you know if one of those wax pop bottles went bad? I don't think those dots on paper go bad either. I would think the dots would out live the actual paper to which they are stuck. 6. Why do soft cookies turn hard when they go bad while hard cookies turn soft? 7. Why in THEEEEEEE WORLD do my neighbors find me so MUCH fun to gossip about? 8. Where does a really good blow job stop and an ass licking begin? 9. Why do single men have ketchup, mustard and steak sauce...but no food to put any of it on? 10. What the heck is this world coming to? In my day any self respecting male population would have kicked Perez Hilton's ass every single day.
How apropo, my online radio station is playing Oye Como Va...another baffling little conundrum in itself.
I've been having the same recurring dream ever since my ex did me the tremendous favor of leaving. The plots are always a tad different but the theme is always the same...I am trying desperately to get the truth out of the bastard.
Last night's dream found me, for some reason, babysitting 5 infants and a bunch of older kids after hubby went to work. At one point I was walking through the streets of some Montana town wearing nothing but a t-shirt. I ran into a nice lady who looked at my backside and told me that I needed a shower. One thing's for sure, if my ex is in the picture...SOMEONE has a filthy ass. I was rather dismayed that it was me this time.
The dreams are disturbing for a number of reasons, mainly because they have been happening EVERY night since he left and I STILL find myself trying to get the truth out of him instead of Bobbitizing his crooked manhood.
I can go all day without giving him a second thought, or a first thought for that matter, and yet at night, these frustrating dreams will return.
Alas, dreams do NOT seem to be influenced by the granting of a divorce. I'd rather dream that I was being chased by an angry ostrich but I'm never that lucky. The truly frightening ex pops up in my dreams every night.
If I were able, I would sue the pants off of the "Dream Master's", but they don't seem to have cash, just a bunch of evil little dream seeds that have firmly taken plant in my own personal dreamscape. Ain't that a bitch?
If there's one minor salvation, my other ex and his insane wife are never in my dreams. Of course, they do bug the hell out of me in real life. Currently, they're harassing my daughter for allowing me to come stay with her in California. They should really shut the hell up because my only other option is Chicago and if I had to go there, I would be sure to move close enough to them to make them wish they had left me alone me years ago.
You know, that's a thought, isn't it? I love Chi-Town and I have friends and family there. And, the only thing that I'd enjoy more than annoying my most recent ex would be annoying my insane ex AND his nutty wife.
Of course, if they wanted to, they could give me 10 grand and I would use that to move to Ireland. Barring that, I'm working on getting closer to my daughter.
In the meantime, I'll continue emptying my house of all my belongings. I'm a rotten haggler, I keep taking less than I want because when I ask for what I want, people make a smaller offer. One such guy was wheeling and dealing over my personal belongings and he had gotten some hellacious bargains. He asked me what I wanted for my dryer and I said, "I'm not sure how to answer that. I could be honest and tell you what I want and then you'd offer me less. Or, I could add 25 bucks to my price and get 5 bucks more than I want."
He responded, "How much DO you want?" I told him..."Fifty bucks." He said, "Forty." I finally said OK and he asked if he could look in my shed. Then he wanted do know what I wanted for my lawnmower and once he got me down to ten bucks, he asked if I could "do better". I said, "Yeah, selling it door to door...I could get 50 people to give me ten bucks."
He relented and paid ten bucks for a perfectly good lawn mower. Damn I'm good.
There's not much funny stuff happening on a gondola in Venice, but an Alzheimer's ridden old man in Tampa can be pretty damned amusing. My father actually scolds me for being redundant. He's pushing 80 so there isn't much that I can do. I wanted to borrow some money from him but what kind of creep would borrow money from a man who would forget the transaction within 10 minutes? Damn these scruples!
I do need cash badly...that's a fact. I need to get to my daughter ASAP and for some reason, she lives in LA. I've tried just about everything that I could think of but nothing seems to be working. So, just in case anyone out there is interested, here is a list of things that I would to do get to LA:
1. Have a Ménage à trois with Larry King and Bill O'Reilly. 2. Walk up to Perez Hilton and smack him in his nasty little puss. 3. Wear a burqa with a sign around my neck that says, "I'm Naked Under This Thing!" and walk through Baghdad. 4. Tickle random men walking down the street. 5. Drag Mark Sanford out of the South Carolina capital building all by myself. 6. Grab the pen from Bob Dole's right hand and run away laughing. 7. Offer relief to all men suffering from one of those Viagra induced 4 hour erections. 8. Taunt Angelina Jolie for an indefinite period of time. 9. Stand in the middle of Boston and make Ted Kennedy jokes. 10. Salt my ass and moon a bunch of deer.
Of course, I have my standards so here are things that I wouldn't do:
1. Get a nipple piercing. 2. Watch an NFL game as long as Mike Vick is in the league. 3. Sleep with Michael Moore. 4. Agree with Nancy Pelosi. 5. Marry another man who leaves skidmarks in his jockeys. 6. Drink decaffeinated coffee, non-alcoholic beer or Diet Pepsi. 7. Sit through any movie that has "Part Three" in the name. 8. Bring a date to a La Leche meeting. 9. Hike near the border of any country that's name ends with STAN. 10. Pay more than twenty bucks for a purse.
