CAN WE MAKE THIS WORK?
There are so many of you that I would love to meet up close and personal. Maybe if we tweak with the dates, more people will commit. Come on. Let's do this little thing.
I'm falling short here. Go visit my bro, the main man for up to the minute follies.
It's easy enough to discount the importance of it, until you get a certified letter from the IRS. I asked them if they'd be interest in my blood, sweat, tears, urine sample or latest foster child. Speaking of...I mean to write the President. If I have the same foster children more than six months out of the year, why the hell can't I claim them on my taxes?!?! I've had them most of the year, meaning NO ONE ELSE CAN CLAIM THEM! What a rip.
...Speaking of...I have two extra kids this weekend. Us foster parents tend to kid-sit for each other, since you must be an approved foster parent to house a foster child even for a night. I've had them since Wednesday, and they'll be with us until Sunday.
If I have a chance to breath between three basketball games, I'll try to stop in over the weekend. If I don't make it, you guys have a good one.
This month has not been fun. I have been forced to find another broker to work with, as mine has moved to Clayton. I'd have my pick if I wanted to go with a local real estate firm, but no, I want the best, so I've interviewed with a humungo, nation-wide development that's very difficult to get in with.
They're looking for youth, pep, and folks that'll take guidance. Yeah. So, I faked it as best I could, but that tenacious intelligence of mine kept rearing it's ugly head, asking questions that were likely atypical of an initial interview.
The back-up plan, which is more appealing in it's flexibility--but NOT income--is working in my husband's business, which is already stretched thin. I don't want to place my license locally, and go in and start working for my husband, restructuring crap and whatnot, and then get a call from the interviewer, who BTW had to be a women. HAD TO. Why couldn't I have gotten a guy?
Anyway, I feel as though my life is on hold, and it's quite frustrating. I have no income, bills are piling up, and I want to punch something.
Meanwhile, I have this wonderful friend who is quite pleased with himself because he did a magic trick and turned his brain into pea soup, and I must say that I'm not the least bit impressed. I'd like to see evidence of gray matter VERY SOON. Jeez man, you have bad timing.
As I'm less sociable when I'm "stuck in a funk," I've done more lurking than commenting lately, but I've thoroughly enjoyed talking with some of you on the phone and corresponding via e-mail. You guys have shown me what bloggers (as well as our readers) are really made of, and I appreciate it.
KISS OF DEATH
"No..." says Steve Murphy to Jon Scott of Fox News, "...I'm not saying that the Al Gore endorsement of Dean was the 'kiss of death'..."
Well, I am. The man's a bad omen, I tell ya. Washed up, desperate, and creepy. And bad hair. It looks...sticky.
Yep, kiss of death alright--that and that stupid howl. It wasn't the devil. It was GORE! Gore made me do it...
Aaahahah. ha. haha.
LOW MAINTENANCE FRIENDSHIPS
There's nothing like a low maintenance friendship. I could write pages on this topic, but, as it stands, I have five minutes before my clock expires, so I may end up elaborating tomorrow.
ODE TO MELISSA
She's my low maintenance friend of fourteen years. We may go months without speaking, yet I know that the silence will not damage the friendship. She hasn't been running her mouth about me, she hasn't been doing anything stupid or self-destructive, and she won't pout, cry, whine, or lecture when I do finally get around to calling her.
Rather, she'll say, "Hey. What have you been up to? So-and-so's coming to town next weekend. Wanna go out?"
And just like that, we've picked up where we last left off. I like that. All friendships should be so simple.
But they aren't, and having said that, if Melissa ever has a crisis, I'm there whether she like it or not.
That's what friends are for.
New blogger feed page. I don't know how I feel about this...I feel like I'm in someone else's room.
As I've mentioned, I graduated from Clarke Central High School in Athens. I was a decent student. I took advanced classes, studied very little, passed anyway, and partied when necessary.
My friends and I strongly felt that we should have an open campus for lunch. One of my friends had moved to the area from Atlanta. Just her, not her parents--so she had her own apartment as a senior in high school. Nice.
We decided that we'd head over there one day during lunch. The Greenie-beanies (security guards in green jackets) were seriously cracking down on such offenses, and I was all out of the white passes that I'd stolen from my Graphic Arts teacher. (I'd had the school secretary's signature down to a science. If only I hadn't sold that last pass...)
Anyway, no sweat. We'd just have to use the hole in the fence on the west end of campus. My friend would pull up on the side street, and we'd be home free.
So we waited on the inside of the fence, she pulled up, we hopped through the hole and into the vehicle, and we were ready to go... Did I mention that this was a dead-end street?
We turned to back out and quickly realized that we had been blocked in. "Who is that jerk anyway?" one of us asked, quickly followed by an, "Oh shit..."
Our principal was kind enough to give us a ride back to school, as well as an escort into his office.
He was furious, particularly since they had been trying to crack down on skipping.
The standard punishment for said offense was three days in-house suspension. Although we had served time in in-house before, amazingly enough, this was the first time that we'd been caught skipping. I was hoping that fact and a sweet smile would get us off light.
No such luck.
No, he meant to make an example of us. To this day, I do not know if I was considered "popular"--IMHO, the meaning of this word is highly distorted within this context, but that's another rant-- but I had certainly proven myself worthy of watching closely and gossiping about.
The principal knew this. "Nine days at home suspension!" he bellowed. I sat straight faced waiting for the punch-line. It didn't come. My two girlfriends broke down into sobs. "Apartment friend" got daddy on the phone, while "anxiety-attack friend" begged, pleaded, cried, demanded and hyperventilated.
Meanwhile, I began adding and subtracting in my head. By my calculations, I could miss the nine days, and, provided I missed NO others, still graduate. When it was my turn to speak, I simply communicated that while I understood his frustration, I really didn't appreciate being used by him in order to make a statement. (I said it nicely, with as much deference as I could muster.)
Maybe because I voiced the transparency of the situation, maybe because I was the only one in the room capable of carrying on a conversation---for whatever reason, he continued talking to me.
It took some serious cajoling, but eventually the sentence was reduced to three days of in-house suspension. (Yes! The parents don't even have to know.) Following the sentencing, and because we had missed lunch, he graciously sent us to the cafeteria on his dime. (It was, BTW, the one and only time that I actually ate lunch in the cafeteria. Weird, huh? There's a story there as well.)
I can't remember if it was for Student Council or Anchor Club, but we were assigned secret teachers at the beginning of the year for one of those clubs. Guess who mine was? Yup. I got the principal. I had been giving the man gifts all year, and he didn't know it was me until three months after this little event went down. He found out when we traded our final gifts at graduation. (Yeah, that was weird.)
To this day, it bugs the crap out of me when I see a noticeable figure punished severely because that's the quickest way to get the word out that that particular offense will no longer be tolerated.
Maybe that's why this Martha Stewart case is so annoying. Right, wrong, bitch or liar, the authorities are "making an example" of her. They could have charged her with the cost of the shares and been done with it.
I'm not condoning the practice of sharing inside information. I understand the economic repercussions, but this is not a heinous, psychotic crime. It was very human in fact... Psst...the ship's going down, but whatever you do, don't jump. (You're not even supposed to know that it's going down.)
So there are my digressive thoughts turned bumpy transitions. Incidentally, I wonder if I've ever shared this tale with my mother. It's great telling her of the secret delinquencies of my youth and watching her squirm. (Admittedly, I pale in comparison to my brother in this category.)
LIFE SUCKS ASS
I'm in one of those really fowl moods that makes a nervous break-down seem tame. I visited one blog today, and after the comment that I left there, I realized that I have no business making the rounds today as long as I'm breathing fire.
