I'm reading a book...

...like an interested reader. I'm not the proofreader, you would think that the proofreading would have been done before publication. But, even in my casual reading, I'm picking up grammatical errors, spelling errors and plain old awkward sentences. And, considering that the book is 'A Royal Duty' by Paul Burrell, one would think that the Queen's English would be observed.

But, I'm halfway through the book and I've already found a large handful of boo-boos. On page 75, the last sentence is awkward at best and incorrect at worst. In discussing "the mere prospect of approaching a monarch", Burrell comments that downstairs staff would be reduced to quivering wrecks meeting a monarch "whom they never came into contact with". I would think it would make more sense to discuss those "with whom they have never come into contact". On page108, the word initially is misspelled "initally" in the last sentence of the page. How did that get by?

More errors can be found on pages 161 and 165, let me know if you care at all and can't find the errors yourself, I'd be glad to point them out.

I've been missing lately because I was once again hospitalized, this time for a hideous seizure called Todd's seizure which left me paralyzed on the left side and in hideous pain. My hands are numb and typing is arduous but I missed you guys so I had to pop back here to say hello and explain my most recent unexplained absence. The pain is much better as is the paralysis but the numbness lingers on. These things will slowly go away so worry not, friends of mine who would otherwise be concerned with my well being.

Well, today is my birthday so I am going to enjoy myself with my family...I hope you all are having a great weekend as well!

A Lady With a Book

This was sent to me by my high school locker partner...it was so cute I had to post it. Thanks Girlie Girl! Too bad we both forgot the combination to that sucker. I hope we didn't leave anything in there!


One morning, a husband returns the boat to their lakeside cottage after several  hours of fishing and decides to take a nap.
Although not familiar with the lake, the wife decides to take the boat out. She motors out a short distance, anchors, puts her  feet up, and begins to read her book. The peace and solitude are magnificent. Along comes a fish and game warden in his boat. He pulls up alongside the woman and says, "Good morning, ma'am. What are you doing?"
"Reading a book.' she replies, thinking, 'Isn't that obvious?'
"You're in a restricted fishing area," he informs her.
"I'm sorry, officer, but I'm not fishing. I'm reading."
"Yes, but I see you have all the equipment. For all I know you could start at any moment. I'll have to take you in and write you up."
"If you do that, I'll have to charge you with sexual assault." says the woman.
"But I haven't even touched you." says the game warden.
"That's true, but you have all the  equipment. For all I know you could start at any moment."
"Have a nice day ma'am." And he left.
MORAL:
Never  argue with a woman who reads. It's likely she can also think.

He's not an asshole, he's just brain damaged.

While trying to understand why a certain person had no respect for my personal space whatsoever, I googled personal space. I learned that the current thinking links the concept of personal space to the amygdalae, which "is shown in research to perform a primary role in the processing and the memories of emotional reaction, it is part of the limbic system which is linked to emotions. The amygdala processes reactions to violations concerning personal space. These reactions are absent in persons in whom the amygdala is damaged bilaterally."


 I also learned that "Monkey mothers who had amygdala damage showed a reduction in maternal behaviors towards their infants, often physically abusing or neglecting them."  Also, "A variety of data shows the amygdala has a substantial role in mental states, and is related to many psychological disorders." And, "The left amygdala has been linked to social anxiety, obsessive and compulsive disorders, and post traumatic stress, as well as more broadly to separation and general anxiety.  In a 2003 study, subjects with borderline personality disorder showed significantly greater left amygdala activity than normal control subjects." Further, "Animal studies have shown that stimulating the amygdala appears to increase both sexual and aggressive behavior. Likewise, studies using brain lesions have shown that harm to the amygdala may produce the opposite effect. Thus, it appears that this part of the brain may play a role in the display and modulation of aggression."

How To I Loathe Thee?

Let me take a infinitesimal piece of you and count a few of the ways.

