Hi!

Sorry to bother you guys but I'm looking for a friend named Chip. Well, that's not really his name, it's more like a moniker. It's not official, it's a simple sobriquet, an affable appellation, a silly pseudonym. Apparently it was dubbed upon this man at a very young age. I can't swear to that but Chip is a handle one picks up as a kid. No full grown man would suddenly change from Robert to Chip once his chest hair has developed to it's fullest potential and that doesn't usually happen until a guy is in his 20's.

Chip is a nickname parents give to cover up for naming boys things like Clarence, Harold and Otto. I have a sister who, let's just say, is a fan of naming humans with a flare of originality. She has one kid a with a traditional name and that's Jennifer. It seems as though the "original" name gene skips a generation because my niece named her son Orson. Luckily, he is a thin little guy so he may very well get through junior high school unscathed.

I can't complain too much because if my oldest had been a girl, she would have been called Rhiannon. I was quite the Fleetwood Mac fan back in the day.

Another Head Shaker

Why, oh why, do websites ingrain one set of rules...for years on end...and then suddenly change EVERYTHING we know, every format, every icon, and every other thing we've become accustommed to. And why does this change have to be so all-encompassing and and rapid? Blogger has done that to me...I think they think I will leave.

A total change in Blogger is one thing, but this change occurs immediately on the heels of a similar change over at Facebook. I'm still reeling from that ridiculous waste of time.

One of the multitude of issues I have with Blogger's new format is the inclusion of a window for a title. I've never really titled my posts so I am now sort of forced to. I suppose I could get around it but they've gone to all of the trouble to put the window there, I think I'll try it. I owe Blogger that much.

Anyway, this is a quiet Saturday afternoon and as you know, those are good things. If I wanted to, I could even take a nap. You know? I just might try that. Back soon.

Just One Question...WHY???

A while back I was visiting my granddaughter and she asked if we could watch a show called Hillbilly Handfishing. In case you've never watched that show, let me explain the premise.

City slickers go to some hideous place in Oklahoma, jump in muddy water and then feel through the muck for fish. They are forewarned that the water contains snapping turtles, snakes and fish that bite. Once they get into the water, they get on their knees and crawl through the muddy water feeling for fish, which, once they find, are caught with their hands. Then, they troll the edges of the muddy water searching for holes which are hiding places for fish (and God knows what else). When they find the holes, they stick their hands into them and, with any luck at all, pull out a fish.

My granddaughter is a bit of a country girl and I am 100% city so it's no surprise that she enjoyed this program much, much more than did I. After watching the hideous handfishing, that sweet little girl asked me to work in her garden with her. Of course, I said yes.

In her garden, she showed me what a woman she is. She picked up bugs and asked me to taste her mustard greens. I didn't join her in her bug activities, but I did gnaw on a bit of her mustard greens. That reminded me of why I don't eat weeds. In case you didn't know, mustard greens are some spicy plants so I wouldn't eat them if I were you. That's about as bold as I got that day...there was no way I was going to out-outdoor my granddaughter.

At one point I was sitting in the dirt and I looked down and saw tiny bugs crawling all over my legs. I jumped up, screeching like a proper girl should screech. My granddaughter asked me what was wrong and I responded, "There are tiny bugs on me!" She looked me straight in the eye and said, "Grandma, those are ants."

I knew they were ants, I just didn't care. A bug is a bug. I don't want a tiny ant on me anymore than I want a tarantula crawling on my person. As matter of fact, if a sweet puppy was smaller than a Tic-Tac, I would have to smack that sucker if it was crawling on me.

I have another dreadful fear, I also hate needles. When I was in the hospital, the nurses and blood sucker people always approached me with needles while they said, "It's OK, it's a small needle." That made no sense to me and it didn't help me one bit. A bug is a bug and a needle is a needle. AND...a slimy fish is a slimy fish. I wouldn't go looking for bugs, I wouldn't ask for medicine if it had to be given by a needle and I would NEVER, EVER walk, crawl or swim in muddy water looking for dinner. I'd rather starve to death in pain in a pile of snow without bugs.

To anyone who ended up here from the Best Gay Bloggers site, you may have noticed that I am not gay. Not that there's anything wrong with it...I'm just not. Strictly dickly if you please.

Personal Pep Talk

First and foremost, I am a bitch. I have always been a bitch. I will continue to be a bitch. That said, I'm also a judicious bitch. I don't act bitchy when I meet paraplegic old ladies, but if you're of sound mind and body, I may unleash a bitchy assault on you.