Having said that, it's great to have you back Rob. I will now either have to kick your ass or send you a bill for the stress that I've endured this week on your behalf. I'm thrilled that either one of us or stark reality finally got through to you, and I'm hopeful that it sticks.
Soooo, what sucks? Interviewing SUCKS. Bills SUCK. A $1400 mistake in my checkbook SUCKS. My creditors SUCK. My debtors SUCK. The weather SUCKS. The fact that my vacation plans just got screwed SUCKS. I could go on, but I'm really too pissed to be articulate. Maybe tomorrow...
Adam, thanks for calling and attempting to cheer me up. I couldn't rant at the time (too many witnesses), but now you see what you were up against. And, man, FORTHALOVAGAWD, post something. Your page is NAKED!
OH YES! OH YES!
SEXUAL FRUSTRATION ANYONE?
No thank you. Really, I've had my fill.
Anyone else noticed a little sexual undercurrent flowing through the hemisphere? "X" drives and whips and chains, oh my! Toys, and spikes and vibrators, OH MY!
LIVING IN A SMALL TOWN - PART 2
I'VE COVERED THE UGLY, THIS IS THE GOOD AND THE BAD
Well, the bad is obvious. Get a bad haircut, get a new habit, get a nasty divorce, have a torrid affair, pick a fight, sneeze, whatever, it can be across town as quickly as 24 hours, depending on the "juiciness" level.
I moved to this town almost 3 years ago, in time to get my daughter registered for kindergarten in the city school system. That school was the primary reason for the move.
NEW PEOPLE are the unsuspecting prey of the community. I did not find the community at all imposing. It was very comfortable, very quaint, and I have thoroughly enjoyed my time here.
But I was watched. New people and successful people are watched. New people, because their relevance is to be determined, and successful people, because in order to properly "ass kiss" you must know a thing or two about your subject.
I was blissfully unaware as I went about building my local real estate business. A very successful real estate agent, who sells half the county, took to me and asked me to be on his real estate team. Ha. He just didn't realize the independent soul with whom he was communicating.
"Thanks, but if I ever agree to be on your 'team,' you can safely assume that I've hit rock bottom."
He laughed. We became friends. We'd go out to lunch and discuss business. We were having a torrid love affair.
Wow! Really? Well, no, but we might as well have been. The other ladies in the office couldn't stand it. They ran their mouths.
Hmmm. This feels vaguely familiar. Oh, I've got it. HIGH SCHOOL! That's when I've seen such behavior.
I saw more of it. What can I say? I'm a trouble-maker. I have absolute no regard for pecking order.
A cheer-mom gossip-queen drew a line in the sand one day and pulled her cronies to her side. Apparently, everyone feared her because of the gossip that she was capable of creating.
I didn't. I was already having an affair. What do I care? I looked at the women on either side of me and informed them that I had a few things to say to Ms. Gossip Queen.
"NO!!," they said in unison, "It won't do any good."
"Well, It'll make me feel better to take the stuck-in-high-school bitch down in front of her cronies."
"Think about what's Christian."
(control gag reflex)
"You want Christian? Okay, I can tell her how to do a better job of that as well."
They were horrified; if nothing else, they delayed me long enough that my target managed to escape with her cronies.
But--OF COURSE--it got back to her, and somehow she's managed to behave herself since. (The threat of embarrassment is a formidable weapon.)
THE GOOD - All's well that end's well.
I've lived here almost three years now, and the truth is, I love it. I now know and understand this complicated little town, and it is not without merit.
The Christmas parade was a moving experience. Tractors pulled home-made floats filled with kids who threw candy to the younger children as they crowded the sides of the streets. It was a beautiful display of down-home warmth and simplicity.
This is the home of good people, and good schools. I know the teachers, the restaurant owners, the good folks at the post office, even the local pharmacist, on a first name basis.
In fact, apparently, I know the UPS man. I was in the gas station, grabbing some coffee on the way to my husband's office, when he delivered a package to the attendant. I don't know the UPS man by name, but I smiled and told him that I'd likely see him soon; I was expecting something from my accountant.
He went to his truck and returned, telling me that he didn't have anything for the office. That's odd, I thought. I didn't even tell him where I work. I guess he's seen me in there at some point. "But," he continued, "I did deliver a package to your house yesterday. I left it on your front porch..."
Now that's just freaky. Who has a memory like that? He recognized me, and immediately placed where I work and where I live. I was skeptical, but, when I got home, lo and behold, there it was...the package was indeed on my front porch.
Wow. You gotta love small towns.
1. We are both feeling MUCH better. Whatever it is, it appears to be short-lived.
2. INTERVIEW POSTPONED - I can't believe it. I get to agonize a little longer. It will be tomorrow morning. Thank you for your well-wishes; I'll keep you guys posted.
3. HEAVY SIGH - I guess one can only worry so much on behalf of someone else. At least I'm not alone. Bro and Brain have noticed as well. And Goddess pulled an all-nighter trying to make things right, although I'm reluctant to believe that a few fuzzy pics were the source of his demons. Even if they were, friendship should be more resilient than that. The behavior is off. I've said my piece. Before that, his place was eerily quiet. Things may be a bit tense, but at least there are signs of life.
1. I feel like ass. I believe that my daughter has gotten me sick. She looks pitiful. I called the doctor this afternoon, but they weren't accepting any more patients today...
2. TOMORROW, I have a job interview in the Atlanta area.
A big one. Am I prepared? I don't think so. I was stressed earlier, but now that I'm in a sickened stupor, I'm actually quite mellow. However, it is taking me much longer than should be necessary to type this out.
3. I have a very good friend who's left his fucking brain in Jamaica. Sober up and write, will ya? And clean up your place while you're at it. I go there, and between the content and the decor, I am reminded of the Saturday mornings of my youth, waking up with a swimming head in the midst of a trashed house. And I'm not a big fan of nausea-inducing nostalgia. (I've been patient. It's been 3 days. Come back to us...)
WE DON'T NEED NO STINKING PERMISSION.
"There is a difference between leading a coalition of many nations, and submitting to the objections of a few. America will never seek a permission slip to defend the security of our people." ---George W. Bush, State of the Union address, 2004
I wish it were true. I love that it's true about W. But what's this "never" stuff? For that to be true, we'd have to assume that we would never again be subjected to an Administration that is moronic, pussified, and ill-equiped.
That's a nice thought. Dreaming, but a nice thought none-the-less.
OH, SAY CAN YOU SING?
What's with the footage of Dean leading the National Anthem with a bunch of his cronies? Is it supposed to be a redemption song?
I assume that out of respect for our Nation's Anthem---which, when sung right, should give any red-blooded American a healthy layer of chill bumps---we're not supposed to pick on the man for his patriotic display.
But I didn't get chill bumps from this footage. I respect that song. So much so, in fact, that I don't sing it. This is because I can't sing. I can get by mouthing the words in a football stadium, but I have no business anywhere near a microphone.
I know this about myself. It's a good thing to know. It's called a "personal limitation."
I also know that if I lost my head one day, and acted as a raving lunatic in front of numerous cameras, I would not then attempt to redeem myself by violating a "personal limitation." How does this help?
MAD DEAN DISEASE
SHALL WE LAUGH TOGETHER?
Ready? AAAHahahahah! Oh, I absolutely love it. The obvious caveat being that Kerry, who actually has a psuedo-presidential demeanor, may not be as easily defeatable as the red-faced, brow furrowing, psychotic bellower who has proven himself to hold more entertainment value than anything else.
