Sometimes we learn...

...from our own mistakes and sometimes, albeit rarely, we learn from the mistakes made by others. I recently overheard a chick making a HUUUUGE mistake and there wasn't a thing I could do to help her.

First of all, it wasn't any of my business...it's not like she was my kid. Second of all, I didn't want to begin any squabbles...some people become offended when another person offers constructive criticism, no matter how well intended.

This chick is one smart, beautiful and classy young woman. She has everything in the world going for her except for the fact that she is the ONLY person who cannot see how smart, beautiful and classy she is.

People wonder why they keep getting involved with jerks. Maybe it's a woman who consistently dates abusive men, lying men or just plain useless men who simply want to use her for one thing or another. I've heard this woman wonder out loud why she only seems to attract the worst that manhood has to offer. She knows there's a problem, but for the life of her, she can't figure it out at all.

But after listening to a few of her conversations, I have her and her problem pegged to a tee. Mind you, I wasn't trying to spy on her or her little chats, but she was in the same room in which I was watching a movie and I wouldn't have left the movie. Heck, I wouldn't have left the room anyway...I sprained my knee the other day and I've been laid up on the couch ever since. If anyone was going to leave, it was going to be the interloper who chose to stay so close to the gimp whilst having these conversations.

The reason I'm even bringing it up is that I hope someone, anyone, learns something from this. So many people (men and women) wonder why they seem to attract the same old yahoos that treat them like dirt in one way or another. Some of the nicest, most honest and decent people make the same mistake that this chick (we'll call her Talkative Chick) made. And the mistake is so innocuous that they would never pick up on the fact that what they're doing is scaring away decent guys and when you do that, you're left with the ilk of man who is more likely to behave in one of the aformentioned manners. They may be as clueless as Talkative Chick when it comes to identifying the problem, but the fact that they DON'T get it simply adds to the chances of entering one of those, "Oh no...it's happened again!" relationships.

Let's see if I can sort of paraphrase what I overheard Talkative Chick say to 3 different guys. It went sort of like this:

"I was in a really serious relationship with a guy for years and I thought he was the "one". That didn't work out at all. It was a huge mistake and I'm still a bit angry about that. On top of that, I had a great job that I lost earlier this year and it's had me so depressed that I ended up going to a psychiatrist. He put me on some drugs for depression but I don't think they're working at all. As it that weren't bad enough, I slipped and injured my back so now I couldn't get a decent job if I wanted to..."

I think you get the idea...the conversation went on and on about the negative things that had happened to Talkative Chick over the past year. Not once did she shut up long enough to listen to the guy nor did I hear her say, "But you know the old adage, 'What doesn't kill you makes you stronger.' so I'm OK with it all, I just need to take care of business until my luck takes a turn for the better.

Any guy still listening after all of sad, sad bullshit most likely has his own sad, sad story to tell and when two people like that get together, the sadness doesn't double, it increases exponentially bringing exponentially more sadness to both parties.

Earlier this year, I dated a guy a couple of times before inviting him over to my place for dinner. When we were out, we didn't really have occasion to chat, we were just having fun. But the evening he came to my place for dinner, I got to hear him speak. His conversation went something like this:

"I don't know what you see in me. You're way out of my league, I don't know why you'd want to spend time with someone like me..."

Well, he said stuff like that for about 20 minutes before it occurred to me that he was right, I WAS too good for him. I only say that because as bad as things can get in my life, I still know that I'm a valuable person and certainly worthy of the attention of a decent guy. So, I said, "You're right. I could be miserable all by myself, I don't need to invite miserable people over to help me be miserable. Sorry dude, but you need to leave now."

He was stunned. My guess is he was fishing for compliments and what could I say? "Oh baby, you're so cool the way you put yourself down...it turns me on something bizarre!"

Well, this biatch don't play that game so I just sent him packing. As he walked away from my front door, I could see him looking back over his shoulder. I'm 98.768% sure that he was thinking, "What the hell just happened? The self pity thing works on so many women!"

Obviously he chose the wrong woman that time.

Men, AND women, enjoy having fun. They also enjoy being around friendly, happy people. When a person forgets to attract others by being pleasant company and begins to use the self-depreciation crap, they have limited themselves to others who play that game. And as I said, misery plus misery equals something more than misery squared.

Many of you know exactly what I'm talking about. Some of you dont. Unfortunately, the information is wasted on the people self aware enough to grasp my point but I hope that there is someone out there who can see themselves in this post. If so, I hope that they take what I've said to heart.

It's not that there are THAT many jerks out there, there ARE quite a few, but that's not the problem. The problem is that too many people believe that others will be attracted to a sob story. To some extent, they're right, some people love a chick with a sob story...it's just that when they meet one, they see a weakness that they think they can take advantage of.

If you know someone who seems to attract the same type of jerk over and over again, send this post to them on the off chance that they might recognize some of their own actions that lead them to make the same mistakes that always seem to end in a great big ball of trouble.

:)

Here's the link if you want to send the post to anyone else:

http://diaryofmydivorce.blogspot.com/2009/12/sometimes-we-learn.html

Why I don't like gay dudes

1. They take up some of the best looking men.

2. They dress better than I.

3. Music, they listen to bad music.

4. They are MUCH better housekeepers than I.

5. They’re always happy and rarely two-faced. That’s hard to live up to.

6. They are generally extremly kind, almost saintly. It’s tought to be rude to a charming man, gay or not.

7. They rarely get PMS so their partners think they’re perfect. I could be perfect without estrogen.

8. They seem to like small, yappy dogs. I hate small, yappy dogs.

9. They run like girls which means that girls run like gay dudes.

10. For some reason, gay dues all drive great cars. I’ve sucked dick but I never got a CAR for it!

Some nit wit who's name...

