I'm Royalty, Dammit!

I think in a past life, I was a pretty damn important person. I think I was some type of royalty. I don't say this because I think I'm fancy schmancy or better than anyone. I say it because I feel it. Deep within, there are these pangs of "I'm not living up to my potential", "Is that a pea under my mattress?" and "I am the fucking queen of the universe, everyone should grovel at my feet". Now, I say many of these things in jest to the people around me every day. We laugh and giggle and think it's just silly. But, deep down inside it just feels right when someone asks me for something with the statement "I shall grovel at your feet if you do this one little thing for me." Granted, they should grovel anyway, because I am awesomely royal - a royal pain in the ass.



I've been given some princess gifts over the last year: a tiara, a sign for my office door that states "The Princess in In, You May Enter", a new MacBook, and other assorted goodies. Some of the things I've received don't necessarily say royalty outright, but underneath, they all scream "we're in awe of you!"

Take my black support ribbon magnet.
On the outside, this is a silly gift. However, it assumes couple of things:

1)That I support something enough to own a support magnet that will ruin the paint job on my -get this- Grand Caravan (how else would royalty travel, other than in a grand caravan) and

2) that I think people are assholes that would steal a $3.99 magnet off of someone's car.

Now, I'm not sure I can get behind something enough to warrant a giant magnetic ribbon on my vehicle. For one, I just don't like the way they look. I'm not saying they're not a way to show your support for something. I'm just saying I don't want to do it with a magnet. EVERYONE is doing that. I'm not one of the masses. However, the second assumption up there is right on the money. And as much as I think that may be the coolest magnetic ribbon around, it's not on my car. It's on my fridge. With all of my other magnets: a wedge of cheese from Wisconsin, a taxi from New York, a butterfly I painted, a shit load of Thomas the Tank Engine magnets and the letters of the alphabet. There are more, but they are inconsequential.

There are other signs, not just groveling and gifts.

Here's one: I don't like to shop. I'm much happier when other people shop for me. I would be in seventh heaven if someone just said they would take over buying my clothes and shoes for me. That would be spectacular!

There's my love of sex toys. Cleopatra was so into these! She had special toys carved out of wood and even some made out of leather. She was a wild woman. Maybe I was Cleopatra.

Then, there's my penchant for waving. I don't do the Forest Gump wave or the Elvis wave. I do the parade wave, the wave of royalty.

Other things I do that are evidence of my past life of royalty:
The only steak I'll eat is filet mignon - top shelf meat for a top shelf gal!
Josh refers to me as Princess Mommy whenever I'm in a dress.
I get irritated when anyone else refers to themselves as the queen or king of anything.
I don't like the show "King of Queens", just because of the name of it.
My favorite playing cards: Kings and Queens.
AND, I think we should stop calling them Jacks and start calling them Knaves.
I purposely wore a floral dress to a wedding that I was just a guest at, and thought of wearing a tiara. Why is that uppity? Because the bride passed word that she would like the women to all wear black, and I didn't want to be just like everyone else.

I am a little concerned that I went from royalty to a royal pain in the ass as it seems like a step down. I think that you only get one chance to be something great and since I have nothing to offer other than my sharp wit and sassy attitude, my chance has past. I'm thinking that we all start out as something great and every time we come back, it's as something a little less than (but similar to) what we were the first time. So, perhaps next time around I will be a pigeon .. they get free food and crap on everyone and everything.

That's kind of a royal thing to do, don't ya think?

The Tired and the Restless

I've gotta say, it's a damn good thing it's Friday. It's been one heck of a week, and it certainly wasn't getting any better. Let me tell you why:

1) Doctors are the biggest, whiniest, neediest group of people a person could ever work for. I'm sick and tired of their entitlement issues. If I hear one more cry of "Why me?" I'm going to go off of the deep end! And these people are psychiatrists! Don't they know that all they are accomplishing is getting themselves labeled as malingering? I swear, on the day I sent out the faculty call schedule, there was an angry crowd outside of my office, wanting to know why I was so unfair to them – and these are doctors!

Good thing I had the Men in Black & Blue on my side!

I don't think there will be much protesting the faculty call schedule next month after those boys layeth the smack-down on their asses!

Silly doctors! Don't they know I control their weekends? I am the master of the faculty call schedule. Deal with it biotches!

2) We had a heck of a downpour Thursday night. Even before the rain, there was very gusty wind, which knocked out our power at about 7:47 pm. I called the Dominion Power hotline. They estimated our power would be back on at 11:00. AM. FRIDAY! It came on at about 1 AM, but I was already in bed at this point, having long given up on any chance I may have had at catching up on Lost from last season before it begins Oct. 4! I have, I think, 3 eps to watch yet. Don't spoil it for me! Dominion Bastards ruin everything.

3) For some reason, my MS is really making me lethargic, which in turn makes me grumpy. I feel like everything is fuzzy, but not warm. I hurt everywhere. I don't want to go on and on, but if anyone got the plate number of the truck that hit me, call it in, would ya?

4) I had a crazy dream that a friend of mine who is pretty much a democrat, had a house guest – the stinkin' republican from work. UGH! What's up with that? Why would she let a republican stay in her house? Doesn't she know that they have cooties?

I think I'm done rambling. Enjoy the weekend – I may take a blogging break, recharge my batteries (oh wait, THAT's not the version of the Jack Rabbit that I have) and then get back to doing the same ol', same ol'.

Diaglogues with an Almost 3-yr-old Psycho

Before I get into this, I heard the song "Hollaback Girl" this morning and I flashbacked (or perhaps I flashedback) to the first time I heard it. Gwen was performing it on Saturday Night Live and throughout the whole song, I was CERTAIN she was saying "I ain't no Harlem black girl!" And I thought to myself, well, she's right, but what an odd song. Carry on…



My son says some wildly fantastic things. Sure, I've droned on and on about him however, he is my one, my only, my angel. So, don't read it if you don't like to read about kids!



Josh shows an incredible ability to develop doctor-patient rapport and a fantastic bedside manner. As he comes at me, Daddy, or anyone else within range with the puzzle piece that reminds him of a tongue depressor, he very calmly says "open your mouth, all the way." We do it, because he's so serious about it. Then he says "now stick out your tongue and say ahhhhh like this….AHHHHHHH". So we do it, because we think it's so darn cute. Then, he attempts to ram the "tongue depressor" down your throat forcing you to close your mouth faster than a person trying to eat the last M&M in the candy dish. He looks at you so sweetly when you do this, puts his hand on your cheek and says "it's going to be OK. Don't be scared. Here, hold my hand." And the whole convoluted doctor-patient relationship is born. Apparently, he must've thought I had strep throat as he did a full swab of my tonsils before all was said and done. "What do you think doctor?" I asked. He says "You – you're gonna be just fine!" and walks away. That's my boy!



He makes me laugh nightly when he says "One more story!" or "One more song!" when it's time for sleep and he just really doesn't want to go to sleep. Or how about when I leave his room and he says "Mommy, don't go outside. It's too dark out there."



And then there was the morning he invited the moon in to watch Wonder Pets with him. Or how he has to tell everyone when he has a band aid by saying "Hey man! I have a band aid on!"



I love how whenever he sees something that he's not sure what it is, he says "what's that one?" or "what's his name?" Or when he doesn't want me to know that he's got the poop, he tells me "don't change me, ever again!" or "Don't look at my poop!" And he says these things if it's going to break my heart if I never have to do these things again.



And then there are the pretend voices he makes when playing with his trains or his trucks and how he makes them talk to him. Or sings the ABC's or Twinkle Twinkle Little Star (in Joshie speak, it's Tinkle Tinkle little star). When he wakes up Daddy in the mornings, cuddling time is short before he starts ordering Daddy around. "You go potty now." And "you put on your shirt!" And if I'm wearing a dress for work, or if he's looking at my wedding pictures, he calls me "Princess Mommy" and commands me to "twirl!"



And then there are flashes of superb silliness that let me now he truly is my son. As we're reading "The Very Hungry Caterpillar", he likes to finish the sentence on each page. He's made some minor changes. At the beginning of the book, when the egg hatches, out pops a tiny and very hungry… "PUMA!" We progress through the book and there's a page with a ton of food on it that we have to pause on. We pretend to take the things off the page and eat them. "I'm eating cake!" "I'm eating the pickle". Inevitably, Josh will look at me seriously, then a smile crosses his face as he reaches out and grabs the caterpillar and says "I eatin' the caterpillar!" And chomps down on the little bug. He then spits it out and announces, "That was gwoss!" If you've never read this book, and intend to, this may spoil the ending, so stop reading now. The tiny hungry caterpillar turns into a big, fat giraffe, builds himself a "cococooocoon", spends "2 WEEKS!" inside and then turns into a beautiful polar bear. The end.

Hostess products save lives!