But, I will not think of that right now. I am too busy enjoying the moment. Care to laugh again? Don't mind if I do. AAAHahahahah!
Sam points out the wifey endorsement of Dean yesterday. That was funny in and of itself. (Nevermind the fact that it didn't help his plight.) The message, or at least what I got out of it: We're doctors, and DAMN GOOD ONES, but we play politicians on T.V.
So Deanie the Pooh comes in number 3 last night. Does he pout? NO! Does he quit? NO!
What does he do?!?!? He goes holy friggin psycho, THAT'S WHAT! It's a must listen if you haven't heard it. For the moment, Fox has the video link on their main page, or Donnie has an audio link.
But let's set the mood first. Understand that he tears onto the platform, pulls off his sports jacket, slams it down, affixes a shit-eating grin upon his reddened face, rolls up his sleeves, grabs the microphone, and grossly overacts the role of undeterred, pep-inspiring ethusiast, a show which VERY poorly masks the underlying temper tantrum, every fibril of every cell as outraged as it was the day his kid brother knocked over his blocks. (I'm sure the kid brother then built his own mansion of blocks, only after stealing Howard's blueprints.)
For those who haven't listened, opting against the download, Dean lists (screaming) the states that he will be visiting next, counting them on his fingers until he runs out of fingers. And he sums it all up with a boisterous and evil snarl at the end, a promise; "...and then we'll go to Washington D.C. and TAKE BACK THE WHITE HOUSE!*"
* is a sound effect that I cannot describe. Here's Donnie's words:
"What will do him in is that horrendous noise he made at the end of his speech...that 'Aieeyahharrgghhh' growl/moan. Nobody who makes a noise like that can expect to become President of the United States. Nobody."
Yep. That about sums it up. Dean may have said, "...and then we'll go to Washington D.C. and TAKE BACK THE WHITE HOUSE," but next time it could as easily be, "...and then we'll go to Las Vegas and TAKE BACK THE HEAVYWEIGHT TITLE!"
Howard Dean's life as a politician might be over, but I see definite possibilities for him as a WWF announcer.
JUST LOOK AT IT, WILL YA?
LOOK AT THE BEAUTIFUL BABY WE MADE
I have decided to give Anna custody. She has shown remarkable love for the ugly creation, and I'm sure that she can be much more giving than I. Plus, you know Anna...she has maternal instinct OOZING out of her pores...
ROBIN WILLIAMS ON RELIGION
"I'm Episcopalian. For those that aren't familiar, that's Catholic Light; same religion, half the guilt."
"Some question whether Jesus was really Jewish. Come on, people. Thirty years old, still living at home, works in his dad's business, mother thinks he's God's gift....definitely Jewish."
MYSTERY DATE REVEALED
As crazy as that man is, and as AWOL as he STILL is, it's nice to hear that they made it back safely.
HIM: Hey. Whatcha doin'?
ME: Getting reading to out. What are you doing?
(I didn't know who I was talking to,--it could have been a slurring friend or worse, brother-- but he needed to know that I only had a minute, whoever he was.)
HIM: Sittin' in jail. (Okay, not funny anymore. Better NOT BE my brother...)
ME: WHO IS THIS??
HIM: This is Buddy. Who is this? (Whew...This is one RELIEVED individual, that's who.)
ME: I don't know a Buddy. I hope that you're not limited to one call...
HIM: This ain't Tammy??
ME: No, sorry, good luck.
HIM: Okay, bye.
I went back into my bathroom to apply the finale' in the art of getting ready--lipstick. I was mid-stroke when it hit me... I am distantly (as in not a whole lot in common) acquainted with a Buddy and Tammy. Hmmm. Figures. Evil of me, but I had to laugh--you gotta love small towns.
OH, HOW I WANTED HIM TO TELL ME THAT HE HAD MADE IT UP
No, he says this is a true story. You must read it. Sam, did you leave out the part about throwing up all over the table?
That would have induced vomiting had it been me. Now, having said that, tell me more. Was it an indistinguishable mess, or could you actually observe a sizable amount of brain tissue?
I DIDN'T COME UP WITH A WAY TO MAKE IT TOMORROW
Don't blame it on Hubby. Although he wasn't terribly excited about overcoming social anxiety and meeting new people, circumstances are actually the culprit.
I attended a field trip today that occupied my day thus far, and I returned with an extra child. So, I'm going to use this as an excuse to get out of the house and do something fun tonight.
Tomorrow, we have a basketball game and an in-law engagement (that Hubby neglected to mention.)
SO, you guys have fun tomorrow; I'll be thinking of you!
I have gotten a little behind. I could throw out a one-liner with no thought behind it, or I could wait until next time I'm on-line....I'm going for plan B.
Remember you guys, I HAVE to DRIVE to get on-line. At home connection is severed at the moment, so I'm trying to make full use of my time.
It's Friday people. It's Friday, and it's 4:20. ; )
YOU GUESSED IT! THAT'S WHAT TIME IT IS WHEN I DON'T HAVE TIME TO WRITE!
(I'll offer better quizes next time; it just so happens that I had already taken these.)
WHO'S PHILOSPHY MATCHES YOURS?
I like this idea. The quiz is sort of a pain. I won't post my entire list, but my top matches were Aristotle, Rand, Kant, Sartre, Stoics, And Aquinas.
THIS ONE I CAN'T BELIEVE THAT I TOOK, BUT SINCE THE OUTCOME IS FLATTERING...
WHAT KIND OF GIRLFRIEND ARE YOU? (By Quizilla)
You're the perfect girlfriend. Which means you're rare or that you cheated :P You're the kind of chick that can hang out with your boyfriend's friends and be silly. You don't care about presents or about going to fancy places. Hell, just hang out. You're just happy being around your boyfriend.
THERE ARE SOME OF YOU
WHOM I HAVE MET, AND WOULD LOVE TO SEE AGAIN
There are some of you, whom I haven't met, but am hoping to meet. If there's any doubt in your mind whether or not I am speaking directly to you, check my blogroll. If you're on it, I am.
I am trying to work out a way to be there on Saturday. You work on it too!
IT NEEDS TO SNOW
I WANT A CHRISTMAS CARD WITH SNOW IN THE PICTURE
This would have been it, but, alas, the day wasn't good for my daughter. She was going through her "I hate having my picture taken" phase.
HOW ABOUT ONE MORE, A PERSONAL STUPID...
Sam told his.
Jim told his.
Geoff told his.
But, I've got 'em beat. Mine's stupider.
It all started when I was 15. I had two best girlfriends, and a terrible trio we were, until one of them moved to Virginia Beach. (She was a military brat.)
We, the remaining duo, pooled the funds, and by the time the following summer rolled around, we had enough for airfare. TWO WEEKS away from home! (...her poor mom.)
We didn't waste any time, the first Friday there, we headed for a humungo keg party complete with a garage band. (No parents in sight.)
We were there maybe thirty minutes before the cops showed up. The band members headed for the stairs. They looked like men with missions, so we followed them. After climbing two flights of stairs, we found ourselves secluded in a small, finished room in the attic. It was very quiet in contrast to the chaos reverberating throughout the rest of the house.
Ten minutes later, our nerves were beginning to calm, but no, we should have known better. We weren't THAT lucky. Two cops barged in and began searching the room.
We were shocked. We didn't know WHAT was going on. We had been up there the whole time; we didn't even KNOW there was alcohol downstairs.
So he looked at us as though we were full of shit--and we were---and then he told us to hit the road.