...I can't remember, was informed of opposition to some spending of the Stimulus Package. Tax money was being spent on something stupid, (Whoda thunk it?) and someone complained. (That almost never happens.) The tactic used by the spokesperson for Obama's plan was one I could appreciate. Finally, an argument that I can respect. The guy said something like, "Our response is an IN YOUR FACE so what?"

I like that. It's honest and I can handle honesty.

But the tact is not without it's flaws. I can be IN YOUR FACE too. I have legal weed that smells worse than any cigarette (to a non-stoner) and I could light it anywhere I want to...IN YOUR FACE. With a little thought, I could do it without breaking any laws.

Many call others racist...that is TOTALLY deserving of a HUGE SO WHAT? This is America. People have the right to be racists. As long as they don't trample on my rights, I don't care what they say at the weekly family get-togethers. God Bless 'em. You don't have to like it...and I don't have to like what you do with my tax dollars.

If the government can take my money and use it for abortion, I should at least have the right to my own opinion. I earn that right when my money is used to end the life of a tiny baby more in need of human help than ever in it's desperate journey through life. How's this for IN YOUR FACE...the government has found a way to make us think that slaughtering our own young is a RIGHT that we must defend! How scary is that?

Anyway, I wouldn't ever say those things, I may be in your face, but rude, I am not.

:)

Did you ever hear of...

...pear brandy? My new beau, we'll call him Thor, brought us some holiday cheer in the form of pear brandy and poured me a glass full to drink. I couldn't get past the smell. It smelled like whiskey and it didn't taste much better. I tried to be sociable and sip, chug or shoot that crap and I just couldn't do it. I wasn't in a drinking mood and I was sober. This is some nasty stuff that, if I were to drink, I would have to be drunk already. That's how I ended up drinking straight gin, I downed a whole lot of beer first so that by the time someone handed me gin, I didn't taste the hideous concoction enough to avoid drinking a LOT of it.

Ions ago, I used to drink until I passed out or someone very large and bold cut me off. Today, I usually can't drink a drink to save my life. I just don't like drinking crap that tastes bad and I like my brain the way it is. I'd prefer it weren't full of bubbles, but aneurysms are only more reasons not to drink. I don't like it, I don't like the way it makes me feel and I don't like living in a place that actually charges 15 bucks for a highball. I'm a lot of fun at parties.

But, if you try really hard and wait long enough, you might catch me on a night that finds me in an interesting mood when I have had a couple drinks and they actually make me feel good. Naturally, when something makes you feel good, you do more of it so on those rare occasions that I can enjoy a libation or two, I end up drinking it all.

Of course, that's never a good thing after the first blast of giddiness. The last time I drank like that was Halloween. You may or may not recall that was the night that I met Thor. That was also the night I puked on two guys...I got the arm of the guy to my right and the leg of the guy on my left. It never occurred to me until yesterday that I never once tried to avoid other people and barf in my own lap. If I ever feel the need to blow chunks in a crowded area again, I'll just go ahead and blow those chunks down my own shirt. That seems like the polite thing to do, don't you think?

And, by the way, yes...Thor was present for my little barfarama and he still called me later that week and we've been playing nicely ever since. You gotta love a guy who gives you a mulligan on vomit the first night he meets you. What a sweetie.

The memory must be fading because he handed me that disgusting pear brandy and asked me to go out with him on New Year's Eve. That's nice.

The only problem is I hate New Year's Eve. I don't mind if I'm in the safety of my own home...I just hate being out with a bunch of drunks. Even IF I was able to enjoy a drink and get drunk myself, that would mean the obligatory hangover and that can't be. When you go out drinking on New Year's Eve, you might as well just plan for a New Year's Day hangover. I hate hangovers, I certainly don't want to know the date of my next one.

Well, my daughter is cleaning a closet and the polite thing for me to do is help her so I'm going to do that.

Ya'll stay sober...ya' hear?

I'm in a rare...

...bad mood. It's like I use to feel when I would get PMS. I wasn't touchy and overly sensitive to perceived transgressions, I was actively searching them out so that I could have an excuse to let the bitch in me take over. I haven't decided what to do about it yet, so for the moment I guess I'll just roll with it.

So...a woman in a bad mood? You don't see many of them...in the men's locker room. But outside of one of those, I'm just another bearer of tits with an attitude. I suppose I should try my hand at being a dominatrix before I get happy again.

Maybe not, with my luck I'd spontaneously burst into happiness and untie the poor sap I've already strapped to the bed. That's no fun for anyone.

I could cheat on someone, but with my luck, he'd be a cuckold and the cheating would turn him on more than it would me. See? This is what being a Cubs fan for decades does to a person.

I could try to get into the holidays but that crap is really all about kids and it's no fun without any. If any of you have a spare one, you could drop it off here. I won't be in a bad mood for the kid, I'd take some sort of drug that makes people happy so the kid wouldn't be subjected to a foul mood...just a crazy playful mood. I've never done Ecstasy but I hear that makes people happy...if you'd like, you could drop some off with the kid to make things easier on everyone.

Damn it, my prozac and xanax is kicking in. Now I have to be happy again. And just when I was looking forward to being a bitch.

