I have to back to the hospital.

Damn it.


BUT...if I don't want to stay, I don't have to so I'm back again!

FOUND ON CRAIGSLIST

Why did this chick hide her face? How bad could it have been?

"Are you in need for a full body massage,then don"t hesistate call me Karen and get your directions for a mesmerizing massage...."

I've had LOTS of professional massages and even more personal massages, yet no one ever promised to "mesmerize" me.

"ASIAN LADY FEEL BETTER NOW,GET RELAX IN YOUR HOME , HOTEL...."

Far too many opportunities for scary people to enter the situation like the Mafia, FBI or DEA. I'd leave that one alone...but then again, like Yogi, I'm smarter than the average bear. And there are enough stupid people out there to keep all mobsters and Initial people busy. A bright chick with little to lose could slip right by them. BUT...you wouldn't catch me inviting strange Asian women into my house OR my hotel room...I saw Kill Bill

"...BEST you EVER had..."

Yeah right. That's a mighty bold claim to a women who's been around for as long as I have. I've had some damned good massages in my life. ONE from 1984 stands out in my mind...Hi Brian Sisson! And even Brian didn't GUARANTEE he was the best...he just proved it...all night long. And I didn't even have to pay for his services.

I could spend more time on Craigslist searching for pretty tacky sexual stuff. But you get the picture. And I don't even have any problem with the Adult material they allow...I find that Craigslist has every right to run such ads. If it's good enough for tacky TV material, change the channel. If it's good enough for the offensive works of Michael Moore, you just don't pay to see his movies. But, what I DO find offensive is Craigslist's arbitrary, one-sided and impossible to defend, policy of allowing a post to be "Flagged For Removal".

It's a matter of rights and the demarcation line must be drawn at the place that our community considers unfit. Now, if naked woman posting their own phone numbers is OK in this community...my bad. But tell me something...what makes THIS post so offensive?

http://diaryofmydivorce.blogspot.com/2009/11/my-youngest-son-graduated.html

Maybe I'm missing some silly TOS like I should have typed the post with my toes...but barring something like that...I'm baffled.

I know it isn't Craigslist itself that does this insipid, languid and indolent flagging. Oh no...those guys have enough on their hands with that Craigslist Killer dude. And, if it WERE Craig and his list, it wouldn't be so arbitrary.

It appears as though the lamest CL readers live in Chicago (yes...my own hometown!), Atlanta and San Francisco. At times even the New Yorkers putz out on me. I would give kudos to the more tolerant CL readers in the country, but they would just become the target of the worst of all hackers, those without jobs, living in their mother's basement and eating Ramen Noodle Soup daily.

OK then, that's what I wanted to say. I wanted to expound on it in my usual derisive way but I don't feel good so lay down I will.

By the way, if you're one of the lucky folks to read this before it gets taken down, pay it forward.

Peace
:)

This is a shout out to CHESHIRE CONNECTICUT!!!

That's all the is, there ain't no more.

My youngest son graduated...

...from law school this past spring. He passed his bar exam and is, for all intents and purposes, a real attorney today. Am I proud? Yeah, sure. But as I stood in the rear of his graduation ceremony and watched my son accept his diploma from Mercer Law, I noticed a BUNCH of others doing the exact same thing. And that's only one law school...from one year! Kudos to the kid who stuck it out but when it comes to earning maternal pride, one must do something different, make his own way in the world and do it with style, panache and charisma. Anyone can walk across a stage and grab a diploma...with the possible exception of that Hawkins dude.

But, as I always knew he would...my oldest son has made his mother proud in a way no other son before him has done. I can't say that he's been making me laugh since the day he was born, a 4th degree episiotomy prevented any jocularity for the first week of his life. But shortly after that, he began cracking me up, leaving me walking away, wondering if I had heard right, and learning lessons from a person not yet 3 feet tall. (NOW, of course, he is OVER over 3 feet tall.)

One particularly frustrating afternoon in 1980, I told him to, "Pick up that truck, damn it!" He responded in a manner far too old for his 3 years...."MY NAME'S NOT DAMN IT!" Of course he was right, right after I met him in the delivery room I bestowed upon my newborn son the aristocratic name of William. And, as you will see, he has lived up to that moniker...and then some.

Concerned about the barefoot children in front of him at the local grocers, a four year old William asked me, "Why don't they have any shoes, Mommy?"

I resisted my natural instinct to answer, "DUH! They're hillbillies, dude!" Instead I chose the high road and explained that, "Perhaps they don't have the money to buy shoes, son."

Shortly after that, as I was tucking my young prodigy into bed one night, I noticed that my red neck neighbors were letting their 2 year old walk around the front yard in the dark. I commented, more to myself than my son, "I can't believe they haven't put that baby to bed yet!"

Well, the young William put me in my place again, this time with the observation that, "Maybe they don't have the money to buy any beds, Mom." From the mouths of babes.