It's a given that I would have to have a good reason to be bitchy and when given one, (as our President is so fond of saying) "Nothing is off the table". Today I must face a situation that frightens me. It seems as though the only way I can deal with it is to remember that I CAN be a bitch and that nothing really bad can happen to me.

A few people who have known me well have pointed out, "You seem like such a strong person and you don't take shit from anyone else, why do you let your family treat you so badly?

I've never had an answer to that question. I just hearken back to the part of me who believed that an entire family would only treat a fellow member so badly if they had a really good reason. And even though I didn't ever know exactly what I had done because the last thing people in my family would do is talk things out, I just assumed it was my fault.

People in my family have always accused me of "trying to make my father happy". Well, the truth is that I've been trying to make everybody happy. I've failed miserably because my success would mean that I was no longer the family scapegoat and I come from a family that depends upon me to accept the blame for the things they do not care to accept, deal with or acknowledge. But, being the whipping post for a family takes the spunk out of a person, along with any potential strength, self confidence, fortitude and.

But there are things that need to be done, demons to be faced and damage to overcome.

I'M SHUTTING THE FUCK UP!!!

But seriously, how long was that gonna last.

Relatively Speaking

If there were people or a person in your life who has always made you feel like crap, how would you handle it if you had to be in their presence? If a person has consistently gone out of their way to make you feel insignificant, how do you face them and not feel like a speck of dirt on a white tablecloth? If you understand the anticipatory fear of dealing with family members (or non-family members, although it wouldn't be a life-long fear.) who don't know how to interact with you in a way befitting another adult person, how do you handle it?

I've been thinking about just that recently and I can only come up with 2 options, either ready myself by ruminating over the bad things this person has done so that I'm too annoyed to be frightened or, and I like this one, putting the person and THEIR significance in perspective.

If I consider the size of the universe, the multitudes of humans here on Earth and the importance one person really has in light of everything else...no one else on this planet has the power to do much of anything that would rock my world. The fear is the worst of it...everything else is gravy.

Right?

Americans Got Poor Grammar and Crappy Vocabulary

I can almost abide the fact that people seem to be converting totally to the I-ther and NI-ther manner of saying the words E-ther and NE-ther. In the past you would hear those words pronounced both ways but over the recent past, I've noticed a sharp and steady decline of MY pronunciation. That's OK, I will continue to pronounce the words as I always have. As I said, I can live with being the one person left on earth who remembers a time when both pronunciations were considered correct. But, there are some changes that really, really, stick in my craw.

Fist of all, I despise the way the simple word "whenever" is being hideously misused. Whenever is, and always has been, a time unknown. If you know the time of an event, the proper word is "when". That means you can tell someone to come by "whenever" but you can't say, "Whenever I went to work this morning..." If it happened this morning, you already know when something happened. It didn't happen "whenever", it happened this morning. DUH!!!

Another recent bit of extirpation of the English language is the overuse of the word "Had". "Had" is the past tense of the verb "have". You can say that you had sex last night but you can't say, "he had brought me there" An easy way to figure this one out is to say the sentence without the HAD. Does it still make sense? If so, you probably don't need the stupid HAD in there.

It appears as though no one knows when to use "I" or "Me" anymore. That's another easy one to figure out, pretend that the other person isn't involved. For example, if you are trying to say that you went to the movies with a friend, say it like this, "I went to the movies." or "Me went to the movies." If you would say, "I went to the movies.", then you would say "My friend and I went to the movies." You wouldn't say "Me went to the movies." so don't say, "Me and my friend went to the movies." Only 4 year old children can get away with that. It's easy to use these words properly so you shouldn't throw in an arbitrary  "I" and hope that you sound bright.

There is another couple of words that, over the past ten years, has been so misused that experts seem to have co-opted the misuse. I'm speaking of "subconscious" and "unconscious". Your subconscious may tell you to do something stupid even though, if you do, you may become UNCONSCIOUS. Unconscious is a state of mind in which you know nothing. People in a coma are unconscious. Your subconscious is a part of your mind that tells you things of which you are not aware. Jeez, how hard is that one?

Of course "ain't" isn't a word but, if you're using it, you probably say "ax" instead of "ask", and utter sentences (?) like, "I'm fixing to mow the lawn." If you're that far gone you don't care what you sound like and are most likely surrounded by people who wouldn't know the difference between the Queen's English and a Bronx vernacular. And as anyone who's been to the Bronx can tell you, it's hard enough to sound intelligent with a Bronx accent...you don't need to make it worse by using hackneyed grammar.

People who don't care at all about grammar don't have a clue how well others can pick out errors. Just for the helluvit, and in case you really need to sound smart on any given day, it's a good idea to avoid the simplest of screw ups, doncha think?