Crappy Monday everyone. Hope you're all doing better than I am today. I've got pains! Stomach, back, legs, brain...it all hurts today. SO, I stayed home with the intent of getting much needed rest, but I can't seem to do that. Instead, I'm listening to music, contemplating my next move and hoping that everyone is starting the week on the right foot.

What to blog about, what to blog about, what to blog about?!?! I KNOW!! I'll tell you a story. This is a true story about the day I discovered how wonderful & multi-purpose Hostess snacks were.

I was all of 21 years old, in college. I had a part time job at a gas station, owned by a company that in retrospect, was probably an offshoot of the Third Reich - "SS Express Lane". Boy, did that job suck ass. I did enjoy the people I met there though, like the regulars who came in, spent a couple hours in there drinking coffee and scratching lottery tickets. My favorite was known as "Slugger", a sweet older man who at one point won upwards of 6 figures playing the lottery. If he won $100 or more on a scratch off, he'd always give whoever was working $20, just for selling him the ticket. My story has nothing to do with him though, just a fond memory.

Anyhow, one night, I had to close. About 15 minutes before closing time, I mopped up the floor, finishing right as it was closing time. I went to the front, locked the doors and headed back to the register to close out my drawer. As I was walking back, I slipped on the wet floor and fell into a display rack full of food. Not just any food - Hostess snacks. Oh, what that spill must have looked like to an onlooker. I'm certain I fell in slow motion - sort of like taking the Nestea plunge, only with my arms and legs flailing while yelling "OH SHIT!"

I lay there for a second, unsure of what just happened. I was using a conglomeration of Twinkies, Cupcakes, Ding Dongs, SnoBalls and HoHo's as a pillow, when I noticed I was in a lot of pain. I looked down at my legs. There, sticking into my knee was a piece of the wire shelf that had broken when I fell. A closer look revealed that I was sitting on the face of the SnoBall girl - it may have been the closest I've come to actually being a lesbian.
On the floor under my knee - a Twinkie that had broken open during the fall soaking up the blood. Incedentally, Twinkies not only make great sponges for bodily fluids, but they can also be used to fashion a gorgeous wedding cake:



I looked around again and realized that if it wasn't for the DingDongs, Cupcakes, Hohos and deliciously pink SnoBallls, I might have been super hurt. However, I had caused some serious damage to Captian Cupcake in the process, so I ate him.




I knew I needed to get up, but first, I had to get the shelf out of my knee. So, knowing it was going to hurt, I thought back to every movie I had seen. You gotta pull that sucker out and it's gonna hurtt, so you need to bite on a bullet - or something and I was fresh out of bullets. So, I did what any self-respecting college student would do while lying in a giant pile of delicious Hostess products - I opened a Twinkie, shoved it in my mouth and yanked out the shelf. OK, that's not completely true - I ATE the Twinkie, leaving the wire rack in my leg. I would like to see you try to resist that moist golden cake with Twinkie the Kid
on it, smiling at you as if to say "you know you want me!".
After finishing my snack, I just stood up, the rack fell out on it's own.

I looked down at my knee and there was blood everywhere and I couldn't bend my leg. Like a good little worker, I finished counting my drawer, cleaned up the Hostess mess, packed some of the more smashed not-salvageable ones in my backpack, and called my then-boyfriend (total fucking loser - UGH - what was I thinking?!?!) to come get me because I had a stick shift car and couldn't bend my leg to depress the clutch or anything. And then waited He was 45 minutes away. I was a LOT of pain and so I opened up a Ding Dong. I pondered why in certain parts of the country, they were not called Ding Dongs. I've heard them referred to as King Dons, which is totally gay, if you asked me. Then I began to wonder why they called them Ding Dongs. They certainly didn't look like a dong, at least none that I had ever seen. Anyhow, King Ding Dong would not approve of me discussing these things. He always has that look of disapproval on his face, sort of like my father.



I wound up with 8 stitches in my knee. I remember the doctor at the hospital told me that I was lucky there was something to break my fall and didn't hit my head. Thank-you Hostess for saving my life! HA!!

I left that job, not long after that. There was some brew-ha-ha because I had called in to work drunk on St. Patty's Day (it wasn't my fault they opened the bar at 3:00 AM and the DJ had the NERVE to play Blister in the Sun, which was our college drinking anthem!). Shortly after that, the assistant manager accused me of stealing lottery tickets (I wasn't) and I accused her of smoking crack in the back room (she was) and we all went our separate ways.

But since that day I have come to realize that I lived a dream that night when I fell. I was laying down, surrounded by snacky cakes that were free for the taking. If only I had been naked and they had been unwrapped, it truly would have been a dream come true! It probably wouldn't have lived up to my expectations had it happened that way, sort of like the time I took a bath in chocolate (another story for another time). Just know that you really don't want to do that one either. Stick with the Hostess products. That creamy-white lard filling is just what everyone needs to make their day! And you too, can be a happy ho ho.

Another strange dream

So, I had another odd dream last night. I say odd because I RARELY remember my dreams, unless they're terrifying or highly erotic. Anyhoo, if you're keeping up, I recently told you about a dream I had about my Grandfather. Well - another family dream.

My cousin, who I used to be very close with until I moved away is pregnant, due in January. So, last night, I dreamt about her. In my dream, we lived close to each other. She called me and asked if I wanted to come to have lunch with her at work. So, I went. She said I had to sit through a presentation with her first. She worked at an advertising firm, and we sat in this room watching commercials. I don't remember any of them, but I remember they made the dream me laugh uncontrollably, which made everyone else laugh. Then, we went to their cafeteria, which was a bar and grill. So, we go sit at the bar and she was wearing a tank top. She pulled the tank top up and tucked it under her bra so that her preggo tummy was hanging out. Then - she started chain smoking and ordering whiskey sours, all the while rubbing her pregnant belly. And everyone in the place came up to her, put their hand on her stomach and wished her well. And the fact that she was smoking and drinking didn't phase anyone - not even dream me. And in my dream, I closed my eyes and put my head down on the bar, and that's when I woke up.

Now, I'm usually pretty decent at interpreting others dreams for them, but this one has me totally thrown. So much so, that it's all I'm blogging about. So much so that I'm only going to mention quickly that I had a great time at the Southern Living at Home show with Kris and Katie (and I got to meet Lon too!) I ate FAR too much beer bread and garlic garlic...yummmmmmy. Oh, and Chocolate Ugly Cake. Yeah buddy!

And now, I have a killer headache, so I'm just leaving it at that. Hope everyone enjoyed their weekend!

The only thing we have to fear is Psycho herself

Let’s start off with something trite, shall we? Thank God It’s Friday! What do Agnostics say? “Damn good thing it’s Friday!” Therefore, they don’t go to TGI Friday’s…the go to DGTI Friday’s.

OK, I’m going to go with my name change of the day (Paranoid Princess) and talk about fears. Not the typical “I’m afraid of being alone” or “I’m afraid of heights”, but the more truly outrageous things that I’m ascared of. And, I warn you now, they’re silly, unjustified and I know that, but I still just can’t get past them.

1) Elevators. I don’t mind being on them. I don’t mind them moving. Closed spaces don’t frighten me. What am I afraid of then? Well, when I get on or off of an elevator, I’m afraid it’s suddenly going to drop and cut me in half. I still get on them, but if you’re ever with me and I hesitate before getting on or off of it, you’ll know why.

2) Being forgotten. I’m not afraid that when I’m gone people won’t remember me, that’s not it at all, because I already know that I am unforgettable! (Go away Narcissistic Princess, it’s my turn!) I’m afraid of things like when you go to the doctor and the nurse puts you in the exam room and leaves you there. What if no one ever comes back? What if I’m left in there and there is some emergency, will they remember to let me know I have to get out and save myself?

3) Bridges. I’m not so much afraid of heights. I’m not afraid of water. I’m afraid of the bridge itself. What if it suddenly breaks while I’m on it? What if I’m driving across a huge overpass and it breaks in half and I fall in? Will I die when my car hits the ground, or will I be able to land just right, have the air bags go off and walk away unscathed? And worse yet – what if there is a huge traffic back up and we’re stopped on the bridge and someone blows it up?

4) Bleeding to death from something dumb like a shaving accident. I’m on blood thinners, so I tend to bleed quite a bit when I cut myself. However, I’ve never been in grave danger from it. Yet, I’m worried that some day, I could be. How sad would that be to open up the paper, read my obit and find out I died because I picked a scab off of my knee.

5) Nuclear war, or as our illustrious president calls it “nucular war”, which might frighten me more. I’m not afraid of getting blown to smithereens. I’m not afraid of death. I’m afraid of surviving it. Because there won’t be many survivors at all, and if you’re one of them, it’s not going to be pretty. Yes, I’d be sad that most of the people I know would be gone. However, the scariest part of the whole surviving thing for me would be that I, more than likely, would not be able to curl my hair, or put any kind of styling product in it. I have naturally curly hair, to the extreme, so if I don’t load it up with product, I look like the love child of Roseanne Roseannadanna and Don King.