Over the years my son has given me the regular joys of motherhood, of course. But he has also given me 3 of the greatest gifts of all, that mother's smile you have as you walk away shaking your head after your child has told a joke that ends with a fart, the pride a mother feels when she realizes that her child has chosen the road less traveled (let's face it, that takes a LOT of nerve!), and the gift of outright laughter.

Today my son has topped himself. He has managed to give me all 3 gifts at once. So, without further poo...this is William...MY SON...the one with the great big stiff...middle finger:



Solaris Gal...this one's for you!
Connie, aren't you proud of your Godson?
Dad...you know, I can't add a thing here. You're the one who introduced sardonic humor into our lives.
Mark...thanks for your part in his upbringing...he didn't get the fart thing from me.
Gay Dudes...sorry, I know it doesn't look like it, but he's straight.

Will you go steady with me???

I've been thinking about something. You know that point in a relationship where yu need to shake hands and say goodbye or commtt to each other big time. I likie to figure these things out before I get into a sticky wicket big time

Well, I've decided that I'm gonna straighten things up with tall dude. I need to know what's going on. I've been coy for over a month and I feel the need to call rules at this point. What's the deal? Do I see other people, do I wait for an ID bracelet Ala with his name on it? What IS the protocol here? I have some crazy ideas that I think are fine, but once again, I'm a couple tweaks south of my objective. No matter, I'm gonna get it figured it out soon.

As soon as I do, I'm gonna call that guy and he'll be mine. So, if any of you man stealing Jolie wannabees feel like grabbing this one I've got a hold of...just remember this, you have been warned. Most people don't even get one of those.

Chicka boom chicka boom dontcha just love it.

:)

ROFL...Now, tell me I'm wrong

Dr. Garrett is the laughing stock of me:


Now tell me this dude didn't beat up a girl or two!

Dr. Matthew Garrett himself.

Was that MEG Kelso? Tell me you didn't make her angry!

OK...

...so I'm in Los Angeles minding my own business. I went on a date with a handsome man and I had a few drinks. I had smoked a bit-O-weed before leaving the house so after a couple Margarita's, I was happy enough to take the beaded necklace from the Miller Lite people walking around the "cabaret" we were patronizing. I didn't mind that the beads had huge blue circles bearing the name of the product they were selling, after all, I was on my 3rd Margarita by then. Why not? The only plans I had were to go home, kiss the handsome dude and pass out on my daughter's couch like any good mother would do.

But as Steinbeck opined in Of Mice and Men, the best laid plans can always meet an unexpected glitch and mine certainly did. Now, remember, I wasn't hurting anyone, I wasn't causing any trouble and my date was paying my way so I had no obligation to society whatsoever at that point.

Some of you might argue that I had the responsibility of not smoking pot but I chose the ONE state in which I can legally do that. I defy any of you to tell me I'm not sick. And if you try to tell me that ganja doesn't make me feel better, I will laugh in your face. I won't argue with you, pot smokers don't argue with straight people, only other pot smokers and only while high. But...I will absolutely make you the laughing stock of me.

So, I was smoking legally obtained weed, in my own home, strictly for the purposes of feeling better...and perhaps a little bit because of how much it helps my pool game. I was drinking perfectly taxed liquor, shooting pool for fun as opposed to cash and kissing a guy who is apparently my OWN PERSONAL dude. All of the people around me were having fun, I saw them. We chatted and laughed and no one was injured in any way.

Then, I go home, stroke out and wake up to find myself being transferred to UCLA Medical Center from another hospital that didn't seem to have the ability to deal with my injuries. Talk about your "YIKES!" moments...that one qualified.

Anyway, I present at the emergency room of one of the most prestigious hospitals in the world...wearing no pants (Don't ask me, the first hospital lost them.), smelling like tequila and wearing blue Miller Lite beads. I was a poster-child for drug tests if ever there was one so they tested me and, like the smart people that they were, they soon knew that, in addition to drinking a bit-O-booze, I had smoked the wacky tobacky that night.

Yay.

Then they got all FBI on me and asked, "Have you done any drugs today?"

Well, I may have been a bit tipsy and I certainly could have had a bit of a weed buzz going on and perhaps I even had brain damage. But I wasn't stupid enough to go, "Uhhh...nyuck nyuck...nope." So, I admitted my sins and was apparently adjudicated a stoner by one particularly annoying child/physician.

That kid was a hideous mix of Greg Brady and Eddie Haskell. (See photo in following post.) Surprisingly, the Haskell genes must be dominant because this guy was the type who LOOKED like the bully down the street. (See photo in the following post.) I may have seen his older brother in Karate Kid. I wanted to poke him in the eyeballs like Moe. (See photo in the following post.) If enough people had smacked this dude when he was a youngster, he might not be the little shit he is today so...do your grandchildren a favor and smack any and all kids you pass this weekend, only when you're sure that you can get away with it of course. Stranger's kids are best because they don't know who you are so they can't really TELL on you and they make rotten witnesses for the prosecution. Worst case...you hit an innocent kid...but that'll just build character so it's all good.