Other things I thought of:

1. You can have a good steak, but the chef cooks WELL.
2. I before E...unless after C, the sound makes "A" or you're an idiot.
3. Perhaps you MAY, that doesn't necessarily mean that you CAN.
4. There is ALWAYS a better word to use than "got". Always.

Seriously

I was in a waiting room recently and amongst other odd members of a motley crew (yes, myself included), I noticed a man in drag. He was in white trash drag, but I guess it was the best he could muster at the time. For a moment I thought it was a woman, he was skinny enough to be an ugly skinny chick But then I saw his hands. They were most assuredly man hands and they gave him up right away.

Obviously, that guy went to a lot of trouble to look female...more so than I did. He put on make-up, I didn't. I was happy to be clean at 7:30 AM, make-up wasn't going to happen. His hair was much longer than mine, his waist smaller and heels higher but still, I felt as though, if I accomplished nothing else that morning, I accomplished looking female better than some skinny guy with scraggly hair.

Apparently, all it takes to get into a ladies room is lipstick because that guy marched in like he owned the place.  It'd be one thing if he had girl plumbing but I happen to know he didn't. I know that because he did the one thing that no male can avoid...he left the seat up.

Yep...I followed him (I'd call him a "her" if he had put the seat down. But can't do it...sorry.) into the can and sure enough, this yahoo who walked around Tampa in girl's clothes, hasn't committed himself to a toilet seat position. God I hope the government isn't paying for his sex change surgery.

I Hate Change

The only real difference between liberals and conservatives is that they each have different breaking points when it comes to change. Personally, I resist change at every turn so that seems to make me conservative on many issues. Of course, I follow my own course so I often find myself leaning far to the left of any given issue. (I've often wondered how politicians would vote if issues came to them in blank envelopes and with absolutely no clue as to how the rest of the citizens, elected or non-elected, have opined. Think about that, if you take the party line out of the equation, people might actually have to come to their OWN conclusion.) Anyway, I seem to me to be a relatively reasonable, judicious and sapient person so I pretty much trust myself and my opinions.

That's not to say I always listen to my own well considered guidance and admonitions. I'm only human and if humans never acted against their own better judgement, we would be perfect and apparently, that isn't an option So, I do stupid stuff.

Even in my own stupidity, I find standards to be an absolute necessity. I may raise or lower them to meet the obstacle du jour, but I do have standards. Some of them are intrinsic, and here are a few of them...I may not put on eye-liner, but teeth are getting brushed, showers are being used and clean clothes are getting worn. Also, after basic hygiene, I want to know if I missed anything while I was sleeping. There is always a newspaper, computer or cable news channel in my immediate future. God forbid I should say something nasty about someone who was assassinated last night. Oh...and every single day I go out of my way not to get arrested. I don't rob banks, punch idiots or poison cheating husbands...no matter how much I may want to.

There is another thing, you wouldn't think it needed to be recognized verbally but what the heck, I'll do it anyway. I will not defend myself...and if you put me on the defensive, I may risk arrest.

I generally try to be a thoughtful person. I'm also quite reasonable so if you and I were to have a disagreement, I would give you an opportunity to convince me that you may be right. I also have the ability to apologize if I'm wrong even though my father says, "Apology's are a sign of weakness." And then, if all else fails, I will agree to disagree and get on with life but I won't say I agree with you when I don't. If you think about it, that's really all you can ask of another person and you're lucky if you get it.

If I were to bend according to another person's will, where would it stop? I learned along ago that if I took the trash out ONCE, it would be my job forever. The entire family would walk past a full trash can and think, "Mom'll get it." I also refuse to change tires, move furniture, wax cars and defend my own actions.

I suppose there was a time in my life when testosterone induced manipulation would have worked, but that was decades ago. Hell, at this point I'm even immune to most estrogen induced manipulation. And, I should add that I've been manipulated by the best so commonplace, pedestrian and hackneyed efforts are futile. It's not even fun to bat those attempts away. A man would have to be 8 kinds of gorgeous to get away with some of the crap I've seen lately. You, love, are not that.

I just noticed that somewhere after the title and first paragraph, I sort of went on a tangent. I'd fix it if I had a clue where I was headed but I don't. Sorry about that.

I Hate People

Recently...

...I was on the phone with a service company in some county that was recently upgraded from third world and I could quickly perceive that the person on the other end of the phone call wasn't paying a bit of attention to what I was saying. I asked about a security problem I recently experienced on my computer. I said nothing about AOL, I didn't even say anything that sounded like AOL. And then, no matter how many times I said that my call had nothing to do with AOL, the nitwit kept telling me to CALL AOL. I became relatively abrupt, brusque and slightly cheeky on the phone which hearkened another person in the room to say, "You don't talk to people like that!"

