in parenthesis

AJ Ebert

2006-11-20T08:36:00.000-08:00

The good thing about my husband being in another state is I get to watch a lot of movies I wouldn't get to otherwise.

This last week I watched Sleepless in Seattle again. I love how, after they meet on top of the Empire State Building, they just can't stop looking at each other. They will look away because, let's face it, outright staring is obnoxious and a little creepy, then they just can't help looking back.

I watched Waterloo Bridge, which I liked except for the fact that Vivian Leigh's character kills herself rather than marry her wait-a-minute-I-thought-you-were-dead fiance' and try to forget that she had to hook for a while to make ends meet. Thinking about hookers "making ends meet" is ALWAYS entertaining.

I also watched Giles' Wife where the wife stands by (and occasionally aids and abets) while her husband has an affair with her sister because she feels that it will all blow over and she will get him back. Then when it DOES all blow over and she gets him back, she throws herself out the attic window. Stupid foreign films.

Speaking of foreign films, I also saw Changing Times with Catherine Deneuve and Gerard Depardieu. Catherine Deneuve, who was over sixty when it was filmed, looked luminous. Can I PLEASE look that fabulous in twenty-three years? It also made me realize that I do not ever want to go to Tangiers. Yuck. Oh, yeah, and the older he gets, the more Gerard Depardieu's nose looks like a penis.

I watched Bubble where a woman is apparently jealous of a younger woman and kills her. The movie takes place in West Virginia and it's one of those movies that makes me realize how blessed and fortunate I am to have the life I have. All the people in that movie live in trailers or crappy apartments or homes with 90% paneling. So even though the movie sucked, it's always good to get a little "But for the grace of God..." moment. I felt the same way about Junebug.

No one died in How to Lose Your Lover, but frankly I only watched it because I wanted to see what kind of train wreck would feature not only Poppy Montgomery but also Tori Spelling.

You know how when you are checking for movies to record on TiVo and you click on a movie title to see what it is about and when you see the name of the first actor that is all you need to know about the movie. If I think a title looks intriguing and I click on the description and am greeted with "starring" names like Melissa Gilbert or William Hurt or Madonna or L L Cool J or, heaven help us, Adrienne Barbeau, you just can just immediately write it off.

I even started to watch a movie called Galaxy Hunter. Sometimes a movie just sounds so bad that it just might be good. It "stars" Shelley Michelle (Kim Basinger's body double who decided she could act - ha!) and, wait for it, Stacy Keech. I mean, this baby is so ugly it's GOT to be cute, right? Wrong! It was like watching the plot of a bad porn movie only no one gets naked. Yes, THAT bad!

However, I do have SOME standards. I will never EVER watch The Pacifier.

Ever.

Another Smart Amy

2006-11-17T12:54:00.000-08:00

This quote is from Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life by Amy Krouse Rosenthal.

"It is so much easier to not do something than to do something. Even the smallest task, like filling out a Scholastic Books order form or putting away the butter, requires time, focus, and follow-through. It's astounding, actually, that anything gets done at all, by anyone."

This is how I feel every. single. day.

Doodle? Doorbell? Doobie?

2006-11-13T12:31:00.001-08:00

I watched Doogal with the kids last night. Can I just say....Ugh!

I was lured into thinking it might be good because...

I THOUGHT (because, apparently, I am an idiot) that it was made by the guys who made Hoodwinked. I LOVED Hoodwinked, and not just because Red was voiced by Anne Hathaway who I am predisposed to like thanks to many viewings of OTHER junior market movies (although she really needs to stop flashing her rack around so much - yes, your boobs are mighty and it was lovely of you to let us admire them, but knockers, uhm, KNOCK IT off already. Your nipples are the new Paris Hilton's crotch).

Doogal just plain old-fashioned sucks ass. The animation is crap and the voices don't really match the lip movements. The entire premise is retarded. All the characters are so lame that you are HOPING they all die and NOT just because the Evil Villain is voiced by Jon Stewart and I have been waiting for YEARS for him to accept my invitation to impregnate me.

Now, I know this warning comes too late to save many of you, as we did not watch it in the theatre or buy the Happy Meal or get it on DVD but waited until it came on Starz (or was it Encore?). But those of you I can protect, by god, I will not leave you behind!

I can only hope that the death of many of my brain cells (sure, I don't use them much but I kinda like having them around) and the loss of approximately 78 minutes of my life not have been in vain. Run away!

(Special note to Jon - I still love you)

Phone Rage

2006-11-08T11:01:00.000-08:00

So I'm driving home from the library today. As I stop at a light, I happen to look in my rearview mirror and see the lady in the SUV behind me talking on the phone.

I say "talking" but that is not exactly correct. It was more like "ripping-someone -a-new-one" on the phone. Seriously, I can't lip read or anything but, trust me, you didn't need to. This woman was flipping her head and yelling (I'm assuming she doesn't always open her mouth that wide when she's talking) and hand gesturing like Helen Keller on speed. Apparently the poor rip-ee on the other end kept hanging up on her because every so often she would take the phone off her head, push a couple of buttons, put it back up to her head then commence yelling again.

I was now completely paranoid that she was going to ram into me at, well, ramming speed since she was so preoccupied with her tirade I'm pretty sure she only had approximately 2% of brain power left to actually control her ten tons of motor vehicle.

So I did what I think any red-blooded American would do in this situation.

I pulled into McDonalds and got a Happy Meal.

Someone had to.

You KNOW You Want One

2006-11-06T17:04:00.000-08:00

"So lifelike"

"Interactive and fully animated with realistic hair, skin and sounds"

"Sonic sensors, touch sensors, and infrared vision"

"4 modes include happy, playful, fearful and agressive"

"Includes remote control, or set for auto mode"

Have I gotten your attention? Are you ready to buy?

Oh yeah! Hook me up!

Who feels dirty now, Milhouse?

Where the Wind Comes Peepin'...

2006-11-02T12:32:00.000-08:00

Holy Mother of Monkeys - it WINDY!

I went to Target today and I almost didn't get my groceries out of the cart and into my vehicle because it was blowing so hard. It actually BLEW the bread right out of the grocery bag. I'm not kidding, it's that windy.

It also REPEATEDLY blew open the neck of my sweater. Considering that I was trying to unload groceries into my vehicle, this meant that when I would bend over it would blow it so open that you could see my ENTIRE TORSO!!!

Stupid pervert wind!

And you two! Yeah, I said you two! Over there! PRETENDING to mow the grass! Show's over! Move along!!

Halloweeeeeen!

2006-11-01T11:10:00.000-08:00

Halloween used to be my favorite holiday. It was all about fun. You get to wear a costume and eat tons of candy. It's pretty much the perfect holiday.

Now Halloween has a tendency to make me angry.

I'm mad that schools no longer have Halloween parties or allow kids to wear their costumes to school. When did this happen? Who let this happen? Why?

I'm mad the kids who are too old to be trick-or-treating show up at my door and thrust a pillow case at me. Wearing your own clothes and saying you are a "skater" is not a costume. Wearing your own clothes with one sleeve and one pantleg rolled up and saying you are a "hobo" is not a costume. Get lost already.

But there is still much about Halloween to love.

Tim Burton's Nightmare Before Christmas is still one of my favorite movies. I think we are going to take the kids to go see it in 3D this weekend (in fact, when my son was really little he wouldn't watch Shrek or Monster's Inc because they scared him, but he LOVED Nightmare Before Christmas).

Little kids in their costumes are just tiny pieces of heaven stopping at my front door. Especially when they say "fricker freat!" or "tickle treat!". I love to ooh and aah at them. They make my heart hurt.

My son wore a Yoda costume. Except for the fact that he ditched the Yoda mask before we even left the house. That left him in a Jedi outfit with a robe. So he told everyone he was Mace Windu. Sure little white boy. Sure you are.

My daughter was Daphne from Scooby Doo. No one knew who she was. She just looked like a little cocktail waitress in a giant orange wig and fuschia go-go boots. When some brave soul would ask who she was, she told them "I'm DAPH-ah-nee" which only served to confuse them further. When I clarified, they would go "Oooooh!" and laugh.

May the Mystery Machine be with you.

It's the Great Rip-Off, Charlie Brown!

2006-10-30T12:48:00.000-08:00

This weekend the mongrels and I had to make ourselves scarce for two hours while our realtor held an Open House at our place (don't get me started). So I finally caved into their wee little pleas, and took them to Pumpkin Town.

Now, it SOUNDS like it might be a neat place, chock full of fall festivities for the family. Right? Humph! Kinda-sorta-not-really.

Let me put in Visa commercial terms for you all....

Pony ride - $4
Inflatable slide ride - $3
Hay ride - $4
Pumpkin - $15
Time spent frolicking together in happy family harmony - Priceless

And that's where they screw you folks. With the fucking "happy family harmony" angle. God forbid you just go to Costco and buy a big ole pumpkin for five bucks. Noooooo - you gotta give them the whole shebang.

ESPECIALLY when Pumpkin Town is on the corner across from your nearest McDonald's and therefore you can't slip in for a Snack Wrap (mmmmmm, Snack Wrap) without it screaming at you that you need to bring your poor chitlins on over or deprive them of bright, shiny Halloween memories.

Maybe I'm just bitter because I have pony poo on my shoe.

Sweet Dreams are Made of These

2006-10-27T12:17:00.000-07:00

I had the most vivid dream the other night that I was eating Zingers.

It was a package of raspberry coconut zingers and the unnaturally-tainted coconut was going all over the place and I was having a terrible time (as usual) getting the damn things out of the package (because the bottom ALWAYS sticks to the glossy cardboard).

I was walking around an office eating them and my dream-co-workers kept talking to me and I kept trying to answer but my mouth was always full and I was spewing crumbs everywhere and making a hellacious mess.

What does this dream mean?

Sometimes a Zinger is just a Zinger.

(Get it? That last line is a Zinger zinger! Get it? GET IT? Nevermind.)

It's Not Just for Westerns Anymore

2006-10-26T19:14:00.000-07:00

THE GOOD

The blue whale's penis is eleven feet long.

THE BAD

Aristotle Onassis is said to have upholstered the bar stools on his yacht Christina with whale penis leather.

THE UGLY

The yacht is named after his daughter.

Blog of Our Father's

2006-10-24T14:16:00.000-07:00

*NEXT BLOG*

A faux Heisman perched proudly on your desk, announcing to the world that the only athleticism you have ever displayed in your life involved chasing the Ice-Cream truck 18 years ago.

*NEXT BLOG*

I must hate Texas more than I thought.

*NEXT BLOG*

Many times throughout the day stories come to my mind, stories sometimes involving swear words and morally questionable actions on my part.

*NEXT BLOG*

Things are starting to look up for me and my kingdom of dorkdom!

*NEXT BLOG*

So what does “feeling squirrelly” mean?

*NEXT BLOG*

If you wear lipstick, and you smile, you won't be able to see your moustache.

*NEXT BLOG*

You came in way too late to get on this rollercoaster.

*NEXT BLOG*

I have no idea if this means they've fixed the toilets that constantly clog up or the sinks that don't drain, but by God, there's new wallpaper.

*NEXT BLOG*

Strangely, his name only rhymes with "Siberian Husky" and "Elephant Tusky".

*NEXT BLOG*

If it's more than 30 minutes old, it's not news. It's a blog.

*NEXT BLOG*

He nodded and I assume agreed to some extent (maybe his plans for starting the revolution right there in the middle of Monday night football were crushed, maybe not).

*NEXT BLOG*

So...I was just out in the hall way, and this guy walks by with two, twelve pack Mountain Dew boxes on as shoes.

*NEXT BLOG*

It gives me the heebie jeebies.

*NEXT BLOG*

Animals, children, handlers and Rich White Ladies were running amok on the croquet lawn, and it was truly one of the oddest things I had ever seen.

*NEXT BLOG*

Despite its proven stress-relieving effect, I will not indulge in maniacal laughter.

*NEXT BLOG*

Amen fuckers.

*NEXT BLOG*

The Early Bird Gets Avian Flu

2006-10-23T11:50:00.000-07:00

We parents are very proud of our children. We want them to do their best and if they outshine everyone else's runts **cough** children in the process (as a by-the-way... Not, you know, as a GOAL or anything), then so much the better.

Except for this instance...

Our pediatrician informed me today that my son has the very FIRST case of flu that she has seen this season.

Is that the sound of accolades? Phone calls from The Times and People? A marching brand setting up on my front lawn?

Nah... just coughing.

Jr. High School States of America

2006-10-19T13:53:00.000-07:00

Alabama - not cool
Alaska - cool (literally, although when you think "Alaska" you think of manly men doing manly things. You never really think about women. Alaskan women are terrifying)
Arizona - cool (not literally, but a state that shows that much flesh on a daily basis HAS to be cool)
Arkansas - not cool (cribbed name off neighboring state and tried to disguise it)
California - cool (It's how they get away with those ridiculous real estate prices - coast hogs)
Colorado - cool (not even John Denver could bring it down)
Connecticut - cool
Delaware - not cool (where the hell IS Delaware anyway?)
Florida - cool (I am afraid to say "uncool" as a bunch of anthromorphic animals might come get me)
Georgia - not cool (sorry Ray)
Hawaii - cool (can you just beam me there right now)
Idaho - not cool (It takes more than Bruce & Demi to bring this potato state around)
Illinois - cool (excluding the losers who call Chicago "Chi town")
Indiana - not cool
Iowa - not cool (are you kidding?)
Kansas - not cool (see Iowa)
Kentucky - not cool (even though Kenfucky makes me laugh)
Louisiana - not cool (now I'm afraid of the Gators coming to get me)
Maine - cool (one crazy twisted writer can't be wrong)
Maryland - not cool ( I started to say cool, but it's called MARY-land for cripes sake!)
Massachusetts - cool (it's just so darn fun to say!)
Michigan - not cool (but they sure try hard)
Minnesota - cool (good lord - that accent! gotta love the accent)
Mississippi - not cool (even though it's fun to say too )
Missouri - not cool (yawn... Next!)
Montana - cool (the men are men and the women can go out and kill something for dinner)
Nebraska - not cool
Nevada - cool (in a weird way)
New Hampshire - cool
New Jersey - not cool (even unborn zygotes know Jersey sucks - the garden state? who are they kidding?)
New Mexico - not cool (not only does this state suck but it is perpetually under construction)
New York - cool (and they don't give a shit what you think, fucker)
North Carolina - cool
North Dakota - not cool (if they all seceded to Canada, would anyone notice?)
Ohio - not cool (o-hell-no)
Oklahoma - not cool (and trust me, I've been trying to give them a chance)
Oregon - cool (but freaky, very very freaky, it's almost an alien planet)
Pennsylvania - cool
Rhode Island - cool (because it's cute and you could put it in your pocket)
South Carolina - cool
South Dakota - not cool (even if it became just one big Dakota, it would still suck)
Tennessee - not cool
Texas - cool (and big. I'm required to say big.)
Utah - not cool (several million Mormons MUST be wrong)
Vermont - cool (they have syrup! And HAM!!)
Virginia - not cool (They SAY "Virginia is for lovers" when what they mean is "If you come here, prepared to get fucked!")
Washington - cool (A Volcano! A rain forest! Coffee! MORE COFFEE! They foreclosed on Courtney Love! Hee Hee!!)
West Virginia - not cool (again, get your OWN name you losers!)
Wisconsin - cool (oh the cheese..guuuuuhhhhh!)
Wyoming - not cool (although I don't think they have speed limits there. They barely have cars)

It's Non-Non-Fiction

2006-10-18T15:39:00.000-07:00

Today at work (my last day), I was reading one of the guys some of the tid-bits from a new book entitled Bewitch A Man: How to Find Him and Keep Him Under your Spell. Apparently this woman (some kind of witchy woman, I didn't really delve too closely into her credentials) has written spells and etcetera to help the otherwise-without-resources-or-a-clue single gal. I should have checked it out and brought it home to peruse, but after I read about how if you just want to have SEX and ONLY SEX with a man, that you should have him wear a black condom so his "magical cock" can't ensnare you, I figured it could only go down from there.

Seriously. I couldn't make this shit up if I tried, and lord knows I try.

Anyway, after pointing out the above morsel to my co-worker (as well as a heading titled "Hexing Assholes") we both shook our heads laughing.

He said,

"I can't believe that is in non-fiction."

And I said,

"Why not? The bible is in non-fiction".

A Woman Who Will Walk On You When You're Down

2006-10-17T15:13:00.000-07:00

I'm moving. Relocating. Blowing this popcorn stand. Telling Oklahoma it's NOT OK. No, Witness Relocation is not involved (don't be a smartass).

Now, normally one might think that would be a Supersuckafragilistic time to fire up a dormant blog. But, as you all know, I'm just not normal.

Not even close.

Actually it makes sense if you factor in that my last day at work is tomorrow (I will miss it ridiculously) and that I don't actually have to pack a SINGLE SOLITARY BOX.

See? Good timing.

I WAS going to say I'm not telling you where I'm going, but I already did.

Hootie, Why YOU Punish me?

2006-01-16T15:00:00.000-08:00

I just sat down, thinking "Holy Mother of Mackerel I NEED to put a freaking post on my freaking blog!! Gaaah! I can't believe I've gone so long AGAIN!! GAAAHHHH!"

Which got me thinking about time and how can it possibly be that I just never have even REMOTELY enough of it? Could it be because I like to WASTE it? Be frivolous with it? KILL it, even?

Well, just thinking of the word "time", immediately caused freaking Hootie and the freaking Blowfish's "Time" to pop into my head. Not the WHOLE song mind you (because if I actually knew ALL of the lyrics to a Hootie and the Blowfish song I would have to kill myself) but just the chorus part where it goes "TIME blah blah blah TIME blah blah blah" in such a manner as to put Vietnamese torture to shame.