And yes... I am going to name this brat who held my life in his hands a mere two days ago...it's Matthew Garrett and I'm sure that's right because he signed a bunch of papers that I have right here in front of me.

Did Dr. Garrett do anything malicious? Probably not. But he didn't go out of his way to be professional and that's really a good idea in health care. I'm a nurse and sometimes I don't particularly like my patients but the worst they'll get from me is professionalism. They would never be able to read any negativity into my affect. I could be wrong...but I'm pretty sure that's what professionalism is all about.

This little man came into my room twice and told me that I would be discharged that day. Then, real doctors came in and never mentioned discharge so when Dr. Brat said it again, I didn't pay any attention to him. I had the impression that he was the junior resident who had been pegged as a nimrod and assigned to fill in while the real doctors shaved and put on ties.

I didn't like much of what he said because it all seemed to contradict what the real doctors had said. They told me that my blood pressure medicine wasn't working so they were going to try some different meds. Then, when Dr. Toddler came in, all he did was lower the dose of the one I already had. Now it will not only NOT work, it will not work with a lower dose. I guess that means it really, REALLY won't help me avoid future brain injuries. I hope that it's, at the very least, cheaper than the higher dose I've been taking for years. Then, the little wanker told me to stop taking my anti-seizure medicine in 7 days. I've been taking that for a LONG time and I don't know if I really want to be playing games with it. Call me kookie, but I'm a bit ANTI seizure myself.

Anyway, as a nurse, I know what it is to be discharged. A doctor can discharge you all day long and even if he wiggles his nose when he says it, until a nurse comes in with the paperwork, you pretty must just sit there and wait. If I'm going to wait, I'm gonna do it in the bed...not standing in the hallway or sitting on the folding couch in the room. Anyway, apparently Dr. Bitch learned that by 10 AM, I was still in the hospital. My guess is that he made the nurse feel so stupid that she hadn't discharged me that she came in all rattled and SHE didn't really know what was going on either. So, as I was waiting for my ride to show up, the nurse came in again and explained that there was a "discharge lounge" downstairs and offered me it's use. I felt like a wretched outcast.

With the single exception of Gail Spencer, I found the nursing staff at UCLA to be of the highest caliber. I wouldn't have believed that one manager could hire so many excellent nurses in one place and even the nurse who discharged me was doing a superb job until Dr. Jack Ass got to her.

That's what made me think that Dr. Matthew Garrett was a bully of female patients and female nurses. I don't know about the men, I can't speak for them. But most of us know what it's like to be in the presence of a mean and nasty person and that's exactly what I felt around Dr. Miserable.

That's truly a shame because I was so impressed with the nurses that I wanted to mention them. But since the last impression was the fall-out of Dr. Phibes, that was the most pressing issue this morning.

What's the moral to this story? Easy...don't take the beads from the Miller Lite people.

Am I a bitch? Yes. Do I care if you agree with me? Hell no. As a matter of fact, if you don't, I'm doing it wrong.

Hello, it's me again...Margaret

I'm BAAA-AAACK!!!

And this time I'm typing from home. I will, more than likely, write about my experience at UCLA Medical Center one day soon but right now I'm bored with that and I would rather talk about MEEEE!!!

I'm officially a crazy old lady so my lifelong dream of becoming old enough to do silly stuff and be considered cute instead of nuts has finally come true. The nursing staff told my daughter that I was "pleasantly confused". I guess that's a nice way of saying "nutty as a fruit cake". When I first came around after the stroke, I was frightened by everything because I didn't recognize any of it.

But, after a while I realized that I was in a hospital so I sort of just assumed that the aliens were nice aliens and I decided to go along with the program. Since I'm pretty much just following the fates into a confused state that seems seems to be calling me closer and closer, I have no idea what type of blog posts people will be finding when they come here in the future. I suppose it'll be as though I'm Charly from Flowers for Algernon and no one will know if tomorrow holds a witty Irish chick, a dithering idiot or some combination of the two.

And as batty as I may become, I will STILL make more sense than a hospital that has "Neuro-psychiatric Center" on the front door, "Stroke Unit" on the door to the wing, my NAME on the door to my room AND a promise of confidentiality. I don't get that at all but maybe it's me so I'll just leave it alone until I have more to offer the entire botheration than my verbal wrath.

Confusion is feared by most people but once you adjust, it's actually rather interesting. The smallest stuff has been fascinating me, like the thing in the bed that looks like a phone, has voices coming out of one side and lots of buttons but you can't call anyone with it except the nurse.

Oh, and forgetting a few months of your life is exactly like time travel. If you don't remember what happened since you went to bed on your last birthday which was several months ago, you have, for all intents and purposes, travelled into the future. It's not something you'd welcome arbitrarily into your life...but it IS time travel nonetheless. Actually, it was space travel as well, after all, it was June and I was in Atlanta...now I'm in Los Angeles and I don't remember how I got here although once I was told that I took a plane, I DID remember that my dog had flown with me.