BUT WE HAD MADE NEW FRIENDS
...and they were in a band...and they were cute. So we snuck out to meet them a couple of times.
Sooo...Is it commom knowledge that people are really weird about teenagers hanging out in houses under construction in Virginia?
I had never had a problem in Georgia...
This house was just down the street from my friend's house. We rationalized that since we were already sneaking out, it might be best if we didn't also leave the area. Huh. WRONG!
So the second we entered the house, the three guys each grabbed their respective "match," pulling us three different directions, and thereby killing the "safety in numbers" barrier.
Luckily, I had the sense to keep my clothes on. (For at least another year in fact, but that's another story.) I heard my friends in the bonus room and figured that's where I needed to be. So, I dragged my date up the stairs to join the others. That's when we noticed blue lights flickering in the windows.
Chivalry was dead that night. And stupid. Two of them ran into the neighbor's yard, (likely the very neighbors that had ratted us out.) I followed my idiot date into the woods, where he promptly LOST my ass.
Did I mention that I was bare-footed? Yep, you can take the girl outta Georgia, but you can't take Georgia outta the girl.
The briars were a bitch. I was on a brush-infested upward slope, making my way to the tracks that ending up being my saving grace.
The officer below encircled me within the spotlight of his flashlight and ordered me to come out of there. I stared at him. I thought about it. Then I thought, nah, I think I'll take my chances with the briars.
I continued towards the tracks, and followed them two streets over. I waited fifteen minutes before I snuck my ass into my friend's fenced back yard.
No police vehicles in sight, I would have been encouraged had the lights not been on, and my friend's angry mom not been standing in the center of the Living Room interrogating the other two.
Great, I thought, those dumbasses got themselves caught. Were they stupid enough to tell the cop where they lived? We had no I.D. on us. They could have pointed to an empty house, explained that their parents were out of town, and begged for mercy, but nooo...
I went in. "YOU!" she shrieked. "I would have expected this kind of behavior out of the other two, but YOU..." she shook her head, "I expected more out of you."
Figure that. She expected more out of me than she did out of her own daughter. That's nice. Wonder what she would have thought, had she known that I had been making out with her son for several hours on the nights that I didn't have a date? (...So I was a bit of a player. Who wasn't at that age?)
Upstairs, within the sanctity of our shared bedroom, I learned that my friends HAD initially gotten away, but that the GUYS, the testicularly-challenged, oatmeal for brains GUYS, got their asses caught, and rather than act natural, (dumb), they led the police officers directly to my friend's house.
I realize that the entire situation was less than ideal, on my part as well, but, come on, was that not WRONG?
There you have it. One of the tales of my youth. I'm at a scary age. I'm old enough to expect more out of my child, yet young enough to remember exactly what it was like to be, well, misdirected.
SHAKE IT, STUPID DICTATOR!
THIS ONE offers a slight dis to my man W., but IT IS WELL WORTH the twenty second download.
(Are you shakin' it, Adam?)
(Allah, the purty girls in the genie outfits are sayin' your name!)
YOU ARE STUPIDER THAN YOU LOOK, BOY!
Well, maybe not. Hmmm. Tough call on this one. Grey Biker has the story.
WAKE UP PEOPLE!
I'm NOT feeling the love. I feel like, like we don't even talk anymore...What's the matter? You don't LIKE me when I'm stupid?
TELL ME THAT I DID NOT SEE ONE OF THESE ON THIS HEAD... TELL ME I DIDN'T!
But I think that I did. I saw it on TV. It felt wrong. It still had the tag on it. A DAWG fan GAVE it to him! Oh, the pain... It's just wrong.
ODE TO STUPIDITY
Blogworld is all too intelligent sometimes. I feel as though I really ought to give the 'ol brain a break, and explore some stupid areas every now and then.
WHO BETTER THAN HOWARD DEAN TO GET THE BALL ROLLING?
As a preface to Dean's words, let me share the following words which I have stolen from Martini girl:
With the Iowa caucus ten days away and Howard Dean leading in the polls, Bode writes, "The candidates lining up to take their shots at Dean all believe they are raising legitimate issues. Perhaps they are, and how Dean takes the fire will reveal important attributes of his temperament. In the short run, however, the piling on may prove counterproductive."
--from January 9, 2004
His temperament? HA! He yells at elderly gentlemen who defend the President. NEXT...
How he takes the fire? Allow me to introduce the angry AND stupid words that you've likely already heard, as the clip of him spatting them is being perpetually recycled on FOX:
"I am going after EVERYBODY, because I'm TIRED of being a pin cushion here."
HA! haha. ha. That's mature. THEY STARTED IT!! Whiner.
Ever notice that W. takes the high road? That's kind of a nice quality to have in a Commander and Chief, is it not?
Notice how kindly he responded to Paul O' Neill's bullshit? I was actually hoping to see the man dressed down. I have a feeling that if O'Neill ever truly knew the definition of the word "loyal," he'd still have a job.
Yeah, I'm going to get started on The Price of Loyalty shortly, just as soon as I'm finished reading The Price of Honesty by Bill Clinton!
Thank you Joe and Chet for your comments in the previous post. They are must reads for those of you who haven't read them. Some interesting theories were broached, and I enjoyed the feedback.
I think it all comes back to viability. Many of us may be outraged over the entire process, but when a viable child is eradicated, that's different. That's murder.
I find it difficult to believe that all of these years, the system has managed to select a point of viability for the sake of double homocide prosecutions, when a pregnant woman is slain, but for the much touchier subject of abortion, viability has remained a gray haze.
Wimps. They fear the wrath of the dragon-ladies who own razor sharp tongues and the insipient eye of the media.
Good for Bush for passing the ban. Of course, they have the nerve to whine. Poor us. We don't get to kill BIG babies anymore, just little ones. We are SO deprived.
Is that the way it was said? I dunno. That's what I heard when Diane Feinstein had the nerve to stand up, in front of God and all creation, the next day and proclaim that that day represented a setback--to the tune of decades--for women.
I have news, Diane. Your words, and the words of your cronies, represent the setback.
25,000 DOLLAR PYRAMID
READY TO PLAY? HERE'S YOUR CLUES:
--Spreading rumors about someone you care about (just to get attention).
--Sleeping with your best friend's spouse.
--Never telling your kids that you love them.
--Living off of the state when you suffer from nothing other than laziness.
--Sitting on your ass while your friend gets his beat.
--Rubbing salt in a wound.
--Refusing to give your kids presents, EVER, because no one day is more special than any other.
--Betraying the trust of someone that's always been good to you.
--Lacking all sense of patriotism, yet refusing to leave the country.
--Getting an abortion.
These are THINGS THAT ARE LEGAL, BUT SHOULDN'T BE DONE BY ANYONE THAT OWNS A SHRED OF HUMAN DECENCY.
I can't take all of those issues tonight, but I'll start with the one that got me thinking. I was involved in a comment thread debate in this post over at Dean's.
I do not think that I adequately represented myself. I can't find the right combination of words. We govern using the Constitution, not the Bible. You can't force a woman to carry a child. She can go psycho and cut it out herself if she wants to.
When viable, that child has a right to life, however, and I'm pleased that fact is belatedly being recognized. It displeases me that pro-choicers continue to be so vocal about something so abhorrent. It' legal. Now shut the hell up and treat the topic with the grave seriousness that is demands. Borrow a little respect.
It should be infrequent, hush-hush, frowned upon, and shameful.
PRO-CHOICERS ARE DISHONEST
They build it up. It's OUR right. Do what's best for YOU. There's no shame.