Of course, I responded, "Yes I do. After a few repetitions of those two sentences, my point finally sunk in. The emphasis is on the "I". I DO talk to people that way. I save that behavior for those who the stupid call stupid, but occasionally I DO talk to people just that way.

That puerile exchange brought to mind two things, first, another point I seem to keep stressing and secondly, a Facebook post I saw earlier today. Both times, the message was the same and slightly related to the second paragraph...and I think Popeye said it best...I am what I am.

I can, according to some standards, be a bitch.. But according to other standards, I can be a saint so I don't put much store in what other people perceive on any given day. But, if you enjoy being in my presence, you must follow certain rules. They aren't tough rules and they absolutely make sense. For example, Rule 1 is basic, if you like me enough to kiss me on the mouth, you can't bitch about me and my quirky self. I'm not about to change all of a sudden because some interloper said that my behavior was somehow not up to his personal standards.

Over the years and in many different ways, my father has let me know that girls are most definitely below men when it comes to importance. To this day, he makes comments to that effect, referring to lovemaking as "servicing" and using the phrase, "counter girl type positions". After impugning, disparaging and depreciating women at every turn, he wants to bitch when one of us does something wrong. You simply cannot publicly accept the notion that women are inherently less than men and then immediately bitch when one of them proves your point. (Add that to the fact that, "I am what I am." and you'll find very little pliability on my part.)

OK...so Rule 1 is basically a declaration of independence. I will be myself and you are free to come to my party...or not.

I Must Have Been Four

When I was about 4, my brother and I used to sit by the radiator heat thingie in the bathroom, sprinkle cereal underneath it and wait for the ants to come out and play. That's the last time that I remember him being anything but churlish with me. I don't know what I did to annoy him and at this point, I don't care. Whatever it was didn't happen in this millennium...nor did it happen in the last decade of the most recent millennium. I know that because he hasn't spoken to me in decades.

In my family, you don't talk to people when you have an issue with them, you simply act like an idiot. It would be nice if we could actually tell each other why we're annoyed, but that isn't the way my family works. So, instead, we just sit around for years and wonder what we've done wrong building up anger, confusion and frustration. There's no chance that any wrongdoing can be repaired, and somehow that's OK with people related to me.

So, I have no clue why this particular brother treats me so badly. Perhaps he has a reason, I don't know. But, if someone wanted to be angry for decades, I have a good reason to be irritated.

When I was growing up, I was in charge of my 5 younger siblings because my father went to school at nights and my mother worked nights. I didn't even know that there was anything odd about a young girl who had no social life until my friends started asking me if I could EVER do anything or if I had to care for the kids every night. There wasn't a thing I could do back then, I just came straight home from school, made dinner and took care of the wee ones.

One night, my sister was making noise. I was already in bed and she should have been as well. But, when I had her come into my room and get into my bed, my brother didn't like it. There was nothing wrong with what I did, my brother simply didn't like me so he had to do something and his choice of actions was nasty and violent.

Since I put my sister in my bed, I was in a sleeping bag on the floor of my room. My brother marched up my stairs and when he got to my room, he started pounding me in the face. I couldn't really defend myself while on my back in a sleeping bag so at some point he decided that I had had enough and he started to go back down the stairs. With blood rushing from my face, I said, "I think you broke my nose!" He responded, "I think I did too!"

We were both right, my nose was broken and after I had bled all over the house looking for a bathroom that was unoccupied, my parents came home. I was tending to my nose so I don't remember what my father did to my brother, but I would imagine he was punished. I don't know for sure, but even the family scapegoat wasn't allowed to be a punching bag for anyone other than my parents.

Whatever his punishment was, he has apparently held it against me for decades. I don't remember him being pleasant to me since the ants. I don't even remember him talking to me since the ants except to tell me what a hideous human being I am.

He's never told me that I did anything wrong, he just goes along with the family dynamic of treating Margaret like dirt. I did see him at my mother's funeral and apparently, a death in the family is what it takes for my siblings to allow me to be blessed by their presence. During my mother's eulogy, the chaplain told us that he has asked my mother if she had any last words for her kids. Her dying wish was for her kids to be "good to each other".

It's been ten years since she died and not one of my brothers or sisters has seen fit to honor her last wish. Maybe they're nice to each other, I don't know. But not one of them has done a thing to make me think that they consider me worthy of a phone call, Christmas card or even a well timed "Fuck you!" The last gift I received from any of them was a necklace charm that said "Bitch." It would have been funny if it hadn't been the only thing that I have ever received from any of them...EVER.