I was in the hospital again...

...blah, blah, blah. I'm out now and with that I am pleased. :)

I think I am headed into old people territory because my brain is failing me. That's OK, it makes for an interesting life, but a boring blog. Let's see? What can I discuss? How about nipples?

OK then, nipples it is.

Ever since I was very young, I've had to live with the fact that my nipples and the brown area around them are quite large. I wouldn't have known that except for the fact that my little brother walked in on me once when I was naked in the bathroom. He laughed (scarring me for life) and began chanting..."Silver Dollar Nipples! Silver Dollar Nipples! Silver Dollar Nipples!

Most of my memories about that brother have to do with something he did to impact ME. When he was about 3 or 4, he would run down the block to my girlfriends garage, (where we all were playing Tip-It) and then he'd run around the table and he'd do this all naked as a jaybird. Well, as naked as any bird, I guess.

It was extremely embarrassing for me and knowing him now, I realize he did that to be a jerk. At age 8, I thought he was just being a 3 or 4 year old. But now I realize that the boy was being a 3 year old...he was just being a miscreant 3 year old. His motives were not to have fun, not to "Let it all hang out!"...but to watch the girls react to him. Yep, that's my brother.

That kid knew how much I hated his little au naturel visits and my girlfriends didn't like it either. Between Cathy Campbell, Gloria Dufty, Karen and Laura Olef and that crazy chick, Jill Ihrig, my bro evoked quite a few screams. That sort of control would have been fun for a kid his age.

So, I did a few other things and the next time I noticed my brother was years later after I began developing nipples. I was too busy to pay much attention to that kid, if it weren't for his evil little actions, I might not remember him at all.

So, that's my take on nipples.

10 things I think about during sex

1. The '69 Mets.

2. The cobwebs on the ceiling.

3. What I'm making for dinner.

4. Did I save those Hot Pocket coupons? Now that they're on sale I should save a LOT of money!

5. Should I use bread crumbs or oatmeal in my meat loaf recipe?

6. I'd never, ever get a tattoo.

7. I wish this guy would hold his damn weight off of me!!!

8. I don't think bowling alleys should have those bumper things in the gutter. Let the kids learn like I did.

9. I hate seafood.

10. I gotta pee.

Email from Barrack Obama

Dear Meg:

Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me. I have heardfrom countless Americans struggling to afford health insurance andhealth professionals striving to provide care. I appreciate your perspective.

There is broad consensus among the American people onthe need for affordable, high-quality health care. The rising cost ofhealth care is the most pressing financial challenge for families andfor our Nation, and controlling this cost is essential to bringingdown the Federal deficits we inherited. We must also end unfairinsurance practices that leave millions of Americans withoutcoverage, deny them access to coverage, and expose them toextraordinary burdens. And we should ensure that smallbusinesses have access to affordable, high-quality health plans fortheir employees so that we can make our economy - and our smallbusinesses - more competitive. Now is the time to move forward,and I am working to get health insurance reform done this year.

Since I took office, we have done more to improve healthcare than we have in the previous decade. In February, I signedH.R. 2 to provide coverage for millions of children through theChildren's Health Insurance Program, and I signed the AmericanRecovery and Reinvestment Act to make key investments incomputerized medical records and preventive services.
Still, more must be done to lower costs, expand coverage,and improve the quality of health care. Health insurance reformmust provide more security and stability to those who have healthinsurance; make sure those who do not have insurance can findaffordable options; and lower the cost of health care for ourfamilies, our businesses, and our government. Reform will benefitseniors by protecting and strengthening Medicare, closing the"donut-hole" gap in coverage for prescription drugs, and providingfree preventive care. To help fulfill the debt we owe to our servicemen and women, I am committed to ensuring that we provide thehighest-quality health care possible to America's veterans. My2010 budget requests the largest single-year increase in funding forthe Department of Veterans Affairs in three decades andsignificantly expands health care coverage to an additional 500,000veterans by 2013.

Ultimately, there are tough choices to be made, and I amworking to bring employers and workers, health care providers andpatients together to create a system that delivers high-qualityhealth care and puts the Nation on a sustainable, long-term fiscalpath. To learn more about my Health Insurance Reform Plan or toshare a personal story, please join me online at:www.HealthReform.gov. For further information on health careand assistance that may be available to you, you may call 1-800-FED-INFO or visit: www.USA.gov.

I share the sense of urgency that millions of Americanshave voiced. I watched as my ailing mother struggled with stacksof insurance forms in the last moments of her life. This is not who we are as a Nation; together, we will fix it.

Sincerely,
Barack Obama

To be a part of our agenda for change, join us at www.WhiteHouse.gov

As I sit down this morning...

...I have no clue where my fingers are about to take me. Nothing special has happened, no hideous health problems, no annoying political crap and my weekend, while enjoyable, wasn't really noteworthy.

I did play cribbage for a while which I haven't done in quite a while but other than that, and an intriguing lack of sex, this weekend will be remembered as the Wet Weekend in LA. The weather was more exciting than my own weekend. But, I suppose at my age I should be happy with that.

That, and of course, my new relationship. I'm afraid to talk about it, not because someone might read it but because I haven't figured it out yet. I should...and I'll probably do that...but not right now. I'm confused enough without adding romance to my cerebral duties du jour.

Apparently my brain is in a vulnerable condition as it is. After 3 strokes, I'm just happy that I can spell. The strokes, while not anything I'd really WANT to do again, are interesting.