They lie. If there is any conscience involved, there is remorse, regret, shame, self-loathing, and a piece of them forever gone.
I get it. I get being pregnant at the wrong time. I get being pregnant and fearing the health of your child.
I wasn't out of school (college), and I had a 50/50 chance of giving birth to a healthy child. Furthermore, the doctors suggested terminating the pregnancy due to the potential stress on my aorta. They lost. I won.
I cried, prayed, and worried for nine months. I gave birth to a healthy child. She's seven. She's a brat, and I thank God every day for that child.
Is there forgiveness out there for people that fuck up and end up getting an abortion? You bet there is. But they shouldn't be deluded about the process. It is painful. It is NOT some beautiful icon of women's rights.
She had an abortion. The guy? He was a dipwad, in and out of jail, no goals, no hope for a permanent relationship.
She suffered all symptoms of early pregnancy. She threw up everywhere. She knew my opinion. But she asked anyway, and she felt the same way. She'd keep the baby. She'd make it work. I'd help for a while.
Her parents had a fit. They told her to get an abortion. I couldn't take her to the clinic. Dipwad took her.
She came home crying. I assumed she'd gone through with it. She hadn't, couldn't. She cried when the nurses touched her, and they sent her home.
Her parents were furious. They accompanied her the next time. It happened that time.
Do you think she doesn't think about it today? I know that she does. I know that she knows exactly how old that child would be if alive today.
I can't speak for all women, but I can think of a few other things that I would rather have represent the progress that women have made over the years.
MY BLOGSHIT ISSUES
V-man and Anna may have restarted my processing with their respective absences, but they have nothing to do with my take on blogworld. (Perhaps I was projecting.)
On a related note, I understand this quote from Anna all too well:
"Truthfully, I'm surprised I didn't kill this thing off before now as I have often dreamed of standing over its crib and smothering its face with a pillow."
I had to laugh. Only having been around for a couple of months, I'm still sorting. 1. The blogshit has surprised me, and 2. sometimes I feel as though the blog owns me, rather than the other way around.
I don't want to quit, but I want to maintain my independence. I don't want my motives, reasons, and rationale to be those of some of the bloggers whom I've stumbled upon.
It's sort of like when you take all sorts of paints and toss them together; they all come out drab brown. I may have been thrown into the mix, but I don't want to come out drab brown. I want to be different. Nor do I want to hang with drab brown.
I think that I have managed to find some bright colors to hang with. I suppose last night's rant would have been more affective had I been more uplifting. I could have listed a few positives.
Acidman is another source of irritation. No, I'm not going to dog him when he's not even here to defend himself. The fact is, he LIKES irritating me. He thinks it's good for me.
The truth is, we are very good friends. We talk often. We could debate a topic until said topic falls to its knees and begs for a bullet.
I wondered when I debated the "cast-iron ass" idea, below, if any of you would pick up on the fact that that debate already took place with ol' Acidman.
So, he may be partially responsible for that rant. If I have something nice to say about my cyber-darling, my bestest big bro any girl could hope for, etc, etc, etc, I must be flirting. If I visit all of you on my blogroll and comment frequently, I must be marketing. If I write about blowjobs, I'm topic-whoring.
UUUGGGHHHH!! This irks me. When I ranted about what it's about and what it isn't about, (IMHO of course) this is why. I understand that when you have people begging for links, you become cynical and question people's sincerity and motives.
I realize that there exists crazed individuals that operate this way. They are drab brown. I'm not yet. If I begin to turn, I hope someone will bitch-slap me back into reality. I behave the way that I do because I enjoy it. If my motives are questioned by a bunch of hit-counting snots, I will find this world less enjoyable.
Of course I like an audience. In particular, I like feedback. Growth is great, as long as it happens for the right reason, that being appreciated content. Believe it or not, I'm quite pleased with my 150 visitors and dozen or so commenters. You guys are great. I write. I get feedback. I'm happy.
If you don't think that's a BIG number, imagine standing behind a podium with each of them seated in front of you. Hmmm. That changes things a bit. That's a good-sized audience. Oh, but maybe I should strive for 10,000 so that I can get that fat check, world recognition/domination, and sweet job writing for Time magazine.
What? I don't get that? Okay, then I have one question. To what end?
I'm not saying that I don't appreciate being linked. If someone stops by, likes what I have to say, and links me WITHOUT me having ASKED for it, then I am flattered. I was linked for content. Thank you, that is the ultimate compliment.
Acidman, well, he's different. He's my only pimp. He sent me the initial traffic, and we continue to banter back and forth at times. Why? I think it's fun. Really. No hidden motives. This WHOLE thing is for fun. What else? Why else?
A little more on Acidman. We have a special, caring, brutally honest relationship. When we have flirted, it's been sincere. When we have fought, it's been sincere. When I say he bugs the ever-luvin crap outta me, I'm being sincere.
Why, you ask, did I wait until he left the country before airing all of this? Duh, because I'm hoping that it will be sufficiently buried by the time he returns and that he WON'T be reading it.
You think I want him knowing that I put this much thought into the crap he says to me?
But I hope that he'll put some thought into the crap that I've been saying to him. I hope he lets go of a little hostility and opens himself up to the potential for greater things. (hmmm...I have a feeling that he might be doing just that this very moment...)
BETTER LATE THAN NEVER
IN RESPONSE TO THIS AND THIS
Okay, if you look at the on-line photos of Sugarmama and myself, you will quickly see that we are not advocates of brightly colorizing one's face, starching the hair, or otherwise blatantly falsifying our appearance.
I do not particularly ENJOY the primping process. In fact, I detest it.
I practically LIVE in a ponytail. I put on lipstick in the morning, and that' s usually it. Reapplying all day long is a pain in the butt.
The point is, occasionally, we need to remind ourselves, as well as our men, exactly what we're capable of. These are the occasions that we style (not starch) the hair --mind you, I do not OWN a can of hairspray--, apply the make-up, and don the heels.
Our guys may enjoy the natural, comfy, cuddly look on a daily basis. (At least I HOPE they do, because that's what I have to offer.) But, it doesn't hurt to remind them that we still have the razzle dazzle when we want it.
Yes, there ARE women that cake it on and smellify themselves on a daily basis. They're freaks. Everyone around them recognizes them as such, and therefore I choose not to throw that wild card into my discussion.
The flip-side freaks are the ones who refuse to shave legs, pits, or wear deodorant.
Happy mediums may not be great in politics, but they're nice in many other areas, are they not?
Bottom line: I am DEPENDENT upon cosmetics. Send me camping with mascara, lip gloss, and deodorant, and I'm good.
Update: Bottome line, take two: That should have read, "I am not DEPENDENT..." (oops)
THANK YOU VELOCIMAN
FOR SENDING ME A LITTLE MAIL AND LETTING ME KNOW THAT YOU LIVE.
I find absolutely no humor in your current post.
I SMELL BLOGSHIT!
I don't know what the hell starts the neurotic, melodramatic crap that races as a laxative through the bowels of blogworld, but I find it rather nauseating.
I'm the new kid on the block, and already, I've HAD it with all this BLOGSHIT! No, I don't have the background details on some of the stuff that I've witnessed second-hand during my short stay here, and I don't need details. If I was entertained by melodramatic crap produced by third rate writers, I'd be watching day-time TV.
I have found highly intelligent, well read, friendly, debate-you-but-not-judge-you people here, whether they are readers, writers or both, and that is the standard that I have set for the interaction that I take part in. And let us not forget the most basic premise, if it's not fun, then why the hell bother?