So, is it stuck in your head now too?

Since I'm torturing you anyway, let's bring out this Darius-is-on-crack/owes-the-Mafia-money/has-lost-his-ever-lovin'-mind oldie but a goodie.

Never Enough

2006-01-09T12:07:00.000-08:00

In 2005 I read 62 books. That's right - SIXTY-TWO books. 62 delicious, enveloping, titillating, humorous, enlightening, thought-provoking, educational, inspirational, smut-filled, humility-inspiring, wonderful books.

In the process, my house is not really all that clean. Wiped but not scrubbed. Picked up but not dusted off. Put away but not organized.

Projects wait patiently in a queue for me to turn my literary-ily fogged gaze their way.

How many more games could I have played with my children? How many more trips to the park? How many more books could I have read to THEM?

Sixty-two. Way too many.

Still not enough.

Less Spode, More Corelle

2005-12-07T11:44:00.000-08:00

Poor little plate. Sometimes during the plate spinning we call life, a little breakage occurs. Sometimes we put a new plate right back up on that stick and keep spinning. And then there's times like these....

I missed you, oh blog o' mine. I missed the funny me that lives here. Not the laundry-doing, don't-make-me-tell-you-again!!, if-you-ask-what's-for-dinner-one-more-time-I-swear-I'll-cut-you person that lives in the "real" world.

So back up you go. With a little hope and a heap of optimism, I give you a spin.

Saved by a Slim Jim

2005-11-09T11:23:00.000-08:00

On my way to work yesterday, I stopped for my usual 34oz of Happiness at ye olde Fiesta Mart then circled out of the parking lot & stopped at the red light. As I waited for the light to change I looked down and spied a Slim Jim laying in the center console.

I picked it up and mulled over eating it. I really SHOULDN'T eat it because after all, it wasn't mine. Plus I don't really LIKE Slim Jim's after about the first bite. But still, I was here, it was here.... About this point in my musings I look up and notice that the light had turned green.

"Oh crap! The light!" I think. But instead of just throwing the Slim Jim down, as I USUALLY would do, I turn to the passenger seat and try to stuff it into my book bag. It didn't make it in on the first jab so I had to get a little forceful with it. Then I turned back and put my foot down on the gas.

Right as I start to move forward, a little red car comes BARRELING through the intersection from my left.

I just sat there stunned for a second. I should, by all rights, have been RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THAT INTERSECTION. Every hair on my body was standing straight up and my mouth was hanging open. I swear I heard magical twinkling music.

If it had not been for that stupid Slim Jim I know, I KNOW, I would be either dead or hurt quite badly.

My guardian angel sure is a tricky.

And the Slim Jim? My daughter ate it. I got the first bite.

Today's Official BIG FAT WASTE OF TIME

2005-11-04T09:34:00.000-08:00

go here

make one

you know you want to

In Her Blog

2005-10-21T13:24:00.000-07:00

*NEXT BLOG*

I'm getting a haircut today, and it better be the best god-damned haircut of my life.

*NEXT BLOG*

Hemorrhoids Info is the sister site of Warts Web.

*NEXT BLOG*

it's a fact. usually the only thing that will stop a determined child in the middle of a blood-curdling tantrum is severe sleep deprivation, tear gas, or possibly nutella

*NEXT BLOG*

The vegetarian travelling in France is well advised to return across the border by whichever means they entered France as soon as possible, or be prepared to face long distances of many hundreds of kilometres between cold plates of tofu and beansprouts, broken only by the holy trinity of French rural vegetarian fare, this being the pizza, the crepe and the salad chevre chaud.

*NEXT BLOG*

These are your-chosen-deity-approved margaritas.

*NEXT BLOG*

For a split-second this morning, I thought I saw Ronnie James Dio jogging!

*NEXT BLOG*

So… he really had no idea I was at this door AND he would have no clue if a yedi monster was living in the wall.

*NEXT BLOG*

At best, the existing theories can be used as standup comedy material or in politicians’ speeches, which are the same things actually

*NEXT BLOG*

So who knows, maybe deep-fried Mars bars and mildew-smelling housing will seem perfectly normal in a few months' time.

*NEXT BLOG*

I am large, I contain multitudes of monkeys.

*NEXT BLOG*

Despite your admirable enthusiasm, the world is just not ready for co-ed naked luge

*NEXT BLOG*

I want a Chinese Pope... a pontiff that uses chopsticks.

*NEXT BLOG*

I just wanted to take a moment to thank my feet.

*NEXT BLOG*

audience shot of cute women with faces frozen in an unconvincing smile left over from a vaguely amusing reference six jokes ago

*NEXT BLOG*

Footwear of choice for hippies, socialists, unkempt toenails, hairy radical feminist lesbians, and greasy geriatric grateful dead fans, a special circle of hell is reserved for birkenstock wearers where lectures on Ayn Rand alternate with basic military training, courtesy of the US Army or the Waffen SS, whichever you happen to dislike more.

*NEXT BLOG*

I have faith that if you would have at least stopped and thought about what would be a much more intimate gift, you would have had the sense to spring for the $5 Chia Pet you were eyeing in Kmart.

*NEXT BLOG*

What do chronic hemmorhoids, mosquitoes , meningitis, hot candle wax stains, and my mother have in common?

*NEXT BLOG*

Use anything else, and you might as well be brushing your teeth with a dog turd on a stick.

*NEXT BLOG*

I Guess It Lived Up to It's Name

2005-10-20T12:37:00.000-07:00

So I'm eating a piece of Laffy Taffy today.

Strawberry. Snack size. You know the type.

For reasons currently unknown to me (sun spots? aliens? gophers?), right as I'm about to swallow the gooey, sticky, slobbery mass, I start coughing.

But on the first cough, some of the previously mentioned delicious slime, shoots UP MY NOSE.

*GACK* *cough* *snort* *GACK* ***GACK***

Oh great god of candy, what have I EVER done to ANGER YOU SO??

I'm coughing and heaving and my nose is smarting like a bad night at Studio 56. My eyes are watering heavily and I'm starting to look like a rabid raccoon.

Holy mother of monkeys!

More coughing. More snorting. More GACK-ing.

I have just about recovered when I start REALLY thinking about what is going on. How I am shooting artificially strawberry flavored, Red Lake #5 colored, mucus and slobber EVERYWHERE.

Then I start laughing. Which DOES NOT HELP the coughing/snorting/GACK-ing situation.

It's so fun to be me.

Yes, I CAN Hold My Tongue

2005-10-13T14:38:00.000-07:00

My neighbor & I (no, not best-neighbor-ever, the OTHER one) were walking our kids to school today. It was a BEAUTIFUL day! Sun shining, butterflies flitting, but the changing of the leaves reminding us that these idyllic days are drawing to a close and therefore making them that much sweeter.

As we walked, our "twin" car drove by. It is the same make & color as our car, but it has zebra print seat covers & the driver is a woman who wears a hijab. Pretty easy to tell us apart.

My neighbor says that her friend lives next door to this woman & sometimes the kids play together. Therefore, and I quote, "She had to explain to her kids how they have a religion but it's the wrong religion". Apparently she had this chat with her kids because she didn't want them to LEARN anything about the other religion but she didn't want them to be prejudiced against them. You know, because, again I quote, "They HAVE a god, it's just the WRONG god. Not a real god. You know, they don't believe in Jesus or anything."

If my neighbor had A.N.Y. idea W.H.A.T.S.O.E.V.E.R. what lurks behind my mild-mannered exterior, I SWEAR she would have me run out of the neighborhood by a mob wielding pitchforks.

I just changed the subject - "Wow, there sure are a LOT of butterflies out now! I love how those bushes in front of your house really seem to attract them."

Apparently Jesus wants her home to look pretty.

Rumors of My Demise Are Greatly Exaggerated

2005-10-12T15:06:00.000-07:00

My life has become completely obsessed with figuring out how to teach a feral pack of kindergarteners to dribble a ball without hurting themselves, each other, and everyone within a 2 mile radius of the gym.

Pray for me people. Ask Kali. I think she's my best bet here.

That's What You Get for Going Out of Town and Leaving ME in Charge

2005-10-07T11:19:00.000-07:00

(Background info - We signed the boy up for Kindergarten Intramural Basketball. There was a meeting Tuesday night to advise parents of the number of teams, they get to meet the coaches, etc.)

Phone conversation with hub (in Arkansas on business):

Hub: So were you able to go to the basketball meeting?

Me: Yeah. You will NEVER guess who the coach is.

Hub: Willie's dad?

Me: Nope. Willie isn't even playing.

Hub: John's dad?

Me: No. He just coaches t-ball.

Hub: Who is it?

Me: You're talkin' to 'em.

SILENCE

SILENCE

Boy in background yelling: It's mommy!

SILENCE

SILENCE

Boy yells again: IT'S MOMMY!!!

SILENCE

Me to boy: Give daddy a minute honey, I think he's having a break down.

Hub, finally: Whaa...whaaaa...WHAT??

Yuck!

2005-10-05T14:43:00.000-07:00

My children are finally reaching the age where they want to try sour flavored candy and, you know, I like me some candy......

I've quoted her before and I'll quote her again - Phoebe from Friends - "This must be what evil tastes like".

Actually I was thinking more liked brightly colored pickled pieces of petrified ASS!

Lessons from Heaven

2005-10-03T18:45:00.000-07:00

When I was buying a soda at the gas station by work, I saw that the Extra Penny Cup sitting on the counter had a note taped to it that said "1 or 2 but NOT 3!!!"

Why not 3? Those pennies are left by CUSTOMERS that DO NOT WANT their pennies. They are for the use of OTHER CUSTOMERS.

Who is the penny Nazi and why do they even give a shit?

Today's moral - Go ONLY to Quick Trip, where they don't care if you give them pennies and they always round to the nearest silver when giving you change. Love me some QT, baby.

The Apple Amuses the Tree

2005-10-01T16:02:00.000-07:00

My 3.5 year old daughter just came into my room carrying a Leap Frog "Leap's Phonics Pond". As she entered it was loudly proclaiming "Press the letter T". She drops down to her knees, puts the thing on the floor, shouts "No time to be thinking" and starts frantically pushing ALL the letters.

Has my daughter been watching Keanu Reeves movies?

Another Entry For the "She NEVER Learns, Does She?" File

2005-09-30T12:45:00.000-07:00

I have two, count them TWO, new and exciting wounds from my ongoing love/hate relationship with scooters.

You may recall my last painful debacle. I STILL have a half-dollar sized bruise on the front of my left shin from THAT one. Obviously though the memory of the pain has faded even though the signs of injury have not. Good enough for me. Apparently.

So the girl and I walk our happy little kindergartener to school the other day. And by "walk" I mean "I walk and they ride their scooters". Well after Captain Kinderoo gets dropped off, I now have a scooter to get home.

Yes, yes, you see it coming don't you.

I would like to say in my defense that I DID NOT FALL OFF this time!! What I DID do is get off it to step off a curb and when I lifted it up to set it down in the street to cross the intersection it viciously (and, I believe, with malicious forethought) swung around and smacked evilly into my right heel. RIGHT ON THE BONE part too. I'm pretty sure I heard chortling.

Scooter 2, AJ 0

Vaya Con Dios, Amigos

2005-09-27T10:58:00.000-07:00

We just had some good friends here visiting from Houston (aka seeking refuge from Hurricane Rita - which turned out, thankfully, not to be so bad in their area). When we lived in Arizona, we had three couples that we frequently did things with (as well as many fringe friends that we saw on bigger occasions like birthday parties, poker nights, Super Bowl parties, weddings, etc.) This couple was our favorite.

The guy and my husband have been friends since seventh grade. I LOVE his wife (she thinks I'm hysterical and laughs at everything I say - how can I NOT love her?). Plus our husbands are so much alike that we can bemoan our identical plights. We wanted to pick them to be surrogate parents to our children in case we both were killed by a hurtling meteor or food poisoning or something, but they already were "on record" with a couple of other couples so we had to go to Plan B (which we STILL can't figure out).

We had such a good time while they were here. The kids (ages 3, 3, 5 & 9) played mostly nicely together. We went out to eat, laughed, and talked and talked and talked.

When we discussed the possibility of moving here, we knew it was going to be hard leaving our friends. The hub had lived most of his life in AZ and had friends from grade school, High School and college that he interacted regularly with. My best friend married a good friend of his via our hooking them up (in retrospect - NOT a good match, but hey, they are still married so what are you gonna do?). We have been with these people through weddings, pregnancies (full-term and tragically otherwise), promotions, moves across town, job changes, divorces, and so on.

When you are an adult it's HARD to make new friends. It's not like when you were in school and had a ready made group of peers floating around you all day. Your only chances out here in Adult World are hooking up through work or through your kids activities. Since we moved here we do things mostly with the people in our neighborhood (through HOA sponsored activities) but that's about it.

We didn't realize how much we missed that until this past weekend.

Or as James Jones says in From Here to Eternity: "...it seems like life is made up of saying hello to people we don't like and good-by to people we do."

AND I Have a Silver Platter!

2005-09-26T19:26:00.000-07:00

It has recently come to my attention that Mike & Carol Brady were married on the SAME DAY I was (albet 29 years earlier).

(aka today)

I'm am still trying to decided how I feel about this tidbit of information.

Dear Hurricane Rita,

2005-09-22T08:16:00.000-07:00

I realize you are currently huffing and puffing your busy destructive self towards the coast of Texas, but I thought you might consider a detour.

If you could bypass all those nice folks in Galveston and Houston and save your mighty powers of chaos and wetness for a DESERVING target, say the Arizona Department of Motor Vehicles? I know you could level that evil entity with your heaving bosom of terror and 100+ mile per hour winds. Please oh please!! PRETTY PLEASE! I'm not even asking you to spare lives as I have YET to come in contact with ONE SINGLE ARTICULATE BEING within that Satanic, sadistic, communal-I.Q.-of-gravy, oh-don't-we-make-the-government-proud, festering, miasmic, vomitus barrel of creatures culled from the very depths of the dark underbelly of society.

If you would grant me this one teensy favor, just between us girls, I would soooooo be in your debt.

I hope you give it a little thought & I will be watching The Weather Channel with fingers (and toes) crossed.

Sincerely and with love,
A J

Viva la TV!

2005-09-19T10:25:00.000-07:00

Why is it that we, as mothers, feel as though we have to apologize for letting our children watch television? I recently, within the same week, read in an article AND a recently published book where a mother is putting her child in front of the TV because they have to get something done (in the article she had to make dinner and in the book she was killing a demon). In both instances they felt guilty and apologetic. They felt like they have to validate their decision by saying things like, "At least it's educational" or "Just a half hour won't damage him".

Why is it not okay to just want a little Mommy Time? You should NOT feel guilty if Barney is the only thing that gets grubby mitts off your pant leg long enough that you can actually fix a meal (even if you are just opening a couple of cans or dialing the phone). You shouldn't feel guilty even if all you do during that time is slump on the couch in your pajamas (at 3pm) and sip a little Merlot.

When did TV get to be so evil? TV rocks! There is a plethora of kids shows nowadays and almost every last one of them has some sort of redeeming value. Even Spongebob taught my kids his own version of The Boy Who Cried Wolf. Cartoon characters teach morals, values, letters, numbers, history and foreign languages. Sure, the songs are a little on the get-stuck-in-your-head side but, damn it!, we all have to make sacrifices.

I have alphabet and number flash cards in my car. I have never failed to point out left shoe and right shoe even when my child could do more than drool on said shoe. I brake for weird bugs and pretty fallen leaves. We count out loud going up and down stairs. But you know what? Sometimes enough is enough.

When my husband bought me TiVo for my birthday two years ago, I cried tears of joy. At last, Max and Ruby could be on ANY TIME I WANTED THEM TO BE ON. Oh the joy! The pure sweet liberating JOY of on-demand kids programming. I want to start a program where the hospital just GIVES you TiVo, right there in the delivery room.

"Congratulations! It's a boy! And TiVo!"

March of the Blogs

2005-09-18T13:02:00.000-07:00

*NEXT BLOG*

What is that in the toilet you ask?

*NEXT BLOG*

I guess when they included his cocktail shaker in the credits, you knew it was going to be interesting.

*NEXT BLOG*

I should not speak to people.

*NEXT BLOG*

I have a feeling these girls werent bullied enough in school.

*NEXT BLOG*

i've always been one that doesn't have to go the bathroom until we're driving in the middle of nowhere.

*NEXT BLOG*

After all, screen door companies must know that the tiny plastic lock is a vital element in keeping their customers safe.

*NEXT BLOG*

do you like me?
circle yes or no

*NEXT BLOG*

I should have spent more time around the Love Canal in my youth so I could have grown a couple more atrophied (but ultimately helpful) limbs.

*NEXT BLOG*

People are not warm-hearted beings of love; they are discrete units of logic.

*NEXT BLOG*

I LOVE YOU, JUSTIN. But not as much as Jesus.

*NEXT BLOG*

Every time I see a carcass lying on the road, I close my mouth, lest I ingest a fly that’s just been gorging on rat.

*NEXT BLOG*

Before I knew it, I was fully engaged in an arm wrestling skirmish with Steve Austin’s Spawn.

*NEXT BLOG*

Marmite isn't really a food. It's a chainsaw lubricant/axle grease.

*NEXT BLOG*

I think she's more like 'relatively' the hottest teacher, because the rest are like miniature dinosaurs or giant fossils.

*NEXT BLOG*

Believe it or not, we called the local Klan about 2 weeks ago, and they actually admitted that they don't do anything anymore, because they are broke

*NEXT BLOG*

It wasn't bear season, and the bear had neither been run over nor had it died of a heart attack.