When I have one, I don't remember anything. I suddenly and without warning find myself surrounded by strangers and unaware of who I am, who they are or what in the hell is going on. I figure it must be a lot like Alzheimer's Disease. If it is, you have no idea just how frightening it is to know nothing. There is a sense of self awareness, but nothing else at all. You can't understand what the strangers are saying and they are absolutely NOT going to go away so eventually they become scary little creatures and sometimes I want to hit them. I haven't yet...thank God...but I've come really, really close.

Hell, sneak up on me from behind in a bar and I'll turn around swinging...and that's when I'm sober. Get me all stroked up and I could really do some damage. Luckily, even my totally confused self starts to practice self restraint at some point. That's a good thing but if I had to stay confused for any length of time I'm sure I'd smack a person or two...probably a couple times a month.

Every time I was confused like that, someone I knew eventually sparked something inside. Once I recognized ANYTHING, I recognized almost everything.

Anyway, I hope I never have to stay in that condition for any length of time. It would truly be hellish. I can handle forgetting the words to Happy Birthday to You...but if I couldn't recognize my kids, I wouldn't want to be here. And the shit of it would be, I wouldn't have the wits to blow my own head off. I'd have to count on someone else and I don't have any insurance so no one would really benefit from my death...but some nursing home would benefit from my pitiful existence. Maybe I should get some insurance and make Scott Peterson the beneficiary...yeah, that'd do it.

What a neat way to commit suicide! Think about it...you buy a huge policy and make some murdering SOB the beneficiary and if you get murdered properly, they get double the settlement. I know there are probably nieces or nephews out there thinking, "No need to leave it to OJ Simpson, I'll kill you myself!" If that's the case, just call your family member up and tell them that ONE TIME. After that there could be wiretapping involved so settle it all in the first conversation.

Of course, we do need some confused people around, they really are a laugh. I do enjoy them, mean and confused or nice and confused, they're all fun to be around. I don't think I'd be any fun to be around for any length of time so someone needs to shoot me...or sit me in front of a TV full of TV shows from the 50's and 60's, get me some music and bring me a joint to smoke and I'll be one happy little old lady stoner.

Well, I think I've run the gamut so I'm gonna publish this sucker now. Have a lovely Monday and think of me the next time you sneeze.

Send your own ElfYourself eCards

Send your own ElfYourself eCards

As I sat near my daughter this morning...

...listening to her speak to my father, I heard her say something rather thoughtless. It seems as though my daughter, who recently turned 30, feels rather old. So, what thoughtless comment did my kid say to my father? She actually said, "I'm getting old Grandpa!"

Grandpa must really, really be old, not to mention myself, who must be, simply, really old.

Grandpa had some news for us, he's going to Australia. That's very nice, isn't it? The only problem is that his flight leaves from Los Angeles and he's going to drive to the airport. That doesn't sound so bad until you remember that he lives in Florida. So, as a warning to the southern half of our country, my father will be driving from Tampa to LA soon so, unless you have an emergency, DO NOT DRIVE on the interstates.

When I was a kid, I never worried about anything if Daddy was driving. I would play in the backseat as though nothing could happen to me because Daddy was behind the wheel. Somehow, that thought is no longer soothing. It's actually a bit frightening, to tell you the truth. But if the Lord allows it, Dad will be slowing down before he gets near me so it's not myself about whom I am worried...it's EVERYONE WHO LIVES NEAR INTERSTATE 20 from Florida to California.

Once he gets here, I'll have fun because I get to correct his grammar. He LOVED to correct our grammar when we were children. I sort of doubt that he foresaw a day which would find one of his illiterate offspring a much better grammarian than he had ever hoped to be.

Yes...I don't know how it happened, but somewhere along the line, my grammatical skills outpaced his and now I hear errors in one out of every 5 sentences he speaks. I keep up with every one, I do. I'm sure someone out there could critique my skills and find fault, but I'm still much better than Pops and with that, I am very pleased.

Somehow, even my vocabulary has surpassed Dear Old Dad's. He may have a bit on me when it comes to Latin words or words specific to the law but I'm not bad with Latin myself and I have it all over him on words specific to the life sciences. So, we're relatively equal in vocabulary but the New York Times Crossword shows who edges out whom in that category...and it is I who takes THAT particular prize.

One Sunday morning I was reading a book as Father was doing the crossword. He called me over as he usually did when he was stumped. He showed me his current quandary and I immediately responded, "Titular."

He laughed as though he had caught me in a hideous dangling participle. It took a while, but I convinced him that titular, was indeed, a word. He may be the titular leader of Grammar and Vocabulary in THIS family, but it is I who truly holds the prize for most literate member of this particular klan.

And, like it or not, I'm a better driver as well. I know that's hard to believe because I have boobs, but I am. And even so, if all other boobed people gave back their driver's licenses, I would give back mine. I don't mind leaving it up to the men to do the driving. Of course I think that ALL boobed people should give up their licenses...whether those boobs are on a woman or a man. I've seen my father shirtless...he needs to give up HIS license as well.

Of course he won't...so if you live in a state along the southern border of our nation, be afraid, be very afraid. He is old and he is dangerous.

In this odd place...

...that they call LaLa Land, things are rather bizarre at times. This morning as I walked my dog past a Christmas tree lot amidst the palm trees, I noticed the hand printed sign on the gate. It said that the lot would be closed due to "inclement weather" and that they would be back in business, selling Christmas trees, when "it's sunny!"