Other random fears: juicy chicken, bugs laying eggs in my ears, and the mole inside my belly button that I never knew was there until I was pregnant and my belly button popped out. (It's since gone back to normal, and tho I can't see it, I know that mole is there and I'm afraid it's going to turn out to be my undoing).

Now, don't look at me like that. You know I can't stand your disapproving stares. Everyone is afraid of something - what's in YOUR closet?

I'm Depressed - No I'm not!

I am NOT having a good morning.  Wanna hear about it?  You don't?  Oh well, sucks to be you sometimes, doesn't it? 

 

OK, so let's back up to last night.  My son (whose name is Ord this week) wants to be a dragon for Halloween.  Not just ANY dragon though - he's picky like his Mama.   So, I'm on the hunt last night for a dragon costume for him.  There were lots of cutsie ones, but none were what he wanted.  I ran across this hot dragon outfit and show it to him.  "Do you like this one?"  "NO!"  This goes on and on through every stinkin' dragon costume I find.  I liked this one, he didn't.  Finally, there's one I haven't shown him.  So, I show it to him.  "Do you like this one?"  "NO MOMMY!"  I turned my head and said under my breath "of course you don't because it's gay looking."  Daddy says "Do you like this one?"  And Ord says "No, it's gay looking."  GREAT.  I'm teaching my child all the bad things in life – but hey, at least he doesn't walk around cussing!   We finally found an actual Ord from Dragon Tales costume.  Not as cute as the others, but he LOVES IT.   It's been ordered already – whew!  Now, I just have to work on my costume for the big Halloween party.  I don't know what I want to be yet, but whatever it is, I don't want it to come from a box, or be something that EVERYONE has been at one point in their life.  Any great ideas you want to share? 

 

Not long after that, I was reading Ord a goodnight story and we were talking about the day he was born.  I made the mistake of telling him that he used to live in my tummy and the picture on the dresser was taken the day he decided he wanted to come out of my tummy.  He thought for a minute, then crawled on top of me and with one knee planted firmly in my gut and the other up toward my chest he says "I want to go back in your tummy!"  At least he wasn't trying to crawl back in the way he came out!

 

THEN, I had to give myself my shot (cuz it was shot night.  Monday-Wednesday-Friday for future reference.)  Now, I have to tell you I'm a shot-giving retard.  I've given myself shots in my life many, many, many times.  Most of them in my stomach.  I've tried the autoinjectors, but they hurt and bruise more than doing it yourself.  But, I can't just poke it in real quick and be done with it.  I have to line it up, take a deep breath, push the needle in very, very slowly, and if it starts to hurt, instead of just pushing it in, I actually take the damn thing out and start over somewhere else.  WTF is wrong with me?  THEN, instead of just pushing the plunger down in one smooth motion, I inject it a tiny bit at a time.  You see this way, when the medicine burns really bad, I can stop for a moment, cuss a bit about how much it hurts, and then continue on.  I've even injected half, thought it burned so bad when it was going in that I stopped and took it out and picked a new place.  I guess I approach my shots like sex.  It's not OK to just ram it in there, shoot the stuff inside and yank it out.  Gotta take my own sweet time.  What would take a normal person probably all of 3-5 seconds to complete, I'm doing for 3-5 minutes.  It's crazy I tell ya! 

 

And that's just when I'm injecting into my stomach. Ask me sometime about injecting into my thigh or the back of my arm, or into my hip – THAT is quite the adventure.  Perhaps I'll have Jerry take photos next time so you can see how "gay looking" I am when I do it. 

 

Sometimes, Jerry does them in my arse, which is ok, but he uses the autoinjector, so there's no romance there!  Sure, once a month, I let him poke me in the pooper and it's over and done with in about 3 seconds.  I should mention for your visual pleasure, this is the point where you should close your eyes and imagine me laying on my stomach, ass up in the air, BITING A PILLOW so that if it hurts I don't yell….Got it?  Then, he rubs the cold alcohol swab on there, (in his defense, he does blow on the alcohol to help it dry quicker, and that tickles by toushie!) OK, do you have that visual? Got it?  Got it?  Now hold it.....still got it? Good, cuz he just rammed the damn thing in there, and it's over now.  The good part is, he has to rub my butt when it's over.  YAY!

 

Getting back to the point of my writing today.  I'm NOT having a good morning.  (Did I already say that?)  It's not that anything particularly 'bad' has happened.  It's just that everything that happens is not as I planned it.  Great example:  I go down the hall to make me some fresh coffee.  I get down there, put the filter in the basket, rinse out my coffee cup, set the coffee to go, fill my cup with the required amounts of Mini-Moos and Splenda.  And then I wait.  I am so craving some great coffee to warm me up since it's a bit chilly outside.  And I hear the slurping gurgle of the coffee pot and out comes the beginning of a delicious pot of hot, steaming, SPLENDA WATER.  WTF???  Ah yes, while chit chatting in the hallway, and making the coffee, I apparently poured the Splenda packets into the coffee filter and the coffee packet into my cup, all the while having a conversation with a woman who, you think would at least point out that I was making a major mistake, but nope, she just kept on chatting, watching me make an ass out of myself.  Not wanting to look like a total choad, I actually pour the Splenda water into my ground-filled cup and stir it around, proclaim out loud to no one in particular (since I'm in the hall alone now) that "Heh, I really should clean my cup more often!" That way, you see, maybe people will think that I'm just a slob instead of a dumb ass.  Because THAT is the image I want to portray – giant slob.  Because in the realm of things, I'd rather be messy than empty headed. 

 

And with that, I think I shall attempt to work again. I think my depressive state is lifting.  I'm moving into the manic state.  I LOVE YOU ALL!  *MWAH!* *SMOOCHIES*  OH HAPPY DAY!!!! 

All My Love,

Bipolar Princess

From Yesterday- CHDG and me

So, I go to meet my buddy for a smoke break and I have to walk past CHDG on my way back to the office. So, I think he saw earlier when Kris was doing some picture taking, and I was walking by, he shouted at me! I think he said "Hey! You know you want a hot dog!" But I couldn't be sure. I stopped, looked him square in the eye and said "Not today jolly man!" And then, I ran. And ran. And never looked back.

I'm not sure what this new development means, or who should get credit for winning this round. I think I won. I feel like I won. And yet, I feel so...empty.

I've decided to finally change my name. CHDG knows too much about PP. SO...every few days, I'm going to change it. I think I'm going to go with a different psych disorder every day. Like "Bipolar Princess". So, if you've got a favorite psych disorder, let me know! Maybe it can be my name of the day one day this week!

Toys 4 Us

Here it is ladies (and gents who care!) Lets get down n dirty & discuss the various types of fun for her items that are out there. Don't worry guys, I found a little something for you too!

There are soooo many different types of vibrators out there, you have to know what it is makes you hot (and satisfied!) Are you content with a raging vaginal orgasm, or do you need that clitoral orgasm? Do you want it to just vibrate, or should it move around? Perhaps you would prefer a plain old fake dong and don't want it to move at all (with the exception of what youre doing yourself) Do you like small and compact, designed to look like a tube of lipstick? or is inflatable and the size of a brontosauras erection better? Do you want something you can leave in and say, go grocery shopping? It even has a remote, so someone else could control your pleasure, right there in front of everyone! I guarantee it'll be the best shopping trip you ever had. "Clean up in aisle 6!"

Do you want just one speed or varying speeds? Does color matter? Perhaps you like neons, pastels, bold colors, etc. Would you like it to be an accessory for your ipod? (It moves with the music youre playing!)

Or perhaps they'll perfect the perfect X-Box companion! Finally, something YOU can use the X-box for.

Will it bother you if there is a smiley face on it? (many have this) Do you want it with a rubbery texture, or smooth like plastic, metal or even glass ? You can get them that will offer you TRIPLE stimulation!! The Cunning Cactus would be just up your alley (HA!)!

A little shy in this area? They have a wide variety of vibrators for beginners. Want one you could accidentally leave out on your dresser and people would say Oh how cute!? Try this one that looks like a friendly catepillar!

Super advanced users will marvel at the Sybian Sex Machine. A rocking good time would be had by all that use it Just ask Howard Sterns guests who have tried it out on his show such as Carmen Electra and Jenna Jameson!