*NEXT BLOG*

Humans are stupid, lying, greedy, slimy beings, and I'm a perfect example of that.

*NEXT BLOG*

Questions: 1. Why would someone invent a tricycle with a dozen LOUD sound effect buttons?

*NEXT BLOG*

And he's also right when he says something to the effect that if you care more about what gays do in private than in the melting of the polar ice caps, you're part of the problem.

*NEXT BLOG*

age is wisdom, people, and all the fogies (and me) roll where cost-effective home-meal replacement is nutritious and delicious

*NEXT BLOG*

I'm not so proud of the fact that I've told you people I can give myself an orgasm simply thinking about cans of cheese whizz and an ice cream scoop.

*NEXT BLOG*

It's even better than watching Augustus Gloop.

*NEXT BLOG*

Mirror, Mirror, On the Wall

2005-09-15T15:22:00.000-07:00

Not only do I NEVER look at myself in a mirror if the room is dark, I pretty much don't look at myself during the day either. Oh sure, I have to look when I'm getting ready in the morning, but then that's pretty much it.

I could be in the bathroom a dozen times a day, where there is a GIANT most-of-the-wall mirror behind the double sink vanity, washing my hands, tending to kids, etc and I just don't look at myself. I can wash said mirror and every other mirror in the house and still not look directly at my own reflection. If I accidentally catch a glance at myself in a mirror (or a window or a toaster or a spoon) my eyes shy away like they have suddenly spied a live sex act featuring livestock.

Why? I have no earthly idea.

I don't hate myself. I don't think that I'm ugly or terrifying. I think that it's just that I really don't CARE that much. Hey, I TRIED to fix my hair this morning, if by, oh say, 1 p.m. it is sticking out like an angry weasel is lost in there or it is flatter than a pancake, cest la vie. I'm not going to do anything about it anyway, so why bother looking? Is my eyeliner slowly working it's way south? Bummer. I'll wash it off before I go to bed.

I have never been high maintenance. I don't even know why you'd want to be high maintenance. After all, that requires so much effort and, um, maintenance.

I'm not a complete slob. I CARE about my appearance enough to actually paint the picture every morning (well, ALMOST every morning) but once I'm done, it's on it's own. No re-touching. No adjusting. No fine tuning. Fini.

Candyman?

2005-09-14T17:21:00.000-07:00

I have such a phobia about looking at my reflection in a mirror in a darkened room that I can't even MAKE myself do it. The other night, when I was taking one of the monsters to the bathroom at even-god-is-asleep o'clock in the morning, I TRIED to do it (why? I don't KNOW why, sometimes I just try stuff). But the minute I lifted my head, my eyes snapped shut and refused to open.

If I've messed MYSELF up this much, what the hell am I doing to my poor impressionable children?

Hi, My Name is Pollyanna

2005-09-13T09:29:00.000-07:00

I have a problem (okay, you know I have many problems, but let's focus).

My problem is that I ASSUME (yes, yes, horrible word) that people will DO THEIR JOB. If I drop clothes off at the dry cleaners, I ASSUME that they will be ready a day or two later when I go to pick them up. I ASSUME that when I call my husband's gym and tell them that they charged us twice this month, that they will promptly credit our account. Most of the time, in my blissful world, people actually DO what they are supposed to/are paid to do.

Here is my trouble.

I assume that people will ALWAYS do what they are supposed to do / are paid to do. Even when, yes I know I am a capital F Fool, when I am dealing with a motor vehicle department. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Especially when I have already wrangled with these people before.

*flashback*

We bought our car right before we moved to Oklahoma. My husband's new position included a company car so we decided it made a lot more sense to trade in both our current vehicles for a new car in AZ than to transport BOTH cars to OK and do it there. Right? Right. We tell them we are moving out of state & will register it there. They give us a 30 day plate. Again, makes sense, right? Well, you'd THINK!

When I get to Oklahoma and try to register the car I discover the foolishness of my actions. In OK when you buy a new car, you pay the sales tax when you register the vehicle. In AZ, you pay the sales tax when you BUY the car. So OK won't register it unless I pay them the sales tax (not an insignificant amount). AZ won't give the tax back because I bought it there. I wrangle back & forth for D.A.Y.S. Both sides telling me the other side is wrong. I finally just called the dealership & had them order me plates, which, thank the heavens, they did.

*back to present*

For reasons probably relating to the brou-ha-ha above, I never received a copy of my registration. Since my tags are expiring, I go to the Arizona Department of Tranportation website and try to print out a duplicate. Surprise, surprise, it doesn't work. So I have to call.

Interesting note - ADOT (and probably many other Arizona governmental offices) use convicted prisoners to answer phones. They tell you on the recorded message not to divulge personal information until you reach a Level Two employee. You know this because they TELL you they are Level Two. What a system. I'd complain, but at least I could understand them.

Turns out that AZ had sent me a letter asking to verify my insurance coverage. I have to take their word for it as I have no such letter. When I did not respond, the suspended my registration. I call my insurance agent & they oh so politely (I LOVE my insurance agent's staff, they are lovely women) get the letter faxed off right away. I was told it would take several days to get reinstated. Of course. Whatever.

Today I try to get the info on line again. What a shock! It STILL won't come up. I call ADOT again. After almost an hour on hold I speak to some dolt who tells me it was never entered. *sigh* I have to call my insurance agent AGAIN. She remembers me (because she told me the first time they had never had to do a letter like that before - lucky me) and apologizes even though it wasn't any fault of hers and when I tell her this she says, "I'm just so sorry for the hassle you are going through." Sweet, hunh?

When I asked the dolt on the phone how long it would take until I could get a copy of my registration she said, and I quote, "Oh they enter that stuff right away when they get it."

Un-hunh.

Seriously, I LIKE This Girl

2005-09-12T18:32:00.000-07:00

Yet again, we visit our heroine, Olivia, from yesterday's post.

"Olivia's theory was that you could divide women into two types: those who were on the Girls' Team, and Undercover Bitches. If a woman was on the Girls' Team, she could be as beautiful, intelligent, rich, famous, sexy, successful and as popular as fuck, and you'd still like her. Women on the Girls' Team had solidarity. They were conspiratorial and brought all their fuck-ups to the table for everyone to enjoy. Undercover Bitches were competitive: they showed off, tried to put others down to make themselves look good, lacked humor and a sense of their own ridiculousness, and said things which sounded okay on the surface but were actually designed to make you feel really bad, couldn't bear it when they weren't getting enough attention, and they flicked their hair. Men didn't get all this. They thought women took against each other because they were jealous. Quite tragic, really."

On The Team - Julia Roberts
Not on The Team - Zsa Zsa Gabor
On The Team - Jamie Lee Curtis
Not on The Team - Pamela Anderson
On The Team - Cameron Diaz
Not on the Team - Paris Hilton
On The Team - Fergie (Duchess of York)
Not on the Team - Fergie (Black Eyed Pea)
On The Team - Helen Fielding
Not on The Team - Mary Higgins Clark

I think it's time for a team party, and I'm NOT talking Pizza Hut.

As in the Unit of Kinetic Energy

2005-09-11T19:47:00.000-07:00

Just finished reading Olivia Joules and the Overactive Imagination by Helen Fielding (author of Bridget Jones's Diary). Olivia is a hysterical character. This book had lots of interesting ideas to spring-board off of, but for now I will share with you...

"Rules for Living by Olivia Joules

1. Never panic. Stop, breathe, think.
2. No one is thinking about you. They're thinking about themselves, just like you.
3. Never change haircut or color before an important event.
4. Nothing is either as bad or as good as it seems.
5. Do as you would be done by, eg., thou shalt not kill.
6. It is better to buy one expensive thing that you really like than several cheap ones that you only quite like.
7. Hardly anything matters: if you get upset, ask yourself, "Does it really matter?"
8. The key to success lies in how you pick yourself up from failure.
9. Be honest and kind.
10. Only buy clothes that make you feel like doing a small dance.
11. Trust your instincts, not your overactive imagination.
12. When overwhelmed by disaster, check if it's really a disaster by doing the following: (a) think, "Oh, fuck it," (b) look on the bright side and, if that doesn't work, look on the funny side. If neither of the above works then maybe it is a disaster so turn to items 1 and 4.
13. Don't expect the world to be safe or life to be fair.
14. Sometimes you just have to go with the flow.
15. Don't regret anything. Remember there wasn't anything else that could have happened, given who you were and the state of the world at the moment. The only think you can change is the present, so learn from the past.

As you can see by #5, she is one of my flock.

Glamour - ous Me

2005-09-09T20:26:00.000-07:00

Glamour magazine recently published (well, sort of re-published) a list of "30 things every woman should have and should know by the time she's 30".

Seeing as how I'm now closer to 40 than 30, I wonder how I'm doing (you know, according to the Glamour Queens).

By 30 you should have:

1. One old boyfriend you can imagine going back to and one who reminds you of how far you've come. How about an old FRIEND I can imagine going back to and having as a boyfriend? ALL the boyfriends remind me of how far I've come.

2. A decent piece of furniture not previously owned by anyone else in your family. In fact the only piece I own that HAS been previously owned are a vanity that my grandfather made for my grandmother (which is in the closet in the guest room because it just doesn't "go" anywhere). Just about everything else has been acquired since I've been with my husband.

3. Something perfect to wear if the employer or man of your dreams wants to see you in an hour. Yes to the first one and the man of my dreams would think I looked fabulous no matter what I was wearing.

4. A purse, a suitcase and an umbrella you're not ashamed to be seen carrying. No (but I AM going purse shopping in a couple of weeks for my fall purse), yes and all the umbrellas in my house have either Spiderman, Dora or Care Bears on them.

5. A youth you're content to move beyond. Yep. I LIKE getting older. You couldn't make me 20 again for A.N.Y.T.H.I.N.G.

6. A past juicy enough that you're looking forward to retelling it in your old age. Yeah, I guess, but I'm NOT going to be boring future generations about it no matter HOW juicy I think it is.

7. The realization that you are actually going to have an old age - and some money set aside to help fund it. The women on both sides of my family tree live to around 100. I've got MANY years ahead (runaway busses aside). Money set aside? I have children I'm planning on being a burden to, does that count?

8. An e-mail address, a voice mailbox and a bank account - all of which nobody has access to but you. No to all of the above (ah, the sharing of marriage!). But I DO have a blog!

9. A resume that is not even the slightest bit padded. I was always too chicken to pad my resume. I have paranoia induced honesty.

10. One friend who always makes you laugh and one who lets you cry. My friend "T" almost ALWAYS makes me laugh. I don't know about the crying. I'm kind of a closet crier.

11. A set of screwdrivers, a cordless drill and a black lace bra. I can NEVER find tools because the hub is horrid at putting things away. Does it have to be lace?

12. Something ridiculously expensive that you bought for yourself, just because you deserve it. I don't buy ridiculously expensive things for myself. Who does that?

13. The belief that you deserve it. Hell yeah I do! I just don't feel the need to prove it by buying ridiculously expensive things for myself.

14. A skin-care regimen, an exercise routine and a plan for dealing with those few other facets of life that don't get better after 30. I REALLY need to be better about taking care of my skin, but I am honestly just so overwhelmed with all the products that I just do nothing instead. I do exercise though - yeah me!

15. A solid start on a satisfying career, a satisfying relationship and all those other facets of life that do get better. If I NEVER have a "career" that would be okely-dokely with me. I am liking working at the library though, so that may grow as the kids get older. Relationship questions make my head hurt.

By 30, you should know:

1. How to fall in love without losing yourself. I think this comes with learning how to care less about what others think of you and more about what you think of others.

2. How you feel about having kids. Since I had to clean up an unholy mess of poo smeared ALL OVER the toilet, underwear, little legs, the tile floor, the carpet, the sink, two towels and a Batman cup, I'd say you don't WANT to know how I feel about having kids right now.

3. How to quit a job, break up with a man and confront a friend without ruining the friendship. Well let's see, I became a stay-at-home mom with no career, got married and moved several hundred miles away from my friends. Does that mean I'm GOOD at that stuff or monumentally bad?

4. When to try harder and when to walk away. Maybe I have and maybe I haven't, but I HAVE learned how to not beat myself up about it. I HAVE learned how to ditch the guilt and keep the lesson. Am I trying to hard to reply to this one? (Sound of walking away)

5. How to kiss in a way that communicates perfectly what you would and wouldn't like to happen next. Um, yes. Yes I do.

6. The names of the secretary of state, your great-grandmother and the best tailor in town. Condi Rice (I cheated & Goggled), Mary and I don't want "the best" I want "the second best" who doesn't charge as much.

7. How to live alone, even if you don't like to. Ohhhhh, I am daydreaming about this! Don't toy with me!

8. How to take control of your own birthday. What the hell does this mean? Plan your own party? Declare you no longer have one? This one is weird. Besides I have to "control" everyone else's birthday, I don't WANT to control my own.

9. That you can't change the length of your calves, the width of your hips or the nature of your parents. You CAN change the width of your hips (just generally not for the better). When do your parents learn that they can't change YOUR nature? Ever?

10. That your childhood may not have been perfect, but it's over. I was just thinking today that if I owned a company that I would have mandatory recess for my employees including a swing set, monkey bars and that big spinny thing that you only find in old playgrounds. It's not over until I say it's over.

11. What you would and wouldn't do for money or love. This changes on a day to day basis. I don't like to draw big lines in the sand because then I just have to sneak out at night and move them.

12. That nobody gets away with smoking, drinking, doing drugs or not flossing for very long. I was smug about this one until I got to the flossing point. Damn floss.

13. Who you can trust, who you can't and why you shouldn't take it personally. I am deeply jaded and suspicious and completely gullible all at the same time. But I don't take it personally.

14. Not to apologize for something that isn't your fault. According to the hub, I don't even apologize for things that ARE my fault.

15. Why they say life begins at 30. Who says that?

Protect Me From Your Followers

2005-09-08T08:54:00.000-07:00

Hold hands people, we are broaching the "taboo" (blame Kris because he brought it up).

I was raised in a Christian home - Lutheran and Presbyterian. Once we lived in town, we were fairly frequent church-going people. We did the midnight Christmas service and walked around with ashes on our heads (I do admit, as a child, being thrilled when, twice a year, my parents would space day-light savings and we would either arrive too early or too late for church and decide to go to breakfast instead). I even taught Sunday School when I was in high school (occasionally having to brightly tell the little ones "I'll be right back!" then rushing out the door to go throw up in the bushes after a particularly bad night of partying). I know all the stories and a LOT of songs (my particular favorite - feel free to sing along - "Noah he built him, he built him and ark-y ark-y, Noah he built him, He built him an ark-y ark-y, Built it out of *clap* gopher bark-y bark-y, children of the lord).

Sometime in my early 20's, things started to change. I actually started to THINK about my religion as opposed to just following where my parents had led. I had developed a bad taste in my mouth when the pastor at our church left and the new guy was just an complete and utter asshat. I couldn't believe that I had to LISTEN to this guy. He seemed much more focused on trying to get the church to get him a mini-van than he was about "tending his flock". I also read this book. What made me think the most was when he described that no matter what religion the person was during their life, when they died, they all went to the same place. I also came to believe that your religion is almost completely based on your geographic location at birth. If you are born in Central or South America, you're going to be a Catholic. India - Hindu. China and Japan - Buddhist. Middle East - Muslim. South Africa - Tribal religion. 99.9% of the time, you are the religion of your parents.

I became more of a "spiritual" person and less of a "religious" person.

The more "open minded" I became, the more distressed I was that "religious" people I met were so unaccepting. Each religion seems to ingrain in its followers that they are right and everyone else is wrong. Mormons don't get along with Baptists who don't trust Jews who dislike Catholics, etc. etc. ad nauseum.

Since we moved to The Bible Belt, it has been particularly hard. I feel like I have to hide. I'm "in the closet", so to speak. Two of my neighbors are very involved in the same GIGANTIC Methodist church. They used to ask us to come along, but the invitations get less and less frequent. I think they are on to us. I think they are worried about us.

If I were to start my own religion it would be The Church of the Golden Rule. "Do unto others as you would have done unto you." That's it. Period. Would you like it if someone stole your car? Then don't' steal theirs. Would you like it if someone slept with your spouse? Killed your dog? Spray painted on your wall? Cursed you out? THEN DON'T DO IT TO THEM. It would be a karma based religion.

I was behind a car in traffic recently. On the back were not only a metal "Jesus fish" but also a WWJD sticker (to which I say ha and ha) and her license plate was something religious as well. A truck was trying to enter our lane from a parking lot and she kept scooting up to the car in front of her to make SURE he couldn't get in in front of her. I wanted to get out of my car, go pound on her window and yell, "What Would Jesus Do? He would let that poor sod out in to traffic, you cow!" I, of course, let him in. That's what I would want someone to do for me, after all.

Maybe it should be The Church of Everyone is Watching and Grading Your Performance.

Fact is Sadder Than Fiction

2005-09-07T11:07:00.000-07:00

Every time I see an advertisement for that movie, The 40 Year Old Virgin, I think of a friend of mine. Let's call him Matt.

I met Matt my Freshman year of high school. He was a Senior. I was in a play that he had to go see to get credit in a class he was taking. I don't know how he wound up at the cast party, but he & I and a couple of friends ended up hanging out all that night together including driving around town in his huge beat-up truck with surgical masks on all our faces laughing like hyenas.

I think what solidified our friendship that night was when we drove by a house that had a Gremlin parked on the side. I said, "Those are the UGLIEST cars. Who in the WORLD would own one of those??!!" He said, "That's my house. My brother & I drive it sometimes." Of course I busted up laughing and so did everyone else (do you know how hard it is too continuously laugh your head off while wearing a mask and not suffocate? I think part of the hilarity was due to lack of oxygen to our brains). The next time I saw him the first words out of his mouth were, "Hey! You know that Gremlin? Well sometime that night, someone STOLE it!" I said, "Holy crap! How hard up for a car do you have to be to steal a Gremlin?!" We both doubled over with laughter (he never saw the car again).

