"Mr. Churchill, you're drunk!"
"Yes, I am; and you are ugly. But tomorrow, I shall be sober." ---Winston Churchill
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
DO I HAVE TO TALK ABOUT SEX TO GET YOU PEOPLE INTERESTED IN MY BLOG?
I can get a couple of you to comment when I talk about the weather, my child, or the holidays.
I can get a greater handful to comment when I bash democrats, fret over the growth of socialism, or make up some abstract philosphy that makes sense to me at the time.
But, lo and behold, look what wakes you people up!
Okay, I guess that's as much as I can thrash you without become pathetically democratic, I mean hypocritical. (After all, I brought it up.)
Sex makes for an interesting topic. It's the adult reward system, a powerful pleasure, powerful tool.
I have a male friend who contends that women could rule the world if they only used sex as a tool, rather than claiming it a handicap, complaining when "hit on" rather than using it to their advantage.
"That would makes us all whores," I offered.
"We ARE all whores, " he replied. Thus "whore" is redefined to mean anyone that uses their assets for gain.
I believe that he exaggerates, being the cynical smartass he is, but there may be a little truth in there.
I will admit that sex is a powerful undercurrent in society, and for that reason and many more, I enjoy discussing it. I hope that I am occasionally capable of providing, "things that make you go hmmm."
(I, uh, usually TRY not to be terribly graphic, but, ahem, the comments below got a little, well, technical...)
USING BLOWJOBS AS INDICATORS
I know. Honestly, can you believe that I'm going here? OH, I'm going. "...TMI in hefty doses." (Can't say you weren't warned.)
Here's the thing. I've had TOO many conversations with persons of the male persuasion who make a distinction between women capable of giving incredible head, and those that are "eh...alright."
You guys don't get it, and you must be set straight.
There will be exceptions to the following rule. There are skills that one may pick up here and there, but they are no substitute for pure lust. Also, if a woman has NO sex drive, it will be impossible to derive an indicator from that woman. She has a very SAD hormonal imbalance; that's all there is to it.
A woman's desire for a man is directly proportional to the enthusiasm displayed during oral sex. She's into it, she's into you. She's not, she's not.
I think that this is an obvious conclusion, but some women are not going to like the assessment. Some women feel like a subservient harlot when performing this ritual. My guess is, that is what happens when you are raised by parents who have a ram-rod shoved up their ass, and then your first sexual experience is with a shit-ass jerk.
Dysfunction aside, I think the rule holds.
No, the woman doesn't give killer blowjobs. She's just sexually uninhibited and WAY into you. It'd be less than mediocre if she had a "don't mind if I do, don't mind if I don't" attitude. And don't give me the story of Suzie Q who had guys lining up under the bleachers at P.E. That wasn't about lust. She got attention from perfecting a skill. She doesn't count.
Here's the deal:
Excellent blowjob - She whole-heartedly lusts you. (Or she's moderately attracted to you and HEAVILY intoxicated. You want to KNOW, remove the alcohol variable.)
Mediocre - All hope is not lost. She just may be a little inhibited. Try giving hers to her first next time. That does WONDERS. Also, let it be her idea, and FOR GOD'S SAKE do not HOLD her head down. (If you MUST do something, grab the sheets, grab her ass, maybe even grab a handful of hair and tug at that last second when you can take no more, but don't pet her head like she's a damn dog.)
Lousy - If she gags, sputters, touches you like you're a pair of dirty underwear, and makes nauseated expressions, do not pass it off as a lousy blow job and nothing more. That's your ego talking. You need to face it; she's not into it. She doesn't want you. She doesn't know HOW she ended up in your bed, but she already knows that she'll be regretting in the morning.
Refusal - If she flat refuses to go there, you're probably married to her. Otherwise, you'd be dumping her. Diagnosis is bleak, but, uh, stock up on female viagra and hope for the best.
What are my credentials for this assessment? Piss-poor, but that's never shut me up before.
Actually, I've visited many of these stages with my mate. Lust fluctuates as intimacy fluctuates as personality fluctuates.
Yes, we [women] ARE complicated. If we weren't, then figuring us out wouldn't be such an incredible talent.
OWHA TADOR KIAM
I JUST TOOK FOUR STUPID QUIZZES
It's a blah day. I'm lacking inspiration, so I thought what the hell.
1. What color is your aura?
We don't need a psychic to tell us that you're giving off a Crimson vibe. Your ruby-red aura reveals your passionate, sensual nature; you're all about earthly pleasure. Whether you're getting a great massage or having a sumptuous dinner, you delight in experiences that fully engage your senses. (Crimson is, after all, the color of roses, wine, and velvet.) That's why it's the material things that really float your boat. If you can taste it, touch it, smell it, or see it right here, right now, you're all over it. After all, you're firmly rooted in reality, preferring to live in the present rather than the future. And you probably have a quick temper, too -- most folks with red auras do. But you cool down quickly, turning your outspoken energy and stamina to projects with fast, concrete results. A hot-blooded go-getter like you is always in favor of instant gratification.
2. What kind of kisser are you?
Talk about freestyle! You've got originality points when it comes to kissing. You are probably the type of person who goes with the flow and plants your pecks accordingly as each situation dictates. And why shouldn't you? The only real important rule is for you to be yourself -- and to keep experimenting. If something feels good, you should keep doing it. And especially in lessons of l'amour, there's no reason to conform.
So pucker up and keep seizing your moments! But before you get all crazy experimenting, sticking your tongue in your partner's ear, or getting carried away with your little love bites, remember that a kiss is between two people. You don't want to turn them off while you're getting turned on. So if that happens, take a deep breath, slow down, and try a little tenderness.
3. What would Freud say?
Freud would say your strongest unconscious conflict stems from events that happened when you were a Toddler.
He would also conclude that relative to others, your personality today is moderately affected by the events of your childhood. It appears that your biggest unconscious conflict that still afflicts you stems from what Freud defined as the anal stage of development that occurred when you were between a year and a half and three years old. Freud would say that this conflict can manifest in your personality by giving you a tendency to be unusually disorderly or messy, or "expulsive." You may also harbor a strong rebellious streak. This normally happens when parents neglected toilet-training and gave too much control to a child and the child naturally reacts by exerting their power and indulging their desires.
Freud defined five psychosexual developmental stages that everyone goes through on their way from infancy to adolescence. And each of those stages is associated with adult personality traits. At each stage, we all had to overcome certain "conflicts" or hurdles as we learned new skills and developed relationships with others. No one gets through all five stages without having trouble with at least one of them. And it's this unresolved "trouble" that Freud encouraged people to travel back to, recognize, and overcome.
4. What drink are you?
Congratulations! You're a Long Island Iced Tea!
What Drink Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
1. Okay, I can see that, although I believe my aura to be somewhat fickle.
2. I haven't gotten much feedback in this area, but I'm definitely playful, and I hope that I'm skilled. Lacking tenderness? Hmm - possibly.
3. What a bunch of bullshit! I WISH the worst of my childhood consisted of lounging too long in a soiled diaper. Disorderly and rebellious? Well, maybe.
4. Hmmm. Would have prefered a smooth merlot, but whatever. (At least I'm not Mad Dog 20/20)
Update: If you want to know what kind of candy or what kind of SEXY you are, Lawren has links.
Update #2: Nice. I get a Long Island iced tea, and SHE gets a screaming orgasm! Jeez, what did I do wrong when I took that stupid test??
I SURVIVED CHRISTMAS!
I have suffered crowds, sickness, family, diet sabotage and sleep deprivation, but I live to tell the story.
In fact, I have spent the past several days ENJOYING some much needed relaxation. There's nothing like the after-glow of Christmas, the house littered with wrapping paper, the excited child on a battery hunt, the coffee with hazelnut creamer, the animals who have been lovingly decorated with ribbon and bows, I could go on...