Psycho's all-time favorite has to be the Jack Rabbit . With 7 speeds of shaft rotation (and beads at the base of the shaft for that extra special touch) its a great start. But its just that - just the start! Because the bunny ears also have 7 speeds. Theres the slow and steady (indicated by the green light), then a medium steady (yellow-orange light), and a high power steady (RED LIGHT! RED LIGHT!!! OH GAWD THE RED LIGHT!!!). None of those doing it for you? The next setting alternates from slow to high in short rapid bursts. Or the next, slow-med-high-med-slow-med-high over and over and over again! Or perhaps youd like what I dub the "Morse Code" setting: Dot-dot-dot-DAAAAAAAAASSSSSHHHHOHGOD!!!! And then there's the completely random one, where you don't know what's coming next! (But I'd be willing to bet its you!)

In my research for this blog, I did find something I'm interested in - Remote control panties! These also come in a thong style. I can see these being a big hit! Especially if I ever decide to try going out dancing. It can only improve my skills in that area.

Now ladies, while these treasures are truly something you can enjoy when alone, it's also fun to let your partner be in control. You may have to give him/her specific instructions, such as "don't let the light on it stay red, or its all over in maybe 10 seconds buddy."

Other couple oriented pleasure items: rings, hog tie restraint kits, feathery butt plugs, whips, the list goes on and on.

Here's one for the geek in all of us. Got a techie geek husband (like I do) and want to get him more involved? Long distance relationship blues? Here's a WiFi Vibrator that can actually be controlled over the internet!

And for you men who are jealous that there is nothing for you quite like this, I have a couple of things for you to look at: JUST LIKE JENNA!. Or how about these lil numbers? They are hand held and look just like a flash light! Now, wasn't that worth you taking the time to read this?

I have to say, it's been an educational ride for me. I'm looking forward to checking out some of these things. I have to thank my husband, Jerry, for getting me interested in these things in the first place, as well as offering up many wonderful suggestions for this particular piece. All in all, isn't the point to have fun? Take it from Dr. Seuss: "If you never have, you should! These things are fun, and fun is good!" I need to go now I need a Chux and a piece of ass!

Social Commentary?

I would like, for once, to write a very moving, socially relevant blog, instead of the mindless drivel I generally produceI'd like to make it about a touching subject that people read and say "Yeah, she knows what she's talking about!" Or perhaps you'd disagree with my views and say "That bitch is crazy!" Either way, I'd be ok with it. However, that's just not my style, I prefer being silly and naughty, talking about vibrators, my labia (which is simply STUNNING, by the way!), something goofy I did or said or thought. That's just me, what I prefer, my M.O.

SO, what do I have for you crazy kids today? Just some things I've run across in the past month or so.

-In a comment somewhere on My Space: "ROTFLMAOWPIMP" Wow, that's a lot of letters! Now, I know what it's supposed to mean, however when I look at it, I think the writer is rolling on the floor laughing her ass off with a pimp. It's a much better visual than a grown woman laughing on the floor, peeing all over herself . Well, I guess that would depend on the woman in question. How about this one?

-In yet another comment on MySpace: "TNTPIMPL." It has been explained to me that this is "trying not to pee in my pants laughing". However, I view it and am convinced that what this writer needs is to have the pimple on his taint popped, or at the very least looked at by a doctor.

I recently ran across this little nugget while perusing the news: "Willie Nelson and four others were issued misdemeanor citations for possession of narcotic mushrooms and marijuana after a traffic stop Monday morning." SURPRISE!! Leave the guy alone – perhaps we should look into some of our more prominent politicians instead of picking on an old hippie.

Then there was the article about alcohol use being linked to higher incomes, fish being used to detect terrorist attacks, and some brain surgery journal announced that rocket scientists have been "proven" to not be the gold standard smart worker bees previously thought.

What does all this have to do with anything? It's the news people. It's the socially relevant content of our time, well maybe not the pimp rolling or the taint pimple, but you have to admit, those are some things worth mentioning.

Or perhaps the pimps and the taints ARE what are socially relevant and these other news bits mean nothing in the whole realm of things. Think about it – which would you rather read about?

I often wonder to myself "Self, how the hell did you wind up here?" And then I remember the whole I'm in love, I left my family and moved here and never looked back. I don't regret it, well except that I can't get good cheese or Sunday ham & hard rolls, or have dinner with my mom whenever I want to. The rest I happily exchanged for warmer winters, new friends and a whole new brand of fun that doesn't center on moonlight bowling and cow tipping. Blah blah blah.

CHDG has been WAY too quiet lately. Something big is getting ready to go down. I feel it. Sort of like this is the calm before the storm.

And I leave you with this: "Muslims in Turkey, Iraq and the Palestinian territories demanded Tuesday that Pope Benedict XVI make a clear apology for his remarks on Islam, instead of saying only that he was "deeply sorry" that Muslims had taken offense."

To this I say: Whatever. Get over it. Comedians say worse things about all regligious groups and no one is threatening to blow up anyone over it. What do they want him to do? Cry and convert? Beg, on his knees for forgiveness? Let's be realistic. The Pope represents ONE religion, not all of them and certainly not the majority of the world. Why do you care so much what he thinks? Yeah, it sucks that the whole thing is so freaking hypocritical, but hey, that's what the Pope does. (Don't get me started on the Pope and women in the church!)

On the flip side, why did the Pope have to clarify that he was sorry that Muslim's took offense at what he said? Why couldn't he say "I'm deeply sorry for what I said" and leave it at that? But noooo...he has to clarify and by doing so says "I'm not sorry for what I said, I'm just sorry you got pissed about it." This is one of the many reasons why I find organized religion so evil. Here are some more (hey, if you don't want to read a blog about what I think of organized religion, don't click that link, ok?)

Social relevance at it's finest.

ROTFLMAOWPIMP, TNTPIMPL

Something happened on the way to the Forum

Happy Monday to you! And to you! Oh, and to you too! And yeah, you in the back, I almost didn't see you! But not to that guy. Right there in the front. No "happy" of any kind to you wearing those worn out Sketchers, trying to be sauve and cool. No one likes you. Why are you even here?

Great! Starting out with an insult. Perhaps by the end of the blog, I may feel inclined to shoot one lucky person a compliment. I don't compliment people very well, it's a skill I'm working on.

OK, enough about that. Let's delve right in to what you're all here for: an examination of the leaders of third world countries and their rise (and sometimes fall) to (or from) power.

Did you really think I was going to talk about that? I mean come on, who wants to read THAT blog? Instead a tidbit of my day for you.

Had lunch with my fantastical besty (chesty) friend (no, not my vibrator). As always, we were cutting up and giggly before we even got to River City Diner. Upon entering, we were seated by the infamous Becca, who was actually polite to us. We sat down and the giggling commenced in earnest. I'm thinking she is probably going to blog about much of our dining experience, as she documented it with pictures, so I'll just skip to the nitty gritty.

Should you ever hit River City Diner, you really want either Becca (blonde) or Jess (brunette) as a waitress. Did I mention this was a full service diner?

We had Jess today, who was just as much fun as Becca. However, Becca could not keep herself from our table. When we were done eating, she asked aforementioned best buddy if she would like a box. We started laughing as she walked away and when she returned with the box, I asked her if there was a 25 cent charge for the box (remember the muff charge?) All in all, great fun was had.

I do have a suggestion for you if you want to have some silly fun of your own. Go into a store and pick out three odd items to buy and take them up to the counter and purchase them. It can't just be weird stuff, it has to be benign by themselves, but naughty when put together. It just may make the cashier's day. Some examples for you:

Duct tape, paper muffin cups, and a turkey baster

A banana, 6 tubes of Blistex and a full length mirror

Latex gloves, a ball of twine and a box of condoms

Get the point now?

I'm trying to put together a road rally/scavenger hunt thingie. That's where you get a list of things you have to document via photos or video with your team (4 people). 3 of the 4 team members must be present in the documentation. The list is made up on the spot, via a super secret multiple choice and fill in the blank process) so there's no way to have any advanced insider knowledge of it. Items on past years' lists: A man with a 7" or longer beard, a picture of your group with a wedding party (must include bride and groom), road kill, 13^th hole of a golf course. You get the picture. SO, if you'd be at all interested, let me know! I'm trying to see if we can do it in early November. It'll be a hoot! The more people we get, the better the prizes. There is an entry fee, but that'll depend on how many teams we can get. More info to be posted about the Road Rally/Scavenger Hunt as we nail down a date.

Oh, and by the way, before I forget, your labia looks STUNNING today! Are you doing something different with it?

Wiener, Dreams and Chicken

Quick little wiener update: my gangsta biotch came over to help celebrate my step son's birthday. While here, she thoroughly enjoyed the wiener. She wouldn't put the wiener down once she got it in her hands. At one point, she tucked the wiener between her hooters and finished eating her lunch that way. It was disturbing to watch, and I had trouble eating after that. However, the chocolate on chocolate cake was awesomely good. I made it myself - if I could give myself kudos, I would.

