tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15486831980638539012023-11-16T11:32:34.668-05:00DivaliciousDiva Rants & Raves about Life, Love, Sex & IntrigueDivahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14740513813386444402noreply@blogger.comBlogger131125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1548683198063853901.post-39785218649842698912008-03-08T06:37:00.000-05:002008-03-08T06:38:36.087-05:00Here I Am!If you're looking for me, I've packed up and moved<br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://rantingdiva.wordpress.com/">HERE</a>Divahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14740513813386444402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1548683198063853901.post-50279067773811356802008-02-11T13:22:00.000-05:002008-02-12T12:08:58.124-05:00Ok, I'm Pissed<a href="http://rantingdiva.wordpress.com/">Yes, I'm pissed</a>!!!!<br /><br />Blogger keeps eating my posts. I don't get it.<br /><br />I fix it, and Blogger eats it again.<br /><br />Blogger is a good friend in theory, user friendly.<br /><br />But, I must move on.<br /><br />Buh-bye, Blogger. You hateful whore.<br /><br /><a href="http://rantingdiva.wordpress.com/">I'm moving</a> on over to wordpress.<br /><br />Which is a hateful whore too, but at least it doesn't eat posts.<br /><br /><a href="http://rantingdiva.wordpress.com/">HERE</a> is where you'll find me.Divahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14740513813386444402noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1548683198063853901.post-63207506405278918492008-02-08T14:35:00.000-05:002008-11-13T10:12:27.190-05:00It's Friday, Kids...<a href="http://i268.photobucket.com/albums/jj39/ladymuffinz/Friday.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://i268.photobucket.com/albums/jj39/ladymuffinz/Friday.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><strong>First.</strong> <br /><br />I'm not beneath jacking other people's shit. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSeb4IrP9DbGQW25gzU9GSiGlOV8RjaSVT6t4sqsbaDic4WgTA6re2zUFlX3m6kpSh7ViJmkEFmmttW8TpQ2rOxAvIVK8VVJKPWj3h69grZhs6mXm5kKFdE3htAgseuiEhaX_r-W7GlXIW/s1600-h/southpark-diva.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSeb4IrP9DbGQW25gzU9GSiGlOV8RjaSVT6t4sqsbaDic4WgTA6re2zUFlX3m6kpSh7ViJmkEFmmttW8TpQ2rOxAvIVK8VVJKPWj3h69grZhs6mXm5kKFdE3htAgseuiEhaX_r-W7GlXIW/s200/southpark-diva.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5164635284082793826" /></a><br /><br />I'm really not. I have no shame. <br /><br />So, since I have no morals or ethics <strong><em>AND</em></strong> I've got a huge mental block due to the side effects of having a completely irrational and totally annoying teenage boy in my house...<br /><br />I'm jacking this here idea from <a href="http://cynicalbstd.blogspot.com/">Jay</a>, <a href="http://pessimistsneedlovetoo.blogspot.com/">Leighann</a> & <a href="http://reallivelesbian.blogspot.com/">RLL</a>.<br /><br />Not that I'm nearly as interesting as either of them.<br /><br />I'm not and don't claim to be.<br /><br />Anyhoo. I've got mental block. <br /><br />I'd likes to play Q & A in the same fashion as those guys.<br /><br />You boys and girls ask me nice & sweet or sick & demented questions and I'll give you an honest to goodness answer.<br /><br />Either that, or be a sport and give me blog ideas.<br /><br />I get tired of bitching all the damn time.<br /><br />****************************************************<br /><br /><strong>Agenda - Part 2</strong> <br /><br />Shamless and sad self promotion because my ego is small and I have to feel like people around me love me.<br /><br /><div> <a href="http://www.fuelmyblog.com/?c=/pages/vote.jsp?vt=fuel&id=9676"><img src="http://www.fuelmyblog.com/assets/files/0/20070628150946903_4511.png" border="0" /></a> </div><br /><br /><br />****************************************************<br /><br />So, I pillaged through <a href="http://notagranny.blogspot.com/">Not A Granny</a><br />post the other day and decided to jack a few questions to play with from her memememe. Cuz I'm a pirate & that's the way I roll.<br /><br /><strong>If your doctor told you TODAY that you were pregnant, what would you say? </strong><br />Uhhhh. Sorry Doc, I know I'm old and fat, but shit happens. Start sending Pampers STAT!<br /><a href="http://i234.photobucket.com/albums/ee72/nena33342008/pReGnaNt.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://i234.photobucket.com/albums/ee72/nena33342008/pReGnaNt.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />Ehhh, sappy.<br /><br /><strong>Do you believe that everything happens for a reason? </strong><br />Yes. <br /><a href="http://i147.photobucket.com/albums/r295/tokyotrash_/lollipops.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://i147.photobucket.com/albums/r295/tokyotrash_/lollipops.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />Things happen and that reason is to make me completely insane and have total dependance on hot toddies and lollipops. <br /><br /><strong>Can you make a dollar in change right now? </strong><br />I could make change for a $5. My purse is so heavy with change I could knock somebody out with it if they were tryin to mug me.<br /><br /><strong>Are you afraid of falling in love? </strong><br />Why no. Being in love is better than chocolate. <br />Oh wait... that's sex. Sex is better than chocolate. <br />Or is it chocolate is better than sex??? <br /><a href="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/515XZ8N0ZBL._BO2,204,203,200_PIsitb-dp-500-arrow,TopRight,45,-64_OU01_AA240_SH20_.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/515XZ8N0ZBL._BO2,204,203,200_PIsitb-dp-500-arrow,TopRight,45,-64_OU01_AA240_SH20_.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />Great, now I'm confused.<br /><br /><strong>When was the last time you flew in a plane?</strong> <br />Home from Frankfurt Germany in October 07. <br />Remind me how much I hate American Airlines next time, will ya??<br />Delta, come to find out, gives sleepy eye masks, wine & Ben & Jerry's to EVERYBODY nowdays!! <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikGD0QxMhLOq83t_g8sf2waA8PHf3aBT4Kogo-fDco86rZ0GrlRH7WXDncwR5sSGalSegClBGa0KI8Se6IOQgYwM8pJfrKbt83n7eVkyvvAJ3GcXDEYGxlZS66aaBinTLtrSlsclmPjmrY/s1600-h/1upaalogo.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikGD0QxMhLOq83t_g8sf2waA8PHf3aBT4Kogo-fDco86rZ0GrlRH7WXDncwR5sSGalSegClBGa0KI8Se6IOQgYwM8pJfrKbt83n7eVkyvvAJ3GcXDEYGxlZS66aaBinTLtrSlsclmPjmrY/s200/1upaalogo.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5164636460903832946" /></a><br />Fuck American Airlines and their cramped seats.<br /><br /><strong>What did the last text message you sent say? </strong><br /><a href="http://i76.photobucket.com/albums/j3/Shannonnnnn-/thBENTON_eat_me.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://i76.photobucket.com/albums/j3/Shannonnnnn-/thBENTON_eat_me.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />and I meant it.<br /><br /><strong>What features do you find most attractive in the preferred sex? </strong><br />The fat wallet that buys me flowers, candy, cold beer when we go out and the occassional unexpected bling which is obviously well deserved.<br /><a href="http://www.fabfinance.com/fat_wallet.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://www.fabfinance.com/fat_wallet.