I met him at the end of a run of party years for him. He had been a heavy party drug user and drinker. The death of a friend had sobered him up & he never touched a drop of anything again that I knew of. Which, at the time, was great for us because we always had a designated driver. He was completely happy to accompany us to the party and laugh at our drunken antics and make sure we all made it home in one piece. He was then,and is now (for a rainbow of reasons), a great guy.

He wasn't particularly religious when I met him, but he became more and more so as the years progressed. At one time he even discussed attending seminary school, an idea I whole heartedly endorsed because it just seemed so "right" for him (and y'all KNOW how I feel about organized religion). Somewhere along the line, I have NO idea where, he decided to "save himself for marriage". That's right, remain a capital "V" Virgin until "I do" meant he could "do IT".

I KNOW, for a fact, that he has had , ahem, dalliances along the way. One particular episode revolving around a variety of produce that I won't get into. But he never actually went all the way. He was very Clinton-esque. We, typical teenagers, joked about sex all the time. He was ALWAYS making cracks about how big Mr. Johnson was and that he actually only had one leg but Mr. Johnson was so big that he just stuffed him down a pant -leg and into a sock and shoe (which may be true because I never saw him in shorts - ever). But the older he got, the more serious he became about finding "the one" and the less the good times rolled.

The years went by and the criteria seemed to become stricter. She had to be a good church-going woman was the big one. Did I mention he has lived in Las Vegas for the past, oh, 15 years or so? Yeah, the odds are not exactly in his favor in 'ol Sin City. Last time I checked he wasn't requiring the woman herself to be a virgin (he has even "dated" a couple of single moms), so that may be helpful. He has a top secret job that takes him out of town to some "base" somewhere for most of the week. Now, his elderly parents live with him. I'm pretty much coming to the conclusion that he should just join an order and become a monk. He's basically already there anyway.

It makes me sad really. Here is this wonderful man, who would make a great husband and father, that has made the road so unbearably hard for himself because of some self-imposed rules and ideals. How hard is it to find Mrs. Right when you don't even get a couple of Mrs. Wrongs in there to help you figure it out? How much had he missed?

Now I know my whole vision of him is colored not only by my fondness for him but also by what I feel and believe. When you are a big fan of sex and all it's inherent dirtiness and sloppiness, it's hard to understand how someone could put it all on a shelf marked "sacred" and only take it down and open it under the most reverent of situations. I tend to agree with Ayn Rand, who said in The Fountainhead, "There are two things we must get rid of early in life: a feeling of personal superiority and an exaggerated reverence for the sexual act."

I know there has to be a balance between "giving it away cheap" and hoarding. I don't condone teenage pregnancy or sexual addiction. I DO think that anything that happens in private between two consenting adults is okay-dokay. I also agree with Laurell K. Hamilton when SHE says (in Narcissus in Chains): "You share so much more than just your body during sex, it's one of the reasons you should be careful who you do it with." It's taken me YEARS to fine-tune this wishy-washyness people. YEARS I tell you!

If I had a time machine, I wonder if I would go back and seduce him just to, you know, break the seal? Set him on a different path? "Save him"? Nice of me, hunh. Again, maybe I'm just all wrong for wanting to save an endangered species - the male virgin. I just can't get over the feeling that he sold himself short. Cut himself off to so much life and living.

Maybe I'm the freak.

Funny "Ha Ha" or .......

2005-08-30T11:08:00.000-07:00

Quote from The Girls' Guide to Hunting and Fishing by Melissa Bank:

"...Making jokes is your way of saying Do you love me? and when someone laughs you think they've said yes."

It's true. It's true. It's so true it hurts my eyes.

Sub-Par

2005-08-29T11:44:00.000-07:00

On the corner of the major crossroads by my house, sits a mini-golf course. I drive by it all the time. Many of those times, the sight of it reminds me distastefully of the WORST blind date I ever had.

I believe that people are set up on blind dates not because the setter-upper believes the two datees will really and truly get along. 99% of the time the only commonality they share is their singleness. Period.

I was set up with this twit (let's just go right ahead and get the aggression right out in the open, shall we?) by a woman who thought we would "really hit it off". I admit the word "hit" popped into my head M-A-N-Y times that night, but probably not in the manner she was hoping for.

I drive up to this guys apartment in North Scottsdale. It's in one of those gigantic ant colony complexes with like buildings A through ZZ or something equally ridiculous. Of course I was given shitty directions to lead me through this warren. FINALLY I find the damn place and I'm already feeling like "Bad Date" because I'm late.

He opens the door and even though he is probably four or five inches shorter than me (a negative, but since I think I have only ONCE dated a man TALLER than me, it's not exactly a deal breaker), he is nice looking and smiling and telling me not to worry about the tardiness (which I have apologized for with my first breath). I come in and we have a drink or two and talk about where we should go. We decide to go to the cool new miniature gold course that has recently opened up not to far away from him.

He offers to drive and, knowing that we really aren't going that far away, I acquiesce. So far so good. Not looking to bad.

We get to the miniature golf/bar/driving range/arcade place. We check in and pick up our balls and putters. As we reach the first tee, I decide to make the date a little more interesting and propose a wager. Whoever loses buys the winner a beer in the bar after the game. He happily agrees.

It quickly goes down hill from there.

First he insists, INSISTS!, on reading me all the rules. Um, hello?, it's miniature golf, not the PGA. I know/don't-give-a-rat's-ass-about the rules. He could not be swayed, and when I start cracking jokes about the rules he gives me the stink eye and shushes me. Oh boy. I'm still trying, so I politely turn away before rolling my eyes. He finally finishes, leans down, picks up my ball (where I have had it sitting on the tee spot waiting for him to finish droning on so I can play), hands it to me, puts HIS ball down, and gives me ANOTHER look until I back away from the green.

What the HELL has gotten into this guy? Was it the wager? Is he just THAT competitive? Or is he just a FREAK?

I have plenty of time to ponder these questions throughout the ENTIRE eighteen holes (you better BELIEVE I TRIED to quit after the first nine, but oh no no no). He set up like it was a million-a-hole skins game. He strutted like a bandy rooster after every hole he shot lower than me (which was about all of them). He heckled my shots. I finally started goofing around and hitting into the ponds and off the walls just to amuse myself. All the while he is chortling (literally) to himself because he is "winning". Beer schmeer, I just want this miniature hell to end.

Finally, FINALLY, we play the last hole. He smugly tallies up the score (yes, he had been keeping MY score too as I apparently seemed to incompetent to handle this task myself) and crows out "I WIN!!". Duh. If there had been some sort of giant stairway he could have danced Rocky-style on top of, I'm sure he would have.

We turn in our putters and head off to the bar. For me, the evening is looking up. Not only do I have alcohol coming quickly my way, I'm already thinking there may be someone else I can pick up in the bar and ditch this loser.

We sit down at the bar and Mr. Asshat asks the bartender if they have a beer list. They do, goodie, and the bartender gets it for him. When the bartender returns I tell him about the bet (with eye-rolling) while The Champion reads the list. After a minute he looks up at the bartender and asks, I swear to god,

"What's your most expensive beer?"

The bartender shoots a glance at me. I sit for probably an entire count up to five-mississippi with my mouth hanging open, gaping, before I bust up laughing. "Yeah right!", I say.

"No, really." he says.

The bartender looks at me again and says, "Er, it's blah blah beer imported from blah blah. It's $21.00"

"I'LL TAKE IT!", Uber-asshole cries.

I again turn to stare at him. "You're KIDDING!!".

"Nope", he gloats, "I won. You have to buy me a beer and I want THAT one."

I just shake my head as the bartender, after shooting me a pitying look, heads off to get the Holy Grail of Beer. I slam back as many Bud Lights as I can, while he nurses and strokes his prize lovingly, silently cursing myself for letting him drive. When we finally leave he actually TRIES to get me to come back in his apartment for "a bit". Ha! Not bloody likely you oblivious sphincter.

When the woman who set us up asked me how the date went I toned it down to about three sentences ending with an outraged complaint about the beer. She laughed and said he told her about it but said that HE also bought ME a beer so he didn't see what the big deal was. Yet again, this man STUNS me. "Um, right." I tell her, "It was a Bud Light. On Happy Hour. $1.50" She laughs again and I vow to NEVER let her set me up on a blind date again. EVER. In fact I don't think I had much to do with her period after that.

Fortunately I got over it, because the NEXT guy I went out on a blind date with was deliciously cute, fell madly in love with me, and took me to Las Vegas for my birthday.

They have free beer there.

The Big Five-Oh

2005-08-23T11:45:00.000-07:00

Sometimes it takes the bad to make you see the good things in your life. It can also help you see the bad in your life and how you can change it.

I am a very stubborn person. Downright mule-headed. I'm especially bad at making myself toe the line for rules I, and I alone, give the faintest rat's fart about.

One of my "rules" was that I only read one book at a time and once I start a book, by golly, I finish it come hell, high water or huffin-puffin wolf. I have d.r.a.g.g.e.d. myself through some god-awful boring stuff this way. I rationalized this self-torture by saying, "Yes, but look at what I learned!" (even though I may have only gleaned one drop of interesting information out of gallons of dreck).

My lightbulb moment came when I was in the hospital. My husband had brought me my current book - The Descent of Man by Charles Darwin. Now this is indeed a book full of interesting information. The forward alone is worth a look. But oh sweet Moses in a basket, is it dull. It's "intellectual".

So here I was, laying in a dimly lit hospital room, my eyeballs hurt and my head still occasionally felt like my brain was trying to escape via expansion through my skull and I have this tome of a leviathan of a "changed the way mankind thinks about itself" book that it nauseated me to just LOOK at. Then and there, the lightbulb appeared (but it wasn't turned on because that would have hurt my head, which, I guess, would make it a "dim bulb" moment, but a lightbulb moment none the less).

I thought of one of my first days working at the library when I was walking around with The Librarian, my boss, and Tom Wolfe's new novel came up (I think we walked past it). I told her, "That is absolutely his worst work EVER." She said her husband had tried to read it but just couldn't take it and gave up. She said, "I don't think anyone has read it all the way through" and I raised my hand. "You DID?" she asks me giving me a "wow" look.

I recognized that "wow" look. It's the same "wow" look I give to women who brag about how they went through 48 hours of labor with no epidural or pain medication. It's the "wow" look that means, "Wow, are you a glutton for punishment or what?" The "wow" look that means "You know, they don't actually GIVE people awards for heroic stupidity." Or self-inflicted suffering above and beyond the call of duty.

I remembered that when she gave me that look I didn't even feel the smallest bit smug or proud. I felt exactly the way I should have felt - like a twit.

But it's hard to give up habits. Everyone knows that. I had to steel myself to do it. I know how stupid that sounds, but I did. I had to drag myself kicking and screaming away from my own folly.

Now I have a 50 page limit. If I don't love it by page 50, it's "Pass!". So far this hasn't happened since Darwin.

Maybe this is why Playboy doesn't number all it's pages. So they can trick us into reading all the way to the end. Sneaky devils.

Blurry

2005-08-22T13:05:00.000-07:00

You know how sometimes a song just grabs you by the insides and just won't let you go?

That's how I feel about "Blurry" by Puddle of Mudd. It's not just the lyrics (which are fabulous), it's the way the melody progresses.

It starts out pretty and floaty. Then the lyrics come in and are deep and confusing, tortured and heartfelt - ways I have felt far too many times.

Then the anger kicks in. The song YELLS at you. Let's you know how much the rejection hurts. How you can't even FUNCTION when you are so mentally and emotionally wrapped around someone. You trip, fall, and can't even find the strength to rise up again.

Then the song recovers, you know how it goes, you try one more time because you JUST. HAVE. TO. You love them sooooooooo much they just HAVE to love you, right? You can make them see. You HAVE to make them see. Your very fibers, every drop of liquid inside you, cries out for that person. Why can't they see?

Then the anger again. The anger. It ends with the singer continuing to seek an explanation.

That explanation never comes, does it?

See Jane Write

2005-08-21T17:18:00.000-07:00

The following is from A Round-Heeled Woman by Jane Juska ( a thoroughly entertaining read I highly recommend - the older you are, the more I recommend it).

"One ought not to fall in love with someone by way of their writing. One must be especially careful if the writing is good, for then one assumes the writer is good, funny, clever, profound, sensitive, smart, wise, loving, and true. It is unfair to the writer and dangerous to the reader to hold the writer to the standards of his writing, for in his writing, the writer is his best self; in person, he is a person, and we all know what that means."

I Suppose You Want to SEE My Box Too

2005-08-19T12:24:00.000-07:00

TV: Watch This is sponsored by CHEEZE-ITS. Get your own box!

Me (snarling at the television): YOU get your own box!! Who the hell do you think you are trying to tell me what to do! Fucking bastards!

Husband (probably rolling his eyes, not sure as I was still glaring hatefully at the TV): It's their slogan.

Me: I am AWARE of that. Pushy bastards.

Hub: I'm going to bed.

Me (yelling to the now empty room): Why can't they be more like those Blue Diamond Almond guys? "A can a week is all we ask." A perfectly reasonable request and it's phrased POLITELY! Or those two nice old Bartles & Jaymes coots? "Thank you for your support". Now THAT'S the kind of advertising I can get behind!

Don't even get me STARTED on... "Nobody doesn't like Sara Lee".

Charlie and the Chocolate Blog

2005-08-17T12:35:00.000-07:00

*NEXT BLOG*

I kind of dig life at the moment, really.

*NEXT BLOG*

Unless your ass can catch up to a van moving at about 65 on the Belt Parkway, don't ask me to open the door.

*NEXT BLOG*

On Thursday Night, a bunch of faggot trees decided to destroy my house.

*NEXT BLOG*

Now, I love this bar because of its cheap drinks and proximity to home, but I never go there without a couple of friends and a getaway car.

*NEXT BLOG*

grammar has been grossly neglected, and i have failed miserably in both using vulgar language or indulging in linguistic latitudinal transgressions.

*NEXT BLOG*

If you have been living a subterranean existence for some years now, the Rapture, or God's Giant Vacuum Cleaner, was foretold in the Book of Revelation, a pre-chemical hallucination known in some circles as the Gospel According to Fellini.

*NEXT BLOG*

I'm probably dead by now.

*NEXT BLOG*

Our gerbil, Slanderkins, just had 15 babies and we have been busy knitting sweaters for each of them, which has brought on a wicked case of Carpal Tunnel.

*NEXT BLOG*

I don’t know if there’s mold in the house or what, but everything (including food) has a distinctive ‘Grandma’s’ taste/smell.

*NEXT BLOG*

My mom has Caller ID, and we know that she's paranoid.

*NEXT BLOG*

Upon arrival in Texas (whether by birth or transplantation), everyone is given the middle name "Bob" (hence Billy Bob, Becky Bob, etc.)

*NEXT BLOG*

I was male in my last earthly incarnation, born somewhere around the territory of modern Turkey approx. on 575.

*NEXT BLOG*

My libido renders me stupid.

*NEXT BLOG*

I have three sons. Yes, like the TV show. Only my three sons aren't Faggotronz.

*NEXT BLOG*

The snot fairy has visited our house once again.

*NEXT BLOG*

Really, if I didn't already know better I would ask myself obnoxiously, "are you on the rag?"

*NEXT BLOG*

It brings to mind the image of Buster Keaton being chased by angry brides in Seven Chances.

*NEXT BLOG*

I'm surprised they haven't created a Law outlawing wild animals from publicly urinating and defacating!!!

*NEXT BLOG*

Anyhoo, this weekend I'm off to Fire Island, some sort of mythical gay island civilization.

*NEXT BLOG*

I don't want to turn into my own mother. How does one avoid turning into one's mother?

*NEXT BLOG*

I've finally decided that anyone stupid enough to try crossing a street as the light is turning red had better be running or I'm taking them out...thinning the herd if you will.

*NEXT BLOG*

As usual the mailroom guys know all the hot gossip and luckily I know a guy who knows a guy who knows them guys.

*NEXT BLOG*

Being a bitch and not budging on a principle is a pain, some people are more experienced in this area than I am.

*NEXT BLOG*

My Daddy says Scott Weiland is overrated and his voice sounds like dog poop. I've never heard Dog Poop, but I stepped in it once and it was smelly.

*NEXT BLOG*

With NEW Farking Action

2005-08-16T10:59:00.000-07:00

Dear Crest Dunderheads,

Can you please explain to me how "Sparkle Fun" can, by any stretch of the imagination, be considered a FLAVOR?

Yes, the product in question does indeed contain an element of "Sparkle" which, most red-blooded Americans would agree, is quite "Fun". But I'm still not getting where the "Flavor" part comes in.

Personally I would imagine that anything "Sparkle" flavored would be rather metallic. While metallic as an adjective can be construed as a positive attribute, I have NEVER heard of anything with a metallic TASTE being considered as pleasant or desired. Maybe that's where the "Fun" part comes in. YOU say it is "fun" so, by golly Grandma, it MUST be "Fun".

A big impressive company such as yourself, and the monolithic corporation that you are a subsidiary of, would never intentionally MISLEAD the fleecy public. Right?

I believe this delicate and potentially unsavory affair can EASILY be remedied. Simply remove the word "Flavor". TA DA! I believe you would have paid a special outside consultant in the neighborhood of $635,000 (plus stock options) for coming to this very conclusion. I offer it freely in a gesture of goodwill because, frankly, it annoys the heck fire out of me. Plus if I had the foggiest IDEA of how to get my genius to translate into anything that would offer any monetary compensation I would have done so by now.