I guess it'll all clear up eventually...it did after the first stroke. I was right smack dab in the middle of singing The Happy Birthday Song to my niece when I suddenly forgot the words to the song. Or, I would need a cup and know what a cup looked like but for the life of me, I couldn't remember what the heck one was called. Words would elude me and like the trips through space and time, you never see it coming. Who would foresee such a curse? No one expects to forget words that you use every single day of your life. Think about the repercussions of that...you could be in rush to order french fries, to get to an appointment or to have an orgasm and suddenly you might forget the word "faster".

But it's not all bad, actually there are several other positive things about confusion that are underrated my most people:

1. Lack of responsibilities like driving, babysitting and chopping vegetables.

2. Automatic approval for most government health plans.

3. Appreciation for the phrase, "Once an adult, twice a child."

4. This is the time in life that you are allowed to fart nilly-willy and not see quite as many aghast faces.

5. If caught loitering, committing vagrancy or trespassing, you'll avoid jail and go straight to the nearest hospital.

6. As soon as you GET to the hospital, they'll give you the good drugs.

7. Confused people have absolutely NO interest it smoking, doing drugs or drinking. They exist in a permanent altered state of consciousness. Confusion is one helluva trip dudes!

8. After you spend some time staring at the idiot box, you realize that swings and long walks are much more fun.

9. Of course...if you walk long enough, you get a ride home from the sheriff's department. If you're lucky, you could even get a ride back in a helicopter!

10. You fully appreciate John Lennon while NOT under the influence of pot.

Imagine.

Well, I'm sure there are more but one of the bad things abut this entire sordid debacle is the fact that I can't type anymore. Well, I can but it would probably be quicker to use a pen. This has taken me a LONG FRICKING TIME and I feel like assisting gravity in her efforts to keep the sofa on the floor. See ya!

:)

Hi ya'll!

I'm still in the hospital but my daughter brought me a laptop so I can talk to you. I can't talk for long because the longer I talk, the better your chances are of noticing that I'm quite confused. I wouldn't like that at all. They keep asking me stuff like "What day is it?", "Who's the president?" and "Where are we now?" I keep crib notes written in the palm of my hand but that only works for 24 hours before I have to get new notes.

I read the shirts of the people asking me those questions and it would seem as though I'm in Los Angeles and it's November. Imagine my surprise! I thought I was in Atlanta and it was June. Oh well, it could be worse, I could have forgotten that I was divorced and that would suck. Instead, I seem to have a boyfriend and I didn't even know it!

He's a very nice man, he comes to see me every single day and I'm impressed with my taste in men. He's rather good looking and he's quite tall. He weighs twice as much as I do and I like that in a man. I'm afraid to ask him if we've had sex yet but I figure that as long as I'm in the hospital, it isn't really an issue.

It appears as though I've had a stroke but other than a headache, I feel pretty good. My nurse just came in to give me pain medicine so I'm gonna let her. I'm glad that I wrote stuff everyday because at some point, I need to figure out what's happened to me since June.

See ya soon!

Now Meg is in room 6661. The doctors are deciding what to do about the bleeding, seizures and pain. They may operate, will know tomorrow or Tuesday. The diagnosis of multiple sclerosis may have been wrong and the problems may have been caused by the aneurysm all along. I'll let you know what's going on as I find out.

Annie

This is Annie, Megs daughter. She is in UCLA Medical Center Neuro Intensive Care Unit. Right now she is in room 6429. I will let you know when and if she gets out.

Sorry, I couldn't resist

<----I don't think, therefore I had boob implants.

OK...right now I'm trying to remain calm and reasoned. I'm as angry as I get which, admittedly, isn't really THAT angry. I MIGHT get really angry if the internet didn't offer so many outlets for my ire. Just knowing that settles me down a bit because I don't have to worry about telling someone off and forgetting one really good line as I DO tell him off. I can always edit a post later.

As I said, I'm trying to calm my ass down and I keep getting calls and emails from the man who I now know is married. I'm not sure, but I think he's trying to get me to keep my mouth shut. His efforts are falling short.

I even told him, "Let me calm down before I do or say anything stupid." He refuses to do that. Then, he called to apologize for being a shit and within 6 minutes he was shitting on me again. I don't know whether to laugh or cry at this point.

I know that a LOT of people like to bicker but I'm not one of them. I'd rather come here and vent. None of you argue with me, not very often anyway. What baffles me isn't that someone wants to bicker like a 4 year old, but that he is willing to do it on line, in emails and from Georgia yet.

I'm not sure what benefits people get from bickering and getting all Perry Mason on me. An argument is inherently a disagreement and emotional debate will not sway anyone over the age of 27. So, once again, I'm gonna try to calm down. Wish me luck

Here's the poll question that I asked last week

If Meg found out that a dude she was dating was actually a MARRIED MAN...should she out him on the internet?
	Oh no, she should just make him wonder.
	I would, in a heartbeat.
	Only if he was a real shit.
	LMAO...she should have done it without taking a poll!
	That depends, is he worth blackmailing?
pollcode.com free polls

I've think I've come to my conclusion based upon the answers to the poll. This is your last chance to weigh in...if a bunch of you don't tell me not to, I'm taking care of this little liar today.