I had a dream, not long ago. In this dream, my grandfather (who I never met, by the way. However, my Grandmother was a hoot!)was standing at the end of a long road. I was about 13 years old in my dream, but looked just like I do now. Anyhow, in my dream, I was running down the road toward my grandfather and I tripped. I looked down to see what I fell on and it was an empty bottle of Jack Daniels. I got up and kept running toward him, yelling "Wait for me Grandpa!" and every few steps, I'd trip over an empty bottle of Jack Daniels. When I finally got to him, my knees were bleeding terribly and I was crying. Grandpa looked down at me and tried to smile, but all his teeth fell out and he started to cry. THAT woke me up. I can count on one hand the number of times I've seen a grown man cry in my life. In fact, I can count it on one finger. Only once have I seen it (I've seen the wiener more often than that!) Anyhow, I decided that my dream must mean something totally bizarre, like I'm going to win the lottery and have a big party with Jack Daniels. And there will be Ultimate Fighting. Yeah, thats what it must mean!

And one more thing to mention. I have developed some type of aversion to chicken. Used to be, Psycho likes her chicken juicy. Now, if I cut into chicken and it's not dry, it freaks me out. I can't eat it. I don't knowwhat the problem is. Dry chicken does NOT taste good, no matter how you eat it. However, I can't eat it any other way. This is a new development, it's probably been a month or so. I don't know why, what happened, etc. I just know I'm creeped out by juicy chicken. So, as my hubby is grilling chicken today, I remind him of my new aversion to chicken, so I want mine really done. He says "So, chicken bothers you?" and starts moving his head in a pecking motion towards me. Then, he starts clucking. NICE. Your wife tells you she's got some issues with chicken, and you cluck and peck at her. Good times. Bet if I told him I couldn't eat meat anymore, he wouldn't be laughing.

I'm bored, I'm tired, I'm going to veg out on the couch and wonder how much it would cost to buy bunch of Jack Daniels, set up an ultimate fighting ring and let the chickens go at it. CLUCK!

Wiener!!!!

The wiener is going to come tonight!  I promised several people a picture of the wiener, and I will deliver.  First, I have to tell everyone how excited I am that the wiener will be at my house tonight!  Granted I can only touch, cuddle, kiss and play with the wiener until Sunday, but hey, there's always next weekend!

 

It's a bit of a departure from the ones I'm used to playing with.  For starters, it's very, very small, I'm used to the big ones!  It's also not very hairy, which will be a nice change for me.  I'll have to remember not to play as roughly with it as I do my other ones.  I'm also hoping it doesn't make too much noise.  Then again, it's not the end of the world if the wiener wakes me up in the middle of the night, right?  AND, I'm not cleaning up any of the mess it may make.  That's not my job.  After all, it's not MY wiener!  OH!  And if you'd like to see a picture of the wiener in question, CLICK HERE. 

 

On to other things.  Outside my work, I've discovered a porn ring for cartoon stars.  Either that, or it's a cartoon rest area.  Either way, I'm concerned for the safety of these beings.  Sponge Bob is no longer there, and that concerns me.  The Incredible Hulk wasn't there today either, although I had never noticed the candy apples before.  Nice that they provide our stars treats. 

 

 

I was not aware that Super Man and Dora were a thing, but I don't think Tweety is very happy about it.  At least they have those cotton candy pillows to lay their air-filled egos on.  HEY!  Wait a minute!!  What does Super Man have under his arm?  Must be a prize for Dora - or Batman! And what is that other Spider Man doing behind Super Man?!?!?

It's Friday, and I have no HUGE plans for the weekend (other than the wiener).  It is my step son's 12^th birthday, so I will help usher in that last year before he becomes a teenager.  I think the lawn needs mowing…hahahaha!

 

I am excited that I'll get to see my Gangsta-Biotch and my super cool and groovy niece, B-Boo.  (I heard B-Boo is going to be Pebbles for Halloweenie, but she gets to carry around Bam-Bam's club – AWESOME GIRL POWER!)

 

Other than that, nothing heart felt, moving or otherwise interesting. 
Everyone's got an opinion – mine is just more rational and realistic than others'.  Enjoy the weekend!

Lookout! She's talking smack!

[**Warning/Disclaimer/whatever you wanna call it: I AM NOT BASHING RELIGION HERE. I am simply telling you my thoughts on why I won’t/don’t go to church. THAT’S ALL. Don’t read anything into it. I’m not inspired by Satan, I don’t need me some savin’ and if you are easily offended when someone makes a comment about religion in the year 2006, then for heaven’s sake – DON’T READ ANY MORE OF THIS BLOG ENTRY.]

It is a question that has been pondered by millions, asked by a handful, and never completely answered by the Princess herself. The question on the minds of the multitudes: “PP, why don’t you go to church? Ever?”

The answer, my friends, is blowing. No, not in the wind, and no, not altar boys. Blowing meaning that the world is full enough of hypocritical, ultra-right-wing conservative, bigoted, we-like-you-only-if-you-do-exactly-what-we-say blowhards that I don’t need to sit in a small building being told that their way is the right way, the only way, and that they will change “The Word of God” to suit their needs at that moment and if you don’t play along, you don’t get to pass “Go” later on – unless you pay us $1,000, then we can forget this ever happened.

Having said that, I do consider myself mostly a Christian. Take that! I just don’t think it needs to be organized and put into a form and pushed on other people. I don’t even want to share it. It’s mine and mine alone and no one else can have it. Sure, if you wanted to have an intelligent conversation about it, I’ll tell you my thoughts and theories, my beliefs and morals, and at the end of it, you too will come to see that my way is right and everyone else’s is wrong…no wait, that’s not it either.

So there, it’s out in the open. I’m no longer hiding. What brought all of this up? Why, the Pope did! You know, he’s been accused of trying to revive the spirit of the Crusades and came across as very anti-Islam. Of course, the Vatican denies that the remarks were not meant to be mean, i.e., “he’s not a bully!” Yet, those on the other side of the coin were very insulted, saying that the Pope will go down in history “in the same category as leaders such as Hitler and Mussolini.” WOW. That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think? Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe the quote he read that said basically that all of the ways that Islam was different from Christianity were evil was a way for him to say “Our God can kick your God’s ass!”, was not a wise choice, and maybe he should have picked a different one. Maybe, just maybe he could have read “Llama Llama Red Pajama” instead. That’s always a crowd pleaser.
A quote from the article I was reading: ‘Benedict wants to "cultivate an attitude of respect and dialogue toward the other religions and cultures, obviously also toward Islam," Lombardi said.’ I don’t remember Vince Lombardi saying ANYTHING like that. He said more profound things like:

"If it doesn't matter who wins or loses, then why do they keep score?"

"Some of us will do our jobs well and some will not, but we will be judged by only one thing-the result."

"Winning isn't everything--but wanting to win is."

So it’s this petty crap about pointing fingers, taking pot shots, defending the wrong things and not standing up for the right things that drives me batty as far as organized religion. I’m not saying it’s all bad. I’m just saying it’s not for me. And if it’s for you, good for you! But in a world where Dog gets arrested, vegetables can make you SUPER SICK, and giant babies are being born, I’m going to spend my time doing my own thing, my own way. After all, Britney and K-Fed now have 2 children and someone needs to keep THAT from ever happening again.

CHDG At it AGAIN!

The other day, I was walking to my car after work, and I noticed a strange phenomenon – people would stop what they were doing when I walked by and stare at me. Not just any people though. There was the campus police officer at the coffee cart. There was the group of hospital security guys in the hallway by the gift shop. There was the cop on the motorcycle who was talking to the cop on the bicycle. And then, there was the creepy guy standing on the corner. I looked down to make sure my skirt wasn’t tucked in my underwear with my arse hanging out. Nope. No hooters hanging out. No hair standing up. Nothing. Then it hit me. CHDG. Freakin’ CHDG. I know he’s behind this. He’s been too quiet lately. Except for the other day when he spoke to me. He said something that sounded like “Buckets are for you and everyone.” I still don’t know what that means, but hey, get your bucket now, while you can.

THEN, I go to pick up my son, who this week is insisting I call him “Max”. Max is running around at Ms. Kathy’s yelling something strange. Even more strange than what CHDG said to me. He’s talking in his bizarre Danny Torrence voice (think of a 2 ½ year old saying “Redrum! Redrum!!”) and what he is saying sounds like this: “Frau a bouquet ah my heeeeahhhh!” Over and over, louder and louder. And three adults are sitting there (me, PawPaw and Ms. Kathy) trying to figure out what he’s saying. I ask him to say it normally, he won’t. So, I start guessing. “There’s a german lady who wants to give you flowers?” Nope, not it. “You want me to frown at the booger on your head?” No, try again. “You found a bucket on your head?” He stops, smiles, says “yes” and doesn’t say it again. I quickly see this is the work of CHDG – hence his earlier warning. Call Father Karras, cuz I think there’s trouble afoot!