I thank you in advance for you prompt attention to this matter.

Sincerely,

AJ

PS - In my next letter we will discuss how something can NOT be both "Liquid" and "Gel" at the same time.

PPS - While you're at it, why don't you just come clean and admit that "Flouristat" is a completely fabricated. I'm on to you. I'll be on the lookout for any "New" products by you that claim to have "Unicornium".

Shit Happens

2005-08-15T13:29:00.000-07:00

The Podunk, Nebraska town my aunt lives in (and from whence we have just returned) is a route many bikers take to Sturgis.

The local radio station, in addition to broadcasting pork and beef futures, loosely disguised gossip and bad repartee, also gives a daily report of biker fatalities. On Wednesday, they reported this one....

A biker from Texas was killed when an item fell off the truck he was following. He attempted evasive maneuvers but to no avail. He was struck and killed.

The item? A Port-o-Potty.

Apparently it was his turn to go.

Good Times in the Badlands

2005-08-10T11:51:00.000-07:00

We're visiting my Mother's family in middle-of-nowhere Nebraska. Boring, right? Well, yesterday we.......

- Played with a baby Bengal Tiger (he was trying to topple my three-year-old daughter and pulled on her skirt in a manner remniscent of old Coppertone ads)
- Pet an Albino Hedgehog and a little Badger named Marvin
- Got licked by a Dingo
- Saw a National Geographic dig of Rhinos killed by the ashfall of a volcano in southwestern Idaho
- Had milkshakes for lunch AND dinner
- Found out we are related to Charlemagne.

You just never know where a day will take you.

In Which Our Heroine Gets Heroin

2005-08-02T10:21:00.000-07:00

Okay, okay, it REALLY wasn't heroin. It was morphine. But still....

So last Saturday night I go to bed with a slight headache. Several times during the night said headache wakes me up, but since I AM such a lazy little cow I just go back to sleep and hope it goes away. Needless to say, it does no such thing. In fact my apparent disregard for it seems to make it grow stronger and nastier. By the time 8am arrives it is a tyrant of a headache. I immediately get out of bed (I started to say "hop out of bed" but the pain does not allow any fancy sudden movements) and take three Extra Strength Tylenol.

I go down to breakfast only after making the hub shut ALL the blinds, as light causes a not-so-delightful stabbing pain in my ocular region. I nibble some toast and bacon and quickly flee back to my darkened room hoping a little nap added to the Tylenol and food will cause the headache beast to flee.

Fat Chance.

Every four hours, on the hour, I gulp down now FOUR Extra Strength Tylenol and retreat back to bed where I keep my head covered to block out any sneaky rays of light. My headache laughs at the Tylenol. I might as well be chomping Flintstones chewables. Probably would have the same effect. My brain feels like it is trying to escape the confines of my skull by brute force. By Sunday night I meekly proclaim that if the headache beast is still in residence Monday morning that I will hie mine self to the MedCenter.

Monday morning I wake up and start THROWING up. Every fifteen minutes. For about five hours. Then I weekly cry "Uncle" and call the hub home from work to take me to the Med Center. I throw up again while waiting for them to see me. I throw up again in the exam room. They are much more concerned about the headache. I feel like such a pile of shit I don't CARE what they want to focus on I just want. it. all. to. stop.

I'm still cold and shaking from throwing up when they decide I'm dehydrated (hmmm, imagine that) and the literally POUR a bag of fluid into me. Even with a heater in my room and lying under a pile of blankets I shiver so hard my teeth rattle. A Physician's Assistant asks me questions. Her name is Livingston. I'm too sick to make jokes. She asks me if I could be pregnant. I ask her if she is TRYING to make me throw up.

An actual Physician comes in and asks me questions. A SECOND actual Physician comes in and asks me questions. A few pow-wows later they tell me they are calling ahead to the hospital saying I'm on my way. To get a CAT scan. Hub literally pales. I say "okay" because, as I may have mentioned, I feel like hammered crap and I just want someone to figure out what the hell is going on.

I am SO sick that I don't even comment on the fact that the last Doctor's name was Dr. No. Oh yes, I was THAT sick.

After a lovely almost two hours in the ER waiting room, where I snooze on hub's shoulder due to lack of sleep and some kind of drug, they finally call me back. Thankfully they put me in a darkened room. Apparently they've seen this kind of thing before. Whoopee. The doctor comes in to tell me that, contrary to what the check-in person told us, my CAT scan had NOT been ordered yet. Yeah, we're not really surprised by this news. Then the doc, who is going off shift in an hour, gives us the low down.

First I will get the CAT scan. If it turns out okay I will get a Spinal Tap. Now it's MY turn to visibly blanche. Although I had epidurals with both my preganacies, the first one was bad. When I say bad I mean I heard crunching. I tell the doctor this. She says is I can be sedated. Since I'm pretty much always game for a little sedation, I fell better about this information. She says if everything looks good and goes according to plan I will be out of there in about three hours. Hub and I both laugh at her estimate the minute she leaves. It is about 6pm.

The good news at this point is that I haven't thrown up since we got to the ER.

I lie in the dark, waiting for them to come take me for my CAT scan. I ask hub what he is thinking. I'm sure he lies because he doesn't say the words "tumor" or "blank number of days left to live" or "life insurance". I ask him if he can think of the name of a city that rhymes with "beaver". I had been trying to spice up "I see London, I see France, I see someone's underpants" by changing the last line to "I see someone's hairy beaver" but I can't find a city that rhymes. While he ponders this problem I come with the alternate, "I see London, and Milan, I see someone's bearded clam". Hub and I then have a discussion regarding whether you pronounce Milan so that it rhymes with "lawn" or "can". I of course argue for the later because lawn obviously does NOT rhyme with clam.

Finally I get my CAT scan. I wait for the results and a small part of me hopes they find something small and silly so they don't have to give me the spinal tap. Hub points out that things founds on CAT scans may be small but are rarely silly. Spoil sport. Spinal tap doctor comes in to tell me the "good" news - CAT scan looks good. She says nothing else complimentary about my, I'm sure, big and beautiful brain. She is probably too obsessed with poking holes in my spine.

I feel I should mention that she told me they don't call it a "spinal tap" any more because that scared people. Gave them anxiety. Now they call it "lumbar puncture". For some reason this shiny new name does not exactly alleviate MY anxiety. I tell her they need to hire a new procedure-naming person. She's blond, young, cute AND she laughs. I still hate her.

Since I don't come out of sedation well (as hub found out when I had my impacted wisdom teeth removed several years ago and came to crying and yelling and thrashing) we decide I should just get some good painkillers and I could just suck-it-up during the spinal, er, lumbar puncture. I wanted to be lucid for the results and whatever might follow. To her credit, Blondie does a good puncture. I keep waiting for crunching pain that never comes. Goodie.

Eventually a doctor comes in to tell me that my spinal fluid does contain white cells which means I have meningitis. They are still not sure if it is bacterial or viral. They will be admitting me to the hospital. By the time they send me upstairs (to the neurological ward - which FREAKS hub out) and I get settled into my new bed it is 3am.

After two days in the hospital and a couple more doctors later (including a specialist on infectious disease) they decide I have the viral flavor and we all breathe a little easier.

Strangely enough I have lots of male nurses and nurses assistants. They CONSTANTLY offer me pain medication. Many seem surprised when I tell them I'm doing okay. Again, my hearty peasant stock ancestry comes to my stead. I don't need no stinking pain medication. Okay, maybe to help me sleep. When I finally ask for some I tell the nurses assistant to have them bring me something below "Jim Morrison" level. The male nurse is my new best friend because, as it would turn out, he is a huge Morrison fan and he thinks my comment was hilarious. He also thinks it's hilarious when I later ask him to up my meds to "groupie" level as they don't seem to be working. Yeah, I'm the darling of the neurological ward. Probably because I don't shout constantly (like the old man next door to me) or wet myself.

Hub's work sends Peace Lilly both to the hospital AND to me when I get home. Apparently there is some "Handbook of Appropriate Flower/Plant Gifts for Every Disease" and under "meningitis" it says "Peace Lilly". Curious.

So now I am pretty much back to normal. When my mother-in-law heard that some of the symptoms I might exhibit during recovery would be "forgetfulness" and "clumsiness" she said "Oh GREAT!".

I just figured no one would notice.

I'd Rather Have a Bottle In Front of Me.....

2005-07-28T16:57:00.000-07:00

As this is my first day home from the hospital, I'll keep this short. No, no, I'm fine, really, just on the mend.

I had (have? - I think my body is actually still fighting it off) viral meningitis. But I have some good drugs and am recuperating well. I'll regale you with the whole goofy story later. But in the meantime I will leave you with these thoughts...

1 - If you have a REALLY BAD HEADACHE (especially if it feels like light is a physical presence that stabs relentlessly into your eyeballs) go to the hospital. Seriously. Just go.

2 - Spinal taps suck. I will not be getting ANYONE one for Christmas.

Open Letter

2005-07-22T14:29:00.000-07:00

Attention Tragically Misguided Assholes,

The is no god - big G god, little g god, god with a tail, god with tusks, god with crown of thorns, god in flowing robe, white god, black god, brown god, male god, female god, barking monkey poo god - that condones the slaughter of innocent people. You will not be greeted in the Great Beyond or Heaven or Your Next Incarnation with cookies and virgins. You will be going to Hell, Someplace REALLY Bad or come back as an animal used for scientific research.

I don't care what you believe. You are wrong. Grossly wrong. I laugh at your future comeuppance as I gnash my teeth at your insanity. I spit at you. If you want to commit suicide I heartily encourage you to do so as you are so mentally deranged society has no place for you. Just don't think you have to take people with you.

Karma will get you. I don't care if you believe in it or not. It WILL get you.

I only wish we could all be there to see it.

Oh, and I also want to say, from the bottom of my anguished heart -

FUCK YOU!!!

Page 208

2005-07-21T10:39:00.000-07:00

According to Glamour's August 2005 edition (hey, I can't just read Darwin non-stop you know) the following are the "10 Secret Signs He'll Be Good in Bed"

1 - He doesn't boast about how good he is in bed (if he does - run!).

Is this true? I have no idea. I can not recall a single time a man has told me he is good in bed PRIOR to me finding our for myself. Maybe this one is for those of you who are perusing the single's ads.

2 - He can knot a necktie in five seconds flat - fine motor skills are always a plus.

Okay, yeah, fine motor skills are always a plus. But he is fast at the necktie because of REPETITION. Just because he is good at something he does five times a week, fifty odd weeks a year, doesn't mean he's going to have the kind of skills to rev up my motor. And I'm not seeing where the speed is a plus. Maybe if he takes his time slowly tying the knot, smoothing the ends frequently with his hands, carefully inserting the rabbit into the hole, finally caressing the finished product. I'm thinking THAT sounds more like it!

3 - Never in your life have you made such intense... eye contact.

I'm agreeing with this one just because I HATE it when people talk to you and don't look at you. What is the DEAL with that? Why, if a person is talking TO YOU they feel the need to gaze off over your shoulder? Or above your head? Or completely off in left field? Seriously, I HATE this. So very rude. If I'm talking to anyone and they look at me for THE ENTIRE CONVERSATION I love them already.

4 - The Italian actress he dated last year still calls him.

How is this a "good" thing? Because Italian women tend to "keep in touch" with good lovers? Que?

5 - He cooks sloppy but cleans up neat.

I really like the visuals on this one. Think about it. Think about it more. Riiiiiiiiiiight. It reminds me of something I read that said, roughly, that good sex is messy and REALLY good sex is disgusting. AMEN!!

6 - A surreptitious survey of his bookshelf reveals high-quality novels, substantial nonfiction - and nothing remotely resembling The System: How to Get Laid Today!

He HAS a bookshelf? ALRIGHT! Although I think too many philosophical books are worse than finding porn (depending on the porn - Also if you meet a guy like my -stupid- friend dated who has porn going NONSTOP in the VCR and always has a towel lying on the floor by his bed, R-U-N! Did I mention my friend was stupid because she dated him for almost a year and would wash his towels for him. Ewwww!)

7 - He talks with his hands and he laughs with his whole body.

I'm totally on board with this one too. Especially the laugh part. ANYONE who gets that into laughing just plain old ROCKS!

8 - He holds open doors, waits for you before digging into dinner and generally seems to get the concept of "ladies first".

I see where they are going with this (not that they are trying to be THAT subtle). I don't understand the women who get annoyed by men who hold doors for them. Their whole "I can open the door MYSELF!" attitude is just bizarre. OF COURSE you can get the damn door yourself. If someone is being polite enough to hold a door for you the least you can do is be polite back. I hold doors open for people ALL THE TIME. It's just my small way of spreading a little good karma around. It doesn't mean I don't think the trolls can't get the door themselves. Lighten up already.

9 - His bedroom light switch has a dimmer.

Okay, he isn't allowed to read books on how to get laid but it IS okay for his bedroom light to have a dimmer? Personally this makes me think of the movies where the guy pushes a button and automatically "mood" music comes on, the curtains close, a bar pops out of the floor and one wall turns around revealing a giant round bed complete with leopard print silk sheets.

10 - He's on the short side - think of him as "man concentrate".

I laughed out loud at this one! Man concentrate - like if you just add water he'll grow. Or dilute. Or expand. While there ARE portions of a man I LIKE to expand, the other visuals for this are just a little too disturbing.

In conclusion, I would like to add that you can't tell a book by it's cover (even though I HAVE found many good reads that way). You have to get under the covers yourself. If you don't like it you can just put it back on the shelf. If it's good you can keep around and see how it turns out!

AJ = Predator

2005-07-18T13:13:00.000-07:00

Well, in THIS case anyway.

PS - While you're there, go to the beginning and just read 'em all. I laughed out loud. MANY times. Hell, I laughed so much I think my uterus fell out.

Oh. No. Wait. Here it is.

Maybe I Need a New Bed......

2005-07-15T12:33:00.000-07:00

Okay... WTF??!!

Now I dreamt that I was in Las Vegas.

With Billy Baldwin.

People, I think they were aliens disguised as people, were trying to kill us. Maybe they were just trying to kill Billy and I was collateral damage on the hoof.

No, I did NOT sleep with, kiss, or even stand in close proximity to Billy Baldwin.

Let's not loose our heads here.

Perchance To....

2005-07-14T12:21:00.000-07:00

So I had this dream the other night...

I girl I haven't seen since FIFTH GRADE (do the math people, I think that's like an eon or something) named Missy and I were sitting on the floor. She had just finished telling me how she was madly in love with me. She sat there, looking all blond and cute and giving me these big hopeful puppy dog eyes. What's a girl to do?

I said, "I'm sorry. I am completely heterosexual."

Then I say again, in a small pathetic voice, "I'm really sorry."

The dream rambles on from there, yada yada yada, blah blah blah.

Shortly after I woke up, I lie remembering that brief chunk of dream and I think....

What the hell was I doing? It was a DREAM!!! I should have kissed her at least, right? Pillow fight? Got out the olive oil and the feathers and the batteries?

What happened to my dreams??!!

If I start dreaming about shopping at Target, just kill me. Okay?

I'm Telling Your Mother

2005-07-13T13:07:00.000-07:00

Really.

How HARD hard is it to actually FLUSH a toilet?

My freaking THREE YEAR OLD has been on board with this motion for a good seven months.

Yet I am CONSTANTLY conflabulated to find myself facing yet ANOTHER public toilet filled with (yeah, okay, let's not paint the ENTIRE sordid picture).

No, no, the toilet isn't broken. When I push the button or the handle or WHATEVER with my foot, it whisked the offending material(s) away promptly.

WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE???!!!

Do You See What I See?

2005-07-12T10:29:00.000-07:00

"What and how much had I lost by trying to do only what was expected of me instead of what I myself had wished to do? - Ralph Ellison, The Invisible Man

Hasn't everyone, at some point in their life (some of us at frequent points) has stopped and looked our lives, the point in our history that we have achieved at this very moment and wondered "What the...???!!!" This is not my beautiful house. This is not my beautiful wife.

Maybe you are amazed. Maybe you are bemused. Maybe you are just mad as hell.

However, to stop and ponder the path taken (as well as the seemingly endless string of paths not taken) is to drive oneself crazy with the evil "What if..". To stop and realize that every second, every breath, every blink of an eye, a decision is made that affects the entire course of the rest of your life. How would my life be different if I were reading right now instead of typing this? If I were playing with my children? If I were in the shower? If I were to call my mother? If I just sat and stared into space? It's dizzying.

What would I would do if I knew this were my last day on earth? Egads! The pressure! That is the REASON why we can't live our lives like each and every day needs to be the penultimate day of our lives. Laundry would never get done for one. I mean, come on! Who is going to spend their last day perpendicular doing one more load of whites?

Now MORE Complete with Choline!

2005-07-11T09:27:00.000-07:00

Are you, like me, looking for new outlets for that deep roiling pit of anger that seethes in the well of your dark soul? Tired of the old standbys - swearing? throwing coffee cups? biting the heads off unsuspecting chickens (because, let's face it, what chicken is expecting THAT??!)?

Well, have I got a job for you.

Hie thee down to your neighborhood store and get a bottle of good ol' Flintstones vitamins. If you are a real Bitter Betty, *cough cough Kris cough cough* you might want to get the Sam's Club / Costco economy size. Then you get out your trusty cutting board and a steak knife and start cutting.

I discovered this fabulous technique because my three year old is only allowed HALF of a tablet. Obviously the Bayer HealthCare LLC company has been hip to the aggression-disbursement needs of mothers for years.