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Fill in the blank. I love ________. </strong><br />Big T and his penis.<br /><br /><strong>Would you make a good parent? </strong><br /><a href="http://i43.photobucket.com/albums/e368/harlemprncss0026/mothersday_large.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://i43.photobucket.com/albums/e368/harlemprncss0026/mothersday_large.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />I'm a kick ass mom. I'm the neighborhood mom. I'm the mom who's always making cookies and crap just so they will all come hang out at our pad. I'm not too strict, but they don't get away with anything either.<br /><a href="http://i266.photobucket.com/albums/ii243/mzpurfume/cookies.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://i266.photobucket.com/albums/ii243/mzpurfume/cookies.png" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Honestly, what’s on your mind right now? </strong><br />The fact that I am doing this and watching the clock at the same time is driving me whacko like jacko.<br /><a href="http://pascalg.files.wordpress.com/2007/07/refi_clock_ticking.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://pascalg.files.wordpress.com/2007/07/refi_clock_ticking.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a> <br />I am the greatest time waster you will ever in your life come across. That's a promise. It's Friday, why isn't it 5:00 yet. I got liquor filled chocolates on my desk and I'd like to bust into 'em.<br /><br /><strong>If you could go back in time and change something, what would it be? </strong><br />I would change the fact that I have been a bottle blonde, red, brown, black (for a minute) since I was 16. I would remember at 37 what color God actually gave me. <br /><a href="http://www.awigxpress.com/RW%20Color%20Chart.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://www.awigxpress.com/RW%20Color%20Chart.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Best place to eat? </strong><br />Anyplace that serves chicken tacos, cheese enchiladas and fishbowl margaritas is alright with me. Mom & Pop type mexican places are the best. Hottest salsa.<br /><br /><strong>Been to Mexico? </strong><br />Si, senor. I have been to Mexico... Tijuana, Rosarita, Cabo.<br />BTW. There's place in Rosarita you can get cheap ass yet mighty tasty Margaritas and $10 lobster tail.... es magnifico. <br /><br /><strong>Did you get in a fight with someone today? </strong><br />No, but it's only 10:19am EST, there is plenty of time to get my brawl on before midnight. Especially with the attitude the boy has had lately, I workin on it.<br /><br /><br /><strong>What are your plans for the weekend? </strong><br />I'm sure it will involve karaoke and drinkin beer.<br /><a href="http://i63.photobucket.com/albums/h141/roaminrhonda/Pix/Divaaa/00000021.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://i63.photobucket.com/albums/h141/roaminrhonda/Pix/Divaaa/00000021.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><a href="http://i97.photobucket.com/albums/l202/CYUCHASZ/beer.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://i97.photobucket.com/albums/l202/CYUCHASZ/beer.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><br /><strong>If your significant other asked you to marry them TODAY, what would you say?</strong> <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3y0QlYXMnklz_KV7nT3dnRYVXoWi0ArYwSPmPZhex86lWyeC0qkSaO0p5GJ_bH2JvHlP39djodvJz3JtrOF4DvhOYt8_KUz88NAgfY4FHWXFEsIYL156pYx30m0SGFthfcbuKFV5wz3yM/s1600-h/DSC_0105a.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3y0QlYXMnklz_KV7nT3dnRYVXoWi0ArYwSPmPZhex86lWyeC0qkSaO0p5GJ_bH2JvHlP39djodvJz3JtrOF4DvhOYt8_KUz88NAgfY4FHWXFEsIYL156pYx30m0SGFthfcbuKFV5wz3yM/s200/DSC_0105a.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5164653395959881090" /></a><br />"We're already married, you dork."<br /><br /><br />*************************************************************<br /><br /><strong>Lastly-</strong><br /><br />Oh God. It's Friday.<br /><br />Not THANK GOD... but Oh God...<br /><br />Am I the only person alive who dreads weekends?<br /><br />Two days at home with the boy and I'll be having a psychotic episode.<br /><br />Pass the fucking Xanex.<br /><br /><a href="http://i181.photobucket.com/albums/x316/a7xscreamo/Chill_Pill_mbe.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://i181.photobucket.com/albums/x316/a7xscreamo/Chill_Pill_mbe.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />Have a good weekend, Boys & Girls!Divahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14740513813386444402noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1548683198063853901.post-39869115737698703832008-02-06T15:32:00.000-05:002008-11-13T10:12:28.129-05:00Horrible Storms & A Sweet Happy BirthdayI'm sure by now everyone has heard of the horrible storms that ripped through the south yesterday afternoon through late last night.<br /><br />Tornados and high winds didn't damage unknown to many small communities scattered throughout western/middle tennessee.<br /><br />It wasn't until morning, upon the rising of the sun, that the damage to a small community called Green Grove in Macon County, Tennessee.<br /><br />My son-in-law's grandparents and uncles live in this small town, along with several of his mom's high school friends.<br /><br />The grandparents are doing ok for now, but it appears it will be 3 - 5 days before they get electricity back. This creates issues because she's on oxygen. <br /><br />The tornado swept less than 50 yards from their house, taking their tabacco barn. <br /><br />The house survived vitrually unscathed.<br /><br />The uncle didn't fair as well. He lost everything to the ferocious storm.<br /><br />His house. His barn. His tractor.<br /><br />He is one of the stubborn ass people who never leave when a siren or alarm goes off.<br /><br />He is the one that, come hell or high water, will stay put.<br /><br />It nearly cost him his life. <br /><br />His house collapsed around him.<br /><br />He spent all night, in the dark still aftermath, trapped.<br /><br />They found him shortly after day-break with few minor injuries.<br /><br />The friends weren't as lucky.<br /><br />They didn't hear the alarms or alerts on TV.<br /><br />They didn't have time to run or hide or find shelter.<br /><br />She was found in her home. He was found approximately 200 yards away from the house.<br /><br />Please take a minute to consider a few things:<br /><br />1. Do you know what to do if a disaster strikes your area?? Where to go?<br />2. Do you have emergency supplies stocked up somewhere safe??<br />3. Do you have bottled water, batteries & a flashlight??<br />4. Do you have a certain spot where you & your family will meet up should you get separated?<br /><br />I'm sitting here thinking about my daughter's inlaws and it's times like these<br />when disaster really hits close to home.<br /><br />I wonder if technology will ever be able to pinpoint trouble coming early enough to warn people. Warn them early enough to find safe shelter.<br /><br />Very scary.<br /><br />Please keep all of our blog friends that I know of in the south in your thoughts and prayers... <a href="http://whatsupchuck.wordyblog.com/"> Chuck</a>, <a href="http://lenae.blogspot.com/">Flat Coke & Flies</a>, <a href="http://reallivelesbian.blogspot.com/">Real Live Lesbian</a>, and <a href="http://reallivelesbian.blogspot.com/">Mushy</a>.