OK then, if any of that helps you in your decision to help me, giddy up. I need to leave soon so don't dawdle.
I've placed an ad on Craigslist (http://atlanta.craigslist.org/nat/gms/1360901396.html) offering to let people come in and carry out whatever they can for 20 bucks. One sweet little old lady just came and carried out a small antique table of mine for 20 bucks. She didn't want the matching mirror and I couldn't convince her to take anything else although she could have stuck a small oil painting on the table and carried it out for nothing. I bet the next person will be more creative with ways to get their bang for their 20 bucks!
Lately I’ve been going to Classmates.com to get to some pretty good music. The music is one of the benefits that come with a free account. I’m sure there’s an easier way to get to music but what the heck, it’s still easier than trying to get the needle to the beginning of a song on an album.
Classmates can be quite the spammer but I never toss them in the spam bin because they’re a VERY intriguing spammer, aren’t they? I’ll open spam if there’s a possibility that I might find out whether or not my high school nemesis ever did develop the leprosy I wished upon her in 1974. So, this morning I opened it again.
Today the reunion website offered the option of making a short song list. Who doesn’t need one more song list? So, I went for it.
Now, there were 2 things of which I was unaware when I decided to take the time to choose 10 songs from a long list and use them to create my short list. First of all, I didn’t know that my list would become a part of my Classmates profile.
You know, Donny and Marie had a song on that long list. What if I had chosen THAT? The song was Deep Purple so I didn’t have to think twice about passing on it. But…what if they had listed ‘I’m Leaving it All Up to You’? I might have chosen that song and without knowing, I would have made a Classmates.com nerd out of myself. Now that I know how to act cool, I’m really trying hard to avoid reacquiring my nerd status of high school. A Donny and Marie song on my playlist could be as devastating as were the purple hot pants I wore on the first day of high school. I couldn’t live that one down in 4 years. Who knows how long I’d have to spend re-cooling myself after placing a Donny and Marie song on my playlist? Penny Sehr got hit in the head for carrying a Donny Osmond folder to class in 1972. I sure as hell don’t want to see what happens when you publicly support Donny AND Marie.
The other little factoid that eluded me as I was carefully choosing songs like Bohemian Rhapsody (WHEW!), was the fact that, while I could create as many song lists as my little heart desired…for free…I can’t seem to listen to them without paying something. I’m not sure about that, but it wasn’t easy to do and I usually stop trying after simplicity fails.
Anyway, playlists with 10 songs on them get old so I’ll stick with the HUGE list of three thousand five hundred and eighty four songs that I can get easily and for free. There’s one down side…it’s nice to hear a song you had totally forgotten about after 30 years, but when you hear it every 26 hours or so…no matter how good the song is…it starts to get on your nerves. Frankie Valli was fine in the 70’s and he’s nice to hear once every few months, but there’s a reason I don’t have any of his albums. I don’t want to hear ‘Breaking up is Hard to Do’ more than twice a decade.
And who gave Debbie Boone the best song prize in ‘77 for ‘You Light up My Life’? I didn’t get it then and it’s even more vexing today. She couldn’t sing a lick.
Oh well, I was pretty into ‘Spiders and Snakes’ so what do I know?
...to get enough cash together to get to LA, pay what I owe before I leave and arrive there with a few bucks in my pocket.
I'm moving slowly but I'm getting creative. I have things that someone out there might be interested in. Here is a list of stuff that I can do without:
1. Bill Murray's autograph 2. Shirt I wore in Madea Goes to Jail that says, Department of Corrections on the back.) 3. Bicentennial Commemorative Pepsi bottle from '76 (unopened...for what that's worth.) 4. Original Star Wars movie celluloid strip in commemorative frame 5. Lighthouses from my personal collection, some are my own artwork, some are Lenox Collectibles and everything in between 6. Antique knick-knacks 7. Antique ash trays 8. Antique gold pocket watch in need of new crystal 9. Autographed copy of 'It's How You Play The Game' by Brian Kilmeade 10 All 4 1997 copies of TV Guide from the last week of Seinfeld...in excellent condition.
Oh, one more thing, if you're a man (or a woman, I guess) who thinks ahead and you would like one of my business cards signed by me...the owner of the backside portrayed on the card itself, email me at email@example.com. Remember Lucy Ricardo's raffle to earn money for 'Ladies Overseas Aid'? Well, this is my version only it's called 'One Chick Across Continent Aid'. So, let me know if you'd like to patronize me and my massive endeavor.
I'm sure that I can get to my daughter...we need each other badly so I'll figure something out.
Anyway, I want to leave ASAP...no need to dawdle. I'd even stick my stuff in the back of a Wal-Mart truck and crawl into the doghouse and sleep most of the way there. When I was a kid, that worked well when you wanted to travel long distances cheaply. (By the way...here's a shout out to Red Lambert! Remember heading west from Nevada to Chicago in '78? That was so fun!) Whatever, I'll figure something out.