It's a possibility that I did do something to annoy my brother. But, whatever it was, his payback has lasted far too long and has been far too harsh considering that I am his sister. This is one of my brothers who loves Bruce Springsteen. He came to Tampa to see The Boss a few weeks ago and even though I went to the concert too, I never saw my brother. My sister invited him and my father to her house on the day after the concert. I wasn't invited at all. My father went to the family get together which sort of endorsed the usual "ignore Margaret" theme of the day. I'm used to this crap but you would think that sooner or later, someone in my family would say, "Why don't we ask Margaret to come over?"

So, when Bruce sings, "Man turns his back on his family, he ain't no friend of mine.", I know exactly who he is singing about.

I have 2 other brothers...you'll meet one of them tomorrow.

Really???

After decades spent wondering what I did wrong, I've finally had it pointed out to me the possibility that my entire family treats me like crap because THEY are idiots...not because 9of anything that I did or didn't do. It never occurred to me that it wasn't my fault when both parents and all 5 younger siblings were perpetually angry with me for transgressions apparently committed in the 60's, 70's or 80's. I've spent the better part of my life trying to figure out exactly what I did wrong so I'm not even going to try to justify myself today other than to say, "Yes. I have made mistakes in my life." But, I never set out to hurt anyone...ever.

And when it comes to family, somehow I've been cursed with the ability to love unconditionally. I have no clue where it came from but I think it had something to do with Leave it to Beaver and the Brady Bunch. One way or another, I forgive behavior from my family that I would never tolerate from others. And...my family is full of assholes. Ask anyone in it...they may call ME the asshole, but they won't deny that the asshole gene runs rampant in our Irish/British clan.

Another exigency working against me is the sheer number of my family assholes. There are always a few of those idiots actively being a dick to me so I never really have time to think about the most recent of my family squabbles. Oh, by the way, sometimes they gang up and attack from all angles. That can really leave a person stunned..so much so that no one gets blamed because, naturally, anyone who sucks up THAT much malevolence from their own family MUST have done something to deserve it...right?

You tell me.

One evening I was minding my own business as my mother prepared dinner. She had been making cupcakes and was cooling some while we ate dinner. After dinner, when she went to frost the stupid cupcakes, she noticed that one was missing. Now, most mothers of 6 kids would have let the missing cupcake slide. But, in my house, this was an opportunity for ambush and therefore, it could not just slide away.

After asking each kid individually, my parents lined us up according to age. I don't remember what they said until my father asked, "Barbara, who do you think took the cupcake?" I didn't even see this one coming,

"I think Margaret took it." declared my mother.

"I think so too." responded my father. Only he added this gem, "Look at her face. She's covered in pimples, of course she took it."

So, I was guilty by adolescence. Forget the fact that I was old enough to admit to a cupcake pilfering, to ask for a cupcake and to wait for the frosting on the cupcake.

So, I continued my life, being ABSOLUTELY sure never to accuse my kids of anything unless I had irrefutable proof of their guilt. Decades later, I heard that my brother Mike had long since admitted that he had stolen the cupcake in question. The entire family knew about it, that is, the entire family except me.

Come back later and I'll tell you about the time my brother broke my nose. He's been mad at me ever since.

WTF!!!!!

This afternoon I found myself thinking about Mel Gibson's line in The Patriot when he handed his kids shotguns and said, "Aim small, miss small, aim big miss big." I may have gotten that backwards but the point is the same and the advice sage. When attempting many things in life, that particular recommendation is worthy of consideration. Take the manipulation of men, for example. That is an enterprise best served by fastidious contemplation of details such as Mel's advice. He always plays the good guy so if he said it in a movie, it's most likely shrewd instruction. And he did, he said, "Aim small small miss small, aim big miss big." (Or the other way around.)So...what do I mean by that in a "manipulate a man" sort of way?

Manipulation of a men is always made easier, as are most successful undertakings, begun as early as possible. If you aren't any good at judging when that is, let me help you...it's sometime after you pee in front of him and well before you've started bending over naked in front of him. If you've waited that long, I can't wholeheartedly endorse these suggestions. But I think that they are pretty harmless one way or the other. I can guarantee that listening to me won't hurt you anymore than life would have hurt you on it's own. There's really not much more to be said about starting early...just do it.

OK step one may or may not be necessary, but it's never a bad idea. Your man may very well be attentive enough and if so, God bless you. But some of us look at a man watching TV and think, "He could be doing something for me."

If I look around and see that I want for nothing, I never forget that I am currently training a perfectly good man. I shouldn't ignore my duties no matter how easy is my life. If I should allow a man to go untrained, I help no one, much less the man himself. You're actually doing the man a favor because you know he's gonna have to learn sooner or later and if some woman had thought of that before, he wouldn't find himself in such a pickle NOW!