I’ve got the trusty old XM radio on my new favorite channel: xL Bone Yard. It’s supposed to play mostly old 80’s hair bandy-type stuff, rock and random oddness. The last four songs played: Queensryche’s Operation Mindcrime, Aerosmith’s Amazing, Guns N’ Roses’ Paradise City and followed up by that all chick band Vixen singing How Much Love. Nifty little mix there. I could have done without Vixen, but you gotta take the good with the bad. Do you remember Vixen? They're still around, tho I'm not sure they aged very well.
SO, I switched it to the 80’s where the GREATEST 80’s SONG EVER is playing. Can’t believe I missed this one yesterday in my blog. Ready for it? REO Speedwagon’s “Time for Me to Fly”. My GAWD I played that song out in the 80’s. It’s an incredible tune, no matter what you think of REO. Can’t think of a better breakup song (and there were plenty in the 80’s!)

And with that, I’m done blogging. Maybe tomorrow I’ll feel funnier. Maybe tomorrow, I’ll show you a picture of the new wiener. I LOVE THE WIENER – and I’ve only touched it once!! I’m hoping to actually hold it tomorrow and maybe pet it – give it a kiss and all. You have to wait now if you wanna see it. See how I torture you like that? I’m such a tease…it must be the work of Carlos Santana, right Krissy-Poo-Poo-Dumplin’?

PP OUT!

My Life - The Musical

Opening anecdote (every good musical has one):

Went to lunch with a very good friend and her fiancée’ today. We went to River City Diner in downtown Richmond. The waitress was freakin’ hilarious! She was loud and obnoxious, just like us and we joked all the way through, right up until I had to ask her for a copy of the itemized receipt. Why would I do this? Well, I think it’s self explanatory – just check out the second entry.


What a great price! And if you’re ever in town, be sure to go to River City and request Becca as your server cuz SHE ROCKS!

----------------

So, it seems that every so many years, a song comes out that really defines my life at that exact moment. Wanted to share some of those songs and what they mean to me. Just to give you a glimpse into who I am and how I got that way!

"I Remember You" by Skid Row. Ah yes. The year: 1989."We've had our share of hard times, but that's the price we paid. And through it all we kept the promise that we made. I swear you’ll never be lonely."

My first year in college, my first REAL relationship wasn’t going so well, mostly because I was in college and, whelp, he was dumb – real dumb (and not the “bless his heart” kinda dumb either). I said goodbye to most of my high school friends as we all went our separate ways. My best friend at the time and I promising to always be friends, that no matter where life took us, we’d always remember each other. Then we’d laugh because it’s really a love song, but the chorus seemed to be written just for us. Funny but sad, we don’t even speak anymore for reasons FAR beyond my control. BUT, should she ever somehow see this: I miss you Jen. More than words can say. You just don’t know how much…

"My Next 30 Years" by Tim McGraw came out in October of 2000."My next thirty years I’m gonna settle all the scores. Cry a little less, laugh a little more. Find a world of happiness without the hate and fear. Figure out just what I’m doing here in my next thirty years"

Still a newly wed (August of 2000) I was 29, 4 months out from my 30th birthday and decided this would be a new anthem for me. It worked well for me! 6 years later, I think I’ve done a LOT of what it says in that song. Still got some things to catch up on, but hey, I’m getting there.

"With Arms Wide Open" by Creed. "If I had just one wish, only one demand - I hope he's not like me. I hope he understands that he can take his life and hold it by the hand and he can greet the world with arms wide open."
This song came out in June of 2000, so a bit of a chronological swap with “30 Years.” BUT, it wasn’t long after that when I had my first pregnancy loss, an ectopic pregnancy. I remember driving home from the doctor’s after they erroneously told me it was a miscarriage and this song came on and I cried and cried and cried. I finally got to fully enjoy the song in December of ’03 when my son was born.


"In My Daughter’s Eyes" by Martina McBride came out in 2003. This one warrants ALL the lyrics reprinted here – I’m going to change “daughter” to “baby”, the shes to hes and then you’ve got a song expressing perfectly how I feel about my son.


"In my baby’s eyes I am a hero. I am strong and wise and I know no fear. But the truth is plain to see, he was sent to rescue me. I see who I wanna be in my baby’s eyes.

In my baby’s eyes everyone is equal. Darkness turns to light and the world is at peace. This miracle God gave to me gives me strength when I am weak. I find reason to believe in my baby’s eyes.

And when he wraps his hand around my finger, oh it puts a smile in my heart. Everything becomes a little clearer. I realize what life is all about: It’s hangin’ on when your heart has had enough; It’s giving more when you feel like giving up. I’ve seen the light, it’s in my baby’s eyes.

In my baby’s eyes I can see the future – a reflection of who I am and what will be. Though he’ll grow and someday leave - maybe raise a family - When I’m gone I hope you see how happy he made me. For I’ll be there in my baby’s eyes."

"Live Like You Were Dying" by Tim McGraw. "I loved deeper and I spoke sweeter,and I gave forgiveness I’d been denying. And he said someday I hope you get the chance to live like you were dying."

Dammit Tim – quit speaking to me! In July of ’04, this song came out. This was right around the time that I was diagnosed with MS. I remember the day the doctor’s office called after my MRI, and I only heard them say one thing to me: “Lesions on your brain”. Didn’t hear the rest, that it wasn’t cancer or anything like that. I hung up, sort of in a daze, assuming the worst, that I truly was dying and this song really hit home. Even though I know that MS, in itself, is rarely fatal, it can still take a lot of the life out of me, so I want to be sure I get in all of the things that I WANT to do before I CAN’T do them.

"When I Get Where I’m Going" by Brad Paisley and Dolly Parton, good old 2006. "Yeah when I get where I'm going there'll be only happy tears. I will shed the sins and struggles I have carried all these years. And I'll leave my heart wide open, I will love and have no fear. Yeah when I get where I'm going, don't cry for me down here"

What a fantastic song. When I hear it now, I realize that it doesn’t matter what the future holds because life, here on earth, is only temporary. And I’m really not afraid of not being here anymore – I’m afraid of the journey to get to that point though.

And there is a glimpse into my soul.

Snappy Closer (feel-good ending, if you will): If you hadn’t figured it out I made links so you can see all of the lyrics to each song if you like. Again, these are LINKS, unlike the “side sausage” you can get for $1.80 at River City – those were patties.

From the psycho ward of my brain

Just some personal thoughts/observations/musings/rants/etc. Try to keep up, will ya?

How do you know when you have a nervous breakdown? Why do they call it a nervous breakdown? It really isn’t because you’re nervous and it’s not really affecting your nervous system.

Can you plan an intervention for yourself? If so, do you send invites? If it’s not acceptable to plan your own intervention, can you ask a friend to do it for you? Do you get any say on the guest list?

Why is it that when people are acting like twits and you say something to them about it, they assume that everything you say from that point on is about them?

Why, when people are cold and they get goose bumps, are they called goose bumps? I don’t think that is a term that should be used any longer. Very few people have actually seen a goose with said bumps. However, the majority of us have seen a plucked whole chicken. Why don’t we just call it plucked chicken skin from now on?

Do people who try and convert everyone they see to their religion every really get anyone? I don’t know any people who have ever jumped ship from what they believed in due to a door-knocking, slick religion talking person at the door.

Does anyone remember the song “Buffalo Stance” by Neneh Cherry?

“Smokin.' Not cokin.' Get funky sax.
Looking good, hanging with the wild bunch.
Looking good in a Buffalo Stance.
Looking good when it comes to the crunch
Looking good's a state of mind
State of mind don't look behind you
State of mind or you'll be dead
State of mind may I remind you
Bomb the Bass...rock this place!
What is he like? What's he like anyway?
Yo' man what do you expect the guy's a gigolo man!
You know I mean?”

That was back when I could stand dance music. I miss that kind of music. Just like rap then and now. I love me some old skool rap – can’t stand the stuff out today.

Does anyone over the age of 30 REALLY remember anything they learned in high school math classes? How about you tell me something about the first book you ever read for an English class in high school. Or tell me what you remember, without the help of the internet or your buddies, about the Bolshevik Revolution.

Has anyone out there gotten their first grey hair yet? How old were you when it happened? Did you pull it out, or leave it in or dye it?

Am I having a nervous break down? How will I know? Will you have an intervention for me?

Random thoughts or thoughtless randoms?

I’ve got something to say! (Surprise, surprise! Will this biotch ever shut up?)