As usual, Santa spoiled my child. She received many things that she asked for and a few that she didn't. She didn't asked for a Rubik's cube, but I guess Santa was feeling a little nostalgic (being a child of the 80s), and bought the cursed thing for her anyway.
She brought it to me last night. It now displays a rainbow of colors on each side.
"Can you fix this for me?" she asked hurriedly as she tossed it into my lap. "Thanks..."
I love it. She really thinks that I can do anything...
Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be hanging out over in Nerdville for a while, in an attempt to retain my "super-mom" stature.
Side-note: Thank you all for your warm holiday wishes; I wish that I had a tampon angel for each of you!
HAVE A VERY BLOGGY CHRISTMAS EVERYBODY!
MUCH LOVE IS RADIATING FROM THIS SITE. FEEL IT?
I came through for you, Anna!
I took the tampon angel challenge, and here is my result. (Really gotta ZOOM for full effect.)
That little booger was hand-crafted by yours truly.
Aaaah, don't say you guys aren't impressed.
Want me to FedEx it to you, Anna?
Seriously. I think I'm going to wrap it up and give to my mom for Christmas---AAAhahaha! I'll let you guys know if she actually puts the little creation on her tree, suspended by its removal string...
Have a MERRY one, you guys!
MINE IS WEIRDER!
MY FAMILY IS WEIRDER THAN YOURS
The proof is in the purchases. We have gotten some gifts that are so ridiculous that I'm not sure they would make suitable gag gifts.
Several years ago, from his father, my husband received a 3 foot tall, ceramic and concrete, pastel-painted donkey. The stupid thing must have weighed 70 pounds.
I usually try to keep household-related gifts displayed for a period of time, out of courtesy, particularly if it's from family. Tell me. Where the hell do you put something like that? Well, on my patio of course.
Yeah right. My uncle's aunt came up from Florida the next week. By some stroke of dumb luck, she fell in love with the thing. Pastel donkey now resides on the patio of the golden girls' estate, where it friggin belongs!
This year my daughter and her cousins opened their gift bags from my husband's mother and --to their surprise-- pulled out ziploc baggies full of thick, beige, bubbly liquid. It looked like some sort of specimen. "Eeeeew," they all giggled and wrinkled their noses, "What IS it?"
Their grandmother saturated her voice with awe and wonder as she answered, "It's Amish bread starter! Now go home and put it on your counter and squeeze the bag every day to get it ready!"
AHAHhaha. Dough? She does this on purpose, right? She has to out-do the ex-husband that gave us a gigantic ceramic donkey a few years ago. Is that it?
My husband wanted to throw the bag-au-goo away, but I told him that it wasn't his gift. Miss Priss is being quite the sport. She tossed it up on the counter and has been regularly checking on it. (It sits fermenting as you read.)
This will be the first Christmas without my paternal grandmother. Some of my fondest memories of her will be in recalling some of the oddest Christmas gifts imagineable. She was into catalogue gifts. I never knew what I'd get. One year I got costume jewelry, the next faux pearls and satin granny panties.
Last year was the best. I opened a square cardboard box that revealed a silver dome with a hole at the top of it.
As I started to pull it out and pull off the bubble wrap, I HAD to ask, "What is it?"
My grandmother took it from me and opened it. It popped open from the middle just like an Easter egg. There was a cream-colored ball of yarn inside. I gave her a puzzled look while I awaited the answer to the question that I was STILL trying to figure out.
"It's a silver-plated yarn holder!"
"Oh." I was still confused. Giggling on the inside, but confused. Why? Why are these even manufactured? I concluded that she must have earned some catalogue points and this was the resulting prize.
She fed the single strand of yarn through the hole at the top of the dome, closed it, and handed it back to me. Only then did I notice what I had not noticed before.
It was monogrammed! There in all of their italic beauty were my initials engraved on the front of my gift.
Wow. She especially ordered this for me. WHY? (I had to laugh. I think that makes it worse.)
I'm grateful that my grandmother managed to outdo herself on our last Christmas together. I have pulled some serious laughter out of some friends at the site of my customized gift. I placed it in my glass-doored hutch next to the fine china and silver. Where else? I smile every time I glance in that direction.
That's it. That's just a piece of the evidence that makes my family weirder than yours. If anyone has received anything more unique than a gigantic pastel ceramic donkey, a baggie full of runny, fermenting dough, or a MONOGRAMMED SILVER-PLATED YARN HOLDER, I'd love to hear about it.
GOOD IDEA - BAD IDEA
GOOD IDEA - The concept of a Liberal Democracy.
BAD IDEA - Equating the word modifying democracy with the group on the left that fights the very concept. The fact that they refer to themselves as Democrats is just one of life's little ironies.
I don't like the American tendency to use "liberal" and "conservative" to describe what is more properly named "left-wing" and "right-wing". The United States is a liberal democracy, using the meaning "open to new ideas" for liberal. I wrote a post about it a while back.
I just think using right-wing and left-wing conveys better the pendulum effect that you describe as corrections. But, that's just me.
Believe it or not, I've considered that very point. However, I believe that I am on target using the terms interchangeably.
Yes, there ARE exceptions to every rule. I will recognize that "liberal" doesn't always equal "Democrat." Zell Miller is a "conservative" Democrat. And I can give you a LONG list of Republicans that are WAY too "liberal."
Liberal has more than one definition. I will apply three of them:
Liberal as it modifies Democracy:
Not limited to or by established, traditional, orthodox, or authoritarian attitudes, views, or dogmas; free from bigotry.
Liberal as defined by Jack:
Favoring proposals for reform, open to new ideas for progress, and tolerant of the ideas and behavior of others; broad-minded.
Liberal as defined by Key:
Tending to give freely; generous.
I would argue that your definition fits the Left as well as mine. I think it works to describe the majority of Leftists, anyway. Are Conservatives more close-minded? Absolutely, we are. We don't want to hear it. We don't want to change it, unless what we're doing is changing it back. Every time we get a little more "open-minded," it somehow ends up costing us a fortune.
Typically, when I use the terms "liberal" and "conservative," I apply them fiscally. Folks to the left spend much more liberally than the conservative penny-pinchers on the right. That's fact.
Liberals are "open" for ideas and change. "Let's make government BIGGER and better."
I think I can speak for the majority of Conservatives when I say, "No, let's don't. Let's make government SMALLER and better. Let's not think of anything new that's going to cost me more money, while making someone ELSE'S life easier."
Leftists are liberal with our money. They ARE liberal. They like to share.
I like to BUY what I want, and I want it to be my decision. MANDATORY CHARITY is bullshit. Am I cold-hearted? No. But that really isn't any of the government's business. I could much better support my local charities if I wasn't robbed of a third of my income every week.
We should pay for the services that we use. Period. I think that many people would be AMAZED at how little we would actually pay if that was the way it worked. There are SO many areas that could be privatized. It's actually terribly disgusting, so I'll stop there.
Defense is different. We ALL use that service. And anyone who doesn't appreciate it needs to leave. That is the most important area to maintain. It protects everything that we have, everything for which we have fought. Yet it is the area valued the least by spend-crazies who will throw money practically anywhere else.
Call them Liberals. Call them Leftists. Call them Demoturds. Call them Dumbocrats. Call them what you will, but that which we call a Democrat by any other name would smell as rancid.
THAT I COULDN'T FIT IN ANYWHERE ELSE:
Applying the "open-minded" vs. "traditional" mentalities to social issues will take time to explore thoroughly, and I'm willing to do that. But if you remove emotional bias, I think that it would still boil down to a conservative demand for less government. Be gay, be satanic, be black, be purple, be female, be whatever, just don't make an issue of it. We really don't want a million laws detailing every nuance of prejudice conceivable and intercepting accordingly. Absolutely I want my rights protected, but that isn't how. In an effort to embrace our differences, they have made a mockery of them.