So, "What can I do when a man has tended to all of our needs, wants and desires?" Well, DUH!!! You can whine.

Whining is great when used judiciously. On top of that fact, it's almost a challenge to think of something to whine about when we are well cared for. But, it can be done. You simply whine...you make sounds like whimpering, only more annoying. You may think, "Babies whine!" You know, you're right, babies DO whine. And...it usually works. (But it won't work if you wait until after you've started bending over in front of him naked...or after you've stopped.)

If you can overcome the hurdle of exactly how annoying is good annoying, you're doing well...but some things just cannot be taught. Timing is very important here. But, most women know how to time things with their man. If they didn't, no productive bickering would ever take place. I have faith in your sense of timing, especially if you were smart enough to give manipulation it's due consideration. You have to be annoying enough to give him motivation, but not so annoying that he starts screwing his co-workers.

So, when you've chosen the time and location, you just start whining. I like to start and stop in between whines. It gives them a chance to pay attention to you and that is, after all, the purpose of any relationship. You always...ALWAYS...reward good behavior with positive reinforcement and the ccessation of whining is an appreciated reward. So, never whine any longer than is absolutely necessary.

Now, you will get a response...eventually. When you do, you can pretty much do whatever you want once you have his attention. I play it by ear since whining evokes such a varied list of responses.

Usually they like to start with a funny look followed by a few eyebrows raises. Usually, the first thing out of their mouths is, "What?" Your response would be, "Oh, nothing."

Then, when he turns back to whatever he was doing, whine some more. This time he will probably just ask you, in a slightly brisk tone, "What do you want!?!?" We've already established that you want for nothing so you can just say something stupid like, "I need a hug." or "Whatcha thinkin'?

The best possible response from a man? That's simple. It's also a response I just got today. The dude simply whines back.

OK then...go practice. I know I'll be practicing. Then, I'll be back.

I just got out...

...of the hospital again, had a stroke, blah, blah, blah and some things don't work as well as they did but they're things I can earn back and therefore, a few different forms of therapy have been prescribed. So, far, that therapy doesn't contain anything of a psychological nature, but a future is an unpredictable entity so who knows what may happen in that vein. But, I do have to do a few physical therapy thingies and since my hands are slightly fucked up, I have to therapize them.

First, I was given a blue rubber ball to squeeze. That wasn't fun and my therapy rarely lasted longer than the session with the therapist present. When she left, I pretty much put the blue rubber ball on the overhead table, next to the menu du jour which hospitals are so proud of nowadays. Little did I know what was in store for me.

The next thing that the therapists brought in was a huge, blaze orange, blob of Silly Putty. Now, they didn't CALL it Silly Putty, they called it Therapy Putty, but I know Silly Putty when I see it, and this stuff is Silly Putty. And the really cool thing about Silly Therapy Putty is that it's a therapy I can work with. Oh, this isn't just a full egg or three of Silly Therapy Putty, it's small bucket of Silly Therapy Putty.

Anyway...yada, yada, yada, I'm into my new therapy. Between that and trying to type this, I'm working my theoretical ass off. I foresee a quick recovery.

I took some liberties with my Silly Therapuetic Therapy...I shaped my Silly Therapy Putty into a penis. I only did it to get back at someone who molded it into a pussy, ordinarily I try to remain above such behavior. But I felt as though the opportunity for humor far outweighed my usual ladylike sense of decorum, my general savoir-fair and my discriminating erudition.

Anyway, I should go now. I will be back with some fascinating insights into my own psyche. I usually don't discuss such things, but this one is worth a withholding of my usual personal insight suppression. But for now, I must be off, I have a rather large bottle of Moscato waiting for me and I'll be damned if I don't deserve it.

Good morning!

As I was growing up, my father had a few mantras that he would repeat often. Here are a few of them:

1. Clean the damn kitchen!
2. Stop hitting your brother!
3. Turn that music down!
4. Turn that television off!
5. Don't you DARE talk back to me!
6. Don't talk back to your mother!
7. Get out of bed!
8. The church makes it impossible to miss, they have mass EVERY SINGLE DAY and 5 times on Sunday!, you have NO excuse not to go!
9. Saturday mornings are for pulling weeds, here's your bag, now fill it up!
10. Is your homework done?

Now, those are just the first 10 that come to mind. I remember others as well but there is one mantra that I remember above ALL else and that was the ever popular, BRUSH YOUR TEETH!