I kid you not...go to the corner of Melrose and North Sycamore in West Hollywood and look for Melrose Christmas Trees and try to get in before the sun comes out.The inclement weather to which the the sign referred was a hideously frigid low of about 40 and an hour and a half of pretty steady rain that required a 3 setting on car wiper blades. As I drove down Sunset in Beverly Hills in the rain in the middle of the day, most of the fancy shops were closed and the sidewalks were empty. Sidewalks are RARELY empty in Los Angeles.

But, graffiti abounds. I passed this painting earlier today:

It's an odd, odd painting:

Christmas trees being sold amidst the palm trees:

The interesting sign that made me go get a camera:

I didn't need a Christmas tree last night but I did need a hamburger from Pink's so I walked over there in spite of the blustery winter's night in LA. I realized that they had to close all of the businesses, not because of the weather, but rather because of the ignorance regarding long john's. We people who live in the real world are aware of the concept of layering. For those native to SoCal, this is what I wore last night:

One Bears Sweatshirt

One Jerry Springer t-shirt

One pair of matching long john's, top and bottom

One pair of sweat pants over the jong john's which were tucked into my woolen knee hi socks

One bra and matching panties.

Nike running shoes (Of course, I walked.)

That pretty much kept me comfortable, even in the long line at Pink's Hot Dog Stand on LaBrea. It wasn't raining then but if it had been, I would have grabbed what we in the rest of the world call an "umbrella". Layering and umbrellas would have kept Beverly Hills and Melrose Christmas Trees open for business yesterday. Oh well, maybe they'll learn someday.

I'd like to take a walk over to Target to see what they've done to the gloves and scarfs...not to mention the coats. Apparently, this was quite the weather incident here in Los Angeles. I haven't noticed bread flying off the shelves yet but only because people around here can barely deal with the current conditions, they could never fathom this lasting for more than a day.

They do predict another low of 40 for today...but the Gods have spared them another double whammy...the sun is back out with no rain in sight and the disaster seems to be abating...for now.

I have a headache...

...and I can't take it anymore. Today I'm going back to UCLA and I'm going to politely ask them what I should do about this balloon in my head that could rupture and leave me a burden of the state for good, or of my daughter, who I might add, has her own problems. On the bright side, it could kill me and then I won't have to worry one way or the other.

I've been giving far too much thought to the saying, "Get busy living or get busy dying." and I'm ready to do one or the other.

It's just very difficult to live a normal life with a never ending headache and constant dizzy spells that leave me reeling.

A doctor at UCLA told me that I had the aneurysm that could easily be fixed. And then they sent me home with a headache and uncontrolled high blood pressure. He also told me that if I had insurance, I would have the aneurysm fixed before I leave the hospital. I left anyway...I didn't think I had a choice. Maybe I don't, but I'll tell you this, I'm going to do my best to get that procedure so that I can get busy living. Or, I'll go on a search for Amelia Earhart and never return.

So, here is my plan. I'm headed to UCLA. Before I leave, I'm going to post this information:

(310) 794-0777
8 a.m. to 5 p.m. Monday - Friday
email: UCLAHSMedia@mednet.ucla.edu

If you are so inclined, call those yahoos and ask them politely to fix my brain. I would surely appreciate it!

Doctors,...

...probably men doctors, are working on a cream that can be rubbed onto the penis to achieve erection. (LOLOL, that's a helluvan achievement, isn't it?) At some point the drug will have to be tested and that means that a bunch of men will either rub the cream on their own wangs or some chick will do it for them.

After applying the ointment in a rapid up and down fashion, an erection will show success. I'm just not sure of what it will show success. I'm not sure and I really don't care. I am SO sick of the importance that society places on sex and of all the new an improved ways to have sex. I could wax philosophical on you but I choose to use wax you with humor because that's the way I roll.

Americans have been having sex earlier and earlier for as long as I can remember. When I was a teenager, most of us chose to listen to the warnings of our parents, "If you ever get pregnant, don't come home."

Add to early onset sex the social permission we have to hump multiple partners and we've had a LOT of extra sex going on around here lately. It's really no wonder we run out of sex juice early, we're using it all up before we're 50. (Luckily for me, at 51 I seem to have maintained some extra sex juice. I think it's leftover from my last marriage.)

And honestly, for all the talk about it, sex isn't the be-all end-all in life. Personally I would rather get a pedicure. So why is everyone doing all this penis rubbing and little blue pill popping? I don't know. They should invest their time and money in a sailboat. I'd sail away with a dude who had one of them...with or without the sex accoutrement's.

And then women...what are you doing to your boobs? Have you ever SEEN an 80 year old woman with implants? I have and let me tell you...it is NOT a pretty sight. The implants may remain in place, but the real boobs go on some crazy gravity induced escaped and when you're flat on your back, the nipples are somewhere under your arms. They don't have a blue pill yet that will explain the social obligations of a man who encounters 4 boobs...on one woman, Lindsay Lohan is NOT involved.

I suppose you could look at the bright side, the dude can suck your nipples and rub the big round things at the same time. If you can do some of that for him, he might not need the ointment.

Do you realize that we have men wielding plumbing long since out of warranty on women hawking parts decommissioned years ago? Old people sex just CAN...NOT...BE...THAT...GOOD.