TO DA RIGHT, TO DA RIGHT
TO DA LEFT, TO DA LEFT
For the past several years I have had an ever-increasing fear that all parties have been subtly, but consistently shifting to the left. Today's Republican is yesterday's Democrat; Today's Democrat, yesterday's Socialist.
As true as it may be, it's a rather dismal thought, so I try not to go there very often.
Well, that is until THEY started whining that the odds are against THEM, since the country as a whole has moved to the RIGHT under the current administration.
My initial reaction was, "Yeah, right, you desperate losers; admit it! We got a good thing going on. You don't. That's all there is to it."
IT'S A CORRECTION
That was my second thought. For decades, all parties have gradually succumb to the p.c. whining, resulting in a slow and steady slink to the left.
BUT, under successful Conservative Administrations, we see a bit of a correction BACK to the right, although I think these movements are few and far between. Maybe we ARE seeing one now, and I rejoice in that. But the perception is off, if the demoturds think for a minute that Conservatives have regained our ground.
We may be winning elections. We'll likely win the next one. But that doesn't change the fact that Liberals are housing a Socialistic mentality, and Republicans are caving to Liberal whining. We have a long way to go to regain that ground.
There once lived a common goal. It was called less government. WTF happened to that?
CONTINUAL SOURCES OF FRUSTRATION
POLITICS, HOLIDAYS, SEX AND SICKNESS
Denny made fun of All-dim, so now I'm not feeling the urge. I said my piece in his comments.
Sam made fun of the dumbass democrat who 's gambling 850K of his own money on a bet that everyone but him knows he'll lose. I hate to see people throw away money. Just a fraction of that could have bought him a clue from yours truly.
Anna obviously has the same Christmas spirit mentality that I've been afflicted with. My ever-lingering fear as I put myself out there to meet the demands of this lovely season, is that I will tell-off, cut-off, or otherwise piss-off someone whom I dismiss as a stranger, but is actually one of my daughter's teachers, one of my real estate customers, or some other acquaintance that is supposedly convivial.
KEY'S HOLIDAY SHOPPING RULES
1. Don't go to the mall.
2. If you MUST go to the mall, learn how to teleport.
3. If you MUST leave your house, please have some idea where the hell you are going, as well as some sort of itinerary. REMEMBER, when YOU take a leisurely stroll, you force those behind you to do the same.
4. DON'T even pull in to Wal-Mart if you don't know how to manuever in a parking lot. If you cut across, often the wrong way, or continually circle at 5mph waiting for the perfect spot, you do NOT know how to manuever in a parking lot. Either buy a clue, or come back when you have your handicap tag.
5. Once in, get it and get out. This is NOT a party. We do not stop, talk, and clog aisles with wide loads, screaming children and the ever-persistent cloud of cheap cologne. MOVE ALONG.
6. You're still there. GET THE FUCK OUTTA MY WAY.
7. I don't want to take your stupid survey.
8. Oh, that's nice. You're handing out samples of shrimp cocktail. No doubt I'll be stuck in line with Chatty Kathy with fish breath.
9. Are you still there? GET OUT OF MY WAY! I don't care how LONG it's been since you've seen each other. Go hang out with the lamp shades, or get an e-mail address. MOVE IT.
10. You know, if I didn't know better, I'd think you people are actually enjoying this. I'm getting outta here. Where is the wine aisle?
WHAT ABOUT SEX AND SICKNESS?
I don't know. I thought it had a ring to it.
I may rarely be too sick for sex; I am, however, sick enough to go to the Doctor. Groovy cough syrup? I'll drink to that.
I USUALLY DON'T POST THEM, BUT I MADE AN EXCEPTION FOR THIS ONE by Quizilla
According to the quiz results, I am a Conservative, but it doesn't peg me "Far-right," saying that I manage to hold my views without being a "fanatic". Huh. Perhaps I was given too much credit. I think that the right questions would have outed me on that one.
Don't like this one? Sam has a variety of quiz links on her site. Go visit her.
A DOWNTOWN ATHENS TRADITION
Last night I was downtown with my daughter. Miss Priss had never been to the Grill, so in we went. We played tic-tac-toe while we waited for our burgers and home fries. And we chased everything down with chocolate malts. Not that I need the extra calories, but it is a well-known sin to go the grill and NOT order these things.
YOU CAN BE ANNOYING. YOU CAN BE AN AIRHEAD. YOU CAN BE LOUD.
BUT REALLY, NO ONE SHOULD BE ALLOWED TO BE ALL THREE.
The table across from us housed four twenty-something females wearing tight shirts with mis-matched sweaters and low-rise jeans exposing chub rolls.
One of them was talking about mosquitos. "Don't some of them, like, carry disease or something?"
Oh, this is going to be painful. I'm wondering how long it will take for SOMEONE at the table to pull out a clue-bat.
She continues, "You know, not like the disease that comes from other countries like in South America. Isn't there something around here that you can get from being bit by a mosquito?"
Answers, "Oh, Yeeahh. Yeah, I think I heard something about that..."
Yep, quite painful. Doesn't ANYBODY have a clue? I thought of Me, Myself, and Irene. I was envisioning Jim Carrey walking over to that table and going off:
"YOU. You need a new shirt. That one IS NOT doin' it for you. YOU. You need new friends. These are retarded. YOU. You quite possibly are carrying on the STUPIDEST fucking conversation that I've ever had the displeasure of over-hearing. Say it with me, MA-LAR-I-A. That is what your ass would have if it had the notion to visit the Southern Hemisphere, because YOU wouldn't have enough fucking sense to ask for preventive anti-malaria medication before leaving the FUCKING COUNTRY! But what you are obviously CURRENTLY suffering from is an encephalitic stupor brought on by the contraction of the--say it with me--West Nile Virus! I GUESS that you could SAFELY say that YOU have been bitten by the stupid bug!"
Okay, so just when I began to feel somewhat guilty for my lavishly ridiculing thoughts, the table cleared out. That's good. Now all I have to contend with is the conversation going on behind me. The ONLY thing that comforted me about this one was that I wasn't required to act interested. However, the poor child with her back to mine WAS required to do so, the poor sap. Here's what she had to deal with:
"Omigad, you would not BELIEVE him. He is like so....amazing. You should have seen the way we were just standing there and STARING at each other. Oh, I just can't get OVER it! But listen to me, I've been going on and on. Do you even want to hear about this? Well, I've GOT to tell you what happened next. I told him that he ENCHANTED me! And he said, 'No, I can't possibly enchant you. YOU are too magical.' Omigaaaad! Can you believe it?" (She went on. I'm sparing you.)
No. Really. I can't believe it. What the hell does he see in you? Back off Carrey; this one's mine.
You know, on second thought...I can't do it. I'm just not that evil. You go ahead.
He approaches the table. "Are you the one that is blathering---BLA BLA BLA BLA BLA--all this nauseating ooing and aahing BULLSHIT that is causing me to gag on the greasy food that I love most in this WORLD?!?!?! Yeah, I thought so. Have you done the dirty deed with this loser? Yeah, I didn't think so. Listen Missie, do me favor. Get back to me about all this sappy crap AFTER you've done the wild monkey dance with him, 'kay? In the meantime, please, GUSH MORE QUIETLY, you young, giggly, annoyingly gullible, not-yet-misanthropized, CONVERSATION MONOPOLIZER! Yeah, that's right, your friend over here is comatose. So why don't you SHUT THE FUCK UP, and ask her how her day went. Thank you-that will be all."
(No, you guys don't have be scared of me. That was ALL HIM. I'm a nice person.)
HO HO HO
HERE'S YOUR PRESENTS
For Eric, some fluffy muffins to go with your nutty balls.
For Young Dave, a device that hikes its leg and pisses on targets upon demand.
For Anna, a creation that I am currently crafting with my own two hands.