<br /><br /><br />*************************************************************************************<br /><br />Today is Miss A's birthday!! <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitIeHXGfAWRTeag5YobodAj6R6Lg6r7ReesNEo2QZEudI2tc8dx4AJh7d-uHVA-hJ_J8bwW3h-wfahGz9b5CkkIQQDNCWnEoa3qc3_O745vb7tPe39dbwI4GZIjFDLg-R5Ta4VhYR1Vqtv/s1600-h/m_cfbc7cf031d9570a0a6861f5e549d905.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitIeHXGfAWRTeag5YobodAj6R6Lg6r7ReesNEo2QZEudI2tc8dx4AJh7d-uHVA-hJ_J8bwW3h-wfahGz9b5CkkIQQDNCWnEoa3qc3_O745vb7tPe39dbwI4GZIjFDLg-R5Ta4VhYR1Vqtv/s200/m_cfbc7cf031d9570a0a6861f5e549d905.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5163986950179528018" /></a><br /><br />Seventeen years ago today she made her first appearance into this cruel, hateful world.<br /><br />The brat didn't want to come out. <br /><br />So, I got sick of it and schedule the doctor to go in and get r' dun.<br /><br />Three hours, an epidural, a psychotic episode on my gramma, and a severe alergic reaction to demerol later... there she was. <br /><br />Finally.<br /><br />So, here's to you kid!<br /><br />May your blush be rosy, my your shoes be many and may your boyfriend be generous!<br />Cheers.<br /><br />Just think. Only 4 more years and we'll have you a kegger!<br /><br />Mommy loves you!Divahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14740513813386444402noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1548683198063853901.post-87333839832162095162008-02-05T14:26:00.000-05:002008-11-13T10:12:28.668-05:00Nekkid Chicken, Clone Production & Damn Doctors<div> <a href="http://www.fuelmyblog.com/?c=/pages/vote.jsp?vt=fuel&id=9676"><img src="http://www.fuelmyblog.com/assets/files/d/downloadblaeversion_2277.gif" border="0" /></a> </div><br /><br />OMG!!! It's Tuesday!! Nekkid Chicken Tuesday as hosted by our beloved <a href="http://speedcathollydale.blogspot.com/">Speedcat Hollydale</a>.<br />Skip right over there, ya here??<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW5OJpJE7RpGU5N79e718ehkR3wTpurYLgbUQDGdlGhWWXgl4GwFdXvHyuKJdFp7vibPGPVJQELPeOgK1sIHQdyw6MvGBT9oDq_6BL6PuVVK4LPYkDXVvB3nztwge3a4aBus3xXk-ch_xq/s1600-h/naked_chicken.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5163598204099632450" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW5OJpJE7RpGU5N79e718ehkR3wTpurYLgbUQDGdlGhWWXgl4GwFdXvHyuKJdFp7vibPGPVJQELPeOgK1sIHQdyw6MvGBT9oDq_6BL6PuVVK4LPYkDXVvB3nztwge3a4aBus3xXk-ch_xq/s200/naked_chicken.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div>Big T and I started talking about creating a clone shortly after we married (4 months ago).<br /></div><div>This is great news and I couldn't be any more tickled for real. </div><br /><div>Growing a mini-T in the oven. It would be a beautiful thing.<br /><br />So, what's so sad about about it, you might be asking. </div><br /><div>Well, I'll tell ya.<br /><br />I decided with my advancing age (an astounding 37 years), that maybe I should go see Dr. Brad and get official clearance that my oven is still capable of baking without undercooking or burning the buns.<br /><br />Now don't you fret, kids. </div><br /><div>The news is nothing Earth shattering. </div><br /><div>Just a big FAT reality check.<br /><br />1st. I'm getting old. </div><br /><div>Dammit. </div><br /><div>If a body is in the 35+ age group and goes to the OB/GYN and tell them that you're gonna have hot monkey sex with the intention of procreatation... </div><br /><div>LORD HAVE MERCY. </div><br /><div>Red flags start flying up, sirens start sounding throughout the office, and a big fat sticker goes on your chart. </div><br /><a href="http://i110.photobucket.com/albums/n84/mikitaskyy/red-flag.gif"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://i110.photobucket.com/albums/n84/mikitaskyy/red-flag.gif" border="0" /></a> In fact, because I'm in the 35+ age bracket (apparently well into middle age), I will have to go through the joys of doctor visits nearly double what I did with my last clone (16 years ago).<br /><br />2nd. Dr. Brad looks at me all serious during the consultation after the exam and says, "We strongly suggest you drop around 50 pounds before actively pursuing pregnancy."<br /><br /><div>*blink blink*<br /><br />I sat there for a minute. </div><br /><div>Depressed already that I am old and I saw the sticker stating so on my chart.... </div><div> </div><div>I decided to ask Dr. Brad, "So, why don't you just tell me I'm old and fat? </div><div> </div><div>Wouldn't that be exactly what you're saying? </div><div> </div><div>Besides, you aren't telling me anything these crows feet around my eyes and the scale haven't already disclosed."<br /></div><div>And he goes, "Well, no. It's just that with your age.."<br /><br />"Fine, I'll go to the gym. But I think you should just start being honest with your patients. </div><div> </div><div>Old and fat, buddy." </div>Divahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14740513813386444402noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1548683198063853901.post-51727356054859463712008-02-04T10:16:00.000-05:002008-02-05T14:47:00.476-05:00Big Upsets, Barn Dancin, Bob & Back Flashin<a href="http://www.billsdaily.com/images/02pics/preview/patriots.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://www.billsdaily.com/images/02pics/preview/patriots.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />Yes kids, it's the day after Superbowl Sunday and if'n you're a football nut you're either stoked because the Giants pulled the rug out from under the Patriots or bummed and depressed to the point of needing psychiatric help and a lollipop.<br /><br />Sorry boys.<br /><br />It's kinda cool that the Mannings rock balls like they do with Peyton being a superhero in the likes of Aquaman around these parts.<br /><br />I'm not a huge Pro ball fan at all. <br /><br />College ball is a different story, can't pull me away from the TV on Saturday all fall.<br /><br />I pulled for the Patriots for one reason: The boy. <br /><br />I knew if they didn't win that the boy would need a visit to the shrink this morning and a mild sedative.<br /><br />Not to worry. Dr. Mayhem said it appears that he will only need the meds for the next week or so and he'll be ok.<br /><br />It's over. Put on your big boy panties and go on.<br /><br /><strong>Enough of that. </strong><br /><br />So, me and Big T have found a new watering hole/dive to kick it in. <br /><br />It's less than a 2 minute drive from our palace.<br /><br />This is a definite plus, because after I've drinkin ungodly amounts of alcohol, being chauffered too far makes one feel the need to yack...<br /><br />It's a cool little place we found a few weeks ago, quite by accident.<br /><br />They gots the karaoke and not one of the singers sucks balls!! <br /><br />Yes, friends, if you go to karaoke at the wrong place you might suffer bleeding ear syndrome.<br /><br />Anyhooodle, it's called "My Place"... cute name, huh?? <br /><br />I try explaining that to my BFF who was coming to meet us there..<br /><br />Holly: "So, where ya gonna be?"<br /><br />Me: "My place."<br /><br />Holly: "But I thought we were goin out."<br /><br />Me: "We are, you dork."