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

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

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

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

Oh yeah...beware of men who come to you with a tube of anything. It's NEVER a good sign. Either you rub it on him or he plans on being very lazy in the foreplay department. So when it comes to ointments and sex...just say no.

You know...

...it's hard enough to find your weed when you've hidden it in a "no legal weed" state. When you're dealing with an illegal substance, you've got to keep up with matters...you need to hide that stuff and hide it well. And as any decent pot smoker will tell you, it's hard to find stuff that you've hidden if you hid it AFTER smoking the wacky tobacky. Since the stuff is potential evidence for the prosecution, you really, really need to have a few good hiding places. So usually you can wander around the house and peek into the usual hiding places with some success.

But in a state with legal weed, you can just stick the stuff behind a jar of Folgers Crystals because you're not hiding stuff from cops, you're hiding it from cats and other creatures that might try to pilfer your stash.

The problem with that is you could stick the ganja ANYWHERE you happen to be standing when it occurs to you that smoking more weed in one night would just be a waste. So, you toss it on the high shelf, stick it behind the microwave or, as I did last night...behind the Folgers Crystals. There seems to be one rule when hiding legal weed...it has to be out of sight. That's all. It doesn't have to be hidden behind an electrical plate or something else that takes a bit of thought. But when you stick something out of sight while you're high....it's just that in the morning...out of sight. There are no usual hiding places...your entire haystack of a house can hide a little needle of weed quite well and that was my problem this morning.

Luckily I had left a bowlful of some good stuff in my bong so I had a while before panic would be setting in. Or so you would think.

There's another problem here. As soon as I started partaking of my leftover bowl-O-weed, the absence of my fancy green prescription bottle and it's Sour Diesel ingredients began to bug the hell out of me. I had to know where that bottle went. So I looked and I looked and I looked.

Eventually I gave up and started writing about losing the pot that I had last night. Then, I was writing a line about hiding the ganja and I looked up at the kitchen counter to get an idea of a place to hide the weed. I saw the jar of Folgers and decided to use "behind a jar of Folgers Crystals" as a literary hiding place. But, as I glanced again at the Folgers, I saw a greenish hue coming from behind.

"YES!", I said to myself. I remembered! That WAS where I had hidden the stuff last night. So, an unexpected benefit of writing this post was that I found the weed I was writing about losing.

For a minute I thought that I should just scrap the post but remember, I had smoked the leftover weed so I was only too happy to continue to write about losing it, even after my search was over.

Now I have nothing more to say.

Life can be funny, 'ey?

That "'ey" is in honor of my Minnesota boyfriend. He doesn't say it much, but Minnesota just reminds me of that "word". I heard it a lot when I lived in upstate New York...way upstate...like 30 miles from Canada upstate.

Anyway, I wrote about Minnesota Dude in this post:

http://diaryofmydivorce.blogspot.com/2009/12/i-was-chatting-with.html

The gist of it was that he "doesn't say I love you because of how women change after you do say it". Whatever...it didn't bug me too much at first but the more I chewed on that particular piece of fat, the more it stuck in my craw.

When you stew on something like that long enough, the heavier stuff starts to stick to the bottom and then it burns just enough to ruin the whole stew. That's a bitch for all concerned. It wasn't as if I brought the subject up in the first place...apparently MN. Dude misunderstood something I said and the he just went off on that pleasant little topic and announced his premature edict.

Afterwards, I was climbing BACK up THAT emotional cliff all week and I had just about gotten back to the summit from which I jumped in the first place. The way I was headed, the weekend would have been spent pondering 50 Ways to Leave Your Lover.

Then, out of the blue, I get a phone call from the man who's figured it all out and has a plan...Never I say 'I love you!'.

Reeling from my most recent sprint back up to the precipice of loveless reality, I wasn't ready for the phone call that I got at about 10 tonight. It was MN. Dude. I wondered if the tone of my voice gave away the thoughts that I was having...and second thoughts at that, the type that are tougher to hide...or at least it seems so.

And then as we were chatting, out of nowhere, I get the "I love you."

I was quite taken aback, to say the least. I had no response because even though I could think of a myriad of things to say at that moment...not one of them was phone chat. Think about it, any reply at all, from a snappy comeback to a thoughtful acquiescence, would really be better given in person.

I might be able to get away with a long distance snappy comeback but it's tough enough to know when I'm serious in person...I'd hate to take any chances over the phone.

The other day my ex Rick called to see how I was doing and he STILL maintains that he can't tell when I'm kidding. I reminded him of how easy it was...if what I'm mad at is stupid, I'm kidding. If the issue has some gravity and it would make sense to be angry, then I'm not kidding. He STILL doesn't get that one. Oh well, maybe someday he will.

So, a guy said he loved me tonight and I'm just jaded enough to wonder what he's up to. I haven't figured this one out at all, not a 'taaaalllll! as Sheriff Taylor would say.

I can name two men who I know that I can say with almost 100% certainty have never cheated. I can say WITH 100% certainty that every single one of my husbands and a few of my boyfriends HAVE cheated on me. And then, to make matters worse, a great guy like Tiger Woods turns out not to be so great after all. It's like some sort of omen going on here!

But I'm gonna really try hard not to make MN. Dude pay for the mistakes made by other men. And WHATEVER I feel tonight, alone here in my apartment...I'm quite sure that, good or bad, I'll feel quite a bit different when I'm with MN. Dude...after all, I happen to LIKE back hair!

December Fourth

At some point on December fourth...