For Adam, on-line ordination, so that next time he feels the urge to TES-TI-FY, we can call him "Reverend."
For Acidman, some putty tats that are much cuter than the "putties" and "tats" that he currently views on his monitor.
For Shameless Package Whore, I thought I'd take up a collection so that we can help you get that surgery paid off.
For those of you that I love dearly, but did not list, you are not immune. I just haven't thought of a way to pick on you yet.
Not to mention the fact that some of you need to be giving to me. Some people be hoggin' all the curvy bootay, while the rest of us suffer discomfort that can easily be traced to lack of adequate padding.
Update: Chelle is not on the list, because she is perfectly capable of finding her own outrageous gift. (You go, wild child!)
"I'll be Home For Christmas" Based on the perfomance by traditional
"I'll Be Ill for Christmas" Parody by Young Dave
(the wife, God bless her, she's great, but kinda sickly)
I'll be ill for Christmas
You can count on me
Please no noise; no real loud toys
No singing; please bring me some tea
Christmas Eve will find me
In my bed upstairs
I'll be ill for Christmas
From all my woes and cares
JR IS MY GUEST BLOGGER OF THE DAY.
If I am polished candor, she is unpolished candor. She tells it as she sees it. Period. She is not partisan. She happily attacks Democrats and Republicans with equal fervor, as you will quickly notice given her first topic:
Poor Rush Limbaugh MY ASS!
Why is it that people who decide they have a drug problem before they are caught are victims, but those who are caught before they realize it are simply criminals?
First of all, a drug addict is a drug addict regardless of whether the law is involved. Second, for those who want to have sympathy for a man that consumes over 1800 narcotic pain pills in less than five months, perhaps you need to lay off of whatever YOU are on.
There are plenty of people clogging up the jail systems and being treated like hard-core criminals all over the country for petty dime bag violations. Yet, a man that admits he has persuaded doctors to give him six or seven different perscriptions every week for problems he did not even have is just "sad".
What seems to be the problem here? Perhaps we need to be a bit harder on people addicted to numerous "legal" drugs that impair every aspect of their being, and worry a little less about the recreational drugs that don't.
A FATHER'S INFLUENCE
Nothing beats a father's influence in the home.
My daughter is prissy. She is ALL GIRL, much to my dismay. She's sorority bound at the age of seven. (She's young; maybe there's still hope.)
So I picked Miss Priss up from school yesterday, and we stopped by the house for a minute before running errands.
We were about to leave again when I noticed that the incredibly LOUD bathroom fan was running. I asked Miss Priss to turn it off. "No!" she exclaimed in her shocked girly-girl voice, "It stinks in there," she finished wrinkling her nose.
"Okay. Why does it stink in there?" (I was afraid our skunk might have been visiting.)
"Be-caauuse," she sung slowly, "I took a DUMP!!"
Miss Priss took a dump.
"You did what?" Surely she'll rephrase this time; usually she picks up on the cue.
This time I got it slowly and loudly, "I. TOOK. A. DUMP." She's very articulate.
Okay, I guess now I'm the prissy one, because I'm here to tell ya, we've got to work out a new term. She may too old to take a poopie, but she's not old enough to take a dump.
What happened to my cute little cooing rugrat?
THE NARCISSISTIC COWARD
HAS REGAINED HIS FACULTIES AND WILL NOT BE TALKING.
The best chance that we had for gaining info was the moment his putrid face poked out of the rat hole and begged soldiers not to shoot. Thankfully, the vulnerability was perceived and he was immediately questioned.
I hope it was fruitful; that was it. He'll be saying no more. What do we have to offer him? WHERE he'll be tried? HOW he'll be killed? There's no incentive.
He will be killed. He has to die. Until he does, the other guys aren't going to talk.
I'm betting that the narcissistic freak thinks he can get out of it. Power, money, and information have always worked in the past.
He's not stupid. He knows the debate of WMD has the country divided. He won't talk. And until he's DEAD, the others won't either.
I'd like to be wrong, but I bet I'm not.
Our soldiers are incredible in so many ways. They have shown REMARKABLE discipline.
Was there not one outlandish, out-of-control, border-line personality brute in the mix, or are we just not getting the whole story?
They had to have thought about it. They had to have considered dangling a grenade over his lice-infested head, before his cowardly ass had the opportunity to clear the hole. The threat of being blown sky high out of that rat hole may have provided an incentive for the scum to talk.
That tactic would not have worked on a true hero, who actually stood for something. But a true hero would have had a cause outside of himself.
TO THE PSYCHOS OUT THERE THAT FEEL THE MASS MURDERER IS BEING DEGRADED
Let's talk about what we didn't do. We DIDN'T beat the shit out of him, shoot off his nuts, tie him to the back of a hum-vee, drag his ass through the streets of Baghdad, and hang him at the site of his beloved fallen statue. That's what we didn't do.
Call me a cowboy, but doesn't that sound like fun? (And that just may be what the Iraqis have planned for him.)
SPAM FOR BREAKFAST
I found the title, "Spy on e-mails," disturbing enough that I actually checked out the web page. Apparently, the software is installed on a given computer, thus allowing ANY text typed on said computer to become available to the installer.
I find this.....discomforting.
"Not only can you read every e-mail typed on your computer, but eMail Spy will also help you steal people's passwords to help you log-in to their mailbox! It's all possible with eMail Spy! People's private information is a thing of the past!"
CAPITALIZING ON NOSINESS
These people are disgusting. You want to be a nosy SOB? You ought to have to work for it. Assuming that the software actually works, it takes all of the play out of it.
"Now I read all my girlfriend's e-mails," says an email spy user. To him I say, "Good for you, CHUMP. Loser. Slimeweed."
IS IT ILLEGAL?
Under the FAQ: "No! It's your computer, and you may do whatever you want on it!"
It's my gun. May I use it to steal your money?
Then why should ANYONE be allowed to use their computer to steal MY password??
It's theft either way. The tool is irrelevant.
I'm hoping that these people are full of shit, and that their software can do nothing of the sort, but I intend to find out. They need to be put out of business either way.
In the meantime, be leery when someone offers to let you use their computer to do your on-line banking.
Update: The page seems to be constantly going down. Maybe they're already screwed.
FOR A DEMOCRATIC SPIN WORTHY OF ATTACK
I have to admit; it's a tough one to spin.
I've missed most of this. I'll watch at 11. I'm sure they'll have something irritating to say.
President Bush has been given some credit for taking the high road:
"So far, Bush has taken the high road and avoided gloating over Saddam's capture.
'There will be plenty of time for politics. People can debate all they want. I'm going to
do my job,' he said Monday."
BUT THE MAN'S ONLY HUMAN
After Dean's persistent spewing that Bush had advance warning of the 9/11 attack, Bush finally indulged in a brief detour from the high road---just long enough to point out the ridiculous nature of Dean's accusations.
"It's an absurd insinuation," said Bush, his eyes narrowing.
That's what he said, and I'm glad that he did. But he had to have been thinking a whole hell of a lot more than that.
Is that the best you can do? What's the matter, you and your cronies can't come up with a NEW spin? You and Al are meant for each other. You wear the same stink.
Yeah, I'd give the man a penny for his thoughts.
I RAN OVER THE SAME ROADKILL TODAY THAT I RAN OVER YESTERDAY
You name it.
Maybe that should be the title of my autobiography.
(BTW, I think it was a opossum.)
I MET BLOVIATING INANITIES TODAY
THANKS TO BLOG REVIEW.
He has issues. In fact, Frank says that he is "one sick puppy."
And if egos were biceps, I'd love to see him arm wrestle Acidman. Speaking of whom, I think I found something on Bill's site that perhaps he can appreciate.
I HEAR YOU
MY SITE SUCKS, I GET IT!