Today is the anniversary of 9/11. I have not forgotten, how could any of us? I remember what it was like the day it happened and the weeks following, the tears, the depression, the worry. Having said that, I’m moving on. I don’t want it in my face all day – I lived through it and I don’t need to rehash it to realize we live in a great place, that something terrifyingly mortifying happened that day and all that was lost that day (and in the past 5 years for that matter), or that you can support the troops without supporting the war, etc., etc., etc… ESPECIALLY the etc’s! Moving on –

Among my circle of “net friends”, there has been a LOT of talk about huge boobs, higher butts, thong underwear, and vaginoplasty. To which I say – HOORAY! We need to let these thoughts and feelings out somewhere or we’re setting ourselves up for a mind-numbing existence of laying around on a couch, eating a diet of Special K and skim milk, watching Geraldo and wishing for a better life. Men, you don’t want that, so let us talk and get it out, ok? It’s what we do! Well that and wonder what would happen if right in front of you, we walked up and kissed another chick. We’re already pretty sure what would happen if we kissed another guy, we’re just not sure on the chick thing. I think the guys would love it! Let’s test it out and report the results back here.

Haven’t had an opportunity to make fun of people at work lately, so let me just say I can’t stand the tune whistling, gum-snapping, shoe flopping and popping, hair clipper here. I don’t have anything against her as a person, just her as a musical instrument. Other people who bother me: the people who think they’re thin and can wear tight fitting clothes, those who can’t seem to do anything without hand holding and those who you could tell something to and 5 minutes later, they’re asking you the same damn question, just rephrased. Perhaps they’re testing me to see if I’m listening. Well, I am, AND I’m taking notes.

I believe I referred to myself as a “tool” today in the midst of a presentation at work. That’s never a good thing, because I hate to admit weakness of any sort while I’m at work. At least there was a general chuckle that went around the room. It was kind of like a group of people doing the wave with their laugh.

I’m having trouble concentrating today, so my thoughts are all over the place. I even think they were across the street at one point, out alone again without a chaperone – a very dangerous thing when you’re working in the city.

Not long ago, I decided to name my toes. It was really just a silly thing I did with the intention of having my toes write a blog. I’m thinking I’ll still go through with that, just in another forum. I’ve bought the domain www.farttown.com. There’s nothing there yet, but I’m working on it slowly. It’ll be a laugh riot when it’s finally complete. I’ll be sure to let you know so you can have a peek.

Having said that, I think I’ve covered all the bases – let’s double check: 9/11, boobs, butts, thongs, vaginoplasty, lesbians, sucky people at work, being a tool, concentration, toe fetish, fart town. Yup, that’ll do pig, that’ll do.

Football season is here!

Well, it's here. Football season - WOO HOO! If you have a favorite team and you enjoy watching them play, you're in luck (Go Packers!) However, if you're a chick (who likes guys) and have zero interest, and your significant other does, here are some tips to help you cope!

1. Watch one game. Find a player, any player who happens to look really good in those tight pants. Cheer whenever he's on the screen. This is much more fun if he's on the team your man is NOT rooting for.

2. Buy a vibrator and lots of batteries. Your Sundays will be full of just as much excitement as his. I, personally, recommend the Jack Rabbit.

3. Sit next to your man during every game and ask questions through the entire game. Don't ask questions about the game itself, ask questions like:

a) Who picked out the colors those guys are wearing?

b) Do those big guys not realize how big their arses look in those pants?

c) Why won't those guys we can't see shut up? I'm trying to enjoy the game, and they're talking through the whole thing!

d) Who did their makeup? The makeup person should be fired - that's nowhere NEAR where eyeliner goes!

After a 1/2 hour of these types of questions, he may just decide it's better to watch "Beaches" with you. Again.

4. Criticize the cheerleaders. Better yet, compliment them. Talk about how hot they are and how flexible they are. If you do this right, he'll end up in bed with you having a fantasy about you and the cheerleaders instead of watching the game.

5. Now is a great time to take up a new hobby! Learn to play drums or another loud musical instrument. Play along with the music playing during kickoffs. Pick out and play songs for appropriate moments in the game (the funeral march would be perfect for when the "other team" scores.)

6. If you want to fit in and seem like you know what you're talking about, keep repeating "Why would anyone want Terrell Owens on their team?"

7. Whenever the team he's rooting for has the ball and fails to complete a pass, (that's where the guy that the middle guy is throwing to doesn't catch the ball) get angry and yell "HOLDING!! COME ON!!!" or "Interference!! Where's the call?"

When all else fails, ask him for the credit card in the midst of a game and go shopping. If you've tried a couple of the suggestions above, he'll give it to you happily just to shut you up and get you out.

However, as a die hard Packer fan (no matter how bad they suck or how many interceptions Brett throws) I think if you don't like football, you should make an appointment with a mental health professional.

Are you ready for some football?

A post about nothing - or everything

I have nothing to say to you, my loyal minions. However, a great man once told me that if I didn't write something every day, I may never have anything to say again. To him I say: "Wishful thinking Jerry, wishful thinking!"

I've decided to tell a couple of stories about my son and funny things he says. Couple things you need to know about me for some of this to make sense:

1. I have small boobs (thank GOD for gel bras!)
2. One is smaller than the other, and not in the normal way that all women's are different sizes. I'm talking a complete cup size. And when your good side is an A cup, that doesn't leave much room for ANYTHING on the other side.

OK, on with the story telling...

So, the other day, I'm getting out of the shower, all wrapped up in my towel. My son come in the bathroom and announces he has to pee and starts pulling down his pants (if only he would actually try the potty out, I'd be THRILLED!). I figure this is a great time to get dressed as he's occupied and won't open the door while I'm standing there naked, blinding anyone who walks by and scarring my step son for life. I drop the towel and lean over to grab my bra and he says "MOMMY!! You have a big one!!" Nice. Even my 2 1/2 year old noticed the difference in size. Just great. Then, a look of horror crosses his face as he yells "MOMMY!! YOU HAVE 2!!" I just giggled and laughed and got dressed wondering why men I'm NOT related to don't tell me I have big ones!

One day, on the way home from the pharmacy, my son says to me, "Where's daddy?" "Daddy's at home, we're running late." He says "Is daddy sleeping?" "No." "Is daddy working?" "No." "Does Daddy have his underwear on?" Well, I started laughing and said "I'm sure he does!" "Call him and ask!" he says. "I'm not calling Daddy..." "CALL HIM NOW AND SEE!!" So, I called. What else am I going to do? As I suspected, Daddy had the undies on and was confused about why we would ask.

One day, I asked him what he wanted to be for Halloween. He said "A dragon!" without even thinking about it. I said that I wanted to be a princess. He says "No Mommy, you a witch!!"

The other day, he informed me that he missed Ms. Kathy (Day care provider) and that he couldn't wait to see her. He said he wanted to "give her some shugas." He said it like a true southern lady. He was also wearing a pair of my slippers at the time. I should mention that Kathy asks for hugs by saying "give me some sugar!" She truly does love my baby and all her kids, but she doesn't love them too much, if you know what I mean. However, one day, she was setting up her valentine's day decorations and was missing the letter "E" from her cubes that spell out LOVE. When one of the little girls found it in a box, she informed everyone who came in the house to pick up their kids that "Kathy and I made love today!". Out of the mouths of babes, I tell ya!

He put himself on time-out the other day. When I asked him why, he said it was because "I might break something later."

And now, I've written. Nothing original, but hey, I didn't want to be speechless for the rest of my life! Now I should go look into how much just one breast implant would cost me. Would anyone even do an implant just to give someone an A cup? And if so, will they laugh and giggle at me when I walk out? And if so, will I somehow KNOW that they're doing that? And would they share the story with their friends? Would I read a blog about it somewhere from a guy with a screen name of "HooterDoc"? Would there be pictures? Would they reveal my true identity? Would EVERYONE know that I wear a gel bra to fill out my clothes? Oh wait, they already do now, don't they?

Happy nothingness! (THAT was not a boob joke...)

Poetry from a troubled mind

Thought I would try my hand at writing some poetry. Be sure to tell me what you think. Here goes.

A LOVE POEM

Every time I see you
A smile comes to my face
I can't wait to kiss you
and feel your warm embrace

Your smile seems to call me
Not a whisper, but a shout
I hope that I'll still love you
When all your teeth fall out.


A LIMERICK ABOUT MY HUSBAND

There once was a girl from Wisconsin
Whose hubby had a big Johnson
She laughed as she said
"He's real good in bed,
I get more action than Charles Bronson!"


A POEM ABOUT MARRIAGE

On the day we said "I do"
How was I to know
That one day I'd be tempted
To saw off your big toe


A POEM ABOUT FRIENDSHIP

People walk in and out of our lives
Some stay around for awhile
Some people touch you in miraculous ways
We call that person "pedophile".


HAIKU ABOUT MY DOG

My big, fat black dog
Your ears are soft and floppy
Why must you eat poop?


Please do not redistribute without giving me my props. Thanks folks!

MS isn't so bad...