Oh, the sweet release of shopping Fred's ginormous head off. Barney takes the whack right across the middle. BamBam's head is left floating next to his perpetually cocked bat. Pebbles (who looks disturbingly troll-like) is neatly severed at the top of her arm. Betty, who we all know was missing from the vitamin family originally, apparently joined the fruity ranks with a little lingering hostility as you have to chop her right where her elbows jut crankily from her hips. Wilma is left with one half of an arm perennially fluffing her trademark coiffure. Dino is sitting up, begging, just BEGGING, you to lop him in half. But the greatest pleasure, I feel, can be found by brutally slicing the head from that oh-so-annoying alien dude. The Great Gazoo my ass!

Just don't let your spouse come in and catch you licking all the fruity carcass dust off the cutting board. The embarrassment might harsh your mellow.

Mr & Mrs Blog

2005-07-08T09:00:00.000-07:00

*NEXT BLOG*

My body heat could warm a small room, and perhaps bake bread.

*NEXT BLOG*

It’s not a real pool party until there’s some cellulite in the pool.

*NEXT BLOG*

Unfortunately the 'real world' doesn't need Shakespeare consultants.

*NEXT BLOG*

I have been trying very hard for the last year or so to get the kids to run away from home.

*NEXT BLOG*

I feel ten times better right now and I've made a vow: I'm not drinking for the rest of the month. Seriously.

*NEXT BLOG*

We should not know what Fido's skin looks like, but we do, and it is scaly, gray, flaking, and ... ew, sometimes it oozes.

*NEXT BLOG*

Fans shouldn't be allowed to vote for all-star games because too many fans are idiots

*NEXT BLOG*

The universe truly does have a somewhat twisted conception of timing... which is hardly ever right.

*NEXT BLOG*

it's funny how much entertainment a hula-hoop and a 7-yr-old kid can provide

*NEXT BLOG*

(haha my dick feels like corn! give me the butter! give me the butter baby!!)

*NEXT BLOG*

You have taken the small, character driven script that had a cast attached, locations locked up and what was basically a “go movie” and turned it to a steaming pile of crap that I would be embarrassed to give to Keanu Reeves to read.

*NEXT BLOG*

So it now led to this: When people ask for a cigarette, I tell them I can't afford to give them away, but I will make a trade: I will give them a cigarette if they give me a piece of advice.

*NEXT BLOG*

My sperm is too busy joking around to find an egg.

*NEXT BLOG*

Inside, I'm laughing like a hyena.

*NEXT BLOG*

To make a long story short, I eat pineapples a lot.

*NEXT BLOG*

That's not the first time I cried to get a cat.

*NEXT BLOG*

Nevertheless, when I walk into a room with only 1/50,000th of a dog's sense of smell, I can tell right away if someone dropped ass. I'm no dog, but if there was Taco Bell involved, I usually can tell that, too.

*NEXT BLOG*

Although, the 45 minute argument about whether the term "erection" represents an object or a process was fun.

*NEXT BLOG*

It's tough to get things done when your organizational chart looks like a series of squished spiders.

*NEXT BLOG*

To exemplify what we're dealing with here: they were all wearing matching denim skirts that had their names monogrammed on the ass.

*NEXT BLOG*

No Poe No Mo

2005-07-07T15:45:00.000-07:00

I hate poetry.

There. I said it. It just felt so right. I think I'll say it again.

I hate poetry.

Unless you count Dr. Seuss. He rocks.

Okay, and limericks because I like dirty things.

I will read anything - ANYTHING - including the back of every product bottle in my bathroom whilst brushing my teeth. But I just. can. not. STAND poetry.

So I will now also state that the blogs I hate most (in no particular order) are:

- poetry blogs

- political rant blogs

- knitting blogs (Why are you typing? Go make a sweater or something.)

- advertisement only blogs (the ONLY exception being the blog solely devoted to the treatment of genital warts because the pictures, oh merciful heavens the pictures)

- god help us, poker blogs.

Oh Say Can You See...

2005-07-06T11:14:00.000-07:00

I don't know about you people, but my Fourth of July Weekend was AWESOME!!

I ate and I ate and I ate.

I am currently, as close as modern science can calculate, about 40% potato salad. If I broke into a jog I would sweat pickles & Mayo.

The people in our neighborhood and the neighborhood behind us, are fireworks freaks. There were fireworks "wars" going on both nights. It was really really cool. Because, as you know, in fireworks wars, EVERYONE WINS!

Except for a little whiplash I got from trying to watch everything at once.

Seriously though, I saw more fireworks Sunday & Monday than I had seen in the prior TEN YEARS. In Arizona fireworks are muy muy illegal so the only displays are the big city ones.

Oh Tulsa, I did not want to like you but you made me love you.

Laughing at the Expense of a Senile Little Old Lady

2005-07-04T11:02:00.000-07:00

Oh yes, I am indeed a sick and twisted puppy.

Case in point - this is one of my FAVORITE stories.

My great-uncle A died. He was survived by his wife E and a couple of children and probably grandchildren. I'm not sure. Yeah, we're close.

The rats had started deserting E's mental ship several years back and by this time the ship was still moving but no one was at the helm. They got her dressed up and parked her in a pew at the church for the funeral.

When the first sympathisizer stopped by her pew to give their condolences, it went a little something like this...

Greiving Wellwisher - Oh E! How are you doing?

E - I'm doing fine thank you. I just wish the service would start.

GW - Well, that's good to hear. (patting hand)

E - Are you with the bride or the groom?

GW - Um, what?

E - Who's wedding is this again?

GW - (gulp) E. It's A's funeral, remember.

E - WHAT! A'S DEAD! GAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!

At which point she completely breaks down including hysterical sobbing and attempting to rend the clotheing of not only herself but everyone with in reach.

They take her to the back of the church, get her clamed down and, eventually, back in her seat.

Fifteen minutes later, someone else let's it slip again that A. is dead.

"HE'S DEAD??!!! GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!" Off she goes again.

After the third round everyone is getting a little shell-shocked having to re-live the bad news over and over so they position someone by the door to tell EVERYONE walking in they should NOT, under any circumstances, let E know that this is A's funeral.

Later that evening she nibbles cookies and says it was a beautiful wedding.

Freak of the Week

2005-07-01T10:39:00.000-07:00

Okay. I just finished reading Candy Freak by Steve Almond.

Oh, fellow junkies can I get a hallelujah?

HALLELUJAH!

Not only is Mr. Almond a self-proclaimed Candy Freak (hence the title) but he is also a goof ball and, occasionally, a potty mouth. All qualities I have happen to admire highly. HIGHLY!

He makes up words like zietschaungundermoutton (German-ish for 'the world in my mouth'). He says things like "What I mean by this is that I imagine what it would be like to lick or chew or suck a great deal of stuff. Examples would include the skin of a killer whale, any kind of bright acrylic paint, and Cameron Diaz's eyeballs."

Are you feelin' me here peeps?

He admits to being, gasp!, uncool on occasion. He likes (not LIKES likes, just, you know, thinks she's cool) a woman because she uses words like 'gunky' and 'wuss'. He himself uses commendable words like "tizzy", "glop", "dickweed" and "totally ass-kicking"(italics his). Oh, and fuck in several variations (my favorite being "I am not going to tell you that this is enough wafers to stretch from the earth to the moon six times. I will say, only, that it is a lot of fucking wafers.")

He also says something that needs to be said. That has NEEDED to be said for a long time. "Every now and again, I'll run into someone who claims not to like chocolate or other sweets, and while we live in a country where everyone has the right to eat what they want, I want to say for the record that I don't trust these people, that I think something is wrong with them, and that they're probably - this must be said - total duds in bed."

Can I get an amen?

AMEN!

Ode to The Tree by The Apple

2005-06-30T14:16:00.000-07:00

My dad & his wife were just here for a couple of days visiting. I wish it had been longer. They are two of the coolest people to just be around. The are fun and snarky and laid back, all at the same time.

My dad's wife is just one awesome chick. She is one of those Midwest cooks that can whip-up the most fabulously tasty meal, including a variety of homemade desserts, and when you compliment her she gives you a look like "What the hell are you talking about? I just threw some stuff on the table." Truly. Awesome.

She has had to keep the cooking down to a dull roar after my dad has his triple-bypass in 2000. She is the only person I know who can make something out of a Weight Watcher's cookbook and you'll want seconds. It's magic I tell you!

She once made this crockpot ham for my grandmother's 90th birthday party that was so good I just could NOT stop eating it. I was so full I had to stand up and I STILL could NOT stop eating it. I thought I was even being sneaky when I stationed myself around the corner from where I sat on the food table so I could pop out and snatch tasty hunks every 64.5 seconds or so. Sly dog that I am. My step-sister finally came up to me and said, "Are you EVER going to stop eating?".

Um, yes, I am. I'm stopping right now. Thank you for saying that so loudly. Hey! Shouldn't we be singing Happy Birthday or something?

Oh piggies, is there no part of you that is not delicious?

Where was I?

My dad & his wife have received offers from my brother, me and all three of her daughters to come live with us in their twilight years. Yes, that is how just COOL they are people. But, in a move that cemented their coolness into legendary status, they assured us all that as soon as they get sick and crotchety that they will check themselves out. That's right people, they will punch their own clock before they become a burden on anyone.

Dad, please PLEASE try to get mom to come around to this mindset. If I have to live with her I SWEAR I will slowly and painfully feed her into the garbage disposal.

Purge

2005-06-27T12:02:00.000-07:00

In the latest book I'm reading, the main character finds herself in a moral quandary. Some of the things she has found herself doing lately have flown in the face of some of the morals and values she was raised by. She is alternately confused, alarmed and excepting of these changes.

It made me think about how much of our lives are governed by the "rules" we set for ourselves. I'm not talking about the big societal rules/laws like those forbidding murder or theft. I'm referring to self made decisions like "I won't marry a man who makes less money than me" or "I sex on the first date makes you a slut" or "I have to work out five days a week or I will be a fat pig".

Some of these "rules" are good. They help us to feel good about ourselves, to be able to look that smiling face in the mirror every morning and feel okay. Some them we apparently just make to "test" ourselves.

Everyone's rules are different. Some people think adultery is akin to murder. Some think that humans are genetically programmed to want to stray and who are they to fight nature. Some people refuse to wear white before Memorial Day. Some people think plaid and paisley look good together.

Obviously our upbringing effects all our internal governing rules. It is terrifying, especially as a parent, to realize that sometimes the smallest thing can completely change the direction of a life.

Every decision we make, every day, is another brick in the foundation of who we are. If you "forget" to ring something up in the self-check line at Albertson's you may just figure it balances out the times you have gotten home and something you paid for didn't make it into your bag. Or you may go right back to the store and pay for the overlooked item.

Right and wrong are subject. Sin is a belief. Truth is simply that - truth. It is neither wrong nor right nor good nor bad. That doesn't keep people from spinning the "truth" to their own benefit.

I realize I am just rambling, but stuff doesn't pour out of my head in neat easy to read paragraphs. It gets vomited up in lumpy chunks.

Don't Worry, Be Happy... SHUT UP!!

2005-06-24T09:21:00.000-07:00

I just read this last night. It's really sticking in my head.

"'Just go home, and be happy. Be happy, and let everyone around you be happy. Is that so hard?'

When (he) said it like that, it didn't seem hard. In fact, it seemed to make a lot of sense, but inside, it felt hard. Inside it felt like the hardest thing in the world. To just let go, and not pick everything to death. To just let go and enjoy what you had. To just let go and not make everybody around you miserable with your own internal dialogue. To just let go and be happy. So simple. So difficult. So terrifying."

How quiet it would be if the noisy little bastard inside my head would just. shut. up. So peaceful. So wonderful. So, well, happy.

I Love You, I Love You Not

2005-06-22T07:38:00.000-07:00

I *heart* you if I ask you a question and you say something like, "That's a good question! Let me see if I can help you."

I *heart-in-a-circle-with-a-diagonal-line-through-it* you if I ask you a question and you say, "I don't know" like the big dumb gee-what's-this-opposable-thumb-thing-for missing link jackass that you are.

PS - While I don't CONDONE Burt Reynolds hitting stupid people, I sure do understand it.

Dumb Like Clam Chowder

2005-06-20T13:10:00.000-07:00

Although it has been a lovely thirty-six years that me, myself & I have been together, I STILL manage, WAY to frequently to astonish and amuse all three of us with the utter limits I take my stupidity to.

Let's use this morning as an example, shall we?

I TiVo workout programs & do them in the mornings. I have a nice little rotation going that includes yoga, cardio & stretching - about six programs in all. On Saturday, my yoga program was dedicated to poses to aid in the relief of constipation. Now I would say I'm as constipated as the next gal (though NOT as bad as some - right Dooce?) so I figure that this looks good. It entailed drinking two glasses of salt water (chugging two glasses really as you are supposed to not dawdle or "sip") then doing a series of poses. Saturday I do all the poses but skip the salt water drinking portion as it was supposed to be done on an empty stomach & I had already eaten.

Fast forward to today.

I decide this morning to skip breakfast with the kiddos and do the program complete with salt water toddies. I slam a quart of salt water (did I mention that it is LUKEWARM salt water) then do the poses. Hmmm. No *magic*. The instructor DOES mention if the train is not leaving the station yet that you can REPEAT the process (as it is, and I quote, "not harmful").

Can you just SEE the stupidity people?

Oh yes. I do.

I chug down ANOTHER QUART of lukewarm salt water, this one not settling in as well as the last, and start to repeat the poses. Halfway through the second set the doorbell rings. Ugh! I forgot the bug man was coming this morning. I let him in & herd the monsters whilst he hoses down the house then write him a check & send him on his way. At this point I'm kinda tired of the poses & I figure "Ah, screw it."

Oh ho ho. Screw it indeed. About fifteen minutes later, I feel the tracks rumbling. The train she is a coming.

OH GOOD LORD!

Now, you would THINK I would have seen this coming. Where exactly did I think all that freaking salt water was GOING? Apparently I hadn't put the required amount of thought into the FORM it would have taken by the time it reached the end of the line. In other words - THE SAME FORM IT WAS INGESTED IN.

What do AJ and Shamu have in common?
The both shoot salt water out their asses.

And shoot it did. It was a splash-back nightmare! But you know how they say that meat stays in your intestines for YEARS? NOT MY INTESTINES! I think I even finally purged out that gum I swallowed in Jr. High.

Like the penguins in "Madagascar" say when they reach Antarctica? "THIS SUCKS!"

Amen, my little monochromatic brethren. Amen.

BUT THAT'S NOT ALL PEOPLE!

Then I went to Target & ate a huge soft pretzel. WITH SALT.

I'm like Lot's wife at this point.

Okay I gotta go get a drink now. I'm REALLY thirsty.

Happy Father's Day

2005-06-19T15:40:00.000-07:00

To my husband - who not only made breakfast (pancakes and bacon) but who is also, as I sip root beer and illegally download music, is grilling chicken with my favorite sesame & ginger marinade (Oh Lawry's! Is there no limit to the supremely tasty sodium laden items your company can produce? You had me at Seasoned Salt.)

To my dad - It makes me happy just to be around you. I would never EVER tell you this, but if all three of the step-sisters (and their spouses AND their kids) dropped off the face of the earth tomorrow, I would be so overjoyed I think my head would explode.

If you are reading this and

- you are a good dad - Happy Father's Day!

- you are a shitty dad - Please do us all a favor and go drown yourself.

...Or a Serious Expression, In the Middle of July...

2005-06-17T18:42:00.000-07:00

I have a really big secret. A postsecret kind of secret.

Promise you won't tell?

Well, okay....

I'm masquerading as a grown-up.

I have thought (for many years now actually) that there would come a time when I would actually, finally, completely FEEL like a bona fide grown up.

I'm still waiting.

Oh sure, there have been times of grown-up-ed-ness. I'm going to have to say though, in general, it just doesn't seem to be sticking.

I just like to play. Take naps. Goof around. Read the funnies. Not take things seriously.

Is it EVER going to happen? Am I EVER going to feel old?

I'm thinking maybe in my sixties. Or seventies. Not forties or fifties though. That's just too dang young to be old.

I think the main thing is - I just don't WANNA grow up.

And you can't make me.

Square of Hideous Times Infinity to the Bazillionth Power

2005-06-16T20:09:00.000-07:00

Why is it that the odds of you running into someone you know are increased inversely and exponentially by the amount of time you were actually able to spend getting ready to exit your home prior to running said errand?

In other words...

If you spent an hour showering, decorating and anointing your body, you will meet only strangers. Unattractive strangers.

If you roll out of bed so that your hair in back is sticking up like an angry weasel and you still have yesterday's mascara smeared under your eyes and the hamper rummaged clothes you threw on are stained and or / slightly odorous, you will run into your old high school boyfriend. Or Brad Pitt.

Slam Dunk

2005-06-15T13:32:00.000-07:00

I'm not even drunk, I swear, yet I feel the time has come to share with you the tale of.....

How Our Heroine Came to Have Sex in the Center Court Circle of Her High School Gym the Summer AFTER She Graduated From Said High School.

My boyfriend at the time (also knows as best-sex-of-my-life-and-quite-possibly-several-other-people's-lives) lived only about a block from the school. One night, probably under the influence of "something", I really don't remember (it's quite possible we could have even been sober. We were young, dumb and in love so who knows. High on love / high on Mary Jane / high on filched alcohol. NOT IMPORTANT PEOPLE, let's move it along.) we decide to walk over and check out the old Alma Matter (whose clutches we had smugly escaped only a few months prior).

When we get there, he tells me that if you pull on BOTH of the gym doors at the SAME TIME, the will open. Sure enough, POP!, they open sesame. I look around nervously for 5-0 because I basically am a good little law abiding citizen. He pooh-poohs my fear and drags me into air conditioned comfort (as anyone who has spent any time in Arizona during the summer, it is H-O-T at night too).