I'll be working on it after I post this so ya'll come back soon...y'hear?

I can't spell alledgedly so I just qualify this by saying it is 100% MY OWN OPINION

Some of you may remember my matricidal cousin...

...Paul Mergel. It appears as though he has gotten away with murdering 2 women...one was my aunt and the other was a New Jersey woman I never knew, but found herself ablaze after Paul tired of her. Occasionally I write something about the sonofabitch and although I hadn't planned to do it today, I was put into this position when I received an email from someone I won't name:

"hes in the Monmouth county jail here in new jersey Georgia refuses to extradite him because its a small misdemeanor he has for gun possession"

I made some calls and found out that Mergel is, indeed, in Jersey, specifically in the Monmouth County lock up. Here is a list of his charges:

Hazlet TWP. Failure to pay fines......................................no bail
Hazlet TWP. Bad Checks..................................................$600 bail
Unlisted Agency Driving on revoked list........................$500 bail
Middletown TWP. Contempt of court..............................no bail
Middletown TWP. Driving on revoked list......................no bail

Monmouth County has had him since September and as of this morning, he has no court date set. But...the lady at the county said that it takes 2-3 months to go to court so this hideous waste of space could potentially go to court any day and find himself walking amongst decent folk and that can't be.

My next call is to the Georgia prosecutors who don't think that it's worth a trip to Jersey to grab a murder suspect. I find that so ironic considering the red flags that went unnoticed in the Hassan case. If Mergel gets away and kills again, who do we blame? I hope those folks are pondering that possibility.

Now I'll call the Gogia folk and ask some questions because because I CANNOT BELIEVE that GEORGIA would let Jersey keep a prime suspect in a murder case. Then again, maybe they're trying to get back at Jersey for letting him leave the state after the death of his "girlfriend".

I'll figure out what I can and than I'll let you know exactly who will be responsible when this thug is eventually set free. They say after you kill once, it get easier. I wonder what they say after you've gotten away with TWO murders?

I left a message with the prosecutor in Murray County Georgia.

I just heard back from Georgia and the bottom line is Mergel isn't actually CHARGED with anything that makes it worth extraditing him when all that would happen is Georgia would have to pay to keep him in jail for a year. He also said that he would call the investigating officer to see if he's gotten anymore evidence that would make it worth bringing the piece of trash back to Georgia. In the meantime, all they have against him is failure to report for a probation meeting in Georgia.

More info:

http://diaryofmydivorce.blogspot.com/2008/09/100-opinion.html

Ordinarily...

...being quoted in New York's Village Voice would be quite a treat. But when Village Voice contributor Roy Edroso quoted me, he also de-sexed me...or is it re-sexed? Cross-sexed? As many do, Edroso assumed that I was a man and he used the pronoun "he" in reference to me...twice...and that's just not right. I happen to be a she...I always have been. I'm not one of those ex-dudes who had their manhood hacked off...I'm an honest to goodness woman, with PMS, a tendency to act coy when I have a flat tire and an absolutely acrimonious attitude to my cheating ex who, if Karma exists, is being bitten by a huge spider on his left testicle as I type this.

Sometimes, I can fool people who aren't paying attention because I drive a car really well, I usually make perfect sense and I rarely, if ever, lose control of myself and go into some female tantrum. Yeah, I'm an odd woman, but a woman nonetheless.

Of course, some things I do will give me away immediately. For example, watch me try to parallel park...like a set of knockers on a chest, my parallel parking is a sure gender giveaway. Also, if a cop pulls me over, I WILL cry. I won't even wait to learn what I allegedly did to earn the personal roadside service...I'll just start the water works before that cop taps on my trunk for whatever it is that cops tap on trunks for.

Also, I LOVE sports...on TV. I have no business around balls, pucks, large wooden sticks or golf stick thingies. I just end up crying, further confirming my female status. But...I know what a touch back is, I can name 8 ways for a batter to get to first base and I know what a power play is. I love football, baseball and hockey. That's not really "he" stuff...that's just tomboy stuff. That STILL doesn't make me a "he". I may enjoy the hockey game, but I AM a woman and I can prove it before the game is over. You'll know that I'm a "she" as soon as you notice that my tendency to remain stupefied for most of the game because, for the life of me, I can't figure out how they get that big piece of ice in the building. The doors are NOWHERE near large enough. I guess it will have to remain one of life's little mysteries.

My passion for sports aside, I don't know why some arbitrary dude who's never met me would assume that I am a "he". I wasn't trying to be a "he" when I wrote the piece to which Edroso was referring. I can't convince others that I'm a man when I TRY to do it.