...one of these days I'm going to learn to appreciate bad luck because I'm becoming so familiar with it. So far this week, 2 different plans to get to LA were nixed and this morning I'm back at square one. Remind me to show you my square one, it's perfect for Grauman's Chinese Theater. Like the Colorado River, my constant presence on square one has had quite a formative effect.
So, I started mowing my lawn yesterday. The other morning as I was picking up sticks and pine cones, I noticed a Morning Glory in full bloom, growing smack dab in the middle of my backyard, I decided to come back and get the beautiful vine and transplant it near my fence. I didn't want to mow the thing down so yesterday I went to mark it with a stick but it was after 5 PM and I'm as blind as a bat so I couldn't find the sucker.
I decided to mow a large circle around the general area and then go back this morning to find my pretty flower. I live amongst countless Southern eyeballs so I know they wonder about my strange lawnmowing activities. After I mowed outside of the large circle in my yard, I figured out that I could use the mower to sort of "blow" the pine needles, cones and dead leaves off of my back driveway. So, I spent well over a half an hour mowing the drive, trying to keep the mower to the left of the mess. You wouldn't think that would be such a huge chore but lawnmowers have some unpredictable wind patterns and a pile of crap might get blown to the left. I've gotten about four fifths of the driveway mowed. I was forced to stop by darkness and the most recent bout with night has ended so I think I'll go mow the sidewalk now.
...but first I decided to take pictures. So, here they are.
I call this one Morning Coffee:
This one is Morning Coffee in the New Cold War:
I certainly think we're in the middle of a new cold war and I think that it's being conducted against government dissidents who dare speak out against the current...and I say this in the most specifically literal way that I am able...'politically correct' reasoning du jour.
Sadly, the more popular "thinkers" could belch into a microphone and their adoring constituents would hail it as proof that we need Big Brother to extort one sixth of the nation's economy by any means possible.
Sycophant's abound and what their supporters lack in brain power, they make up for in voting power. Ignorance and dyspepsia tend to occupy the void created when a mind refuses to think independently. Independent thoughts have given way to Mildred-Think. Mildred was the wife of Montag in Fahrenheit 451 who spent her days eating happy pills and obsessing over the mindless drivel and pretty pictures on her 3 large TV screens. When Bradbury described those screens, 3 TV's was an insane idea. His foresight was genius but he did underestimate the popularity of square, light projecting objects that serve to fill the voids left when active thought leaves town.
Oh sure, he was on target when writing of what happens when the millstone of unbridled brain power is lifted from a society weary of evil capitalists and of bearing perceived burdens. But I don't think he appreciated the virulence of cerebral laziness and the speed with which Future Shock would carry us into a world we never had a chance to survey. Not only can't you go home...you can't go back to the world you knew 20 years ago. It no longer exists.
If you were to sell your brain on Craigslist, would the ad say "High mileage" or "Like New"?
Man...did I digress or what???
OK, I'm going to publish this because the future is not assured nor is my electricity. I would feel like a jack ass if they cut off my power before I got to my point.
Lies and other stupid stuff my Italian-ex told me:
1. "My entire family has been in the mob ever since my uncle was a Consigliere for Al Capone." 2. "Read the Bible...men are allowed to cheat but women are NOT!" 3. "I can't tell you where I'm going tonight, it's business...you know what I mean." 4. "Go help the women do the dishes, only the men play poker after Thanksgiving Dinner." 5. "I don't know why it bothers you...YOU'RE my wife...she's just a whore." 6. "No...it's not a hickey. I was playing football and some guy put a mean spin on the ball and it hit me in the neck." 7. "The football story was a lie, you're right. But I didn't think you would believe the truth." 8. "The truth is that this guy at work grabbed my neck, twisted the skin and wouldn't let go." 9. "OK, you're right, that makes no sense. It's just a grease burn. I don't know why I bothered lying to you before. It was stupid of me when the truth was so innocent and I'm sorry. I really let MYSELF down this time." 10. "Oh...the fur on the passenger seat...I picked up a 13 year old hitch-hiker. I couldn't let anything bad happen to her so I took it upon MYSELF to see that she got home safely. Wouldn't you want someone to help OUR kids? But you're not thinking about that! Instead, you're just using a good deed to find a reason to start a fight. I have to get out of the house now. I'll be back when I'm not so angry at you." 11. "Face your belly the other way, I can't sleep with that baby kicking me in the back." 12. "You should be more like my mother, she has no aspirations whatsoever." 13. "Did you see the way she was dressed? She deserved to get raped." 14. "There...you made me throw a big bowl of chili on the wall! Are you happy now?" 15. "Why are you putting on make-up? We're only going to the race track!" 16. "My theme song is The Wanderer...you KNEW that when we met!" 17. "What do you mean by my "crotch smells like fish"? 18. "Girls tell me I look like [a 70's] John Travolta." 19. "I know we just met tonight...but could I touch your breasts?" 20. "No...I'm NOT a bad dancer, you just can't keep up."