We shoot a couple of baskets, generally goof off a bit, then go back to the wrestling room. After jumping around on the mats and climbing the rope, we start making out. Then we progress around the bases accordingly. Right before he slides into home for the first time, yes people this was our *FIRST TIME* together, I say "If we are going to do it, let's make it memorable." So I hop up and lead him by the hand out to center court. He looked thrilled and stunned and pinch-me-I'm-dreaming and he couldn't wipe the goofy smile off his face. I drag him down to the floor and we do the deed. Yes, I had bruises on my spine, but it seemed like such a good idea at the time, even though I kept waiting for lights to slam on and people to come flooding in.

Then went back in the wrestling room and banged around in there too.

I would also like to mention that they filmed "Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure" at my High School (Go San Dimas my ASS!) and I got hit on by one of the actors. He played the bully. Don't remember any bully from "Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure"? That's because they CUT ALL HIS SCENES. Heh heh heh. That's what you get for trying to hit on a girl by giving her a signed head shot. Who do you think you are? David Hasselhoff?

And have I mentioned that David Hasselhoff is on video with his hands around my neck strangling me? It's true. I swear. But that is a story for another day......

The Opposite of Non-Post

2005-06-12T11:40:00.000-07:00

What is the deal with non-fiction?

Who was it that decided that fiction was SO important that literature can be broken down only by what IS and IS NOT fiction? Why is it not "fiction" and "reality"? Or "fiction" and "fact"? Because isn't that the definition of non-fiction? Fact?

We don't say that the human race is "men" and "non-men". Pet stores are not broken down by "dog" and "non-dog". Race is not "Caucasian" and "Non-Caucasian". Religion is not "Buddhist" and "non-Buddhist".

Maybe it just bothers me because it confuses me. It just seems like a round-a-bout way of stating something. What if someone wanted a book by Dean Koontz and I told them "It's over there in the non-non-fiction section." THAT is confusing. But only slightly more so than non-fiction itself.

How would it feel like to be completely categorized only by that which you are not? You could be the non-hair guy. I could be the non-breasted woman. She could be the non-tall chick. He could be the non-smart guy. Just when you thought bald, flat, short and dim were bad.

We could change song titles. How would Van Morrison have done with his hit "Non-Blue Eyed Girl"? Or Aerosmith with "Dude Looks Like a Non-dude"? Billy Joel - "She's Always a Non-man." Duran Duran - "Hungry Like the Non-Bear". Eminem - "Non-Knee Like That". Green Day - "American Non-Intellectual".

I could go on and on. You know I can. I know that you know that I can.

I guess what I'm trying to say is the word non-fiction was made by a non-woman.

I am non-continuing now.

A Scooby By Any Other Name...

2005-06-10T12:32:00.000-07:00

Yeah, I stole this idea - so sue me. You go to http://babelfish.altavista.com/. Put in a song lyric. Translate it to another language. Translate that translation to another language then translate THAT back to English. Sounds like hilarity would ensue, right? See for yourself...

First verse -

Scooby Dooby Doo
Where are you?
We've got some work to do now.
Scooby Dooby Doo
Where are you?
We need some help from you now.

English - German - French - English

Are Scooby Dooby Doo, where you? We have work, maintaining to make. Are Scooby Dooby Doo, where you? We require assistance of you now.

Anyone besides me think that kind of sucked? Let's try the second verse -

Come on Scooby-Doo,
I see you...
Pretending you got a sliver
But you're not fooling me,
Cause I can see,
The way you shake and shiver.

English - French - Greek - English

Come in Scooby-Doo, sees that... prospome'nos has been acquired a ribbon but me does not deceit, I cause that I can see, the way you shake and tremble.

Apparently some slacking occured here. "Prospome'nos" wasn't an english word the last time I checked.

Moving on to the Chorus -

You know we got a mystery to solve, so Scooby Doo be ready for your act.
Don't hold back!
And Scooby Doo if you come through
you're going to have yourself a scooby snack!
That's a fact!

English - Italian - French - English

Sapete that we have autoconvaincu a mystery to solve, Scooby Doo east waits for your act. It does not hold behind! And Scooby Doo if you come through you will eat you even one leave scooby! That one is a fact!

Okay, FINALLY something funny. Kind of? Work with me here people. (I'm ignoring the non-translated words now because I think Babelfish is just testing me)

"And Scooby Doo if you come through you will eat you.." Of COURSE he will eat himself! He's a DOG. They are talented that way.

Anyhoo...I think BabelFish tires of my shenannegans. More than likely you do too. But just for kicks, let's finish it off...

Scooby-Dooby-Doo,
Here Are You.
You're ready and you're willing.
If we can count on you Scooby Doo,
I know you'll catch that villian.

English - French - Portugese - English

Scooby-Dooby-Doo, here it is vocês. He is ready and are made use. If we can count on vocês Scooby Doo, I know that villian will apanhará to that.

You know... I thought that would be more fun. Maybe I picked the wrong song? Maybe it's because I'm not under the influence of anything stronger than iced tea. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

The upside is you know know the words to the Scooby Doo theme song.

One of them anyway.

Blog Wars - Episode Three

2005-06-08T19:24:00.000-07:00

*NEXT BLOG*

You know, we Canadians excel at sex in canoes, according to Canadian legend Pierre Berton, but I think I’d need some pointers on the horseback thing, especially since I’ve been thrown from horses before--

*NEXT BLOG*

If one bee stings, it releases an alarm that smells like bananas.

*NEXT BLOG*

You don't have to pee any worse than I do.

*NEXT BLOG*

The preceding has been brought to you by the letters Q and W and the number 32767.

*NEXT BLOG*

If someone tells you that you are his angel, that he finds God in your eyes, that the stars have told him that you are the one he with whom he is to spend his life forever… does it make you cringe?

*NEXT BLOG*

Just because you're decaf, skim milk, sugar free raspberry latte's milk wasn't heated exactly to 120 degrees does not mean that the world is going to fall apart.

*NEXT BLOG*

Okay, sadly I think I am making far too many mistakes (all kinds, you name it, I made it).

*NEXT BLOG*

The moral: Target’s great, but don’t give your number out to people you meet there.

*NEXT BLOG*

Thanks to the skills of a very nice lesbian vet and $465.00!

*NEXT BLOG*

Actually, somewhere along the line, we were attacked with trivia by none other than Mary Poppins.

*NEXT BLOG*

Julio, the Brazilian bathroom attendent, teaches me how to say "I want to put my tongue in your ass", in Portuguese.

*NEXT BLOG*

"Yyyyyyyyyeeeaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!" rang out from the crowd, as if they were delighted to see he chose a quality, common sense product over, oh, i don't know, human lard.

*NEXT BLOG*

I really love fire.

*NEXT BLOG*

I'm a real nertz when it comes to the icky poohs.

*NEXT BLOG*

I have fallen into the trap that marketing men set to make me feel outdated and unhip.

*NEXT BLOG*

Hey. Anything I can do to make your life easier. Well, almost anything. Ok, maybe nothing.

*NEXT BLOG*

See, by the time you get done shakin' the shit out of a Politician, there ain't nothin' left but an asshole and a briefcase.

*NEXT BLOG*

Maybe to the rainforest pygmies it's common sense, but not the type of thing a "modernized" person considers all that common.

*NEXT BLOG*

Has your uvula ever drooped enough to cause you such discomfort you wondered if it would ever firm up again.

*NEXT BLOG*

And no, I do not need a hug.

*NEXT BLOG*

Red Blech!

2005-06-07T10:57:00.000-07:00

I tried Red Bull for the first time today.

Who drinks this crap? My first sip brought to mind the Friends episode when Phoebe tastes one of Monica's mockolate chip cookies and says, "Oh, Sweet Lord, this is what evil must taste like." Apparently evil is a drink as well.

The only thing it "gave wings" to was my lunch, as it seemed so offended by Red Bull's mcnasty taste that it tried to exit the premesis. Only sheer will power on my part kept it in it's place.

But by god, I drank the whole damn can.

The things I do to keep from wasting $1.99.

Attack of Heather DeLoach, et al

2005-06-03T11:06:00.000-07:00

We have bees.

In our HOUSE!

WTF?!! Can't they find a nice TREE or something to live in? I consulted our "Complete Works of Winnie the Pooh" and nowhere in there does it mention bees in freaking houses. Seriously, at NO point in the narration does Pooh go poking through someone's ATTIC looking for honey. NOWHERE!

I had just been out in the backyard with my son & I came in & heard buzzing. Loud buzzing. Peering around I noticed there were a couple of bees in the breakfast nook window, pounding their tiny selves against the glass trying to get out. "Well you stupid assholes" I thought to myself, "If you want out so bad why the hell did you come IN in the FIRST place?" So, flyswatter in hand, I commence to smash them both - WHACK! WHACK! (I'm known in the flying-bug circles as "The One" because I always get the kill on the first hit. I know. There is just no END to my talents, is there?)

As I am getting ready to pick up the carcasses I hear more buzzing. "What the...?" More bees in the window. "Where did YOU guys come from? Well it's too late to save your friends, but you can join them." I whack a few more.

Bees -0
AJ - 5

Then I realize I hear buzzing coming from the family room. As I step over to investigate (it's open to the breakfast nook), I see there are bees coming OUT OF THE CEILING (where there WERE speakers but the previous owners took them out and since we left ours in our last house and buying new ones isn't exactly at the top of my list, there are some holes left from the mounting hardware as well as a hole dangling some lovely wires). "Holy shit!"

Did you see The Swarm? Yeah, me too.

I snatched my sleeping daughter up off the couch and carried her, wailing and snorting because I'd interrupted her nap, upstairs where I told her & her brother to shut their doors & leave them shut until I came back. Then I ran to the garage & got some painter's tape & sealed up the holes in the ceiling. I could HEAR them in there! The freaking bee cavalry had been summoned. Gaaah!

Grabbing the phone book, I ran upstairs. There is NO listing whatsoever for Bee Exterminators in the Greater Tulsa Region White & Yellow Pages. NONE of the exterminators" listed "bees" in their add. I finally resorted to calling one of the five places listed under "Beekeeping Supplies" and asking the guy who answered, and coughed in my ear for a full minute, who I could call for bee removal.

Oh good lord, the Bee People.

The Bee Guy answers the phone and after I listen to him cough for a good half a minute (apparently he & the beekeeping guy are smoking buddies) I tell him my tale of woe. I give him directions. He says "Oh, that's far" which I roll my eyes at but let go (moving from the Phoenix area, where my husband had to drive over an hour just to get to work, I am amused/irritated by people here who won't go somewhere 15 minutes away because it's "too far"). He tells me there is going to be a $20 trip charge (Uh, buddy? Did I mention there are freaking bees IN MY HOUSE??? I don't give a SHIT about a $20 trip charge just get your red-neck, loogie-hacking, pushing-50-IQ ass OVER HERE!!). I tell him, "That's no problem."

Bee Guy & Bee Gal, who's combined weight hovers in the 500 range and who's gen-u-ine tooth count is hard to calculate due to my dislike for fractions (1/3 + 1/2 + 1/4 = ???), come rolling up to the house in a giant blue-ish van that I could hear coming from about a mile away (that shit is only cute if you are the ACTUAL Chitty-Chitty-Bang-Bang).

Luckily (snort) the "Bee People" said they think this is a "swarm" that is just moving in which means the will be easy to get OUT. They will remove the floorboards in the corner of the attic, vacuum out the bees, seal up the exterior cracks that let "the girls" in and replace the floorboards. I tell myself that getting rid of the bees outweighs the issue of having everything stored in the attic tainted with the stench of radioactive B.O. (oh, and did I mention that he ripped a GIANT fart while we were all standing in the attic looking at the bees? Oh yeah. It was a smell-o-vision moment)

Do you want the bad news now (you KNEW there had to be bad news, didn't you? Personally I would think that the bees taking up residence like thousands of little poker-assed squatters would be bad news enough, but apparently - no)? The BAD NEWS is they can't come remove the little bastards, uh bitches, until MONDAY! That's right people - we have three entire fun filled days of twitching at every slight real or imagined movement that passes our peripheral vision.

Bee girl, you're gonna die.

Then I Don't Wanna Be Right

2005-06-02T12:35:00.000-07:00

The hub has one of those BBQ spatulas that is rediculously huge.

Manufactured-by-ACME huge.

Who-me-need-to-compensate? huge.

I think the appeal is that you can pick up more than one hamburger at once with it. Or an entire chicken. Or Rhode Island.

Everytime I take it out of the dishwasher I just want to take a giant two-handed swing with it and just SMACK him in the ass.

Is that wrong?

No, I Just DON'T Learn. Thanks For Asking.

2005-05-31T12:11:00.000-07:00

There is a REASON why Slip N Slides say that no one over 5 feet tall or 100 pounds should use the damn thing.

What it SHOULD say is more like:

"Hey you dumb cow! Don't even think about trying to bellyflop down this thing? Have you not NOTICED that you are almost WIDER than the slipping surface? Plus we feel we must point out, since it is obvious that you have a complete and troubling disregard for your own safety, that your swimsuit has a large metal O placed strategically in the crunchy bony center of your chest. Not to mention the fact that we have heard that you are already a flashing menace to the neighborhood children. Just don't. Really. Don't."

Sincerely,
The Chortling Fools at the appropriately named Whamm-O Corporation

PS - Our attorneys would like to add, "We told you so".

PPS - If you by any chance have video, could you please send us a copy? We like to show stuff like that at the company picnic. It REALLY boosts moral. Thanks.

Life's Ruff

2005-05-29T16:07:00.000-07:00

My dad just got a new dog - a seven week old yellow lab puppy - and I could not BE more jealous.

When my son was almost two years old we found out that he allergic to dogs, cats & dust mites. Since his allergies induce asthmatic reactions (i.e. he can't breathe) they tell us he will never outgrow it (and you know it MUST be true if "they" say it).

I love dogs. L-O-V-E dogs. Big slobbery dogs. Just want to maul them whenever I see them. The knowledge that I can NEVER have one EVER again is pretty depressing. Even when he grows up and moves out we figure we STILL can't get one because that would be tantamount to saying "You may not visit us EVER."

Yes, I know, my son is a million billion to the power of infinity times better than any animal.

But still.....

It's the Next Exit After Jelly Belly & If You Get to Jelly Knees You've Gone Too Far

2005-05-28T09:13:00.000-07:00

Last night, as I was getting the kids their last drinks of water, I decided that I needed a snack. Obviously they couldn't know about it because...

1 - I didn't want to get THEM snacks

2 - I was about to pilfer candy from their stash

So I did what any one would do in my situation - I shoved that bag of jelly beans down my pants and sauntered up the stairs like I owned the place.

Time Flies

2005-05-26T12:29:00.000-07:00

Five years ago I had a dog named Tori. I loved her like crazy. She accompanied me on numerous adventures including traveling via U-Haul at least three times.

Now I have no pets what so ever.

Five years ago I had a mortgage that I thought was ridiculous.

Now I have a mortgage that is EASILY twice as much.

Five years ago I drove a Jeep & I LOVED driving with the top off - skin cancer be damned!

Now I have a SUV that I chose due to the high safety ratings.

Five years ago I could never find a movie to rent at Blockbuster because we had already SEEN everything remotely interesting when it was in the theatres.

Now I have been to less than a handful of movies in the past twelve months and I don't even KNOW where my friendly neighborhood Blockbuster is. If I can't TiVo it, I just don't see it.

Five years ago I had a fabulous job that let me travel all over the country and they NEVER questioned my expense reports.

Now I could spend an entire week without even getting in my car & I would be perfectly happy.

Five years.

Five years ago I gave birth to my son. He is so beautiful that it breaks my heart to look at him sometimes. I just can't wrap my mind around the fact that this amazing, gorgeous, sweet, funny, delightful little creature came OUT OF ME!

Five years ago I became the luckiest woman in the world.

Hey Honey? Your Village Called....

2005-05-24T17:38:00.000-07:00

"I love the smell of WD40. It's smells like the stuff they spray in bowling shoes. You know, that spray?"

Here's Your Sign

2005-05-23T11:32:00.000-07:00

In the paper this Sunday there was an article for a new book entitled "Is He Cheating on You? 829 Telltale Signs."

HO-LY SHIT!

EIGHT FREAKING HUNDRED AND TWENTY NINE SIGNS?

What ISN'T a sign? Anything? Anything?

On behalf of women everywhere, I apologize to men in advance for the amount of freaked out and suspicious chicks this unmitigated shit is going to create.

Unless you ARE cheating (and I can tell because the vents in your car have been moved). In that case... GO TO HELL!!

"Time Enough at Last"

2005-05-22T13:28:00.000-07:00

On July 18, 1988 I created a monster.

I have no idea why, but on that day I decided to keep a journal of books I was reading. I was 19 years old.

I know part of the idea came from my determination to read all of a list of "100 Great Books". I can't even remember where the list of 100 books came from, but I know it was a catalyst because the list is in the front of the book before my book entries start. I know I also wanted to keep track of some of the amazing quotes I was reading.

And I have.

I have kept track of books through numerous boyfriends, three engagements, one marriage, two children and through the ownership of a dog and a cat. I have kept track of quotes that have given me strength, and pause, through my many ups and downs.

I have kept track of authors, good and bad, through 15 homes (I think - I loose track) and moves in and out of five states. I kept track when I believed in God with a big G. I kept track when I didn't even believe in me. I have read famous authors, classic authors, authors that would probably be heartened to know that their book was actually read, and I had the privilege of reading a book before it even became a book.

I have read books that I own, that I've borrowed and returned, that I've loaned and lost. I own a great debt to libraries all over the country. One library I actually owe a book and I feel guilty about that to this day.