<br /><br />Holly: "But you said you're gonna be at <em>your place</em>."<br /><br />Me: "No, I said I was gonna be at My Place."<br /><br />Holly: "Ok, tell me where the hell I'm supposed to meet you dammit!!"<br /><br />Me: "At My Place. I'll be at My Place for fuck sake!!!"<br /><br />Holly: "Ok, I'm on my way. We'll pick you up."<br /><br />Me: "Gonna be kinda hard to do since I'm not gonna be home."<br /><br />Bless her heart. She's my best friend, but soooo easily confused.<br /><br />Reminds me of that super swell Abbott & Costello thing <a href="http://www.baseball-almanac.com/humor4.shtml">"Who's on First"...</a><br /><a href="http://www.jokes.org.au/userimages/user756_1146708589.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://www.jokes.org.au/userimages/user756_1146708589.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />So, we finally get it all straight and make it there. <br /><br />We get out cozy little spot in the corner. It's set up just about like a living room would be. <br /><br />Finally get my beer from the beer nazi. The Bitch... <br /><br />We were sharing the corner with "Bob" and another couple. <br /><br />Bob is an older gentleman who we've seen dancing every weekend we've went there.<br /><br />Bob can dance. Bob was having trouble finding someone who could remain standing up straight as he twirled them around the dance floor.<br /><br />Bob = good dancer<br />Assorted partners = not so much<br /><br />Now, Diva knows how to get out there and shake what her mama gave her. <br /><br />For a white girl, I'm loaded down with Rhythm.<br /><br />Yes, I can line dance, but I'd rather be dancin freestyle to somethin with a wicked beat and strobe lights.<br /><br />Not sure where it came from. <br /><br />Maybe my mom was foolin around, cuz my daddy certainly hasn't got a drop of ass shakin in him. Never has. <br /><br />So, Bob decides its my turn.<br /><br />Too late, Bob, old pal. I'm already drunk.<br /><br />Bob still grabs my hand and off we go. Fine. His fault if I yack on his shoe.<br /><br />I didn't spew my brew, but I was dizzy and glad it was over, and as an added bonus, I danced well. <br /><br />Bob was impressed. I fear he'll drag me often.<br /><br />Anyways, I was sitting there trying to compose and breathe, when some old boy jumps up and starts singin "I Likes It, I Loves It" by Tim McGraw.<br /><br />This song sends my alcohol soaked brain in to flash back city. <br /><br />I used to run around at this place called <a href="http://www.cottoneyedjoe.com/">Cotton Eyed Joe</a>.<br /><a href="http://www.tndirectory.com/cej/signa.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://www.tndirectory.com/cej/signa.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />It's a saloon type place, only bigger. The DJ sits in the cab of a semi. Very cool.<br /><br />So, they line dance at this place. Alot. To everything.<br /><br />Ever seen an old boy with a belt buckle bigger than a dinner plate bust a line dance move to Outcast "The Way You Move"?<br /><br />Humorous, unless you're drunk as a skunk, then it's knee slapping hilarity at its finest.<br /><br />There is this dance. The Barn Dance.<br /><br />This is where you find a partner and go to the dance floor. Two rings are formed, men on the outside, ladies on the inside....<br /><br />The outside ring moves one way, the inside ring moves the opposite way. The partner switch is on.<br /><br />It's a twisty turny dance. Which we have already established is a bad thing when I've had a few.<br /><br />So, about half way through this dance, I look at my current partner as he spins me back in.<br /><br />I'm green. <br /><br />I'm gonna yack.<br /><br />He grabs be by the hand a runs me to the women's bathroom and shoves me in.<br /><br />I didn't yack on his shoes. He was lucky.<br /><br />And a gentleman to shove me in the bathroom like that.<br /><br /><div> <a href="http://www.fuelmyblog.com/?c=/pages/vote.jsp?vt=fuel&id=9676"><img src="http://www.fuelmyblog.com/assets/files/0/20070628150742090_4509.png" border="0" /></a> </div><br /><br />Hit me up.. I'm shamelessly whoring my bloggie!!Divahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14740513813386444402noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1548683198063853901.post-50771771797787370752008-02-01T09:19:00.000-05:002008-11-13T10:12:29.050-05:00Body Wash, Razors & Good Hair DaysAs most Saturday mornings go, I drank way too much <a href="http://www.drinksmixer.com/drink8093.html">Washington Apple</a> on Friday night and woke up feeling like something my cat yacked up.<br /><a href="http://i191.photobucket.com/albums/z153/chuckm2112/Pictures-35.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://i191.photobucket.com/albums/z153/chuckm2112/Pictures-35.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />Blindly, I wander through the lair to the bathroom where my downstairs coffee pot lives.<br /> 1/4 cup fresh ground kona beans<br />+ 10 cup aqua<br />------------<br /> 100% delicious caffiene rush<br /><br />I AM top barista even in a hungover state. <br /><br />I'm only as good as the java I brew... which is mighty damn fine.....<br /><br />Anyway...<br /><br />That's when it happened. I turned around and my eyes opened just in time to catch a glimpse of the corpse looking back at me in the mirror.<br /><br />Scary.<br /><br />Dear God, who knew middle age would be swift and evil on a Saturday morning?<br /><br />Last night's make-up looks like water paint on my face now.<br /><br />SHOWER STAT!<br /><br />Hot water streams down over the shower poof which is now cocked, locked and ready to rock with Black Vanilla Current body wash.<br /><br />*sniff sniff*<br /><br />Eyes fly open. Wide awake instantly.<br />YES!! A gift from the shower gods!! <br /><br />Make up removed... thanks Clinique<br />Hair de-sprayed... thanks Aveda<br />Smooth legs....... thanks Soliel razors<br /><br />I feel human again.<br /><br />So, I proceed to dry my mop.<br /><br />As a rule, my hair is short and way out of control.<br /><br />Especially when I help it along with all the crap in my cabinet.<br /><br />And the hair-do god looked down and smiled, and it was all good.<br /><br />Now, I don't know about ya'll, but I noticed how the whole tone of my day is set forth by whether my hair behaves or not.<br /><br />I mean, when I'm having a good hair day, I feel like a Disney princess prancing with my little animal friends in the forest all happy and shit.<br /><a href="http://i214.photobucket.com/albums/cc100/kysager/snow_white.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://i214.photobucket.com/albums/cc100/kysager/snow_white.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />But oh hell..... look out if the hair gods don't shine down and decide to play a practical joke. <br /><br />They don't know who they're dealin with...<br /><a href="http://i112.photobucket.com/albums/n190/shenanigans76/c875599a.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://i112.photobucket.com/albums/n190/shenanigans76/c875599a.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />Which brings me to this morning. Yah, the jokin started early.<br /><br />I showered and blow dried and hit it up with product.... <br /><br />No good. Bad day.<br /><br />Accept, I have a rook card in my pocket...<br /><br />Abby.