For some reason, it is not letting some of my favorite people comment. Jeez, children can be such a nag. They move out, get a better house, have over more company, then call old mom to inform her that she's still living in the dark ages.
Jim highly recommends Paul.
Acidman told me to e-mail Joni, who is currently AWOL.
Venomous Kate offered her services, but she's stuck in bed.
Blogging may be light this weekend, as I may end up spending my precious little time on-line studying various hosting services. Thank you all for your eagerness to help. I really appreciate it, and I know that at least one of you, if not all of you at some point, will be called upon for assistance.
FOR THOSE OF YOU THAT CAN NOT ACCESS MY COMMENTS,
Here are the results of the cussing poll. If you were indecisive, I narrowed it to one option for you. If you REFUSED to show any preference, you didn't make the list.
Chelle - A
Anna - A
Eric - D
Acidman - D
Sam - C
Jack - D
Min - B
Commander Will - A
Blackfive - A
I was all set to make the observation that women seem to prefer clean and intelligent dialogue, while guys prefer spice and hostility. But then Commander Will and Blackfive had to come along and throw off my theory.
I found this study to be interesting. I'll have to throw a few multiple-choice quizes out there in the future when I have a reliable commenting system.
Update: Okay, add Adam to the list of those that are not able to comment here. (He says that he would have gone with A or B.)
This sucks. I have not banned any I.P.s since psycho-troll, so I don't know what's going on, but I'll try to get to the bottom of it. Everything looks fine on my end, so you guys will have to keep me posted.
COMMANDER WILL WANTS PICS
The truth is that I haven't bothered to figure out how to post them using blogger. I keep SAYING that I'm moving, and therefore haven't bothered to learn very much about blogspot.
There are, however, pictures of me floating around out there from the blog-meet. Here's one. I'm the one wearing the Georgia cap (that was robbed from me later that evening.)
The mass of hair under the cap is not really blonde (as Eric has repeatedly pointed out); it's more of a caramel, although the box says "medium blonde."
I agree that cussing can be the salt and pepper of the written word. As a reader, it's an easy indicator of emotion. Not only that, but an effective string of cuss words can add humor to almost any situation. Admittedly, "I'm irritated," gets the point across, but "I'm fuckin pissed" is more entertaining.
Believe it or not, I often make an attempt to filter some of it as the words pass from brain to fingertip. I think that the real challenge lies in being able to cultivate the same entertainment value WITHOUT resorting to use of emphatic expletives.
For an example of this profound talent, I give you Ann Coulter:
"Howard Dean showed up at the Army recruiting office with a note from his doctor and a fake limp to get out of serving in Vietnam --- before repairing to Aspen for several months of skiing. In Dean's defense, I suppose that, technically speaking, "spinelessness" would be considered a debilitating back condition."
Oh yeah! Ya gotta love her. No, really. How could you not?
IF YOU'RE GONNA DO IT, DO IT RIGHT
Donnie had a valid point when, in response to typical Democratic drivel, he simply said:
"SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP."
Ya know, sometimes less is more.
Personally, given my conservative upbringing, I struggle with a balance. I do have a Faith. For this reason I feel the urge to differentiate between cussing that is blasphemous and cussing that is just rude. Rude, I can live with, but I do try to refrain from ordering God to damn anything/anyone to hell. I do not, however, get uppity about the usage of it elsewhere.
Having given it a little thought, I can't help but wonder what people are hungry for. So, you all be dears and satisfy my curiosity by voting for one of the following.
Which line would you rather see in my blog?
A. The only thing that eclipses the man's idiocy is his cowardice.
B. He's yellow as piss and stupid as shit.
C. Would somebody please hit that fucking coward with a clue-bat!
D. That dastardly son-of-a-bitch is so half-baked, he couldn't find his 2-inch dick if it were on fire.
I seriously appreciate your input. Will I be catering to popular opinion? Hell no. Do I look like a fucking democrat?
But I'm still curious. So vote...now. please.
THIS COULD BE A GOOD BLOG IF...
THAT, ladies and gentlemen, is what PISSED ME OFF!
Rob called this morning:
HIM: You pissed?
ME: What was your first clue?
HIM: You can be a real hot-head can't you?
ME: Yup. YOU can be a real hot-head can't you?
HIM: You got that right.
ME: Well, I'm glad we settled that.
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL
He has explained his intent, groveled a bit, and even offered to take me to Jamaica.
Interpretation: Sorry you're pissed. Let's go to Jamaica and fuck like wild minks.
The "kind words" yesterday were intended as a "cattle prod to my ass," not as an attack on my sincerity or ingenuity. Apparently--as INCREDIBLE AS I AM--I am not living up to my full potential. My personality is not shining through, and I am blogging with inhibition.
(I don't know if I agree with this summation. I'll have to give it some thought.)
Where's the girl, he asks, that looked around a room of smoking bloggers and announced, "I can't believe that in this room full of intellect, every last one of you smoke."
I recall. I had them ALL on my ass, and I didn't give a shit. In fact, I repeated myself LOUDLY and s-l-o-w-l-y so as not to be misunderstood.
But it ended up being more of a one-on-one with this guy, while everyone else watched. (VOYEURS!) It was fun. We went at it for a while until the topic seriously digressed, at which point this guy told us to SHUT THE HELL UP as he turned a beautiful shade of crimson.
So what happened to that spunk? I still got it, baby. I'm just more fun in person, what can I say?
I like to think of my style as "polished candor." (WARNING: ANGER chips away the polish.)
Update: In discussing writing skills, Rob and I happened upon a discussion of "emphatic expletives." As a result, the challenge for the day is to post on "cussing." So, that is next on the list. (Feel free to join in if you like...)
IT'S GETTIN HOT IN HERE
SO TAKE OFF ALL YOUR CLOTHES
Who would have thought that the topic of global warming would make for such a hot debate?
I can honestly say that I DIDN'T, but I threw my bullshit opinion in the mix anyway. Why not? It seemed like a good idea at the time.
REVIEWING AND FOLLOWING THROUGH
Jack and I began pseudo-dancing in Rob's comments last night on this post. Rob then posted something especially for Jack and Kim. Today, Jack countered on a per item basis.
I must say that for once I've found an area that I can remove myself, look at the facts, and be somewhat objective, whereas I am usually unmistakably opinionated.
Rob disects theory and provides strong opinions, while Jack explains many theories and avoids disclosing personal opinion, although he does promise a second post.
But in an e-mail that Jack sent to me in response to this observation, Jack came across as taking a logical approach. Correct me if I'm wrong, Jack, but I feel as though your take is that if it doesn't HURT us to be more environmentally conscious, then why not make an effort?
Yes, that was broad, and perhaps I'm oversimplifying, but I will have more to discuss as I continue to sort through this; I thought it a pertinent point, that once again everything is relative. There are many opinions out there that are neither objective, nor logical.
PACK YOUR BAGS, YOU'RE LEAVING THE PLANET EARTH
If any of you saw John Travolta's interview this morning on FOX, you got an idea of an illogical approach.
John, cute-as-a-button though he may be, said that he would like to see space exploration furthered, as it won't be long before we will have used all of Earth's planetary resources and will therefore need another place (planet) to live.
Nope, he didn't even crack a smile. This is serious. (ly hysterical!)
Everything's relative, including opinions. For once, I own a moderate one.
"I WILL NOT SHUT UP!"
SOMETIMES AL SHARPTON MAKES ME LAUGH
This is a great place to go to review Al Gore's loyalty issues regarding the Dean endorsement. I'd rather take a look at the guy's motivation.
Many believe that Al's rooting for the underdog in an effort to insure the Bush victory, so that he'll have a go at the ticket next time around.
Am I to believe that the man is smart enough to plan that far ahead, yet stupid enough to think that he'll have a chance in hell four years from now?