I loathe the way thee recites varied and sundried messages into thee's phone trying to put together one sentence that is both grammatically correct AND socially felicitous. Your attempts are prima facie evidence of your complete social ignorance, utter lack of regard for even the most basic rules of society  and etiquette and your shocking apathy for education of any sort.

I loathe the part of thee that is so inherently racist that thee has been denied membership for the KKK because they don't need the bad press.

I loathe the way that when you might be around, I'm sure to apply make-down.

I loathe thee nature which is so evil that Al Qaede takes responsibility for thee.

I loathe how you make others question the existence of an intelligent deity. Nuns don't just leave the church because of you, they become atheists.

I loathe the fact that thee has been blacklisted by the makers of Viagra, Cialis AND Levitra and yet thee still thinks you have a chance with me.

I would have loathed thee as a baby. After thee were born, your mother had a hysterectomy and when her milk came in, she had a double mastectomy.

I loathe the your ability to remind EVERYONE who meets you to hover over toilets and to avoid touching anything in public restrooms. I'll never look at a crapper without thinking about thee again.

I loathe the fact that thee are the reason hookers won't kiss john's.

I loathe the fact that you have single-handedly convinced me that cloning is immoral.

I loathe thee face...if I posted thee picture on Craigslist, it would exterminate the entire Craigslist Personal's section in every city in the world...forever.

I loathe thee interpersonal tactics. Recidivist stalkers are shocked when they hear about them.

Misdirected Reader Mail

I received a question via a third party that I've never gotten before:

Meg. Some guy sent me a question intended for you by mistake and I promised him I would send it your way.
Dear Meg,
Can you tie a knot in a cherry stem with your tongue? 
Buford Wilson
Highway 5
Pensatuckey
New Grubbin Hoe

Interesting question, isn't it? If I just said,"Sure!", one might be suspicious of my answer. I wanted to record myself actually doing it, but I don't have a web cam. (I still owe someone a video of me making my famous PB&J.) So, being the little hellion that I am, I've decided to just discuss this probing query...I felt it only fair to the kind dude who delivered the misdirected communication.

I could produce numerous men who would all tell you that they've witnessed me perform this dazzling feat. When they ask me, jaw dropped, "How did you DO that?!", I answer them with the simple statement, "The tongue is quicker than the eye." They all respond with the same expression, I find that absolutely fascinating.

So...how do I do it? Simple.

1. When out having a drink or two, at some point,  go to the ladies room, passing the bar as you do.
2. As you pass the bar, grab a cherry out of the thing with 4 squares that bartenders keep fruit in.
3. Eat the cherry.
4. Take the stem and tie it in a TIGHT knot.
5. Stick the stem in your mouth and store in buccal area.
6. Go to the ladies room.
7. Pee and if there are other people in the ladies room, wash your hands.
8. Go back to table.
9. Order a piña colada.
10. Now, for the piece of resistance, pluck the cherry out of your drink and innocently play with it until your date asks if you can tie a knot in the cherry stem with your tongue...they ALL ask at some point. When prompted, stick the stem in your mouth, swallow it and then, after a few seconds of closed mouth tongue play, pull the stem with the knot out of your mouth and watch the amazement of your date. Oh, how I love violin a that plays well. A great virtuoso such as myself can make the most beautiful music with the right one.

Now, if your date finds out how you did it and calls you a phony...take off your wig, false lashes, make-up, push-up bra, girdle, contact lenses and nail polish, then stop taking Xanax and offer him your true self.

I Just LOVE To Laugh...

...and when I get the giggles...nothing, not even my father wielding his thinnest Dick Tracy belt or his widest Brady Bunch era belt, can stop me. When I'm confronted with a person who has been stung by the giggle bug, I know better than to try to stop them from laughing. The harder someone tries to make me stop, the funnier their efforts become and their anger becomes the spinach to my funny bicep. Earlier this spring, my current squeeze asked me to "Speak into the microphone" which evoked a string of one liners spoken directly into his "microphone". As you might imagine, a horny dude that close to a blow job doesn't see humor in much. So, after I cracked wise twice, I started to lose my audience.