<br /><br />The love of my life on days like these...<br /><br />My hair dresser..<br /><br />Abby is my hero.<br /><br />This is Abby. She's always happy and she does the best scalp massage... <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9B0XTQZ4XyrFXS4A-_Dbf6ovNV5ov4odpLnK2j_VU9TZiZPnYPLX1p_QLWvAY5YBRd-2HKxgEEVMLqIV-fYK2WdJG9rJYC0UjoWfyXsOO7eFR27uJcSTYCatPU5KBkGeS469JObcZ4K6t/s1600-h/0201080941.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9B0XTQZ4XyrFXS4A-_Dbf6ovNV5ov4odpLnK2j_VU9TZiZPnYPLX1p_QLWvAY5YBRd-2HKxgEEVMLqIV-fYK2WdJG9rJYC0UjoWfyXsOO7eFR27uJcSTYCatPU5KBkGeS469JObcZ4K6t/s200/0201080941.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5162033869636246834" /></a><br /><br />See, she knows me. 8 years doing my hair.<br /><br />It took her 5 years and a hotline number to keep me out of the haircolor aisle at Wal-Mart.<br /><br />She fixed some hellacious bad botched hair color jobs.<br /><br />She works right next door from my office.<br /><br />I go in there without an appointment holding scissors and a box of Wal-Mart hair color and she springs into action like the The Bionic Woman.<br /><br />"Grab the box of bleach from her hands, STAT!!!" and off to work she goes, being my protector against the hair gods.<br /><br />She loves me. I tip well.<br /><br />Therefore I don't even need an appointment. God bless her.<br /><br />The moral of the story is... be nice and tip your hair dresser well. <br /><br />Chancing a bad hair day is nothing to trifle with.Divahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14740513813386444402noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1548683198063853901.post-70228429957021198072008-01-31T16:18:00.000-05:002008-11-13T10:12:29.967-05:00Fake Sun, Fat Rolls, Knee Slappin Funny (HNT)<div>Well I've never... Been the Barbie Doll type....<br /><br /><br />Yah, yah, yah.... it's true. I'm a full-figured, plus sized, curvified mama.<br /><br />This fact doesn't bother me so much really. I'm hot for a curvy beyyyach!<br /><br />I mean, I'd like to get back down to a smaller size, but I have no great ambition to become a size 2 cupie doll.<br /><br />No. Those days have long passed my big ass by. 2 kids and Taco Bell... a snowballs chance in hell of being Barbie in this lifetime.<br /><br /><br /><p>Which brings me to my thoughts for the day....</p><br /><p>I absolutely love when somebody says something stupid.</p><br /><p>People can really come off with utterly hilarious blurbs and not even know it.</p><br /><p>In addition to amusing me greatly, it gives me something to blog about.</p>Seriously, kids, I don’t make this crap up. And boy, did this one amuse me…<br /><br /><br /><p>Now I quote what I heard a chick say the other day:</p><br /><p><strong>"Tan fat is so much prettier than white fat."</strong><br /></p><br /><p>I literally did a double take at her standing next to me as I was checking into the tanning bed. </p>It took everything in me not to fall over in the floor and gut laugh. Well, because I'm a sarcastic bitch.<br /><br /><p>What?!?! Tan fat? Pretty?<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158366872306539858" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg_btOETD1E3xd9hVrq10rd-h-UDLjSb0_4FNRQSN2UI4nNc80wfDflBzs8eJqYwsWZX9fLOayDAkDuCgindJ3yf7RujG6DpYsvo0BBrpBYN2TNDJ5FUQh4lHXg1NbUnsQg1f60Rfh0YGx/s200/FatGirl_FatFriday_Swimsuit_10Nov06.jpg" border="0" /></p><br /><br />Hello, sweetheart. I’m here tanning, too.<br /><br />And I’ll be honest. I see nothing pretty about tan fat as opposed to white fat.<br /><br /><br /><p>Trust me on this. </p><br /><p>I'm a walking ad for <a href="http://lanebryant.charmingshoppes.com/pagebuilder/">Lane Bryant</a> fashions for women, so don't think I'm not saying something I wouldn't follow myself. </p><br /><p>But when I look in the mirror there is nothing that makes me think that if I go and get a tan on my fat rolls that it will look any better.<br /><br />Seriously, if you are fat and you have fat rolls, say like a Shar Pei puppy, it doesn't matter how tan it is.<br /></p><a href="http://i172.photobucket.com/albums/w12/chelle-n-tj/Animals/shar-pei.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://i172.photobucket.com/albums/w12/chelle-n-tj/Animals/shar-pei.jpg" border="0" /></a> Do you really think that having tan parts intermingled with the white fat rolls is pretty?<br /><br /><br /><p>God bless the stand-up tanning bed, you can put your arms up in the air and alleviate those pesky white spots.</p><br /><p>The only thing one can do to make ones fat rolls look prettier is cover them up with the proper clothing. I do.</p><br /><p></p><br /><p>And..... Happy Half Nekkid Thursday!!!!</p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyaN6u5UuQ-H7fDiC0wCkG1EPuMOhmFe8aJaa27dXo67bdkmzHQXPCYL0ay1dSD3HYe1tm0qW50FB_CSMSb5e3SKkVUYZDTRHNbGD3jQuoOWUMHI1zTOh-BSEy65k6J6EU4_twov_P1fQd/s1600-h/HPIM0835.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5161694764788358434" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyaN6u5UuQ-H7fDiC0wCkG1EPuMOhmFe8aJaa27dXo67bdkmzHQXPCYL0ay1dSD3HYe1tm0qW50FB_CSMSb5e3SKkVUYZDTRHNbGD3jQuoOWUMHI1zTOh-BSEy65k6J6EU4_twov_P1fQd/s200/HPIM0835.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><p></p></div>Divahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14740513813386444402noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1548683198063853901.post-16961366562966074672008-01-29T15:28:00.000-05:002008-11-13T10:12:32.170-05:00Death March, Painful Shoes & A Subscription to Annoy Me Daily<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisQkFMSR88RwfhVED2wG1fq2xgVtBAUmdxVuWM34zRHKEUakeUNoWH56ytzjhzqtWovT9ZHZjfTIVq1ZLbJXr5UFuxTkTlJ5Ls1-RFOL1D8zwDaJGpF3hmsMMWWyFv86LwjEj_naNlvssh/s1600-h/DSC_0069.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5160615722974715106" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisQkFMSR88RwfhVED2wG1fq2xgVtBAUmdxVuWM34zRHKEUakeUNoWH56ytzjhzqtWovT9ZHZjfTIVq1ZLbJXr5UFuxTkTlJ5Ls1-RFOL1D8zwDaJGpF3hmsMMWWyFv86LwjEj_naNlvssh/s200/DSC_0069.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Finally. A year after the proposal. Finally, after three changes in date, time and venue. Finally, after finding a <a href="http://sweetdivathoughts.blogspot.com/2007/08/cake-is-cake-right.html">wedding cake that didn’t resemble spiderman</a>. Finally, after managing to locate and fit into a <a href="http://sweetdivathoughts.blogspot.com/2007/08/torture-device-problem-solved.html">sexy yet firm suitable set of wedding underwear</a>. Finally, we did it. We got hitched!<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC6N6ipIY6x-saoL4O7P7Yqo_QwgKkV_G4Hx5kIp7I1PFMPCaFx-TR88PosDvgWXGahw7ueCXAVR2In4NvQksemoqjEo-mAJusFNknWfJt4dikhXRxW8POscAA1OJrGbuZfYQuEMp0kDy_/s1600-h/DSCN1087.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5122406072365315394" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC6N6ipIY6x-saoL4O7P7Yqo_QwgKkV_G4Hx5kIp7I1PFMPCaFx-TR88PosDvgWXGahw7ueCXAVR2In4NvQksemoqjEo-mAJusFNknWfJt4dikhXRxW8POscAA1OJrGbuZfYQuEMp0kDy_/s320/DSCN1087.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Of course, in our typical style, anything less than complete and utter chaos, followed by family drama and tradgedy simply wouldn't do.<br /><br />I must say, my bridesmaids were stunning and wearing sexy gowns.