...ever since 1977, I've been reminded of a visit I made to my Aunt Jean's house on a sunny Sunday morning.

I felt relatively well when I got to Aunt Jean's. As the good Irish woman that she was, she offered coffee and appropriate food...that morning it was sweet rolls. Uncle Bob and my husband rounded out our foursome at Jean's table. We chatted about some football game and then the conversation turned to baseball because Jean and I LOVED our baseball.

That was the year that Reggie Jackson hit 3 homers in one World Series game. Jean and I were laughing at the stupid comment Jackson made after his amazing performance at bat that day. When the first microphone was stuck in his face, he said, "I don't want to be compared to Babe Ruth and other greats."

Well, as far as we knew, no one had compared him to Ruth except himself. So Jean and I took offense to that comment and were still discussing it months later. To make matters worse, that summer we had seats in the right field mezzanine to watch the Yankees play in Oakland. From our perch above right field, we saw Jackson trap a ball and hold it up in triumph as though he had caught it clean. Jean continued her chorus of, "You're a BUM Jackson!" LONG after the rest of the Oakland fans stopped taunting the cheating right fielder.

I laughed as Jean's blood pressure seemed to raise higher than anyone elses in the room when all of a sudden I felt a hideous pain in my gut. It quickly went away so I went back to eating my sweet roll and drinking my coffee.

Shortly after that, my aunt called my father and when he asked about me she said, "Oh, she's fine, she's sitting here eating sweet rolls and drinking coffee. Don't worry." Then she chatted a bit more with her brother and they hung up.

But the pains soon returned and for the very first time in my life, I went to the hospital. They examined me a bit and then took me into a room like none I had ever seen before. I was only 19 and hadn't been to nursing school yet so I didn't know what was going on. But before it was over, they gave me laughing gas and I get a little fuzzy for a while. Then, suddenly my head cleared up and I had no more pain. Whatever they did seemed to have worked.

As soon as I began to come around, they let me know what had caused all of that pain. They handed me a 9 pound, 12 ounce little boy with a head full of blonde hair. I seem to recall that he had not yet been circumcised.

I spent the rest of the day getting to know him. I've liked him from the beginning.

Poor Tiger

What's the difference between a Escalade and a golf ball?

Tiger Woods can drive a golf ball 400 yards without hitting a tree.


What does Tiger Woods have in common with Snoop Dogg and Sonny Bono?

They all hit trees REALLY hard!


What do Tiger Woods and the Beatles have in common?

They both experienced a hit of Norwegian wood.


What do baby seals and Tiger Woods have in common?

Both are afraid of Norwegians with clubs.


Charlie Sheen's take on the Tiger Woods incident:

"Hey, as a celebrity husband I look PRETTY-DARN-GOOD now, huh? No Escalade, no fire hydrants, no trees -- just ME! Well okay, just me... a couple hookers... several tins of olive oil... maybe a hand-cranked generator with alligator clips on the leads... and a life-like life-size rubber doll I personally refer to as Greta, my fantastic-thermoplastic hot chick. But you get my point, right?"


Tiger Wood's wife Elin Nordegren has agreed to appear on " Larry King Live " to apologize for the brutal beating she gave her husband last week . " You know Larry, under this blonde hair, white skin, and make-up, I'm really just another Chris Brown . "


In case you had any doubt as to whether Tiger Woods was part Asian, his recent car accident should finally convince you.


Rumors that he doesn’t tip casino employees when in Las Vegas now appear false, as Tiger Woods has not only been giving his tip to cocktail waitress Jaimee Grubbs for the last 31 months, he’s been giving her the whole driver – shaft and all!


Even though he's at the top of his game, he's still working on his schwing.

I was chatting with...

...the guy I call "my boyfriend" the other day and deaf SOB that he is, he misunderstood something that I said. I could tell because of his off the wall response. He suddenly, and with his ever present smile, said "I know what women like to hear but I find that they act totally different after you say it so I like to just SHOW my feelings. People can SAY anything, but it's what they DO that matters."

For a moment I thought to myself, "Where the hell did that come from?" Then I let what he said sink in a bit. It didn't make me angry, it didn't hurt my feelings and it didn't evoke a response from me. What it did do was remind me how much men change after you sleep with them.

I tucked that info away for a later date...as we women are known to do.

I didn't have to wait long because, as luck would have it, he came over tonight and asked me what I wanted to do this weekend. I responded, "I don't know, what are my options?"

It seems as though one option involves a hotel room...and guess what? I can't have him changing on me so that was out of the question. What a nimrod. You should never tell a woman that you will NEVER tell her you love her one day and then ask her to go to a hotel the next. I'm just sayin'.

Right after I met this guy I touched up my dark roots and they're about ready to be touched up again. It occurred to me that a guy should only have one "dark root" cycle to impress a woman. If I have to touch them up again, it will be for a totally DIFFERENT dude, even if I haven't met him yet.

I probably won't do my hair for the next few days but I'll surely do it by the weekend. That guy has until then to impress the hell out of me.

I LOVE divorce!

SEARCH THIS!

The Afghan insurrection is a bitch...

...and Tiger Woods seems to have some explaining to do. If he IS a cheating husband, and I'm sure the the retiring Oprah would agree, Tiger's wife would be the only person entitled to any information from Tige. It looks like the cops have left Tiger alone and simply ticketed the allegedly errant husband. The rest of us should do the same and say, "I'd rather hear stuff about the unbeaten New Orleans Saints and hope to God that they annihilate Minnesota in the Super Bowl.