In one of the first movies I ever worked on, I played one of 5000 Union prisoners of war during the Civil War. Back then I would go out of my way to try to get close to the camera and I tried everything I could think of to get my puss on the screen. I'd hide behind tall guys and pop out when they said, "Action!" or I would stand up front with my back to the camera until it started rolling and I got caught EVERY SINGLE time I tried it. One day I actually taped down my boobs during PMS and had some friendly make-up man give me some facial hair. The director, John Frankenheimer, was never fooled. Not once. That man caught me EVERY single time. Then I ended up in "deep background". That was behind ALL of the other background players. On the bright side...it was in front of the plywood cut-out people in the back. So, try as I might, I cannot pass as a man in front of another man.

But...let me put a few coherent thoughts together...and to the rest of the world, I'm a dude. A part of me feels as tough I should be offended by that.

"Others worry about fallout. "I assume another publicity hungry freak will try to top peeing on The Savior of all Mankind," says {Flagged For Removal}. Then he provides samples: "Pope answers ad on Craigslist to be a 'host' at an S & M party. We find out he likes to play the submissive male..." We hope he's registered this with the WGA."

My Sunday Walk Around Los Angeles

Hair, hair, everywhere.


People as thin as the mannequins.


Pretty women everywhere!



Sidewalk cafes, cell phones and people in a hurry.


Photo shoots all over.

Good morning!

I spent the weekend hanging out with a guy who entertained me from the moment he came to pick me up Friday night until he left for the week last night. (He went home to sleep...I'm still a Los Angeles virgin!)

We had a lots-O-fun going to see Jethro Tull, Malibu, Farmer's Market and just walking around. We had GREAT food at a restaurant called Du Par's which is at the Farmer's Market. Yesterday we started out for Brentwood and Bundy Lane so that I could take pictures but we were mainly walking and by the time we got close to our goal, we were losing the sun so we just turned around and went back to my place to make-out. I haven't done that in a while and I plan on doing it much, much more...even if my daughter keeps catching us and saying, "ICK!"

You know, you can kiss a lot of bad kissers in a lifetime and lord knows that I certainly have. So, it's always a nice surprise when you come across a really accomplished kisser and I certainly have. Unfortunately, there are far too many kissing fish out there and I'm very disappointed after most kisses planted upon my lips. Oddly enough, a bad kisser has just as much confidence in their kissing abilities as does a really GOOD kisser so just in case there are any bad kissers out there (and chances are there are a LOT of them!), here are a few things to ponder BEFORE you assault another person with your lips:

1. Hard lips are only good for expressing derision and you should NEVER express derision in a kiss. I hate it when I kiss lips that seem to be in a foul mood, relax those bad boys and enjoy the moment.

2. If the lips you're kissing keep wandering away from your mouth, consider the fact that you might be offending them with your tongue, your lips or your facial hair.

3. This seems to be a tough one for some moustachio-ed men...if the person you're kissing continually jumps and says, "OUCH!", you might have one of those faces that hurts. Be on the look out for sharp hairs. You wouldn't want to kiss a porcupine and neither would I!

4. If the chick has road rash on her cheeks, you should stop rubbing her face with your own.

5. Just because she let you kiss her, that doesn't mean your hands can act like Daniel Boone, keep them away from boobs, crotches and backsides for at least a FEW make-out sessions.

6. Here's a good rule to remember...if your hands aren't soft, touch others softly with them.

7. A kiss is hard to refuse if you have your hands on both sides of a woman's face.

8. Pay attention to a short person's neck...they might be badly positioned. You never want a chick to remember you as the person who gave her whiplash.

9. Tongues should NEVER encroach uvula's...if you're going to let one out to play, keep good control of it.

10. Your best bet is to let another person kiss you for a bit and when you figure out what they're doing, do it right back. It might not be exactly what they want, BUT...they can't get mad at you for doing it!

My ex could have used some lessons in kissing and I'm glad I didn't help him out. It's nice to know that he's annoying someone else with his mouth, moustache and bad breathe.

Saturday at Malibu

I finally went on a date this weekend, actually 2 of them. They were both with the same guy and it could be considered one really long date except for the fact that he went home Friday night and slept in the middle of it.

Friday night we went to dinner and an Ian Anderson concert. I got to hear Aqualung live...it was an excellent concert with a bunch of SUPERB musicians. I haven't enjoyed a concert that much since 1987. Apparently, Anderson doesn't like the song Bungle in the Jungle which is my favorite Jethro Tull song so he didn't play that one but as I said, the talent was simply amazing, from the drummer to the violin player, everyone in the band was hella-impressive.

After the concert we came back to my place to enjoy the greenery and and so I could introduce him to my daughter. At one point my daughter left to go to the store and that's when I got the, "OK...I've been wanting to do this all night." kiss. It was a good one. I like kissing and I plan to do more of it soon.

Not today thought, I would hate to give the appearance of being one of those "dates that never end". You know the type, you go out once and then you're inseparable. I hate that because when you DO finally want to go somewhere without the guy, he wonders why you "don't feel the same way anymore". Then you have to justify leaving or stay when you don't want to and neither one of those options are acceptable to me.