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjWABm4IyaTS0sFKAHsU6N-UiEuL__n9bWf5aPI6UpxOb6KrJj0nzcmjCzjO-vuyOeK55Y6HzKZDSN0EHkLcl5BjtXhSxUWX7qbgMxd-W83hQwcX_01bK_g6CJh4rg6gh7Pa9NX6QE-GyM/s1600-h/DSCN1088.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5160530764226632770" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjWABm4IyaTS0sFKAHsU6N-UiEuL__n9bWf5aPI6UpxOb6KrJj0nzcmjCzjO-vuyOeK55Y6HzKZDSN0EHkLcl5BjtXhSxUWX7qbgMxd-W83hQwcX_01bK_g6CJh4rg6gh7Pa9NX6QE-GyM/s200/DSCN1088.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />Nice tits, ladies! I couldn’t say it in the church, because well, it was church. But dang, everybody’s boobs looked superb in those dresses!<br /><br /><br /><br />The boys didn’t look shabby either.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMOk4lAGEhoZd9yyVH8u9HnH8GqtjHhR1C7gz5YEPy6GlArxftn8yf4CuzA5iFwyywZhSMw5bbEQsXEn1xqQOw1vRJFKaJoEfQ5Rx6wLXpffBJ40lCVw9qa005lOVL43t1aLp1lFz4Hjo8/s1600-h/DSC_0053a.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5160533246717729874" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMOk4lAGEhoZd9yyVH8u9HnH8GqtjHhR1C7gz5YEPy6GlArxftn8yf4CuzA5iFwyywZhSMw5bbEQsXEn1xqQOw1vRJFKaJoEfQ5Rx6wLXpffBJ40lCVw9qa005lOVL43t1aLp1lFz4Hjo8/s200/DSC_0053a.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />Ain’t it funny how a man in a classic black tux can make a girl weak in the knees?<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvyJUJqkKbUuFnwJvdGZUc7iVEnFcXlLHFuRf3CGwaCgyiEdUgp6GHEosnzUC90TByBmbTb4pO1ry2aemyHPa8PZsj1xeM__xwAJw3t_gThDbqpvr9rbMRsDlp5p-AWVI46PNOb6OmyB1a/s1600-h/Divawedding031.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5160535492985625698" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvyJUJqkKbUuFnwJvdGZUc7iVEnFcXlLHFuRf3CGwaCgyiEdUgp6GHEosnzUC90TByBmbTb4pO1ry2aemyHPa8PZsj1xeM__xwAJw3t_gThDbqpvr9rbMRsDlp5p-AWVI46PNOb6OmyB1a/s200/Divawedding031.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />It was actually beautiful, other than the bridesmaids walking to “Pray for the Dead and the Dead will Pray for you”.<br /><br />I shit you not. It was not un-noticed by a single soul either.<br /><br />Long story. I stress here and now, that it was an ooopsie on our part, as we didn’t listen to the concerto in full.<br /><br />We thought, “Oh that’s beautiful” when we listened to it the first time and turned it off with listening to it all the way through.<br /><br />So, two of the bridesmaids are walking to lovely strums of a classic string quartet, when it goes into the death march. Literally. Not good.<br /><br />Sweet Jesus! I almost had a heart attack.<br /><br />I decided I either need an ample amount of Jack Daniels right then and there or a mega dose of xanax as it was all I could do to keep from crying.<br /><br />I’m back there yelling to Val “Oh shit! Oh Shit!!!!! Cut it off, cut it off!!”<br /><br />Which he did, and we went on.<br /><br />Deep breath. The Wedding March is going.<br /><br />Walking with Daddy (who was thankfully on his best behavior and didn’t cause any shit whatsoever).<br /><br />My daddy had come to the rehearsal drunker than cooter brown and was pure evil about my Ma. Not nice.<br /><br />I FINALLY got up there to my man. The longest mile... you better believe it.<br /><br />Ok, so here we go. Daddy gave me away and there I stood looking into the eyes of the man I was about to marry.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs86rHlY0OXyYysyHKT_hK8XzsrvCHBw-A39ukAjeji8n_Nfk0eqjv_zB4olGv4ILYfeqh40hd5n9uGvQaTxdF9Fhh0DIjDMNph1XcREwLwdoVoTphY5tNX6jXQJYUXPxXPBhtlxFCNhzO/s1600-h/Divawedding055.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5160536356274052210" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs86rHlY0OXyYysyHKT_hK8XzsrvCHBw-A39ukAjeji8n_Nfk0eqjv_zB4olGv4ILYfeqh40hd5n9uGvQaTxdF9Fhh0DIjDMNph1XcREwLwdoVoTphY5tNX6jXQJYUXPxXPBhtlxFCNhzO/s200/Divawedding055.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I never in my life imagined that I would have been nervous.<br /><br />But I was. Xanax?? Didn't anybody find the damn Xanax???<br /><br />We stood with everyone looking on… ohhhhh, the sweet, happy couple gazing at one another as “At Last” by Etta James played on.<br /><br />Then, my friggin shoes started to hurt like hell and I was about to cry again.<br /><br />We manage to exchange vows with me only tripping once over my tongue and having to start over.<br /><br />Que the second song “If You Ever Have Forever In Mind”.<br /><br />By this time, the butterflies have turned to dragons and I’m so nervous that I can feel myself turning red as a chipotle pepper getting over ripe in the sun.<br /><br />I look at the pastor and say, “Is there anyway we can get him to turn this song off??”<br /><br />”You really want the song cut?” He asked, looking at me like I’m crazy and then to Tony for reassurance that my head wasn’t going to spin 360 like something from the Exorcist.<br /><br />“Yah, and the next one too. My shoes are killing me and I’m turning red.”<br /><br />“You got it.” He said.<br /><br />He got Val’s attention, music was cut. Moving right along.<br /><br />We are now husband and wife.He pulled me close and laid the nicest kiss on me.<br /><br />Dang. We’re in church here, pal, and you’re really turning me on.<br /><br />Do you go to hell for getting turned on in church?<br /><br />The only mishap was Lil T coming up to us mid-vows and yelling “Look Nana! Motorcycle.”<br /><br />When he figured out everybody was lauging at him and saying, “Oh how cute.”, he took off.<br /><br />So, not a single mishap that was YouTube worthy happened, dammit!<br /><br />Oh wait... the death march...<br /><br />I was just waiting for somebody to do something stupid.<br /><br />We got it done! The ceremony itself was beautiful. Nobody burst into flames from getting too close to the unity candle, although Julie was standing pretty close and she has that sexy long hair.<br /><br />But, nobody slid and fell off the stage, passed out or puked…<br /><br />No puke is an awesome thing.<br /><br />Next snafu:<br />We were in the midst of finding the photographer to make pictures after the ceremony, when we found out that the photographer had, in fact, left.<br /><br />He had said to somebody, can’t remember who at this point, that he had plenty of pictures. I still don't have them.<br /><br />Um. What?!?! I believe I’ll be the one to tell you when you’ve got enough damn pictures and when you can sit down and have cake!<br /><br />But, I didn’t get the chance. He was gone.<br /><br />Must have needed a beer or a shot of tequila or something. Whatever.<br /><br />That’s when SUPERMAN appeared! My buddy Mark.<br /><br />I was about to cry and there he was, yanking the camera out of the bag, snapping pictures of the wedding party, the reception, the friends, the family.<br /><br />My friggin hero, I shit ya not!<br /><br />Ok, so what else. The reception was interesting. There was one arguement and my cake was melting.<br /><br />I pitched the bouquet, and Robyn (one of my best Pirate friends) snatched it up. She’s next anyway.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcehHSz9QrDVqArKvh7Ic-dyLRuNT9lb57vfgtInZLrJBb2yOBusVXkVa_muk4W2ed2q3eqZOXFM3LiY734bFjU-rm67koR5PccKzwFXqkZq0EhwsFVl_WQJWDo9hWgcD59toOu8hYU-b4/s1600-h/DSC_0164.