I think that he knows that he is ever-increasingly being perceived as a joke. So why not throw what little weight he still has around a bit? He knew any one of them would clamour for an endorsement. So he picked the one that he felt would get the nomination ANY-FUCKING-WAY, and that way when the guys gets it, he can boast and come out looking all influential, maybe take a little credit. (It's totally irrelevant that neither Dean, nor any other democrat for that matter, will see the inside of the White House for at least another 4 years.)
So sure of himself, the slimy dog-tick is, that he had the nerve to order the other democratic candidates to stand down, so as not to detract from their own party.
THAT was funny. Watching democrats turn cannibal on one another is a most enjoyable past-time of mine.
Somehow, I find Al Gore MORE repulsive than Al Sharpton. "I will not shut up!" was the briefest and most memorable line in Sharpton's lengthy retort to Al Gore's demand. He said it with utmost spunk, as he pointed his index finger and protruded his lower lip.
If I were a member of that ass-backwards party, I would be thoroughly annoyed at the clusterfuck that they have created for themselves.
CHRISTMAS IN DIXIE
TRYING TO INFUSE SOME CHRISTMAS SPIRIT INTO MY SLACK ASS
My childhood was not without darkness, but luckily I managed to reserve a few happy memories that are much more pleasurable to share.
I was raised in a log house nestled in the middle of 18 wooded acres. It was picturesque. This was "country" at its finest.
Even in the dead of winter, the house could not be seen from the street. We had a long gravel drive, a few outbuildings, a garden, and several animals.
The house was not artificial or "fru-fru" country. This was not a frame house with gingerbread trim, housing plaid furniture with teddy bears cross-stitched on throw pillows. This was large, round logs left raw on the interior, a huge covered front porch, and rock foundation and chimney. We had a fireplace and two woodstoves, pine floors, home-made Z-form doors, and antique furniture.
Christmas was special.
I may not listen to country music very often, but I know the classics. I was raised on country. My mother had every country Christmas album in existance, and that's what played in the background as we strung popcorn, baked gingerbread men, and decorated the tree. My mother baked and crafted, and she had the entire house smelling of cinnamon.
I'm convinced that the music and the smell held the memories. Either one can bring it all back to me.
Now as I sit staring at my beautiful child with glittering eyes, as she repeatedly torments me about getting a tree, I wonder why it is that I have to kick myself in the ass to get into the Christmas spirit.
It is truly a magical time for children. It was for me. It is for her.
Tonight, I will go down to the basement and drag out the Christmas boxes. I will haul them upstairs, and then I will go directly to the entertainment center. An Alabama Christmas CD will be inserted into the player.
If Christmas in Dixie doesn't do it for me, all hope is lost. But I think it will do the trick. That, and the ever-spurring excitement of my child.
I owe Adam drinks this Friday for the work that he's done on my page. But apparently, I'm getting off on a technicality, as he has up and moved his ass back to Arkansas.
He SAYS the party must go on. He would like the rest of the Georgia bloggers to get together anyway. Adam, it just can't go on without you.
Okay, so I suck at planning these things. Sue me. I tried to dump it in Eric's lap, but he didn't take the bait.
It'll just have to wait until Kelley or Rob feels the urge to organize a gathering.
LIVING IN A SMALL TOWN - PART 1
THE GOOD, THE BAD, AND THE UGLY
Let's talk about the ugly. I'll hit the good and the bad tomorrow.
I have lived and breathed real estate since infancy. It was discussed in the house, on the road, and over the dinner table. For this reason, I SWORE that I would never, EVER adopt any career that had anything to do with real estate.
Allow me to take this opportunity to run the following disclaimer: Yours truly is a licensed real property salesperson in the state of Georgia.
Okay, well at least I'm good at it. Damn good. I negotiate down to the dime. If there's ANY flexibility, I'll bend it 'til just short of a snap.
I saved a couple $25,000 off of the list price on one that closed Friday. It was a house and eight acres. My customer expressed interest in the twelve acres next door as well. No problem, I hear the guy's willing to sell; I'll give him a call.
HERE COMES THE UGLY
ME: Mr. Jones, I'm so-and-so from such-and-such, and I represented Mr. and Mrs. Miller in the sale of the property adjacent to yours.
HIM: Uh, huh.
ME: We have heard that you are willing to consider selling all or part of your tract as well.
HIM: Uh, huh.
ME: It will be a few months before the Millers will be prepared to throw in a bid. Would you entertain a lease/option?
HIM: Well, I guess so... I'm not plannin on doin anythang with it anyhow.
ME: Mr. Jones, do you know how much you pay annually for property taxes?
HIM: Uh, if I recall it's right around $600.
ME: How would you feel about letting the Millers pick up your tax payment in exchange for usage of two acres until we can work out a deal?
I went on. I explained things that I shouldn't have had to explain. I enlightened him about the true value of "swampland." I was very patient.
THEN I find out what the little sniveling bastard had to say to my customer the next day: (Read it s-l-o-w-l-y; that's how the man talks.)
"I'd really rather not go through a third party. I don't want to work with her anyhow. She was kinda flaky."
hmmm. small town + older man set in his ways + gross ignorance = highly skewed definition of term "flaky."
I reviewed the conversation with my customer, who has actually become a friend, "John, I was courteous, professional, knowledgeable, and PATIENT with the man..."
"Yep," John interrupted. "Any woman exhibiting THAT kind of behavior is definitely going to be 'flaky' in that man's book."
I could have spit nails. And I don't even USE that expression. The dried up turd could have AT LEAST admitted that it was about the commission. (...which would have been paid strictly on the buyer side, since it was unlisted property.)
"John, I'll do it for free, but you've got to let me broker that deal. I really want to be a pain in that man's ass."
John laughed. It remains unresolved.
I'm still pissed.
PATERNITY TEST IS REQUESTED
I think that Acidhead just may have sired Chelle's crack babies.
IT'S ALWAYS TOUGHER AROUND THE HOLIDAYS
A SONG ABOUT LOST LOVE, by Young Dave
She was with me for 20 years, 24/7, every holiday, every birthday, in sickness and in health; she was my sanctuary. Then, without warning, they closed the Super Kmart.
Super K, to the tune of Yesterday
Super K, all my shopping needs were child's play
Now I've got no place to layaway
Oh, I still grieve for Super K.
Suddenly, piles of rubble where you used to be,
No more "Blue light special, aisle 3".
Oh, Super K left suddenly.
Why it had to close I don't know they wouldn't say.
Think their lease was wrong, now I long for Super K-a-a-a-a-a-a-y.
Super K, no more convenient shopping night and day.
"Attention Kmart shoppers" now passe'.
Oh, I still grieve for Super K.
Mm mm mm mm mm - Super K.
ABOUT YOUNG DAVE
1. He's young enough to be my father.
2. He's a pain in the ass; if he ever starts commenting, you will quickly see this for yourself.
3. He is a very special friend.
4. He is one of those men of genius, his ego is impossible, and he's too sexy for words. (But he'll have nothing to do with me because he's gay, I mean married. And, oh yeah, I am too...)
5. If ever anyone needed their own forum, this man does. Start a blog, honey.
DECEMBER 7, 1941
IS NOT FORGOTTEN.
That is my PROOF that September 11, 2001 will not be forgotten.
We may quiet down a bit, but we do not forget.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOM
My mother's birthday falls on Pearl Harbor Day. She was born 12 years to the date after the attack. Her father and brother were military.
She KNEW the significance of that date. I was very young when I realized that there was a certain stigma attached to the date of her birth.
I soon KNEW the significance of that date.
If you don't know, find out. I think most of you do.
This was in my comments from my blog-boy:
"Y'all take a moment to remember the fallen, this day." --December 7, 1941.
Thanks, Jim. We will do that.
Side-note: Sorry it took me a while to get it posted. (Technical difficulties.)
Update: Add this link to your Pearl Harbor reading, courtesy Acidman.
