I came across a poem that I wrote shortly after I started this blog...

...now, keep in mind that my anger was in full force at the time, I'm much better now:

There once was a man named Rick
He had a freaky twisted small dick
His wife tried to teach him
But she just couldn't reach him
You'd think he'd at least learn to lick.

But Rick was not very bright
And nothing he did in bed was quite right
His wife was very frustrated
She thought he should just be castrated
As she lay there in bed every night.

He often played with his very own knob
Even though he could have had a great blow job
He had very odd views on sex
Blaming every little thing on his ex
Said she cheated on him with some guy named Bob.

Rick turned out to be a big fat liar
Can't get the truth out of him with a plyer
So his ex wife most likely was decent
He lied then and told more lies quite recent
And many illegitimate kids he did sire.

Now, the sex was not that big of a deal
But violence made him feel like a big wheel
He smacked his wife to feel like a man
He never learned how to wipe in the can
I guess he is just a big fat schlemiel.

That poem evoked quite a few responses, some of the poetic in themselves. If you'd like to read  them, you'll find them here:

http://diaryofmydivorce.blogspot.com/2005/02/there-once-was-man-named-rick-he-had.html

I surprise myself when I go back and read what I've written over the years but I try not to do that too much because the first time I did it, I found myself deleting posts. After a couple minutes of that bullshit, I just stopped reading it. But for some reason, I read that post and was so entertained that I thought I'd share it again.

And I don't want to hear any more people telling me to get over it, I have. But you know, if I hadn't, that would be OK too. Anger is a natural emotion and, like any other emotion, it is what it is. You can't blink it away like Jeannie did. I still think that I am deserved en explanation (better late than never) as to what actually DID  happen, but I'm learning to live without one. Still...I must say, to this day that explanation would be quite welcome.

(The Falcons just beat the Raiders in a close, really good, game. I think the Bears have a bye this week so  I'm just watching whatever game they're showing here and it happens to be the Falcons game. I can't watch the Buc's because they actually still black the games out when the game doesn't sell out. That's such crap.)

Well, my mind is a boring blank so I'll go for now...I'll try to make it back ASAP. As soon as I think of something humorous, ironic or gossipy, I'll come running back to the puter!

Back in the day when I thought I was happily married...

...I liked to take care of my husband when he was, in any way, incapacitated. For a while, the top of his right foot began to hurt so much that he actually went to a doctor for it. It  turned out to be a bone spur which was  removed surgically. When the idiot ex came home from the hospital, I had everything set up to allow him to recover in as much comfort as possible. I waited on him for a couple of days and on one of those days, I felt a new and odd pain in the exact same place on top of my right foot about an inch from my big toe. It was actually in the same spot as his incision. I just assumed it was a coincidence, perhaps even some crazy empathetic pain. I didn't mention it at the time because I didn't want to look like a nut. I mean...how many people have an inexplicable pain on the top of their right foot immediately proximal  to the big toe? The odds of two in one household would have to be astronomical.

Anyway, over the years...that had to be about 10 years ago give or take...that pain had returned every so often. I could go for weeks without it bothering me. And then, out of nowhere, the pain pops up again. It hasn't been a bad pain, it would probably be better described as "tender". I wouldn't take an aspirin for the hyper-sensitivity during those times and I've never even bothered to tell a doctor about it because there was always something else more pressing going on...like strokes and sudden, unexpected internal bleeding.

So, I've ignored my right foot and that's twice. Once I had actually broken my right baby toe in a stairway tumble. As the doctors explained it to me, the fracture was clean across the base of my toe and the only way to fix it properly was actually surgery. Apparently, if I didn't have a pin put in my baby toe, it very well might have broken off at the slightest provocation. I thought that was a bit much so I asked them how much it would cost to just amputate the stupid thing. They wouldn't do that and I wouldn't have surgery on a baby toe...besides, I also broke my left arm in the same fall and once again, my right foot suffered as everyone in the ER tended to my broken arm. Maybe this is all my foot taking revenge on me for the baby toe incident.