Now, I suppose I've already disappointed many searchers out there but even though I may have already jumped the shark, I think I'll even pick on President Obama a bit...not because he's irritated me at all, he hasn't. I even got a kick out of his pardon of turkeys Courage and Carolina. Where did Courage come from? I don't know. I just know that I enjoy Presidential Turkey Pardons and have ever since George Bush the 1rst made it a official function of our Commander-in-Chief. That's pretty neat stuff...as Miley Cyrus and her father Billy Cyrus would say.

You know, I watched the Perky One on CBS News last night and I was amazed at how tiny her eyes were. Also, I was brow furrowed by the way Katie Couric wore her glasses...for the Republican Senator, she didn't wear glasses but for the next guy, she did. What's up with that? In the Emergency Department of Olympic Hospital they have TV's that you can pull really close to your face so you would think that a big network news show could figure out a way to either, put crap closer to Couric or just leave the glasses ON and back everything the hell up. I don't know if she has myopia, presbyopia, astigmatism or a tic that involves putting glasses on...but one of the Top 3 Networks should be able to pull that one off. They could even have the South Park show animators draw a pair of glasses on her face so she doesn't look quite so schizophrenic.

You may have noticed that I am trying to see how many searches find their was here because of all of the iconic, social and entertainment references that I'm haphazardly stringing together here. Now I am going to bask in the land of porn so you have been warned, skip this paragraph if you want to...it's something that Craigslist would most likely have flagged for removal (cowards that they can be...or maybe they're just lazy, I haven't figured it out yet.) Anyway, for some odd reason that I cannot POSSIBLY fathom...and I have given FAR too much thought to fathoming...people land on my blog by searching pussy worms. I don't get that. I did worms on my ceiling once, but never pussy worms. Also, I get a lot of hits from people who search for "women who like to suck pussy". I don't really get that. The only pussy I have ever sucked is this one:

...See? Why should men or women obsessed with pussy come here? I discuss pussy's, dicks and the late Michael Jackson almost as often as I discuss penis's, men on men sex or lesbianism...and that's not too often. But still, perverts of all persuasions find their way to Divorcing Rick Kelso. I get submissive, dominant, sado-masochist, great ass lovers as well as huge natural tit aficionados. Oh well, what goes on between consenting adults behind closed doors...

Sometimes I understand the searches. I get a lot of, 'wife gets revenge on husband', how much anti-freeze does it take to kill a man'? and 'Lorena Bobbitt: Where is she now?' I even understand the searches for deformed penis pictures, after all, I discussed my ex's messed up member a LOT.

Sadly, there seem to be an inordinate number of 'My husband left me when I got Multiple Sclerosis' which explains the searches for 'How to hide a dead husband".

Anyway, That's about it for now, but before I go, I need to annoy people who deserved to be annoyed:

Star Trek Conventions

Van Wilder 3

Greenhouse gasses, global warming and gay marriage

Angelina Jolie

Chelsea Clinton's fiancé

Where's Waldo?

Where is Carrot-top performing?

Donny Osmond should have won Dancing with the Stars

Will there be another Rocky movie?

Find your local KKK meeting

The new Windex is yellow, can I still use it on my windows?

Bi-sexual college sluts

Bi-curious men

OK, I'm done for now. If you happen to think of other worthy searches, please, don't hesitate to put them in the comments section!

And that's the way it is.

-Walter Cronkite

I had an interesting...

...Q&A with a doctor the other day that left me a tad perplexed politically. I had chosen my questions very carefully before the doctor even came into my room. I was sick, I had a killer headache that went away for 20 minutes at a time every few hours. So, I was a little slow on the uptake. But while sitting in my room trying very hard to not see lights of any sort, it occurred to me that this was a huge, "What's wrong with this picture?" moment.

Now, doctors may be doctors and kudos to them for that. But being a doctor, especially Doogie Howser, does NOT grant you certain skills that say, a 51 year old smart ass chick who was raised by an attorney and then grew up to raise her OWN attorney might have accrued in her lifetime...most likely before Doogie was toilet trained. So, I readied myself with a list-O-questions designed to evoke confirmation of my suspicions.

The back and forth went something like this, the docs' words may not be verbatim but mine are. Remember, I practiced them. But the sentiment is the same nevertheless:

ME: So, I have an aneurysm?

DOOGIE: Yes, you do.

ME: Could something like this kill or permanently disable me?

DOOGIE: That is a possibility, yes.

ME: And the angiogram showed that the aneurysm was coil-able? (Meaning it could be fixed.)

DOOGIE: Yes.

ME: If a person with insurance had the exact same condition, would he be discharged without the surgery?

DOOGIE: Well...

ME: That's OK, I'm just asking for the truth, I can handle it.

DOOGIE: Well, yes...a patient with insurance coverage would stay here to have the surgery, unfortunately...

ME: I'm aware of my unfortunate position, thank you for your candor. My head hurts, increase the Dilaudid please.

Now, what confounds me is the fact that I have never supported the FEDERAL government usurping the role of the health care business in this country. The States perhaps, if they so choose. But not the Feds.

But, as I sit here with my sunglasses on and my headache REALLY on, suddenly I just want that sucker fixed, I don't care who pays for it.

Remember what Morgan Freeman said in Shawshank Redemption? I have another quandary here, don't I?

To paraphrase Patrick Henry:

GIVE ME HEALTH CARE OR GIVE ME DRUGS!