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5160541759342910610" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcehHSz9QrDVqArKvh7Ic-dyLRuNT9lb57vfgtInZLrJBb2yOBusVXkVa_muk4W2ed2q3eqZOXFM3LiY734bFjU-rm67koR5PccKzwFXqkZq0EhwsFVl_WQJWDo9hWgcD59toOu8hYU-b4/s200/DSC_0164.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />Tony flipped the garter…<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4KqLsP628kYNyPzjOBybVIPFA3xrsLevD5ANXVgR85RAb-8Kym3JNFKTnYHjj3pyuNE1vQh6xu2MKMXBBmQevFx2X_pMWJgDu55gwy6fFeZNJDdWiTbVVNiPzWY614BaCbOT58BxR3pCs/s1600-h/P1010017.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5160538130095545474" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4KqLsP628kYNyPzjOBybVIPFA3xrsLevD5ANXVgR85RAb-8Kym3JNFKTnYHjj3pyuNE1vQh6xu2MKMXBBmQevFx2X_pMWJgDu55gwy6fFeZNJDdWiTbVVNiPzWY614BaCbOT58BxR3pCs/s200/P1010017.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Curtis (Robyn’s man) yoinked the garter! So, if it wasn’t already happening, it’s bound to happen now!<br /><br />We cut cake...<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk_VsvJ27jvC28Jf5S4uelPwN7uXpPI8RRSLDcsI9lLj5wYLAl-3DQLYtBk_va7YrL8fjcGNdZ6GuxtCjP7W0w3RNkjC1gWsGM4w2R4RNW61D5kSgrIMVjDT8cxTXfLKooopZjrvvvT_SH/s1600-h/DSC_0139.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5160543627653684402" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk_VsvJ27jvC28Jf5S4uelPwN7uXpPI8RRSLDcsI9lLj5wYLAl-3DQLYtBk_va7YrL8fjcGNdZ6GuxtCjP7W0w3RNkjC1gWsGM4w2R4RNW61D5kSgrIMVjDT8cxTXfLKooopZjrvvvT_SH/s200/DSC_0139.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br />drank wedding punch…<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXKttG38aA9ZqJBv0E9HH93JQHd2pKcFHfquhXXSJdX6EEKgOiZxi8turCTIO1e_UgrhkR7FKl7pzkZ8F7HLRxDdW1inQHbPh8UBcRngeF9iAoYwhS7ijqR6BaOeL_V2SnKgMH-T9hBz_U/s1600-h/DSC_0122.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5160543189567020194" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXKttG38aA9ZqJBv0E9HH93JQHd2pKcFHfquhXXSJdX6EEKgOiZxi8turCTIO1e_UgrhkR7FKl7pzkZ8F7HLRxDdW1inQHbPh8UBcRngeF9iAoYwhS7ijqR6BaOeL_V2SnKgMH-T9hBz_U/s200/DSC_0122.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br />and decided it was time to cruise on outta there.<br /><br />We proceeded to the truck to find it tastefully decorated with multiple condoms and window chalk.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjuTldSMwMV-36Vuhd6DFy-xfWqDRQtPPYbg4tJ7WTeEFuosBNRP7LS7Z7T11aOZ7BqlIFiQL43Oz5u7tI4ZvoBFs9dRFXeKYISfvC3p4jdzJrAggi3bO5I5OIeLYBCqdiKBib68sIpQ7Z/s1600-h/DSC_0180.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5160545942641056978" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjuTldSMwMV-36Vuhd6DFy-xfWqDRQtPPYbg4tJ7WTeEFuosBNRP7LS7Z7T11aOZ7BqlIFiQL43Oz5u7tI4ZvoBFs9dRFXeKYISfvC3p4jdzJrAggi3bO5I5OIeLYBCqdiKBib68sIpQ7Z/s200/DSC_0180.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />Family-kid drama was on deck... but I am trying to forget all about it at this point.<br />Family-mom crisis hit with Big T's mom that day too, but all turned out well.<br /><br />Anyhoo, I suppose it doesn't make any difference how we got there. I got the ring, he gets a life long subscription to Annoy Me Daily magazine for men.Divahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14740513813386444402noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1548683198063853901.post-44485265510786960502008-01-28T10:34:00.000-05:002008-11-13T10:12:34.812-05:00Hooters, Jolly Roger, Biker Underwear & A Naughty Chicken<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg951BboLCUqG1bBs8OIw8fKIIlGfnY6HS-B6nBNp7QeOisyv2q6u7Wm_GyWF5djXLvbL3VMBpqvnvgGtXbAT6ctIRwrL2y9MlvKwrHbHgOpJ6seaMwjMDffixL_HxfONPNzdBUgFn6eIFa/s1600-h/chicken.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5160904087078968578" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg951BboLCUqG1bBs8OIw8fKIIlGfnY6HS-B6nBNp7QeOisyv2q6u7Wm_GyWF5djXLvbL3VMBpqvnvgGtXbAT6ctIRwrL2y9MlvKwrHbHgOpJ6seaMwjMDffixL_HxfONPNzdBUgFn6eIFa/s200/chicken.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />It's Tuesday again kids and you know what that means!!! A naughty chicken in honor of my bachelorette party and <a href="http://speedcathollydale.blogspot.com/">Speedcat Hollydale's</a> quest to bring joy to an otherwise boring existence.<br /><br /><br />Ya gotta love a bunch of Pirate Chicks along with those who dare to come along for the ride.<br /><br />They never let a special event go by without celebrating with cake and alcohol.<br /><br />Becky and Natalie decided that come hell or high water there should be a bachelorette party the week before the wedding.<br /><br />Thank God they had the sense not to have the party the night before the wedding or I would have never made it.<br /><br />Yes, my friends. I got soused.<br /><br />Diva + cold beer + shots of jack = hangover city<br /><br />It was a beautiful evening, not too hot, not too cold. We all met up at Hooters for dinner and a drink. It was nice. Our little waitresses were super sweet, although I must say, I honestly thought I'd see more tits and ass. Not that they weren't precious in their little Hooters gear, they were. But my 14 year old neice has more boobie and butt than these poor girls had.<br />Meet Ashley and Felicia:<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhapss4PhK-9nAp8VsKB8RwElC3rO5744PnDihaAVtDWuybID2irY3K5x-J-gRhxme_tDHfwnfO7IJ4ISN6AyS3YrHlOKeE4Or65Rho3sf8QTCEtjN6aARj4BokRuo9ptRPnZBHX6XYj1Ch/s1600-h/HPIM1022.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5114156879003743202" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhapss4PhK-9nAp8VsKB8RwElC3rO5744PnDihaAVtDWuybID2irY3K5x-J-gRhxme_tDHfwnfO7IJ4ISN6AyS3YrHlOKeE4Or65Rho3sf8QTCEtjN6aARj4BokRuo9ptRPnZBHX6XYj1Ch/s200/HPIM1022.JPG" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKE5RrLPkBd4MVDn1F7CQHLx8w_l_UObzDk6lekHyEe7Pbjx464_yk18vRYzXGgRi0g7uejlOrlEWh225z3v8XbahNADEQBYYEUe4_V6NUaDkQyJARvv3w5oSM4PfDeAQDUG3rx3EUMvzm/s1600-h/HPIM1023.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5114157171061519346" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKE5RrLPkBd4MVDn1F7CQHLx8w_l_UObzDk6lekHyEe7Pbjx464_yk18vRYzXGgRi0g7uejlOrlEWh225z3v8XbahNADEQBYYEUe4_V6NUaDkQyJARvv3w5oSM4PfDeAQDUG3rx3EUMvzm/s200/HPIM1023.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The Hot boneless chicken tenders were tasty as all hell, my lips were nice and tingly for a while though. The girls decided to get me a cute little shirt to commemorate the joyous occassion.<br /><br />In general, Hooters doesn't see many bachelorette parties, but they do get hoards of bachelor parties... So, they improvised and got the Bachelor Party Shirt and turned into a Bachelorette Party shirt that all the little girls in tight Hooter's shirts signed with loves n kisses.<br /><br /><br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2CBlIlWhVdzulXA7_3_QUZgKcBwELY_QWcODWTOCOtpVaPeqRfaq7Y7o5rk7yIDvAalU1JatDUR5Ni-cE7pKYjZz_aCP0U0QT1xOheY7Et4ZVeYGhrmTP1vD-ivHrEDDNa1J7nYdvw4Sj/s1600-h/P1010069.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5114159352904905730" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2CBlIlWhVdzulXA7_3_QUZgKcBwELY_QWcODWTOCOtpVaPeqRfaq7Y7o5rk7yIDvAalU1JatDUR5Ni-cE7pKYjZz_aCP0U0QT1xOheY7Et4ZVeYGhrmTP1vD-ivHrEDDNa1J7nYdvw4Sj/s320/P1010069.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br />We decided that it was time to continue on and move the festivities to Coyote Joe where Natalie and Holly had decorated and made it look like a scene from a slasher flick with the "Wild Girls- Caution" tape.