I spend a lot of time  alone...even if there's someone around, I'm miles away. (I meet so few intriguing people and let's face it, it takes a lot to intrigue a person such as myself.) During my time spent with me, I think a bunch of stuff and sometimes that stuff is funny. I make me laugh and laugh and laugh. I find me very entertaining and when I'm at my humorous best, I'm quite a hoot. At these times, I enjoy me the most. To be brutally honest, I'm one of my favorite people...certainly in my top 2. So, as I grabbed that microphone, I found me enthralling. It was some of my best work but I wasn't surprised that it was not well received. Eventually, my audience turned on me and walked out...and I came dangerously close to laughing myself into a heart attack.

After a nice show (with great seats!) we had another encounter and he did it again. This time he said, "Sing into the microphone." You'd think he'd learn...wouldn't you? The first song that came to mind was '"I Could Have Danced All Night'. After a few bars, he stopped laughing and said, "I don't like show music." I know  he likes rock and roll so I started singing 'Build Me Up Buttercup'. He still wasn't happy. His ire, slight as it may have been, just struck me funny. I started laughing and couldn't stop. With tears rolling into my ears, I just laughed and laughed and laughed. Sadly for my friend, that was the end of that encounter.

Now, even if I hadn't been cracking up, my mind wouldn't have been on sex because it wasn't me who wanted to have sex in the first place. I didn't mind (good seats and all), but I just wasn't into it. If I only had sex when I wanted it, I'd never get laid. It's not that I don't get in the mood, it's just that there's never a guy around when I do. So, either I wait for the right time or I just take my chances when I get them. And yes, I've told the guy that and given the option of waiting...he, like most pigs, chose not to.

That sets me up for writing posts like the last one. '10 Things I Think About During Sex'  is a short list of the things that I think about during sex. I've also thought things like:

1. I really like the new Mustangs.
2. New Jersey really should have traffic circles instead of those jug-neck left turns.
3. I wonder if wall-paper will stick in the bathroom with all that steam...or should I just paint?
4. Damn, that is one bald head, it doesn't look that bald when he's standing up. It's a good thing I like tall men.
5. There should be more right-to-work states in this country.

Occasionally, I do think about sex. Often I think:

1.  If he's still going at midnight, can it be said that I fucked for two days?
2. God, I hope it doesn't accidentally go up my ass.
3. If I had never done a 69 in the first place, I wouldn't have this odious image of Rick's asshole haunting my mind, year after year, after year, after year...
4. It's odd how ALL men think they are spectacular lovers but the overwhelming majority hover around adequate...maybe a 4 out of 10. A 5 is a unique find.
5.  The only thing that could make this worse would be if he kissed me.

I know men think that women pay them homage in bed because they truly are sexual Gods. But the truth is, we do it to expedite things. We know that the testosterone induced are ego driven so we stroke that sucker. It's not a bad thing, not if you realize that we say it for our own reasons like you guys tell women things like:

1. I think about you when we're having sex.
2. Don't worry, I actually prefer big women.
3. It's OK, I actually like small boobs.
4. I'll call you tomorrow.
5. I respect you.

A recent comment suggested that I should "trade up" sexually. Just who would I trade with? Other women know what I know and it is what it is  so I can't really embellish anything. I'd just as soon do without. It's all good.

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.

It Could Take Some Time...

...but I'm not going anywhere. I've been cooking for one man or another over 4 decades and, because I'm a sweetie, I go out of my way to make the food I serve as healthful as possible. That may mean that I serve a nice salad, it may mean that I trim all of the fat off of a hunk-o-meat. Whatever it means, it's absolutely ALWAYS in my mind as I do my best to prepare food that not only tastes good but is always served with educated nutritional speculation. I studied this stuff in college, I'm not a beginner. I'm also a food artist because preparing some meals is absolutely an endeavor in artistry. Instead of pleasing the eyes or ears, the food artist pleases the palate and perfumes the nose.