My parents were your ordinary suburban parents and they did things that most parents in our town did, they took us to the dentist every 6 months. When I became a young teenager, I developed fangs. Now, you can brush those suckers all day long but it doesn't change the fact that they are fangs, does it? Of course, my folks weren't aware that vampires would become as popular as they have become today so they ruined my chances of being a vampire by having braces put on my teeth. By the time I graduated high school, I had a beautiful smile. It didn't mean much to me at the time, but as I grew older and people complimented me on my smile, I quietly thanked my parents for forcing me into that chamber of torture they called an orthodontist's office.

As the years passed, I developed one stupid problem after another that pretty much trashed my perfect smile. Here is a partial list of those problems:

1. I grind my teeth in my sleep.
2. I had trigeminal neuralgia and before it was diagnosed, I had many teeth pulled from the back of my mouth.
3. I had cancer of the parathyroid gland...the illness AND the treatment each did their own share of damage to my smile.
4. I married a man who couldn't afford the co-payments for dental care.
5. That man left me whilst I was sick and took his dental insurance with him.

Mix all of that together and you end up in my position...I have switched to a closed mouth smile and I practice talking in the mirror so I know how much I can say without allowing my "smile" to be seen. Before my stroke, when I could still work, I paid for my own dental care. I bought a partial to wear on the top so that I could smile without embarrassment. That sucker lasted for quite a while before IT actually lost a tooth! I didn't even know that was an option.

All of life's dental issues have brought me to today...a time when dental care has gone from simply keeping the mouth healthy to making the mouth look all kinds of crazy white and keeping them full of those pearly whites. I have brought my defective smile into the new millennium just when dentists are charging tens of thousands of dollars so that one can look like a member of the Osmond family should one choose.

Most of the time I don't worry about my smile, I simply stay home and avoid mirrors. But, since I am not yet dead (DUM SPIRO SPERO!), I do occasionally like to venture outside the virtual anonymity that my home offers. Last night was one of those nights.

Naturally, I did all of the mandatory primping, I bathed, put on make-up, shaved my legs and pits (NO...I still haven't shaved anything else and I REFUSE to do so!) and I fixed my hair. I recently cut over a foot of hair off of my head so now I'm left with a cute little bob that I can easily care for. Then, I opened the front door and went out for the evening.

It doesn't matter how much primping one does, a crack in your front tooth and a missing eye tooth will render moot all the other primping one may do. So, I enjoyed my evening with a closed mouth smile.

I've been so worried about trying to obtain dental care that I pretty much closed my eyes to other options. Now, I read a LOT about Tudor history and I defy you to ask me a question that I can't answer...from how Henry the Seventh obtained the crown to what is inscribed on the tomb of Elizabeth the 1rst. One interesting little tidbit that I've learned is that, back in the day, sugar was bought at such a dear price that only the well to do could afford it. And, sugar being a bad thing for your teeth, it seems that the upper classes of Tudor England had hideous teeth. Not that the lower classes had great teeth, but only the wealthy could afford the diet that actually encouraged tooth decay. That pretty much placed bad teeth on a list of status symbols. Odd...yes. And just my luck to be born hundreds of years after this dentally carefree time.

Last night, as I was enjoying the people around me, it suddenly occurred to me that by hiding my imperfect smile, I was doing myself a disservice. If you can't afford dental care, there isn't really anything you can do. I understand that George Washington carved his teeth out of a tree, but even if I were in a mood to whittle me some dentures, I'm not sure how to get them to look as good as Donny Osmond's teeth. I suspect that homemade teeth are not the answer to my particular problem.

So, after a long time trying to figure out a way to bring my teeth into the 21rst century, I've decided that I've been going about it all wrong.

I should have taken a tip from the British royal family...I should take my bad smile and run with it. It seems as though it would be easier to change the world around me than it would be to afford a dentist.

So, if you took tetracycline as a child and have been left with grey teeth, if your parents never stressed the importance of oral hygiene, if you, like me, can't seem to afford Osmond teeth or if you're simply a member of my ex-husband's family, think about this...we could start a new fad a la Queen Elizabeth the 1rst.

I hereby declare imperfect smiles sexually desirable and socially valuable.

Have you ever dated...

...a person who has done quite a bit of stand up comedy? If you have been so blessed, allow me to give you a couple of helpful hints.

First, and foremost, never make the mistake my ex-husband made...do not treat your potentially humorous spouse like dirt. That is unless, of course, you are one of those crazy people who enjoys being the butt of jokes. And, should you be asinine enough to treat that potentially humorous spouse like dirt, do not leave them alone with nothing but a bad attitude and a computer. If you do, don't be surprised to find yourself the subject of a blog.