POSER STRIKES AGAIN
I wrote this.
Trish was the only one that got me this time (on a technicality, I must say).
I am satisfied for now. I'll try to stay out of his posts for a while.
(If you all could have HEARD the man's laughter when I accepted the challenge, I think you could better appreciate this moment for what it truly is.)
EINSTEIN FELT ME UP
Jeez. If my dreams get any stranger, I'm going to have to give up sleeping.
Albert Einstein, yours truly, and three complete strangers, sat cheek to cheek on a plush sofa as we watched clips of Einstein's latest flick on a wide-screen TV.
Albert turned out to be a horny 'ol bastard. He grew several arms and forced me to end my dream prematurely. Or maybe not, but I can't remember what happened next, none-the-less.
At times, I must question my subconscious. Where the hell did THAT come from?
I have two theories:
1. That stupid e-mode pop-up, advertising their IQ test and featuring a head shot of an Einstein caricature.
2. My preferences made it into dreamworld. I do perceive genius as a powerful aphrodisiac.
Incredibly intelligent men--I mean BRAINS--are pure sex appeal. Give me a guy with superior intellect and mediocre brawn ANY DAY over a beef-cake with passable brains and stellar brawn. No competition in my book.
But, ya know, if Einstein really wanted to work out, get a little six-pack going on, who am I to complain?
OUT DAMN BLOGSPOT
OUT ALL FRIGGIN DAY!
Finally it is up and once again recognizing me as a customer. It was quite dazed and confused when initially brought back up.
Okay, all of you kind people that have offered your services to get me outta here; you will be hearing from me shortly. (I just needed a little motivation.)
That would be me. Why did I go up against Acidman?
Because he didn't think that I could do it. In fact, he KNEW that I couldn't.
I knew that I could. This had to be proven.
End of story.
Maybe I'll go back and throw in some details later.
I'm late for a Dawg date. Go read about link-whoring, so you can chew my ass for it.
I'VE TRIED TO KEEP THIS IN, BUT I CAN'T STAND IT ANYMORE!
Sorry, I don't get it.
To those that link-whore: Why? To what end?
Is blog-value really determined by number of hits? Seriously? For the most part, there's no money, no fame in this. Is it just a popularity contest? Help me out. I don't get it.
To those that accuse others of said offense: Make sure you know something about their incentives first. If they approach the blogosphere as their own little popularity contest, by all means, go right ahead. If you're just getting off on being catty, suck it up or pout a little more quietly.
To those that jokingly refer to themselves as link-whores: Good for you for making fun of something that has seemingly reached epidemic proportions.
I can understand occasionally feeling as though you have written a work of pure brilliance. If this is the case, I can see a desire to get it out there.
I can also understand being excited when someone seeks you out and links you due to your content. That's a compliment. Everyone loves link-love, and I am no exception there.
Personally, I enjoy having a forum. I'll hang here in my humble abode and rant when I feel the urge. I appreciate visiting other humble abodes, as well as the mansions out there. I appreciate visitors that come here. And I REALLY appreciate debates, challenges and dances. Eric and I have debated in person, Adam owes me a dance and Rob constantly challenges me.
Yes, mass appreciation is nice. But if "hits" are a yardstick for appreciation, I may be in trouble. What can I say? I suck at marketing. That's too much like work.
This is for fun. If it turns into "work," I will quit. I wouldn't mind if I only had twenty readers, particularly if they ALL commented. I LIKE the interaction, the input, the advice.
(Did everyone get the hint about commenting. Comment. If you take the time to read it, why not throw in your two cents? I don't care if you disagree with me; throw it out there.)
I appreciate the people that I've gotten to know so far. People have been great; people have been supportive. I plan to meet many more, but I would be quite impressed with myself if I managed to maintain the status quo. Admittedly, I suck at maintenance of any sort.
There's a reason blogs die. And I'm convinced half the time that it's blogocide. More on that later.
GOOD THING I'M NOT THERE
My husband, who HAS a ticket literally worth its weight in gold, has called to inform me that it's really a good thing I'm not there.
It's freezing cold. If not for the foresight of his buds to bring a tent and heater, he doesn't know WHAT they would have done.
People are getting rowdy. He just witnessed a fist-fight.
I'm insulted. Does he honestly think that I'm that easily patronized?
You don't really want to be here.
The hell I don't! I graduated from Clarke Central High School, located on frat row in Athens, Georgia. Does he think that I've never frozen my ass off, gotten inebriated, watched someone get their ass kicked, and even taken in a little football, all in the course of a day?
Give me a little credit.
I think I would have preferred it had he just called and said, "Na-na-na-na! I'm at the Georgia Dome and you're stuck at home!"
That would have been more fitting.
WORKING ON HER BIRTHDAY!
She puts my slack-ass to shame. Kelley has churned out some good stuff today.
I guess it's my fault. I opened my mouth a little prematurely. Folks were/are still submitting guesses, so I suppose that there's a chance I could have come out ahead.
For the VERY few out there that read me, but do not read Acidman. I am referring to this challenge, for which I submitted this entry.
I actually like that piece. For those of you that haven't read it, please do. The story is mine; I just swapped out all of the characters. But the curiosity remains.
I'd really like to know how many of you daydream in plot.
And for those of you that believed Acidhead wrote it, please tell him so. A small dose of humility couldn't possibly hurt the netgod.
Last night David Livingstone, the brainless bark behind Bimbos against Bush, told Hannity that he was tired of the Left "rolling over and playing dead" while the Right "attacked like rabid dogs."
That's wonderful, David. The first step is admitting it. Those who can DO, those who can't whine (and then vote Democratic.)
As for your description:
YOU - whiny-assed wimps
US - trouble chasin' cowboys
I'm good with that.
(My opinion of Mr. Livingstone: I'm pleased that the moron is coming across as the uneducated, unrefined lunatic that he is. He lacks the necessary polish to pose a serious threat.)
A WOMAN SHOULD KNOW HER PLACE
This phrase should be stricken from the English language. OR this one should be added:
A MAN SHOULD KNOW HIS PLACE
I could describe AT LENGTH my definition of the respective "places," but I've got someone else in mind that really ought to go first.
After all, he started it.
(It was a few weeks ago, and I can't remember where he was going with it, but HE knew that I was in too big of a hurry at the moment to launch a counter-attack.)
ARE YOU INTERESTED IN TAKING IN A SIX MONTH OLD BABY BOY?
That is the question that I was asked about an hour ago. It happens when you're on the approved foster parent list. What to say? What to do?
It caused me to think back over the other boys that I've had in my home.
Our first placement was a three year old little boy named Jacob. He showed up on my doorstep on Mother's Day, 2001. He was dirty, shoeless, and wore a soil-crusted outfit at least a size too small.
First stop--bathtub. Second stop--Wal-mart. I got the basics. That lasted two days. Three days later, we were back in Wal-mart, and the honeymoon was already over.
Don't you hate it when people can't control their kids in Wal-mart? I do. So does she.
So this night was particularly humbling. Two points:
1. He'd been tossed around enough that caretaker = Mama. Therefore, I was already "Mama."
2. You CAN NOT physically discipline foster children. (It's against the law.)
I loved this kid. What's not to love? He was affectionate, charming, and HELL-ON-WHEELS!
GETTING THROUGH WAL-MART
Bribery. First stop, toy section. I instructed the kids to each pick out a toy. If you're well-behaved, it goes home with us; if not, it goes back on the shelf. You'll get three warnings.
Jacob picked out a bubble gun blower. Fifteen minutes later it was back on the shelf.
Yeah, he had a fit. I shopped for socks and pretended that I didn't know the wailing kid in the cart.
He got louder. Wal-mart staff began to hover. I had to address it. I told him sternly that I expected him to quiet down. He managed to communicate to me just as sternly that that wasn't going to happen unless I gave him back his toy, which was his version of a shotgun.