I see the point of the cast-iron ass. We do not want to let every little yahoo discourage us. But this isn't about "How much pain can you stand? How much can you take and still continue to blog?" That's ridiculous. There's no duty here. No money. If not for fun, then what's the friggin point? I don't care WHO YOU ARE or how many ALMIGHTY hits you get, that doesn't make you any more special when you're walking down the street. If you're not here because you ENJOY it, then that's just stupid.
Do we not enter the sanctity of blogworld to escape the bureaucratic, politically-correct, bullshit-filled, brainless clones of corporate America? Who let it enter the sanctity of blogworld?
This is supposed to be the world where debate is abundant, fueled by a constant flow of unfettered opinions, a world where judgement is withheld.
If you are one of my fave bloggers who is taking a break because this world is encroaching upon your real world, and thus you're unable to properly enjoy it, I more than accept that. I support it. (I can support it, by the way, without LIKING it.)
But if the BLOGSHIT has gotten you down, then I find that rather infuriating, because that's the type of crap that could very well end up affecting MY enjoyment factor.
OH WHERE - OH WHERE IS VEL-OC-I-MAN?
OH WHERE - OH WHERE CAN HE BE?
I'VE E-MAILED AND POUTED AND STOMPED MY FEET...
BUT STILL HE WON'T TALK TO ME!
AMERICA HAS A YEAST INFECTION
FOR THIS MODEL "GOVERNMENT" WILL REPRESENT THE YEAST, "NANNY POLICIES" ARE THE ANTIBIOTICS, AND "WE THE PEOPLE" BECOME WE THE BACTERIA.
This is a more detailed explanation of what irks me the most when contemplating the evolution of our grand abode. It also serves as a study into the importance of balance.
Most women, and many men, who have been on antibiotics, recognize the fragile balance between yeast and bacteria in our digestive tracts.
ARE YOU ITCHY?
Imagine what would happen if the yeast took over your body. Having trouble? Let me assist. Here's an excerpt from healthfree.com:
If you have friendly bacteria living in your digestive tract and you take a course of antibiotics, even for a short time, every beneficial bacteria may be destroyed. The yeast that did live controlled by the beneficial bacteria then start to grow rapidly. They go from a benign form into a pathogenic form. The actually change form and grow tentacles. They then are able to create holes in the mucosal lining of the intestines and cause a condition called leaky gut syndrome. This can cause other problems like allergies and digestive disorders. The yeast can leave the digestive tract and move into the body cavity. They get into the blood stream and colonize various places in the body.
Yeah, that's it! That sounds familiar.
Government has penetrated every aspect of our lives from corner to corner, nothing untouched, nothing unscathed.
What has enabled them? These "programs" that are "for our benefit" have enabled them. They have fed the monster.
The monster has grown a bigger belly and must be continually fed.
The abominable yeast creature talks to me all the time. It says:
"Happy New Year! File your damn taxes."
"Thanks for working your ass off. I'm going to take your paycheck, wipe my slimy ass with it, and redistribute among those who have grown dependent upon me."
"Congratulations on the sale of that house. Fork over the capital gains. Jeez, you people and your incessant need to 'flourish.' Don't I give you everything you need? Stop trying to better yourselves."
"It's springtime! Where's that money you owe me? Don't make me send out my tentacles to suck you dry. I'd really hate to have to do that."
"Happy Birthday! Wanna drive? Good. Go pay for your damn tag."
"Happy Thanksgiving! Wanna continue to own the property that you've already paid for? Good. Go pay your damn property taxes, so that I can provide your children with a crappy education, that is only crappy, incidentally, because you whine every time I ask for more. What do you want anyway? Privatization? Ahahaha!"
Am I advocating a massive bacterial infection? No, that would be anarchy. But the balance is screwed. Much of today's bacteria have no concept of proper balance, and therefore lack the understanding necessary to miss it.
What would happen if the dependents no longer needed the destructive antibiotic programs? Okay, so it's OUT THERE. (People would have to become self-sufficient.)
But, what a romantic concept it is in my idealistic little head. Government would naturally diminish. Folks, I think that's only way it'll happen. Politicians are too afraid of that big ever-emptying belly to stand up for anything.
A jumbo dose of Monistat! That would be the equivalent of everyone on my blogroll securing a Senate seat. (At which point, everything that we've ever said on our blog will be held against us.)
THE REAL QUESTION OF THE EVENING
What is Key smoking? Nothing yet. This is all me, baby! But hopefully in an hour or so, I'll be sitting in a Mexican restaurant sipping on a crappy-ass margarita, which is the best my little town has to offer.
SAPPY NET FRIENDSHIP LOVE
I thoroughly enjoy being antagonistic and argumentative, particularly to people that are estrogen-challenged, (because they usually ask for it). But there are some guys that are just SO DAMN NICE, that they manage to squeeze positive vibes from me before I realize what's going on.
I feel violated.
Here's the best example of said offense. Forgive the girl in me as I squeal, "Isn't he a sweetie?" And Jim is right there with him. You'll see this in his comments on Sam's post, as well as in the comments that he sprinkles all over blogworld.
I would take a moment to list one or two others that fit the profile, but where would I stop?
1. If I really tried, I could think of a dozen.
2. But that would be a really sappy thing to do.
3. And this guy would accuse me of flirting my ass off.
WHAT DO I CARE?
Eh, not a whole, whole lot. But I don't want to gross out my female readers by being overly sappy and flirty. So I have a plan: I'll be an antagonistic smartass most of the time, then when I'm on the verge of losing my mens friends, I'll unharness the natural-born flirt in me, that is until I'm on the verge of grossing out my female readership. At which point, it becomes a vicious cycle.
And you guys think our moodiness is madness....Okay, maybe so, but there's method behind it.
It's all about balance. I can apply that to any topic.
REPUBLIC OR DEMOCRACY?
Phil, I saw stars, stripes, and purple mountain majesties as I read your post. I like your meaning.
Although, I must disagree a bit in the semantics (...okay, granted, the purpose of the post.) Call it a democracy OR call it a republic. Either one, in its purest form, is a wonderful thing.
Republic defined: A political order whose head of state is not a monarch and in modern times is usually a president. 2. A political order in which the supreme power lies in a body of citizens who are entitled to vote for officers and representatives responsible to them.
Democracy defined: Government by the people, exercised either directly or through elected representatives. 2. The common people, considered as the primary source of political power. 3. Majority rule. (I will concede this: After reading the Alexander Tyler quote that Phil posted, I'm not certain that he defined the term in the same manner that we use it today.)
Either one, in its purest form, is lost to us. The purity is compromised, and ever-sinking within a socialist (labeled leftist) whirlpool. They may not be winning, but they are tainting.
When I scream at the leftists on my set, they can't hear me, but it wouldn't matter if they were standing in front of me. They still wouldn't hear me. Their objectives are too skewed, their incentives misplaced.
SO WHAT AM I SCREAMING AT THE TV?
Something like this: "This country is the CLOSEST thing that we (as in the world) have left to an unadulterated democracy! DON'T TOUCH IT--GO AWAY! YOU'RE GONNA MAKE IT WORSE! You want socialism? There's plenty out there for ya. Take your pick, and get on a plane. Leave what's left of our free market republic ALONE!"
Eric posts this in my comments below:
Sis....as for "ASSCRACKLICKER"...has anyone bothered searching for "Ball Spanked"...I'd be interested to know...
Well, my step-brat, YOU'RE NUMBER THREE!!
WHEN HE POSTED THIS, HE GOT ME WONDERING
What word can I type in that will bring up KEY ISSUES as the #1 google search?