Now, my next helpful hint is one you may or may not care to employ. If you enjoy humorous sex, go for it. But if you don't, do not, let me repeat that...DO NOT refer to your penis as a microphone.

In the past (I don't care to give you any clue as to how distant or recent this past is), I was told by a man to "Speak into the microphone."...leaving me with with 2 options. The first option was, of course, for me to laugh out loud. I sometimes think funny stuff that causes me to inexplicably giggle uncontrollably. Being asked to treat a penis like a microphone has far too many potential punch lines. Sometimes I would have kept the punch lines to myself and giggled. But, this time I chose option number 2.

I spoke into the microphone.

Grasping the microphone at it's base firmly with my left hand and speaking DIRECTLY into it, I said, "A horse walks into a bar and the bartender said, "Why the long face?"

Receiving the laughter that stand up comics so desperately require, I continued on with my set. "A black guy, a muslim and an Hispanic man walked into a bar. The bartender said, "GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!" Now I was on a roll.

"What's black and blue and says "NO!"? The bitch in my trunk."

"Why are so many women being abused by their husbands? They just don't listen!!!"

The nice thing about being alone with a microphone and the owner of the microphone is that you can make jokes that you can't make in public for fear of being branded with the hideous moniker "Politically Incorrect". But, apparently, even horny men have their limits and I eventually (as I seem to do quite a bit) pushed that envelop.

The microphone owner said, "Just get on with the blow job!" Now, being a stickler for grammar, double entendres and the correct use of the language, I did exactly that.

Did you know that no matter how hard you blow into a dick, it never gets any bigger?

Good morning!

I just got back from a really long jaunt from Tampa to Daytona Beach and then north up the coast to New York City and then down an inland route to Roanoke, Virginia and south to The Varsity in Atlanta and after I had my hot dogs from The Varsity, I got behind the wheel and drove south to Tampa in 7 hours.

When I got home I noticed that I had locked a lock on the door that had no key. I had to break into my own house by crawling into my own bedroom window, face first (it was a tall window) and I had to crawl down the floor with my feet holding me in the window. My chances at falling in were 50/50 and luckily, I didn't fall until I got really close to the floor so I was OK but I freaked myself out on the way down thinking that if gravity really wanted to, it could send too much blood into my brain and then cause my head to explode. Luckily, I toppled over before any of that occurred. So, basically, I'm fine as of NOW.

On my trip I was in a conversation about the recent birth control controversy in Washington (another place I hit on my trip) and when asked my opinion, I really had none. Birth control for other women has never been an issue for me and it's not a parade I would march in today. I DO have my own opinions, however.

Somehow, after close to 40 years of having sex, I have managed to get pregnant 3 times. I kept myself from procreating in numerous ways over the years and since there seem to be some women who can't figure out how to avoid pregnancy without taking up a collection, I thought that I would offer a few ideas to them. So, here are some tips for any women out there who find themselves having trouble with birth control:

1. Avoid sex.
2. Avoid sex with men who can't afford birth control.
3. Avoid sex during your fertile period.

Now, I know that all 3 of those tips are not specifically helpful for everyone so you can choose any one of them and roll with that course of action. I have found that any one of them works well when used alone. So, it isn't as though you don't have options unless you find yourself in a homeless shelter without a calender. If that should happen, I refer you to tip #1.

Now, do I care if the government pays for birth control? Nope. It doesn't affect me at all. BUT...one thing that does seem to affect AND annoy me is the fact that government funded insurance DOES pay for Viagra. That is a problem because men who otherwise would simply flop around in the dark hours of the evening can actually achieve an erection thanks to Uncle Sam.

More than once I have found myself thinking, "If our government would stay out of the sex business, I wouldn't be lying here, rolling my eyes and cursing to myself." I don't know why the goverment can't handle the erection that they caused.

It just occurred to me that many women think that they must have sex or lose their men. Well, nothing could be further from the truth. I have learned one thing that has caused me much grief; saying "NO!" seems to keep a man around longer than saying, "Oh, sure, let's have sex." Unfortunately, the only time that didn't work was when I was dating my idiot ex-husband. Screwing him did not cause him to leave but I guess I didn't think about having sex with some creep who doesn't get much. But, for the most part, the men who have been the most persistent of all are the ones to whom I have refused entry.

Now, I don't know if that helps any of you, but if it does, good. If not, let me know why so that I can tweak my tips for avoiding pregnancy. You will be doing your country a service and that is always a good thing.

Before I go, I should add this thought...if you cause a pregnancy, tend to it. If you cause an erection, tend to THAT. I think America would be a much happier place if people took responsibility for their own actions. But that's just me.