He wasn't getting it back. I don't renegotiate my terms after the fact.
But he did his part to give me mine. There is no doubt that I came across as one of those fluff-mom's that over-rationalized and under-disciplined.
THE ICING ON THE CAKE
The last VERY ARTICULATE words that he managed to belt out before we had a chance to clear the dozen or so gawkers:
"GODAMMIT MAMA! GIVE ME BACK MY SHOTGUN!!"
Heh, heh, uh, excuse us.
Amazingly enough, this is the same kid that once RAN up to an old lady in Waffle House (complete stranger, mind you) and yelled, "Granny! I'm going to give you a hug!" He then CLIMBED OVER another lady to do so.
Yeah, I know. Issues. They start young. I would have kept that one though, had it been an option.
So what about the 6 month old? They put out a dozen calls. I needed AT LEAST twenty minutes to make the decision. Someone got back to her before I did.
Off the hook or disappointed? I don't know. I can't decide.
I need to give this some thought. I should have a PREPARED answer next time.
I TOLD EVERYONE TO WATCH IT
SO THEN I FELT OBLIGATED TO DO SO
I laughed my ass off.
I wasn't expecting it to actually be entertaining.
They were not treated like princesses. Those good 'ol country folk treated those girls like the retarded, slack-assed, spoiled rotten fluff-tarts that they are.
PARIS, in the grocery store as she attempts to make sense of the grocery list: "Generic bottled water. What does generic mean, do you know?"
PARIS to Nicole after they exceeded the fifty dollar limit at check-out: "I don't get it; why wouldn't he just let us HAVE it?"
NICOLE to Paris about the teen-age boy of the couple they are staying with: "He's cute; we should have a threesome with him."
This one is witnessed by the dairy farmer who is thoroughly disgusted with the inept blondies that had never seen a time card. He clearly didn't think that they were capable even of chasing a few cows into the barn. "You have to yell 'at 'em, harshly, to get 'em to move," he said to Nicole as if issuing a challenge.
NICOLE to the cows (as it was edited for TV): "Come on MOTHER-BLEEPERS! You pieces of BLEEP! GOOOOO, you fat-bleepers! GET YOUR FAT ASSES down there!!
Farmer (who's likely never heard a woman in Altus speak so emphatically) sits elbows on knees, head in hands. "Not that harshly," he manages.
IT'S A GREAT DAY FOR RANTING
I love a good rant.
SO YOU GUYS THINK YOU WANT HILLARY TO RUN?
I thought that I did. Yeah...*sigh* It would be nice to humiliate her.
But, uh, here's the thing. What if we don't? Many of you think that she'll lose just because she's a retard.
I gotta say, I'm lovin' this post.
The reality--that we would like to ignore--is that she has a chance because she's a woman. Yes, you've noticed/heard/contemplated that already. Well, maybe you haven't. Not if you're still screaming for her to run and then cackling with laughter.
I'm telling you that AS A WOMAN, I can say that I'd LOVE to see a female elected to office during my lifetime. Sure, I'd prefer Rice or Coulter, but I don't see anyone jumping up and down to throw them on the ballot.
Would I vote for Hillary?
Jeez. Give me a little credit. But there are A LOT of moderates out there. I am WAY too far to the right to contemplate such an egregious act. But if I didn't feel strongly one way or the other, and there's hope for the woman on the ticket... I'd consider it.
Am I suggesting that she'll pull it off?
No. BUT if she has the vote of the democratic male, the democratic female, the moderate female, and a handful of moderate males, I would say that it's too close for comfort. I'm hungry for a landslide. I'm happy to back any of the demoturd yahoos that are currently being paraded around.
I cackle with laughter when I see/hear/read interviews with those opinionless wonders. So who's my pick? Hmm. Tough call. But I'll go with Wes Clark. Yeah, he's brainless and opinionless, but, hey, he's not bad looking, and there's usually a laugh or two to be gained from listening to his blather.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU,
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU, HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR SA-AM, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!!
(How OLD are you? How OLD are you...)
Okay, now everybody go over to THE BRIER PATCH and give Sam a hard time.
Best wishes, Sam; keep up the good work!
SUPERMAN, LOIS LANE, AND KEY MONROE
LOIS: Why are you here?
SUPERMAN (hands on hips, looking tough): I'm here to fight for truth, justice, and the American way!
LOIS: HA! You'll end up fighting every elected official in the country!
KEY: Don't let her overwhelm you, Superman. Just take out this chic, this nasty-ass idiot, and these traitorous vermin. That will be a healthy start.
THE SIMPLE LIFE
GO HOME AND WATCH THIS NEW REALITY SHOW STARRING PARIS HILTON AND NICOLE RICHIE
I had no intention of watching it. Then I saw the teaser on Fox.
The setting is a very small town in Arkansas. The girls are bored shitless. They are sitting at a table with 4 or 5 older, long-term residents of the town.
NICOLE: I hear everyone around here likes to hang out at Wal-mart.
TOWN RESIDENTS: Look annoyed. A few blank stares.
PARIS: Why? What's Wal-mart? Is it like, where you buy walls?
KEY: AaaHAHA! HA! Eheh, heh....
TOWN RESIDENTS: More blank stares combined with utter disbelief and horror.
They must have been thinking that she's a friggin space alien. What I have to know is, JEEZ, IS SHE SERIOUS? Or does she have enough of a brain to attempt humor?
I think that she may have been serious. Has she been living under a rock, or has she just had the brains screwed out of her one too many times?
Related trivia---I can't resist---How did he sire her?
OKAY ADAM, LET'S DANCE
A couple of months ago, Adam made a couple of back-to-back posts that seemed to have gotten a few people a little riled. He recently sent me the links and asked me to give them a read.
I did, and I feel the urge to comment. I also intend to tie some of this into my next post, which could very well be a whole NEW controversial topic.
Many of you may remember Adam's post on getting the number, followed by an in-depth analysis of the ninety second rule.
Yeah, the way he describes each scenario allows him to come off as somewhat of an egomaniac. BUT, in his defense, these are difficult topics to discuss WITHOUT coming across that way.
AND I found each scenario to be painfully familiar. Then it hit me....been there, done that. And I would argue that MANY OF YOU have been there, done that.
Go into a bar, scope out someone that seems like a challenge, and get the number to impress your friends. But actually, "impressing" the peers is just a fringe benefit. The idea is to prove the necessity of taking a chance.
Now, once engaged, apply 90-second rule. Does this person do ANYTHING within ninety seconds to hold your interest? ANY level of intrigue is acceptable. Intelligent question, depth within eyes, off-the-wall banter, something.
If the person PASSES the ninety second rule, well then that's just gravy; you may actually call. (Incidentally, Adam's BEST argument for this rule is given in the ninth paragraph where he describes the VALUE of time.)
I must run this disclaimer in Adam's defense: I just summarized in a few small paragraphs what he painstakingly explained within several pages. So I am not really supposing HIS motives, so much as speaking generally.
Nor am I saying that the given scenario is IDEAL; I'm saying that I can see it given the venue. If the variables change, the rules change. This works for the party scene, where there are simply too many people and not enough time.
THE BALANCE OF RESPONSIBILITY AND CONTROL
THE PRIMARY TOPIC OF OUR MARRIAGE COUNSELING SESSION THIS MORNING
Yeah, I want that job:
"You - you lack confidence."
"You're passive aggressive."
"Oh, you're an enabler."
"You're a control freak."
"You, yeah, you - man, you're just really kinda fucked up as hell; I'm not quite sure what to make of you."
Pin-pointing problems in other people is not only easy, it's morbidly fun. Being introspective? THAT SUCKS! Putting yourself out there so that you may be the object of someone ELSE's scrutiny? Oh, even better!!
This is a humbling experience. (Yeah, I'm bein' cooperative. *teethy smile*)