I found it. Not only is KEY ISSUES #1, it is the ONE AND ONLY, when you type in, "ASSCRACKLICKER."
How do you like THAT claim to fame, my red-headed step-brat*?!?
*this is, of course, a term of endearment, and should be recognized as such.
ABOUT THOSE PLAIN-CLOTHED NUCLEAR SCIENTISTS...
BRAVO! I LIKE THAT IDEA. HMMM. WHY DIDN'T WE GET ANY?
LA, Vegas, New York, I can see that. Baltimore? They got scientists, but Atlanta didn't?!?!? What. is. up. with. that?
I can see the terrrorists elbowing each other, "Hey, check it, they may have the airport in Atlanta covered, but dude, that's it. They're not manning downtown. We fly in to Charlotte, cruise over to Atlanta---the place is ours."
Paint a target on our ass.
Okay, so that may be a bit melodramatic. I actually think that we are doing a stellar job combatting terrorism, but this was just one of those things that struck me as a bit odd.
I HOPE THEY GET THIS PSYCHO
BEFORE HE HURTS THOSE KIDS
Even after caring for five foster children in my home over a two year period, I never managed to understand their parents' mentality.
They refused to care for their child, yet they DESPISED me, because I was doing their job for them. I had three or four hang-up calls a day, and the fear of coming face to face with a crazed relative such as this Jones lunatic was real.
He did it. He did the worst. Early this morning, he killed his children's caretakers (and an INFANT), and THEN kidnapped three children.
HE'S ON THE LOOSE IN GEORGIA (or a neighboring state)
If you live anywhere in the southeast, look out for the '91 maroon Explorer, GA tag 730 YFV. If you spot him, and you can't figure out a way to inflict bodily harm without endangering the children, FOLLOW HIS ASS and call the authorities.
Update: Got him!!
A LESSON IN PHONE ETIQUETTE
WITH AN ORGY ENDING
I rarely make phone calls, and I detest having to return them. There are only a few people whom I call just to talk. These rules apply to that circle of friends.
There are things that you do, and things that you don't do when talking on the phone.
-Pay attention. Distractions will happen, but keep them to a minimum, affording the person on the other end of the line priority focus, PARTICULARLY if you are the one that initiated the conversation.
-Put the person on hold to belch, yell at your kid, or flush the toilet.
-Get irritated because you're losing the argument and hang up on the person.
-Get disconnected and "forget" to call back. After all, you justify, there was nothing left to say. (Okay, I admit it. I'm guilty of this one.)
-Get in a HUGE rush to get off of the phone with someone whom you care about because the topic is no longer related to sex or because the market's moving or because your butt itches. At least take thirty seconds to wind up the conversation.
-Force the person to STAY on the phone once they've expressed utter disinterest, particularly once they've given you the obligatory thirty seconds. If they're trying to sleep or watch a movie, tell them why you called, or tell them to call you back, and then let them get back to it.
-Answer the phone if your "busy."
AND LAST BUT NOT LEAST
DO NOT call someone while "entertaining" someone of the opposite sex, and expect them to stay tuned while things escalate, clothes are shed, and propositions made.
Not that I'm a prude. Shit, I've watched friends engage in a friendly romp. But I can't say that I particularly enjoyed it. I guess I'm just not much of a spectator. If I'm not involved, I can usually think of something that I'd rather be doing. I guess for this reason (and many more), I am not really "orgy" material.
INSPIRATION FOR THIS POST
Well, there's more than one. I can think of someone for every point, including myself. Which one goes with the guy in the doghouse?
AS THE BLOG TURNS
JUST TRYING TO KEEP UP WITH THE BLOGROLL
After days of dropping obnoxious comments on big bro's hiatus post, he finally turned up, all banged up and bruised. I still want the whole story (unedited version), but for now, Donnie, I'll settle for your address. Sam and I want to send you some comfort food/drink.
Velociman, Anna, Adam and Anton have gone AWOL, and THEY ARE REALLY PISSING ME OFF...but I can't yell at them for fear that they have a really good reason (such as the one above). I haven't given up on you V-man, but it looks like someone else is about to.
Geoffrey, my favorite package whore, has a mess on his hands. He's currently in the process of cleaning up some serious juvenile crap. One comment in particular is quite psycho, and I hope he outs the guy, or AT LEAST the IP.
Acidhead likes to hang out in my doghouse. He's there now. He knows why. If you're in the mood to see him set straight, Sugar's got a great post on real wimmin.
Denny's trying to blind me with his five-legged elephants and moving dots.
Jack has a great quote of the moment. (And I thought that was just me.)
Chelle has re-posted her s&m cleavage shot.
My blog-spring linked my half-sista on some well spoken words.
Kate reveals the truth about men. This is the reason that I want to be a man in my next life. I want to bring home the bacon, and in all other ways be waited upon. I would be an excellent husband, BECAUSE I would be appreciative.
Eric has a new look, and I told him it smelled funny. Sorry Eric; it was jealousy talking.
Pam and the Bartender are the most recent participants in the "let's get Key off of Blogspot" movement.
My two newest additions to the link-list are Lawren and Grey Biker. I've been meaning to get you guys added for a while. But, alas, I am the most disorganized blogger in all of blogworld, and I have seen urls aplenty that I managed to lose track of before I could add them.
Thanks to the rest of you for not going AWOL, for entertaining me, and for keeping me straight. I'm actually talking to the handful of you on my blogroll that I didn't link cuz I ran out of umff, as well as a handful of you that I've been meaning to link...
Here's to '04!
(Whew. These linkfests are tough. How do you people do it?)
Update: How could I forget the man I met over Rand casting. David, glad to have you in my humble abode.
DINNER PARTY DISASTER
Okay, so we usually don't attend or host such events. We're still at the stage of our lives where we prefer to meet our "comfy" friends in an "everything" restaurant for food and booze.
But, occasionally, we make exceptions. Classy? Oh, I've got that down. BUT, I still prefer being classy with "comfy" people. For example, any topic should be kosher as long as it is broached appropriately and not broadcasted for all to hear. Drinking should be a community effort; sloppiness is usually discouraged, but not in a nagging, wenchy kind of way.
So. These are not the friends that we've aged with since high school. These are the community friends that we've met because our kids attend school together, and our husbands have coached soccer together.
And we HAVE been meaning to get together. So when they called us a little over a week ago, and asked us over for dinner, we accepted. "Just bring yourselves," I was informed, "and show up around 5."
So I brought a bottle of merlot, and we pulled into the drive of their $600,000 estate at precisely 5:30.
The kids ran off to play, the Mrs. seemed flustered, and the Mr. afforded her a wide berth as he snuck over to the fridge and pulled out a couple of beers.
Dinner was only slightly uncomfortable; every family has their "things." Their thing was to clean their plates. No, I mean CLEAN. I don't know HOW they got it so clean without picking it up and licking it. They put my dog to shame. So, I look over at my daughter's mostly full plate, and encourage her to eat a little more before being excused. With unpredictable, socially challenged Miss Priss, I should have known better. Her response, "Eeeew, but the green beans are gr-ooosss!" (Note to self: Lecture Miss Priss --AGAIN-- on her social causticity.)
The guys --DOGS-- escaped at this point to the sports-bar-ish basement, complete with a humungo wet bar, pool table, and cinema room. By the time we joined them, there was a neat little row of empty beer bottles on the counter, and they were engaged in a game of pool.
The Mrs. was seriously irritated. Apparently, she has a problem with her husband drinking. He was having fun, so he smiled, charmed, and ignored. When the beer was gone, she let him know that he was finished. "But we haven't opened the wine!" he reminded her.