But...that doesn't change the fact that I enjoy his company a LOT and would love to hang out again today. But then again, I would have loved to have gotten laid too and I did avoid that so avoiding his company won't be hard, but it won't be fun either.

He has one MAJOR flaw. He's from Minnesota which makes him a Vikings fan. My ex is a Vikings fan and MY 2 favorite teams are the Bears and whoever is playing the Minnesota. For a fleeting moment after watching the Cardinals go 3 touchdowns up on the Bears, I thought, perhaps I should just get it over with and become a Vikings fan...after all, they're having a great year. If I were a Redskins fan, I might consider such heresy but I'm not. I'm from Chicago and I was raised as a Cubs fan so I'm nothing if not loyal to the home team. I can't imagine me ever turning away from the Bears...they'd have to do something hideously atrocious and unconscionable like hire Mike Vick for that to happen.

That would NEVER happen in Chicago. Even the offensive line wouldn't back up a quasi-humanoid creature like Vick. Chicagoans have more sense than that...at least most of them do. I don't know what the heck happened to Philadelphia, I had such respect for their spirit before they hired a bully's bully.

Anyway...I just got a phone call from kisser dude, it appears that I'm going out for breakfast.

OK...tomorrow I'll be a good girl.

:)

Payton's making new friends!

The middle picture is of Payton and his new best friend, Slausen!

New Poll Question

If Meg found out that a dude she was dating was actually a MARRIED MAN...should she out him on the internet?
	Oh no, she should just make him wonder.
	I would, in a heartbeat.
	Only if he was a real shit.
	LMAO...she should have done it without taking a poll!
	That depends, is he worth blackmailing?
pollcode.com free polls

Unidentified Flying Object

I took this picture in Camarillo California yesterday, isn't it cool?

I lived in California before...

...but then I was in Petaluma, a bit north of Frisco. I occasionally saw celebrities, on and off of movie sets. Now I actually live IN Hollywood so I seem to see quite a few...so many so that I've even been surprised at how many I've seen. I stopped mentioning them after about 4 because it was becoming rather boring and to tell you the truth, I wouldn't have known who most of them were if someone hadn't told me.

Saturday night I was at a place called Busby's shooting a few games of pool and minding my own business when the bartender asked the guy who was playing pool at the other table why he looked so familiar. The guy said that he was on Madmen, a show I've never seen. I didn't have a clue who the guy was and I didn't know his name so it wasn't really worth mentioning.

What I should have mentioned about Saturday night was that I had a beer and 3 sips of a Bacardi and Coke after taking a pain pill Saturday afternoon. I did all of that without eating so I sort of deserved what happened on the way home. Unfortunately, others who DIDN'T deserve it paid for my stupidity.

After a few sips of my drink, I started to feel a bit queasy so instead of waiting for my daughter to pick me up, I started walking home. After walking for about a mile, I decided to hop on a bus for the last mile down La Brea. I don't know if it was all the people dressed in costume that tightly packed the bus, the movement of the stupid thing or the fact that I never did eat, but I quickly turned green and felt an impending and unstoppable need to puke.

Luckily for me, the bus was approaching my stop so I pulled the string to signal a desire to get off of the bus. I was actually relieved for a moment because, despite my best efforts, I was about to blow chunks and I hoped to be able to do so at the intersection of La Brea and Melrose and NOT on the bus. I won't tell you how far I went to avoid heaving all over the bus, but trust me...my efforts were valiant.

They were all for naught. Before the bus came to a stop, I barfed on the arm of the guy sitting to my right. Then, without missing a beat, I got the leg of the guy on my left. That's when the bus stopped and I bolted without apology. All I wanted to do was get off of the bus before it happened again. I'm not blaming any of that on the Madmen dude, but it was quite a coincidence that I lost my beer shortly after seeing him.

Although I felt badly about leaving the contents of my stomach in the lap of some dude dressed up as a vampire...I planned to find a way to spin my short bus ride into a humorous story and I did so for most of Sunday. But I DID feel for the 2 guys who caught the wrath of my gastro-intestinal upheaval. I even tweeted an apology on Twitter on the off chance that the barfed upon guys were cleaned up and reading my tweets but I forgot to tell you guys about it until right now.

Then, yesterday my daughter and I stopped at a gas station in Camarillo. I was sitting in the car as my kid went in the store for dog food and although I noticed the chick in front of me stick the pump into the gas tank of her Suburban, I certainly didn't know who the anorexic wench was so I paid no attention to her.

When my kid got back in the car, she told me that the woman in the Suburban was Rachel Griffiths, an actor on a show called Six Feet Under. I've never seen that show so even when my daughter told me who she was, I didn't know her. And I couldn't see her because she was sitting in the Suburban as the gas pump was hanging out of the left side of it all by itself.

Apparently, my daughter was a fan so when she made eye contact with the skinny chick, she smiled at her. By that time she was also pumping gas and not likely to run away from her own car to mob Griffiths. Also, it was the middle of the day and the gas station was full of men so I can't imagine anyone feeling threatened, certainly not by the smile of a young woman.