I started when I was 12, cooking for my 5 younger litter-mates. By the time I was13 or so, I was good at serving a vegetable, meat and a starch. At that time, my little mind would come up with dinners like fish sticks, green beans and macaroni and cheese. By the time I married at 18, I was actually using recipes and I started making the good stuff, like lasagna, stuffed peppers or country fried steaks.

I developed good cooking habits early on in a fruitless attempt to please various husbands. (They were all my own, I don't do other women's stray dudes.) I told myself that "the way to a man's heart is through his stomach". I tried to be a good little wifey-poo and one thing I had to do was cook...and I loved it. It was the only chore that wasn't robotic. I could express myself through cooking and I still take pride in it. One of the basic tenets of my cooking has always been to refrain from cooking high fat breakfasts but since most men like a nice breakfast, I would always treat them to a tasty breakfast once a week, usually on the weekends. I've spent enough time in the South to learn how to make some of the best, but most unhealthful, breakfasts I've ever served. Sausage gravy and biscuits come to mind. I got the recipe from my grandmother who was Southern and one helluva cook. Easy enough, you brown the ground sausage and then, without draining the grease, you make the gravy out of the drippings. That goes against all of my food serving rules, but it was good, and I've never met a man who didn't like it, so I didn't mind an occasion dish of fat gravy.

When I was married to the moral thug (Rick Kelso), I did my best to cook healthy foods for him. I tried to cook only meatless foods but he didn't like them. His only vegetable intake was peas one night and corn the next. Pea, corn, pea, corn, pea, corn. He wasn't too concerned about his diet so I just did the best I could within the confines of his delicate tongue. I seem to remember caring about him to some extent so I did my best to take care of him. Now I'm annoyed at me.

By the end of our marriage, all of my vegetable  pushing penchants and grease draining proclivities were turning into anti-freeze fancies and body disposal intrigues. I was suddenly exposed to the actual reckoning that could, unchecked, lead one human being to expunge another human being's life. At the time, I would have felt rather justified so imagine my surprise when, years later, I told my daughter about some of my least commendable mind trips of 2005 and she responded negatively. She said she actually would have been quite cross and piqued had I ever acted out any of the fantasies du that jour. Maybe because I looked at the ideations as simply purgative, nothing harmful, I took the thoughts lightly. But the way I looked at it combined with the fact that it all happened years ago made the entire conversation just that, conversation. But my daughter took it seriously and told me that she would not have understood or agreed with me had I harmed my ex. ME!!! She would NOT have understood. That concept was, and remains, shocking to me. She never even liked the cretin. I thought she, of all people, would have been my prison visiting supporter. Go figure.

Anyway, if I had it to do all over, I would have never drained the grease out of foods. I would have left it there to clog up every artery in that Scaramouch's body. By the time he decided to leave, he would have been lucky if Viagra worked on his anemic penis. So, in memory of that huge blunder of mine, I am cooking a bit differently these days. Show up uninvited for breakfast and you'll get a good one, 7 days a week.

Today I fried up some sausage patties (cheap ones, with a lot of pork fat) and then, without draining the grease, I cracked 3 eggs into that grease and scrambled them up. There was so much grease that I thought I'd have to drain left-over grease out of the pan before putting it on the plate. But eggs, I learned, are funny, they absorb every drop of fat in the pan. By the time they were done, they had absorbed at least a quarter cup of grease. I had Rice Krispies.

There Aren't Many Charities That Touch My Heart...