So, I've been experiencing the wondrous "Optic Neuritis of MS". Hey! What a great name for a band! Someone call Mutt Lange! Even better if the members of the band can be from Mississippi! I even have the perfect shot for their first ablum cover:



But, I digress. For everyone it's different, but the bottom line is, you're not seeing things properly. Although it's a big pain in the butt to not be able to see very well, it certainly has its benefits!

1) If your mate is ugly, the blurriness just might make him or her go from a 3 or 4 to a 10 - no alcohol necessary! If your mate is imaginary, you wont notice the absence of their physical self! If your mate is battery operated, you might hit a wrong button and may find a new setting you never knew existed! Win-win situation all around.

2) It's a good excuse to not do too much work. "Sorry, don't think you really want me to work on that TPS report. It may come out a STP report and I know NOTHING about viscosity. Worse yet, an STD report, in which case, I know 3 or 4 peoplewho should probably appear on it."

3)You'd be really great on Fear Factor eating things that simply look gross. Those maggots probably look like steak! This might be enough to fool your brain into thinking they taste like chicken. Also a plus: you can easily explain away food spillage on your clothes. "Oh that? Yeah, I couldn't see the rim of the coffee cup to get it to my lips properly."

4)You can get out of traffic tickets. Officer: "Ma'am, have you had anything to drink today?" Me: "No sir! I just can't see the lines on the road very well today - it the MS you know." (Say the whole MS part as a whisper for a more dramatic effect).

5)It's an excellent reason to sleep in the middle of the day. After all, the backs of your eyelids wont look any different to you!

So whoop it up everybody! Run right out and get yourself some "ON a-la MS". All the cool kids are doing it.

More psycho relationship tips

Well, here I am. It's Wednesday afternoon and I'm preparing to do something tomorrow I have never had to do before - go be a witness at a deposition for a friend's divorce. They'd been married for 23 years when he walked out. That pointed out the fact to me that you're never "safe" in a marriage. You have to work on it - even if you've been married for 23 years! Makes me look at the relationships around me that aren't going so well and be THRILLED not to be in their shoes (probably a doubly-good thing as I have small, super wide feet and extremely high arches!). 3 quick lessons learned from three endangered couples I know:

1) I'm going to steal something I read on another's site. It's about digging. When you start digging to get at a person's past, please remember that when you're done, you may find what you're looking for, you my not. HOWEVER, you will ALWAYS leave a hole. Think about a slab of dirt. As you dig, you may uncover coins, rare artifacts, trash, etc. You have to remove them from the hole (that's why you're digging in the first place, remember?). You cannot put them back. You can try to push all the dirt back inside, but there won't be enough to fill that hole, because you've taken things out of it. And some of that dirt won't be that easy to get back in the hole - it may be something you never accomplish, and even if you do, it won't fit right again for a very, very long time. And besides, at the point, they don't want the same dirt back in the hole anyhow, if you catch my drift!

2) When deciding whether or not to ask your significant other to marry you, consider only your love for them. Do not think about what it's going to cost, how uncomfortable you may feel on the dance floor, or how much you don't like her/your family. It's not about them. It's about agreeing to show that one special person that she is the one you want to poke for the rest of your life and that if you change your mind, she's more than likely entitled to half of everything you own.

3) And finally, don't create a world where your significant other feels smothered, like he/she can never leave the house without you by their side. People go out and do things - if they don't, they're called hermits. It's not healthy to have no interests outside your significant other, it's called obsession & dependance. It's also not good to feel like a prisoner in your own home. That's a recipe for disaster. And remember: sometimes an apple pie really is just an apple pie. Granted, sometimes it's really pecan pie, but they didn't know how to properly say that word (PEE-can / Peh-KHAN / PEE-khan / Peking - who wants Chinese?) in whatever region of the country you're from so they went with apple.

Tuesdays, Part Deux

Suck, suck, suck! Well, I had to leave early from work, due to the fact that I can't see clearly. I have this bright snakey shaped pattern running through my field of vision. Gotta love the MS. Because I'd never had this kind of trouble before, figured I'd call my neurologist as I'm freaking out. He finally calls me back and his answer to me: "You have MS, what do you expect?" NICE. Me no happy. PP very angry. Perhaps the Doc is buds with the CHDG!

Needless to say, my plan to blog thru my day fell through. Perhaps I'll just keep a log of an interesting day and give you the highlights sometime. Not that you care, just that I like to keep you informed of EVERYTHING Im doing!

Addidas! (Yes, I know that's not how you spell Adios! What do you think, I'm stupid? And before you rush to answer that, please keep in mind my fragile mental state today.)

Tuesdays in the Park with Psycho

This is going to be Part 1 (or I as the Romans called it) of a yet to be determined number of blog posts on a day in the life of yours truly. It may be the only blog in the series, therefore the 1 (or I) may not be necessary. Let's see if you can keep up, shall we?

5:15 a.m.: The alarm goes off. The first thing that I think of after hitting the snooze button: Is the Crocodile Hunter really gone? I realize, that yes, he is and I roll out of bed. I put on my gigantic polar bear bathrobe because it's cold in my house and head down the hall. I'm such an addict that I grab my new Mac and a smoke and head out to the deck to sit in the dark, have a smoke and check my mail. Do some reading of messages, a friend's blog, check to see if Katie still wants to talk to me after my silliness yesterday (not yet!). One day, I hope to successfully quit smoking for good AND being addicted to people I don't know on the internet! I dont know which will be easier.

5:45 a.m.: Head back into the house, hit the bathroom and I just stare at myself. I was too beat last night to take off my makeup, so it has smeared all over my face and I now look like a hooker who has been crying. Great. I dont have any energy, so I'm not doing my hair, other than brushing it and maybe place a few strategic curls on the side of my head so that I don't look like I just got out of bed. The eye makeup remover has left my eye area shiny and greasy feeling (dang oil!) and no amount of washing is getting it off. Oh well, I'll just tell everyone I've been crying all day. Maybe they'll be nicer to me! HAHAHA

6:05 a.m.: Head in to wake up Ming Ming Duckling (Wonderpet - he insists that is his name). Even at 2 ½, he knows that it's not fun to wake up and have the lights on in your room. "TURN OFF THE LIGHT MOMMY!" Fine. I pick out clothes in the dark and hope they match. He's very particular in that I'm not really allowed to talk to him in the morning until he talks to me. So, I go thru our routine. I sit in the chair next to his bed; he brings the entire contents of his bed over to the chair, cuddles up to me for all of 30 seconds and then yells "I NEED MY CHOCOLATE MILK! MOMMY NEEDS COFFEE! LETS GET OUT OF HERE!!! " Coffee...I didnt make any. Bummer.

6:20 a.m.: Ming Ming is watching Dragon Tales; I'm trying to find just one freaking pair of shoes that will look ok with a blue dress. Ming Ming says "Mommy! You look like a princess!" I start to tear up...great, now the new makeup will run over the oily makeup and I'll really look like a hooker. I go to get him dressed, figuring I'd better put pants on him as it's chilly outside. I'll take a pair of shorts to Ms. Kathys. I go to pull on his pants: high waters. Great. I havent bought him any new pants since last fall. They were all too long for him then. Now, he could go walking through a flood and his pants would be dry. So, I find a pair of sweatpants for him that were WAY too big last year. Perfect fit. Bad Mommy only has one pair of pants for Ming Ming Duckling. At least he's dressed (and even sort of matches!), and I head off to pack lunches

6:40 a.m.: Time to leave! Ming Ming doesnt want to go. "Mommy, let's go to Dragon Land!" So, we leave the house, Ming Ming complaining the whole way about wanting to watch stinkin Dragon Tales. ½ way to the car - rain. Not just rain, downpour. The umbrella is in the van. Great, just great. Now, I'm a crying hooker who got stuck in the rain. Just lovely.

7:05 a.m.: Time for me to leave Ming Ming with Ms. Kathy. He looks at me with big ole puppy dog eyes and says "Mommy, dont you want to stay with me?" as he grabs my hand. Here come the tears. From me. I explain I would love to stay with him, but I can't. Mommy has to work cuz Daddy cant support her lifestyle by himself (Mamma needs a new pair of shoes!). He's got a hold of my hand now. "Mommy, don't let go of my hand!" Reminiscent of that scene in Titanic where the swanky Kate Winslett is holding on to the skanky Leo in the water, "I'll never let go!!" Oh man. I tear myself away and have to bolt out the door so he doesn't see me crying. I head to work, crying most of the way, wondering why the hell I have to work at all. Why can't Mommy the Princess and Ming Ming Duckling stay home together and go to Dragon Land whenever they want? Then, I wouldn't even need new shoes!

7:45 a.m.: Finally make it to my desk. No one better mess with me today. I'm in a mood. I finally got my first cup of coffee at 8:10. Its 8:45 now and I'm on cup number 3. That can't be good for me. But you know what? I dont care. I'm here, I'm at work and dammit, I'm tired. And the day is just getting started.