Now, I know my kid. She isn't a nut and she has seen her share of celebrities around town and as a planner of the Golden Globe awards. Star spotting has become very commonplace to her and if she wasn't a fan of Six Feet Under, she probably would have walked away without smiling.

But as soon as she DID smile, the middle-aged quasi-celebrity jumped into her vehicle as though Jack the Raper had just shouted "You're next!" at her. So even if I wanted to see her, I couldn't unless I was nutty enough to wait for her to get back out of her gas guzzling truck/car and I'm not THAT nutty at all.

I've long ago lost count of the famous people whom I have met as well as those with whom I've worked. I can safely say that, with the possible exceptions of Bill Murray and Sally Fields, every single star who I've met has been as pleasant as a normal person would be.

It doesn't surprise me that a nobody would hide from "prying eyes" because it seems as though the sweetest stars I've encountered have been the most celebrated. For example, Bob Hope, Charlton Heston and Harrison Ford were all more than gracious when I met them. I met Ford at a party but Heston and Hope could have easily avoided me. They didn't. Instead they behaved liked regular human beings.

Those 3 men were stars that most people on this planet would know. If they were pumping gas along with 10 other people, at least 9 would have recognized them. But Rachel Griffiths would need quite a few more gas pumps full of people before anyone would pick up on her identity. She should be pleased that ANYONE knows who she is yet rather than return a smile from a fan and continue pumping her gas...she chose to go to all the trouble to jump back in her ride with the gas pump hanging out of the side of it.

I didn't think about it until I was back on the freeway but if I see her again, I'm sticking my finger down my throat and blowing chunks all over her Suburban, her left arm or her right leg.

It seems as though the clock...

...on this computer is finally correct. I guess it'll screw itself up sometime next spring but for now, I'll enjoy the convenient little time keeper in the corner and it'll actually tell me the truth for a change. I don't have to do any math, I don't have to consider what time zone I'm in and by the time I get used to this method of time keeping, it'll be wrong again.

I'm sure there's a way to fix that sucker but when I sit at my computer, I usually have something else on my mind that takes precedence over the clock thing. Instead, I sit here for 6 months of the year chronologically challenged and wishing that there was a clock around here with the correct time on it. I sometimes think that I should offer myself as the poster child for procrastination but once again, there's always something more pressing to take up my time.

You may ask why I don't just stop what I'm doing and fix the stupid thing. Well, there's a reason for that. Since I moved to the West Coast, I always worry about the people who like to read this crap in the morning. I don't want to screw up their evening by making them wonder if I ever did get around to writing something and I certainly don't want to mess up my own evening worrying about people I've never met so I'm always in a hurry when I sit down to write and with my daughter around, I notice how much time I spend writing. Sitting alone in my own place lends itself to writing more so than having a kid around seems to.

See? I'm digressing again and digressing is really just written procrastination, don't you think?

I feel the need to do it again so here goes. My daughter keeps BBC on the television so much that she's beginning to get a British accent. I'm not really sure how to change the channel without alerting her to my actions. She keeps that remote control so close to her that I can't really do it discreetly, even if I wait for her to fall asleep. It's not like I can do anything without the remote...if I tried I might end up pushing a button that can't be un-pushed without the remote. Then I'd have to come right out and tell her, "I've screwed up the TV, I need the remote."

That would start an argument over "Why didn't you just get the remote in the first place?!"...after all, "What you did just doesn't make sense!" I never claimed that I made sense and I never said that I wasn't a flake. As a matter of fact, I've colored my hair blonde as a warning. If she assumes that I'm brighter than your average blonde, it's on her.

You know that look that you get when you get caught doing something incredibly stupid like eating a co-worker's lunch, locking the car keys in your trunk or asking a Pet-Mart associate where the peanut butter is? Well, I seem to be getting that look often and I don't think it's fair. I could take her into MY house and get annoyed every time she breaks one of MY arbitrary rules but it just wouldn't occur to me. Even if I wanted to take the time and energy to do that, I'd just procrastinate until I forgot about it and nothing would come of it so I don't even bother pondering over such minor transgressions.

I may notice a person who does something that annoys me, but unless they keep on doing it in front of me, I won't go out of my way to bitch at them. It would be like trying to reason with a drunken person walking down the street...it's not worth the time so I just keep walking to my destination. My daughter would stop and take the time to bitch at the drunk and there you have the difference between her and I.

The difference between a drunk and myself would be that I remember all the stupid stuff my kid tells me. Unfortunately, I never seem to remember to avoid irritating her. On Halloween she got mad at me for eating a candy bar. If eating a candy bar on Halloween can get you in trouble, who's gonna worry about which kitchen sponge is for the pet's dishes and which one is for people dishes?

And one more thing...I'm not nice because I don't know HOW to be a bitch...I can do that quite well. I simply CHOOSE not to.