As I said, I rarely give my foot much thought and I certainly wasn't thinking about my toe as I  was cleaning the tile on the walls above a bathtub. They needed a good scrubbing and a whole lot of CLR. I was standing on the  bathtub, the part you step over to get into the tub. The highest tiles were high enough force me to reach up with some steel wool (that tub was really funky, this task took me 3 days to complete) and the position I was in allowed CLR  and other chemicals to drip down my up stretched arms. It was hideous...but I took a shower when I finished. There was no way I could have comfortably "cleaned" myself in such a funky tub, the effort had to be made. But I digress.

My ten year old right foot pain grabbed me and won't let go. It isn't the usual benign pain that I usually feel...it even just a wee bit worse. It hurts so fricking badly that I've taken 3 aspirin tablets and just as many 5 mg. oxycodone's. None of that has done a bit of good. I can barely put wait on my right foot and sitting here  at the desk, I can feel gravity leaving too much blood in my right big toe so I must hobble to the couch and elevate my poor little foot.  I think I'll take a detour through the kitchen because if I remember properly, there's ice cream in the freezer. I cleaned the freezer so the ice cream is OK.

When my grandmother was exactly my age...

...she had a very low tolerance for 4 letter words. If you've been reading this blog for any length of time, you've probably noticed that she and I differ somewhat in that area. But, when I take the time to think about what I'm about to say or write, something my father said always enters my head. He had many memorable edicts and one of them went like this:

"People who use foul language do so because their vocabulary is too small for them to come up  a more appropriate and less vulgar word. No child of mine is allowed to use profanity."

It's not like my father never cussed, he just thought it was his job to set rules and when someone's job is to come up with rules, they WILL come up with rules...whether that rule makes any sense whatsoever. Looking back, I think all the adults in my family had some degree or another of a potty-mouth...but they all seem to enjoy trying to create a cuss-free world beginning with the NEXT generation and my Grandmother was no exception.

She was maybe a 4 on a scale of 1 to 10. She was also one of the sweetest people I've ever known and I miss her something awful even though she's been gone for over 30 years. She never spoke ill of anyone, hated prejudice and played the piano and guitar beautifully. But when she became annoyed, she didn't hold anything back.

I annoyed her once without putting ANY effort into it. I was washing the dinner dishes for her and that was no small job. She had no dishwasher, she wanted her dishes dried and put away (not left in a dish rack to dry) and she cooked dinner, every night, 7 nights a week like she was serving a lovely Sunday afternoon dinner. She served dinner in her formal dining room every night so you had a lot of stuff to carry. It was the early 70's and like most people in those days, we listened to AM radio on those boxy electric radios usually sitting on the fridge. As I washed the dishes like a good granddaughter, I was listening to the local Top 40 station. Sunshine by Jonathon Edwards was playing. Life was sweet.

Then my grandma walked in to the kitchen. Within 10 seconds, Jonathon Edwards sang a lyric that set my grandmother off like a Southern Lady possessed by some Northern demon. That lyric was:

"He can't even run his own life, I'll be damned if he'll run mine."

I don't think I had ever realized that word was in there, I just sang along with it...I certainly never gave it any thought. So I was a bit confused when grandma blew her top. I was no longer allowed to change the radio station and I had to do dishes to the twang of Conway Twitty.

Grandma would be rolling in her grave if she was aware of what they allow on TV now. And I wouldn't blame her for rolling one little bit...it's ridiculous how low they have set their standards. You can avoid TV shows that have foul language but you're not safe from the raunchy commercials. You know they could make a 30 second commercial without swearing, why do you suppose they don't? It's not serendipity, the decision to highlight their most boorish 30 seconds was considered and for some reason, the vulgarity won.

I would never pass judgement on another person's use of 4 letter words, Lord know I've been a 7 on the potty-mouth scale. It would just be nice if you didn't have the equivalent of an R-rated commercial in the middle of the G-rated show you and your children are watching.