The book of books, covered in a bright floral cloth, threatens to spill its guts every time I pick it up. On day one of starting my blog, I wanted to transfer all the knowledge from my book of books to an alternate location. I wanted to share. I wanted some of these powerful words to touch others as they have touched me.

Some of the books are so deep inside me that just typing their titles brought visions flooding through me. Some I don't even remember reading - but they are few.

So 17 years later, here it is - 405 books and counting.

If you are ever bored, or need a good quote or maybe just want to see one of the mysterious ingredients that makes up the cocktail of "me", go to the sidebar and hit "complete list with excerpts".

I still only have half of the "100 List" read. I keep getting distracted.

Filet O' Soul

2005-05-21T11:23:00.000-07:00

Okay, I don't normally share quizzy things - even though I L-O-V-E to take them (and answer those burning questions like "Are you Rizzo or Sandra Dee", etc.) - but I think this one is cool-aid. So go, try, share.

You Are a Seeker Soul

You are on a quest for knowledge and life challenges.
You love to be curious and ask a ton of questions.
Since you know so much, you make for an interesting conversationalist.
Mentally alert, you can outwit almost anyone (and have fun doing it!).

Very introspective, you can be silently critical of others.
And your quiet nature makes it difficult for people to get to know you.
You see yourself as a philosopher, and you take everything philosophically.
Your main talent is expressing and communicating ideas.

Souls you are most compatible with: Hunter Soul and Visionary Soul

What Kind of Soul Are You?

And since quizzes are like Lay's (translate that as you will).....

I'm 50% Normal, an Idealist, a Charmer, I act like I'm 28, and when I die at age 82, with my hand down my pants, there is only a 23% chance I will go to hell.

My New Motto

2005-05-20T11:13:00.000-07:00

They Say I'm No Good Because I'm So Good.

Training for the Darwin Awards

2005-05-19T11:27:00.000-07:00

I am about to make a large group of people happy. That would be AJ-Is-A-Complete-Dorkus-Malorkus Chapter 216. I am their god and occasionally I bring my particular quirky religion to the masses.

When I say "the masses", I mean "my cul-de-sac".

In this episode, I'm at Best-Neighbor-Ever's house, discussing how she is going to take my son along to amuse her middle son while they attend the oldest son's baseball game. Oldest son is decked out in his baseball finery and hanging about the garage while the younger maggots dart about and stickify everything (as it IS a scientifically proven fact that all children under the age of five have permanently sticky hands - multiplied to the exponent of pi during popsicle season).

Plans made and goodbyes said, I grab both my kids scooters and turn to head toward home. Lazy and not terribly forward thinking being that I am, the thought pops into my wee little brain, "Hey! Why CARRY these two scooters home when I can just RIDE them?"

"Cool!" my slow processing brain thinks back to itself.

I put one foot on N's red & black Scooter of Death and the other foot on M's pink & purple Disney princess festooned Scooter of Doom and point myself down BNE's slightly sloped driveway. IMMEDIATELY Death Scooter and Doom Scooter head for opposite compass points. Apparently they had some sort of scooter tiff earlier and were taking their aggressions out on me by plainly displaying that they were not on speaking terms. Fortunately my wit (yeah, I said wit - singular - as it is blatantly obvious that I do not posses wits - plural) returned in time to hop briskly off and between the two whilst they amscrayed.

"Heh heh", I say suavely, realizing that I have narrowly avoided disaster right in front of two grown women and about eight impressionable children, "Maaaaaaybe I shouldn't do that."

"I'll try it", BNE's nine-year old little slugger says.

"Okay!" I say (that's right people, you should NOT, under any circumstances, trust me with your children)

Then I hear BNE's voice echoing out of her garage, "No, you don't! Your coach will KILL you if you break a leg!"

"Oh yeah. Um, well, that probably wasn't the best idea" I mutter while I shrug at the kids like "What are ya gonna do about these grown-ups?".

Now, little Casey-at-Bat is looking slightly dejected at the loss of my attempt to maim him, so I gamely say "I'll race you!"

"All right!" he crows and, questionably, gloms on to the Disney Princess Scooter of Doom.

I queue up next to him on the Scooter of Death and yell "GO!!"

He takes off like greased lightning and I wobble down the driveway. Now this is where I should point out that this is a scooter for a four old - my foot covers the footboard completely and the handle bars are about the height of the my kneecaps. I KNOW I can't yo-yo-homey maneuver this thing so I try to do the next best thing - clown my way down the driveway.

You can see this coming a mile away, can't you.

That's right. My invitation to join the Harlem Scootertrotters will NOT be arriving any time soon. I somehow managed to cross my right foot OVER my left foot (which was on the scooter) and wound up rolling like a gangly squawking tumbleweed down into the cul-de-sac (I want to say "ass over teakettle" but I'm never REALLY sure where the teakettle fits into the picture) with the scooter bouncing into me in several KGB sanctioned hurty spots. Not only am I probably swearing (it happened so fast, it's really only conjecture at this point) but I am wearing cotton gym shorts and no underwear so I am also probably giving the entire ensemble an exxxtra special treat.

When I stop rolling, I pop up like the proverbial Jack spluttering, "OKAY!" and trying to look cool in that way that only cats can after they have done something completely asstarded. I'm sure I didn't fool anyone.

"Well, I'll just go in now!" I chirp brightly as I TRY not to limp towards my sanctuary, scooter in tow.

Damage sustained - giant swolen egg of a bruise WITH layer of skin missing - top of left shin, giant matching bruise (skin intact) on back of right shin (that, amazingly, I did not even discover until two days later), scraping and bruising of right shoulder (and I SLEEP on that side, damn it!), cuts and bruises to inside of right knee and, worst of all, scrapes on my right wrist.

Why were the wrist scrapes worst of all?

Because I didn't REALIZE I had bleeding scrapes on my wrist until I had emptied HALF a load of lights (you know, hanging things, turning things right-side-out) and therefore spread my weepy gooze all over god knows what.

I know for SURE there was swearing going on when I figured THAT out.

I Didn't Call You A Swallow, I Said YOU SWALLOW

2005-05-18T11:06:00.000-07:00

On the way back from the bank today I stopped at a red light (not because I WANTED to stop, mind you, but all the law abiding suckers in FRONT of me stopped thus blocking my way). On the corner to my right was a gas station. In the parking lot of the gas station two little birds were on the ground just GOING AT IT!

I mean they were just all talons and tail feathers. I've seen birds fight on the ground before but they usually just get a few digs in then fly off to fight in the trees or mid-air or whatever. But these two were on the ground THE ENTIRE TIME we sat at the light.

It was Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom at it's finest. Animal Planet would have been ALL OVER these two moronic little birds rolling around, duking it out. I could picture Steve Irwin crouching around them, there on the asphalt, saying "Krikey! These two little fellas are really givin' it a go!"

Seriously, it was AWESOME!

As the light turned green and we slowly drove away, I looked back and saw a big ol' snarly redneck standing by the gas pumps, arms crossed over his swollen hairy beer belly, just standing watching the show. Front row center.

And, god help me, in that brief and shining moment, I wanted to BE that redneck.

Grab Some Joe and Smoke 'Em if You Got 'Em

2005-05-17T11:05:00.000-07:00

Hi.

My name is AJ.

*HI AJ*

I am thirty-six years old and I am an utter disgrace to womanhood. (hides face in shame - possibly some sniveling)

*TELL US ABOUT IT AJ*

Well, I've been putting on make-up for, what, I think about twenty years now. (sniff)

*THAT'S A LONG TIME AJ*

Yes, I know it's a long time. And that's the point. You would think by now that I would be able to put on mascara and not stab myself in the fucking motherfucking balls shit gaaaaah! fuckity-fuck-fuck eyeball. But apparently I can not. (again, hanging head in shame)

*APPLAUSE*
*GOOD SHARING*
*LET IT OUT*
*WE HEAR YOU*

Who Says Nebraska is Flat?

2005-05-16T11:35:00.000-07:00

I put my foot in my mouth so often that when I buy new shoes I should not just try them on and walk around in them, I should taste them too. "Talk First, Back-Pedal Later" is my motto.

When I was in about 8th grade, I went to Nebraska to spend a good chunk of the summer with my mother's family. There are thirteen total cousins, my brother being the oldest & me being the next oldest. We only saw them every couple of years or so as my mom was the only one who "got away".

Anyway, I was staying with my cousin J who is, I think, fourth oldest. We were walking through her tiny town which was gearing up for some sort of festival. You know the type - where all the ranch / farm people herd into town for a weekend of palooza-ing boondocks style. The men get drunk, the women gab, the kids run in sticky filthy feral packs and did I mention the men get drunk?

It was early in the afternoon, and I spied an older lady walking down the other side of the street. She was, as I would delicately say now that I know a little better, exceedingly well-endowed. So much so that not only could she not see her feet, but if the two of us crouched in front of her, she wouldn't be able to see us either.

Smart-mouth that I was/am, I stage whisper, "Wow! I bet her children didn't starve!"

J gives me a funny look and says, "No. They didn't."

I say something like, "Oh, of course you know her. This is a small town and I forget how everyone knows everyone else."

"No," she says smirking at me, "I know her because she's my grandma."

I gaped at her open mouthed for about ten solid seconds, then I just burst out laughing. She and I laughed until we were bent over and had tears streaming down our faces. I think I apologized about a million times.

Thank goodness they hadn't already had the parade or god knows what my shoe would have tasted like.

Caught in the Undertoad

2005-05-14T08:50:00.000-07:00

Have you ever had those days where you just feel.... off?

Something feels wrong, or at the very least not right, but you just can't put your finger on it. On the rare occasion that I feel like this and hub asks "what's wrong?", I tell him that it's The Undertoad (if you don't understand the reference, hie thee to the library and check out The World According to Garp - by our friend John Irving which is worth a read, Undertoad or no Undertoad).

It is the slow relentless tightening between your shoulder blades that you just can't shake off or stretch out. It is the uneasy gnawing in the depths of your innards. It means that there is something lurking beneath the surface that you can't see, but you can feel it's benevolent gaze upon you.

I think it is just the accumulation of little things drawing together to create a Frankenstein's monster of dread and guilt over things left undone.

Maybe it's just the weather.

Maybe I just need an Extra Large Coke.

Yes, I WOULD Like Fries With That

2005-05-11T11:22:00.000-07:00

So I FINALLY finished A Prayer For Owen Meany. Yes I know, it's about bloody time. But some good has come of the reading...

Last night, I discovered the following:

"Newspapers are a bad habit, the reading equivalent of junk food. What happens to me is that I seize upon an issue in the news - the issue is the moral/philosophical, political/intellectual equivalent of a cheeseburger with everything on it; but for the duration of my interest in it, all my other interests are consumed by it, and whatever appetites and capacities I may have had for detachment and reflection are suddenly subordinate to this cheeseburger in my life! I offer this as self-criticism; but what it means to be "political" is that you welcome these obsessions with cheeseburgers - at great cost to the rest of your life."

Only for me it is blogs. My blog, your blog, here a blog, there a blog, everywhere a blog blog.

Blog = cheeseburger

Blog = the obsession I have welcomed at great cost to the rest of my life

And comments, oh beloved comments, YOU are the secret sauce.

A+ in Human, F in Divine

2005-05-10T14:03:00.000-07:00

Today as I was reading my Self magazine, skipping all the photos of the cellulite-free prepubescent bitches that I'm sure were chain smoking right up until the moment the picture was snapped, I happened to spy the following...

"men are more eager to bring uncomfortable situations to a close, so they offer clean-it-up-fast apologies." Think: "I don't want to fight, so I'm sorry!" Women, in contrast, are quick with courtesy apologies ("Sorry I was late") and less forthcoming with bigger ones. "For women, a true apology often means the end of the discussion, so we put it off until we've talked everything through."

Now, I didn't just fall off the turnip truck. I've been trying to figure out this whole woman-man-yin-yang-Venus-Mars-Bar stuff for a while now. The above paragraph really made me think. I had NEVER realized that my reticence to apologize was because I felt that the issue bore more discussion.

I always just thought I was right.

I Think of Her Every T-Ball Game

2005-05-09T11:29:00.000-07:00

My best friend has a friend that I will call Janie.

BF met Janie at nursing school. I am always amused that someone so self centered should chose the nursing profession, but I'm almost positive she did it to hook-up with a doctor. And she has. MANY of them.

I'm sure when most people first meet Janie, they spend a good amount of time trying figure out if she really IS a woman or just a really good drag queen. Personally I don't think she's attractive enough to be a drag queen, but what do I know? I know I was CONVINCED that she used to be a man.

She has long thick brown hair and if you took just a picture of her lips, most people would guess they were Steven Tyler's. Except for the flawlessly applied lipstick that she is forever checking.

Janie is a prissy, snobby, H-I-G-H maintenance girl.

She must have "something" because she has more boyfriends in a year that I think I have had sum total. Her boyfriends take her on trips, buy her flowers, jewelry and high-dollar accessories. About seven years ago, upon returning from her honeymoon she declared, "Just because I'm married doesn't mean I have to stop dating." Her husband is an ostrich with the IQ of gravy.

She likes to go to the Phoenix Open every year. She is a professional at attending this particular event by now. She meets a LOT of her boyfriends there. She has been doing it for yeeeeeeeears, but back in the day, when she was just a fledgling, she invited BF and a select group of presentable (ie, pretty but not so much as her highness) girls were got decked out and hit the turf.

Several drinks into the day, Janie needs to go to the restroom. For reasons I can't exactly recall, they were stuck going in a Port-O-Potty.

Janie, obviously, is NOT a Port-O-Potty girl. Apparently she was desperate and the other girls talked her into it. She was the last one to go and they all stood around outside waiting for the shrieks of horror to issue from her chosen unit. She did "eek" and "eww" a couple of times, but, over all, they are pretty impressed with her behavior. She eventually comes sashaying out, smiling and proud of herself for "sinking to the level of mere mortals" and living to tell the tale.

"It wasn't THAT bad!", she declares smugly.

The girls congratulate her. She smiles, fluffs her hair, accepts her due.

Then she says,"I really thought it was nice that they put that purse holder in there."

BF looks quizzically at her and asks, "Janie, WHAT purse holder? They don't put purse holders in Port-O-Pottys"

Janie, scoffing at BF, "Of COURSE they do! They're RIGHT there!"

BF thinks for a minute then starts laughing.

"Um, Janie? I'm not sure how to tell you this, but that wasn't a purse holder. That was the urinal."

Janie, blanching under her make up, "WHAT??!!"

BF, hardly able to speak over all the laughter, "That was the URINAL."

Janie, suddenly figuring it out, "OH MY GOD!!! THIS IS A $1000 PURSE!!"

She is drops the offensive item on the grass and backs away from it.
I'm not sure what she ended up doing with it. BF friend couldn't remember.

She DID remember that she met someone that day that bought her a new one.

The Englishman Who Went Up A Hill and Came Down a Blog

2005-05-06T16:22:00.000-07:00

*Next Blog*

I really have no ambitions and i am a total slacker

*Next Blog*

"You were willing to give up your soul mate, so you could get a different piece of ass, from someone you know it won't work out with."

*Next Blog*

If each of us hires people who are smaller than we are, we shall become a company of dwarfs. But if each of us hires people who are bigger than we are, we shall become a company of giants.

*Next Blog*

During the weekend someone got engaged, someone got swiped by a bear, a little girl wandered into camp lost in the middle of the night and 3 Top Gun pilots plunged into the glacier-freezing river.

*Next Blog*

Upon hanging up the phone, I realized that my cat was not wearing underwear.

*Next Blog*

Congress needs to quickly allocate more funding to the United States fledgling “Freestyle Mustache” program or we’re going find ourselves loosing the Mustache Race to the Luxemburg.

*Next Blog*

ever had one of those mornings where you get out of the shower, look in the mirror, and there is a big huge booger in your hair?....

*Next Blog*

I'm buying iodine tablets, constructing a bomb shelter, learning to play the electric guitar and then, I'm going to lose about twenty pounds so my hip huggers won't look so disgusting while I'm burning my big gay bra on national television in front of the Lincoln Memorial.

*Next Blog*

Despite some cool people, lots of pot and alcohol, a gay club, lots of free clothes and some of my favorite bands, this weekend was pretty sucky.

*Next Blog*

Today we mourn the passing of a beloved old friend, Mr. Common Sense.

*Next Blog*

Apparently the patron saint of complete morons was on duty, however, as he was merely injured and not reduced to a pile of idiotic ash

*Next Blog*

it is in these moments when you realize that after school specials may have failed some of it's viewers.

*Next Blog*

All I can say is that I respect Nature's decision to make men and women different.

*Next Blog*

I like animals- especially with mashed potatoes and gravy.

*Next Blog*

She's saving orphans from a burning building while acting as her alter-ego The super powered Nose Ring Girl?

*Next Blog*

So tip your glass to Mexicans when you have the chance because you never know when the next time is when you'll be drunk and hungry for a burrito at 5AM on a weekend night.

*Next Blog*

Unless thinking, DIE DIE DIE every time a coworker speaks to me can be called working

*Next Blog*

the mothership never came back for me, those fucking wankers.

*Next Blog*

Now if they could only invent a ring that pours a Jack and Diet Coke, I'd be all set.

*Next Blog*

It's one thing to get dissed in public but it's another to get dissed over the phone by some guy who most likely looks like a sea donkey.

*Next Blog*

I guess that's a good thing -- I mean, we've ALL had those embarrassing moments where we walk into an aisle looking for a book only to hit a wall of unbelievably putrid fart-funk that, most likely, was left by that fat balding dude standing by himself and looking around nervously.

*Next Blog*

And here she was in front of me, like an angel who'd been down the road of hard knocks a few times but still had a few rounds left in her.

*Next Blog*