Because the wine was brought by the company, she couldn't really say anything. So they poured me a glass, and then the guys finished off the rest of the bottle. Then he looked at my glass and asked, "You gonna finish that?"
My mouth fell open. "Probably not, but you'd better not; your wife it getting..." Too late. He downed it.
OKAY! I think it's time to go, and I said as much. "No, it's early--one more game," the Mr. pleaded, no doubt in an attempt to postpone the inevitable from his wife.
Fine. I'll distract the wife. She and I went back upstairs.
KIDS ARE SUCH RATS
Their seven year old ran upstairs ten minutes later to tell on daddy. I was left in the dust as I struggled to figure out what the hell was going on.
She flew downstairs, picked up the bottle of tequila in question, and began pouring it down the sink. He's on her heels, "Honey, don't, we'll stop..."
"Do you do this just to PISS ME OFF?!?" she replied, her voice cracking. Oh, shit. The spouse and I exchanged a look that said, "Will somebody please teleport me the hell out of here?"
They finished the game. We thanked them. We left. What just happened?
I talked to a girlfriend of mine about it, and she laughed. "Don't expect to be invited over there again," she said.
Wonderful. This was definitely the making of a compatible friendship, otherwise I would most likely find the silence refreshing. But the guys are supposed to coach soccer together this spring. Sign-ups are soon. And, uh, now what?
It's been over a week. I've heard nothing. I guess I should do something. I don't want to call. So, what do you guys think? A thank you card for dinner, along with a snap of the kids playing together? (At least that puts the ball back in their court.)
I thought that I had a HUGE comfort zone, but you know, maybe not. Cuz, uh, this isn't feeling terribly "comfy."
AS LONG AS I'M PISSED...
WHY NOT DISCUSS MOVE ON.ORG
This one rivals Democratic Underground in its lack of patriotism and sheer stupidity. Be sure to click on the "$87 billion for Iraq" box to view the bullshit ad against the war, or against Bush rather.
I recommend taking a minute to look at it, but if you're not up for the download, just know that it shows pitiful children and teachers that really could have used the money spent on the war.
Who couldn't have used it? I could really use the tax dollars that I'm required to fork out, much of which ultimately ends up in the hands of people who don't feel the urge to support their own families. But, I will proudly part with the tax dollars that are used to support those that are defending my freedom.
Is the obvious REALLY that difficult to see?
What good are schools and teachers if they are located in a country that refuses to stand up for EVERYTHING that they supposedly believe in? Our freedom is our foundation. To build without it is pointless.
Their melodramatic tripe is sickening. The fact that the blind and easily led will buy it, is infuriating.
They won't win, but they will tarnish everything and anyone that's tarnishable. In their pursuits, they have either forgotten why it's so great to live in the "land of the free," or they never knew to begin with.
I would like to believe that the democratic party, as a whole, is not this susceptible to blind, idiotic hatred. If that's the case, then those that remain within the party who ARE balanced and thinking clearly ought to reconsider their affiliations.
"Love it, or leave it people." There's plenty of socialistic countries out there for those of you that want that set up. I don't.
Blogrot ate my post!
Nope, not backed up---gone.
This must be the hades of blogworld, and I am stuck in it.
So, you ask, why AM I here??
I will tell you. I am here, because he-who-has-fathered-many led me here! He threw out the advice, and I took it.
YOU! All of you people at the blog-meet. You KNEW blogrot sucked, but did anyone tell me? Noooooo. (And don't say it was because I refused to give you the url. That is SO reaching.)
NOW EVERYONE TELLS ME
Yes, I know. You guys did tell me over a month ago, and my procrastinating ass has, well, procrastinated.
My fervor is now refueled, and I will be resuming communications with potential site saviors.
And, yeah, when I calm my butt down, I'll see if I can come up with some decent content.
KIDDIE STUFF OR SOFT PORN?
This post got me thinking. There are SOME things that just don't sound right, and therefore maybe shouldn't be repeated by children.
I do not think that WE are the pervs for picking up on the double meaning. It's there. It's obvious. And you'd have to be a lame-brain not to pick up on it.
I realize that The Owl and the Pussycat is a classic. I'm guessing that when Edward Lear wrote it in 1871, there was nothing to it. But when Chick-fil-A packaged it in the form of children's books, and handed it out in the twenty-first century, I believe that there WAS something to it.
Don't get me wrong. I love Chick-fil-A, the food, the ethics, the whole nine. But I had to toss this kid's meal toy. I cringed as I listened to my daughter read the little book, again and again. Here are the words that I heard escape my daughter's lips:
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar,
"O lovely Pussy, O Pussy, my love,
What a beautiful Pussy you are,
What a beautiful Pussy you are!"
...And that was the last. No, I am NOT a crazed, conservative, book-burning wench. Literature, in all of its forms, should be preserved, appropriately.
Times/terms change. Gay no longer means happy, and pussy no longer means cat. You can deny it, and put the words in the mouths of your children. But I'm not.
Was it funny to hear the cute little then five-year old voice read "O Pussy, my love"? Maybe, for about five seconds. Then I was stumbling ALL OVER MYSELF to get her to shut up!
I tried to be big about it. I failed. The poem lives on, but the book is history.
I USUALLY LIKE FOX NEWS
BUT THEY IRRITATED ME TODAY
All morning long, they repeated their piss-poor coverage of the cancellation of Flight 223. They offered little as to why, when, how, etc. and it sort of left one wondering if there was ANY relevance to the story whatsoever.
I decided to check another source:
Paul Beaver, a British defense analyst, told Britain's Press Association that the cancellation was triggered by a "real and definite threat."
"The intelligence is very, very precise. which is why this one flight has been canceled," he said. "We have got intelligence, I am told, that there was a plan to take the aircraft and destroy it over Washington or fly it into something."
Well, lo and behold, it looks like it may have been a pertinent story after all. In fact, I'd like to see Intelligence success stories like this one getting a little MORE positive media coverage. That way, MAYBE we could hope for an overall wash, after all of the negative tripe being spewed by the Democratic dopefuls and then merited and propagated by the smarm-hounds in charge of keeping the nation informed.
I'M REALLY NOT A FOOTBALL JUNKIE
BUT DID YOU GUYS SEE THAT GAME YESTERDAY?!?!
Dawgs over Purdue, 34 - 27 in OVERTIME.
We were so far ahead that it was really getting kind of boring. The Dawgs, so filled they must have been with holiday spirit, allowed Purdue to maintain their dignity by scoring a bit in the second half.
It's cool. We still have the lead. And we have the ball. And there's only a minute left in the game. Then it happened.
THE MOST FUMBLED-UP BEFUDDLED FUMBLE CONCEIVABLE
We're hit. It jumps. They dive. They get it. It jumps again. All dive. They land it. The refs are speechless, and they take a full five minutes to make sense of it all.
DAWGS SCORE IN OVERTIME
Mark, cutie though he is, is so conservative with his plays. I'M the one in stands SCREAMING for him to go for it when we're 4th and 2. "Nope. Gonna punt. Richt plays it safe, " a drunk slurring voice would always inform me. Yes, this I know.
That is why I was SO amazed when we WENT FOR IT--and MADE it--, 4th and Goal in overtime! Yes! Some stay stupid, I say, "About friggin' time!"
May not have been a shut out, but, hey, they came through for us. Helluva way to end the season guys!
Side-note: I thought of you, Rob, when Munson, after monumental efforts to accurately pronounce the names of some of the players said, "Whatever happened to football players with names like Johnson and Smith?"