Maybe I shouldn't be too harsh on these people, as my father said, their vocabularies are quite limited so I guess it could be worse. But...one way or another, you'd expect a lot of words from a writer, wouldn't you?

Arts and Crafts

Some women (and I must admit, I am one of them) go to great efforts to attract a man. We do our nails, apply color coordinated make-up and fix our hair, all the while wearing the right pair of low rise jeans and the cutest little top we can find. Then, we have to act appropriately and play the games that people play when they're wooing a potential sweetheart and, unfortunately, a future adversary.

Anyway, my flirtation stratagem has remained the same since the early 80's. I guess I should have known that there are some women with vastly disparate tactics but I never really thought about them...my way seems to be the standard for the average American woman. But this morning I heard from one of those women working a method that I find intriguing. I find the following excerpt especially provocative:

"...my husband is under a great spell of another woman. They cast a spell of return back of love on him. And he came back..."

Damn...a spell? I never even THOUGHT of that! I could kick myself. Is it too late for a voodoo doll to work? It would be perfect for me because I like to spend my time doing arts and crafts. I'm currently in the middle of one of those pot holders that little girls weave. I find that they last longer and work better than the $10 potholders you buy at the mall, and of course, they're much cheaper. Making the potholders itself is a nice break. It takes your mind off of everything else. Today, my mind was annoyingly saturated with the making of the potholders because I seem to have misplaced the long hook thing so I have to weave that entire thing buy hand. It's all good, I like to have my mind off of all my problems and weaving potholders with a missing tool will not allow you to think of anything else, it's that difficult.

My point in discussing my arts and crafts (such as they are) is to let you know that I have the time and the experience to make voodoo dolls. Actually, I'm not experienced  in voodoo dolls, I've never even made one. But, I'm pretty smart and I'm sure that the directions can be Googled...so if you need one, let me know.

I do have to mention this before I start my online voodoo doll business...I have a couple of problems with the above quote from voodoo chick (or dude?). First of all, how can you tell the difference between a "spell' and a "great spell'? What makes it great? And if great spells are available, why would anyone even bother with a regular spell? Secondly, if some despicable Scaramouch left me for another women...I may cast a spell...but if it worked, the phrase "And he came back" wouldn't be in the description of that spell.

One of the hazards of being a woman...

...(or of being a dude who likes to wear nail polish) is that when you do it yourself and apply the fourth layer (two layers of the color and two layers of the clear) too close to bed time, you wake up with the polish intact but it will be impressed with the sheet I was sleeping under. I would have thought a few hours would have been enough but, alas, I was wrong.

Maybe I should just give in a have my nails done professionally but for one thing, I can't afford it. Also, there's the fact that when I was younger, I always did them by myself and somehow I never felt self-conscious. For all I know, doing one's own nail polish is one of those things that have baffled me since I became single again like the pussy shaving fad...hell, even men are taking razors down there. I would have thought that a man would consider shaving below the neck far too much effort. Anyway, I have no idea about such things...hell, I still use those pink spongy hair curlers. I'm sick of burning my neck with curling irons. The neck is very sensitive to the searing heat produced by electrified appliances. Over the years, I imagine that I've affected all of my neck skin with second degree burns... mainly in the forms of long, straight burns. And I gotta tell you, I'd rather break a leg than deal with the pain of the burn. That pain sticks around for a bit and I'm forced to walk around, holding an ice pack or two, for hours until the pain goes away enough to tolerate going ice-less.

Well, back to my fingernails, the sheet impressions are nothing that can't be fixed with another coat of clear nail polish. I have my clear, all I need is for my fingers to take a break. I'm surprised that they haven't given up yet because, as I can easily see by looking at them, they seem to be holding water. I didn't even know that your hands could do that. I think I could show it to you...BRB.

 See? My fingers are fat, aren't they? No other part of me is swelling up like my hands are.

Fat, thin or in between, my nails are going to be nicely painted...now.

I really miss this big guy

I've only recently been able to watch the videos of Payton. He was the best friend I ever had. When I saw this video, I had to share it with you.