...but I have been witness to far too much damage caused by malignant stupidity. So, in lieu of nice things, I  dedicate this post to my stupid sister (actually, neither one of them are too bright, let them wonder which one is the stupidest), my ex (Rick Kelso...the other one isn't an Einstein but he's not Rick Kelso stupid), Rick's son Brian and all of Robert Kardashian's offspring:

Reposted By Request

"FUCK YOU"

"Fuck everything you ever said.
Fuck everything you put in my head.
Fuck the trip that you've been on.
Fuck every place your dumbass has gone.
Fuck all the different ways you lie.
Fuck all your dumb excuses why.
Fuck everyone who cares for you.
Fuck every fucked up bitch you do.
Fuck your car, fuck your truck.
Fuck you,you fucking fuck.
I put my love up on a shelf.
So you can just go fuck yourself.
Take fucking one from fucking two.
That leaves me NOT fucking you.
I'm so glad you're fucking gone.
Like that scab I had too long.
Fuck your bullshit, fuck your news.
Fuck your dumbass, you blew this fuse.
Do I sound bitter? Oh, you bet!
You fucking punk, I'm not done yet.
Fuck your dog, fuck your cat.
Fuck that stupid place you're at.
Fuck your beginnings, fuck your ends.
Fuck your family and your fucked-up friends.
You're fucking fucked, you failed God's test.
10 times worse than all the rest.
Fuck my letters, fuck the phone.
My last gift to you is this fucking poem
And just one thing before I'm through.
From the bottom of my heart ---FUCK YOU TOO!!!"


And...in case there's another yahoo who says you should "Get Over It!", tell them that there ARE less healthy ways to work out one's anger and never forget that:


"Well-behaved women rarely make history" --Laurel Thatcher Ulrich

Proof That, Deep Down...I'm A Very Decent Person

An asshole just asked me to cut his hair. I did it...without leaving any bald spots that weren't there when I started.

And then there was the guy...

...who faked NOT having an orgasm. I'm one of the few people who can testify that he did, in fact, experience a complete orgasm. Perhaps a  gynecologist with a microscope could testify that I had been the recipient of an internal orgasm...but I rarely have a gynecologist in my presence and even if I happened upon one, what are the chances that he would have a microscope?

When spotting an orgasm, I usually use more externally directed social cues such as the groaning, heavy-breathing, thanksgiving and, of course, the famous O face. I lost track of just how many orgasms I've evoked back in the 70's and over the decades since, I've been privy to an astonishing number of orgasms. I'm sure the number is in the 10 thousands, if not more. (That's not counting the freaks who like the rear camel-toe picture posted on this blog on October 30, 2009.) And as a result of my multitudinous experience, I have noted that men don't fake orgasms nor do they ordinarily they have control over some of the shit they do, say or display during an orgasm. Even now, I am of the notion that these things cannot be controlled...during a proper orgasm. So, why would a man go out of his way to hide all of the outward indicators of said orgasm?

Why would  a guy, mid orgasm, take the time to control his breathing, keep a "straight face", maintain perfect upper body position and perform all of that while mute? That syllabus doesn't leave much room for thinking, "I hope I'm pleasing her!" now, does it? It also raises some other questions like, "If a guy would fake NOT having an orgasm, what else is he capable of controlling?" or "What the hell am I doing here and does it really matter what I do, one way or another?"

But, I  have other data to analyze when scrutinizing most things regarding a man, this particular conundrum can be answered a bit more easily. I have finally figured out the rationale behind the odd and vexing behavior to which I have been subjected.

Dude actually thinks that if he doesn't cum, it doesn't count. So, if sexual collision should occur sans orgasm, one must try again later. Now, I can't swear to it, but I think that I can confidently state that I wasn't that stupid in the 70's. Never in my life would a dude have been able to convince me that penetration must occur indefinitely and over and over again until an orgasm manifests itself. You can't keep me sexual prisoner by saying that you have to screw me until you cum. So, new rule...my obligation is over shortly after INITIAL penetration. Once you're in, the clock starts ticking. I don't really have any time specifications, but I do require a reasonable and sincere attempt at pleasure. If you fail to enjoy yourself at that time, you just don't want a happy ending.

Asking for sex on Thursday because you didn't "finish" last weekend, is not only doomed to failure, it's rather offensive...in OH so many ways.