<br />They adorned Diva with a princess tiara which boldly stated that I am indeed the Bride to Be... and if there was any question left due to the tiara being hiddeny by my hair which was erect like a hard penis, then the big Bride to Be button aptly placed between my breasts certainly gave it away.<br /><br />So, we go in and invade the corner lot of CJ, nothing different there.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLWSmVjdpS_z-wG6dWk5eburfvy6CIns0X9z30Xjkc18aa96kj3URI_Pz7RnP39VMNn3Xqr4K4Bozs-cKcnDe4Wp9OojzwGN35oB0BC5lBZUFTo9Ta8odaOi9v_mcgbwvg59eGK17XRDoI/s1600-h/HPIM1040a.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5114162823238480914" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLWSmVjdpS_z-wG6dWk5eburfvy6CIns0X9z30Xjkc18aa96kj3URI_Pz7RnP39VMNn3Xqr4K4Bozs-cKcnDe4Wp9OojzwGN35oB0BC5lBZUFTo9Ta8odaOi9v_mcgbwvg59eGK17XRDoI/s320/HPIM1040a.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Olga made a real honest to God rum cake. It was a Jolly Roger, cuz she knows how pirates roll.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7utKJ_jpxDCl6GEsAx_exoD1f8NwO02dH3HNJaod3tAGcJcIY9B0SFZLcYi18Kukt8DF5gqkDN8bjzUy5KMPjaAa2miUl_AsO1ud8d1VedKcZAZP5XfVIFtR5X504SNv79YgHx6ssxqL3/s1600-h/HPIM1030.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5114165116751016994" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7utKJ_jpxDCl6GEsAx_exoD1f8NwO02dH3HNJaod3tAGcJcIY9B0SFZLcYi18Kukt8DF5gqkDN8bjzUy5KMPjaAa2miUl_AsO1ud8d1VedKcZAZP5XfVIFtR5X504SNv79YgHx6ssxqL3/s200/HPIM1030.JPG" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJY5H7UTtYzvVvDJUNlUN5Sq5FmVI3LJYVjmluJL0Tuk7Stllrs0Pm_ctBapzw6mePHllOdWERF1ApribL9g-T7VR86qfOBCra4YbQ8-QWoACYogJtK1ZEJB2vGW8d-mJww1p83P-pstLI/s1600-h/HPIM1031.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5114166297867023410" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJY5H7UTtYzvVvDJUNlUN5Sq5FmVI3LJYVjmluJL0Tuk7Stllrs0Pm_ctBapzw6mePHllOdWERF1ApribL9g-T7VR86qfOBCra4YbQ8-QWoACYogJtK1ZEJB2vGW8d-mJww1p83P-pstLI/s200/HPIM1031.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />We love the booty, especially rum laced booty.<br /><br /><br /></p><br /><p><br /><br />It was time to have a little fun. We had games on tap, and honestly, watching them set up the <em><strong>Pin the Bow-Tie on the Bachelor</strong></em> was more fun than playing it. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifuP0NpQnzeg4wvU3O9S12UrLh3tOSL-15JHzbB7nPzaHs-zM8o_8sOhJYMkoPlZIFISZ0zpxgqzTYEHqDtv4c0JyWX1HFmEFATbtr56ITVw1dJgerj1HwzT4SoJOdLJFy1SFLv5QFdy5t/s1600-h/HPIM1032.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5114176322320692306" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifuP0NpQnzeg4wvU3O9S12UrLh3tOSL-15JHzbB7nPzaHs-zM8o_8sOhJYMkoPlZIFISZ0zpxgqzTYEHqDtv4c0JyWX1HFmEFATbtr56ITVw1dJgerj1HwzT4SoJOdLJFy1SFLv5QFdy5t/s200/HPIM1032.JPG" border="0" /></a> Amanda gave the poster a hard on when she licked it from thigh to belly-button.<br /><br /></p><br /><p></p><br /><p></p><br /><p></p><br /><p></p><br /><p>And Steph gave our bachelor a nice sized penis to look at...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQy9QVyILQe14-Pe6IG72l687lJ2ewgU05mJDiMYdfB8b-YvZk2aDfl5B4lP9X9CNvM_R3Osf1k_QGA3Skcny6OLgjWs7dpH0hQ3T5e2rZo7C_9-rGZC8Js5OQY5L3M_fQqRPuac5RSpW8/s1600-h/HPIM1043.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5114176661623108706" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQy9QVyILQe14-Pe6IG72l687lJ2ewgU05mJDiMYdfB8b-YvZk2aDfl5B4lP9X9CNvM_R3Osf1k_QGA3Skcny6OLgjWs7dpH0hQ3T5e2rZo7C_9-rGZC8Js5OQY5L3M_fQqRPuac5RSpW8/s200/HPIM1043.JPG" border="0" /></a> </p><br /><p>We had <em>Do the Dare </em>Cards.<strong></strong> The name alone implies that there will be some mischief going on.<br /><br />I need to state that, I, as the bride to be, didn't do anything extreme. </p><br /><p>Quite the contrary, I was very well behaved. </p><br /><p>Four of the six cards I drew from the deck were completed by our sweetheart of a bouncer. God bless you, Steve-O!<br /><br />Diva's cards dared her to: <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK7AgOUYpcX_vSObqDnMLYb2JfXlCORlYrX486bCJBfHz7W9Od49VFxB6s5JkRnfxj3X5xC50zlHrFs6Zl5gofmNLlXOrjKEAg3KTu26-WA7n61hEyWXVls5ckKrGvZQab9MWwy0wGd9p-/s1600-h/HPIM1047.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5114180668827595890" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK7AgOUYpcX_vSObqDnMLYb2JfXlCORlYrX486bCJBfHz7W9Od49VFxB6s5JkRnfxj3X5xC50zlHrFs6Zl5gofmNLlXOrjKEAg3KTu26-WA7n61hEyWXVls5ckKrGvZQab9MWwy0wGd9p-/s200/HPIM1047.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />-get the bouncer to laugh for 100 points. Done!<br />-get a hunk to give her a neck massage. Done!<br />-get the phone number of a hot guy. Done!<br />-get a man to show you a hidden tattoo. Done! It was on his upper thigh.<br />-get the bartender to give you a free drink. Done!<br />-find a guy, grab his ass, and tell him he has a nice ass. Done! Twice.<br />(Steph was witness. Two guys, two butts, double points!)<br /><br />Here are some photos of the festivities! Enjoy!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnkMNSTat8NBilH4Rde7j595w9Pe9L-By2Uomyn6KHsDntr_XriFtcuNLGn2Jjc4zzOje6ZYnG_Obvbm5nKhdiK_1j4S2DrMQuuMmt2PpUh7JBuoc-wYIb5OweRwJolDCPZl1DcVG4SChE/s1600-h/HPIM1052.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5114182124821509250" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnkMNSTat8NBilH4Rde7j595w9Pe9L-By2Uomyn6KHsDntr_XriFtcuNLGn2Jjc4zzOje6ZYnG_Obvbm5nKhdiK_1j4S2DrMQuuMmt2PpUh7JBuoc-wYIb5OweRwJolDCPZl1DcVG4SChE/s200/HPIM1052.JPG" border="0" /></a></p><br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkwjfAlGzvGS33OwzwaMl_0nKchauYebWmWWikyuVYPEqbbPpNJFLtkIHZrMrKmUQ-Q7s-PfFyRgYm-X52gXAgVwUE0qlMLYqw9yzkzxtSmvI4y850PBz28IHG7VVnkzDUlmbCQyxBPtXP/s1600-h/HPIM1055.JPG"></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjpW0xvwkau1uCFIngYRIqwjXecwTXearpReTipWTw0j-djkI0kPsejTrPCGR_xW33LRxFQR-LggXXAIDPQZ1p-SRv-ubnTfFd2OkBN3XcgoAfW0zGgAGN6hI1P79Ws3U0wPQlXT0s59up/s1600-h/HPIM1045.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5114183177088496802" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjpW0xvwkau1uCFIngYRIqwjXecwTXearpReTipWTw0j-djkI0kPsejTrPCGR_xW33LRxFQR-LggXXAIDPQZ1p-SRv-ubnTfFd2OkBN3XcgoAfW0zGgAGN6hI1P79Ws3U0wPQlXT0s59up/s200/HPIM1045.JPG" border="0" /></a></p><br /><p></p><br /><p></p><br /><p></p><br /><p></p><br /><p></p><br /><p>Shawna found a baldguy & kissed him on top of his head.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNr8gxOhoR2U8kQ22KQccv6P24uhk8n0zU4FkbqrDO9X9SmoJBm1LM6DVT4Dg5hMZc4hexDu_janDpPQVNZ_QaEtbNQTKFo5bUhKudUJey-8rB0-n9SV6gBJzrJKlsnmQjYoXyNryyswJh/s1600-h/HPIM1048.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5114187536480302258" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNr8gxOhoR2U8kQ22KQccv6P24uhk8n0zU4FkbqrDO9X9SmoJBm1LM6DVT4Dg5hMZc4hexDu_janDpPQVNZ_QaEtbNQTKFo5bUhKudUJey-8rB0-n9SV6gBJzrJKlsnmQjYoXyNryyswJh/s200/HPIM1048.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbk5jV0zXl94HlaKGE9T1eofHZ3H3vUWCOQx4h3_Ydrp8ka-NDe8fWyny2J7vL45jIPMKP_3kYN8h3cahCr6rUfVEOQtEXq_Tw6II3nGkxXmCC0y0Pv6so_DGk3NIu4vb0Ser-Oj5l17G9/s1600-h/HPIM1051.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5114607945059104034" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbk5jV0zXl94HlaKGE9T1eofHZ3H3vUWCOQx4h3_Ydrp8ka-NDe8fWyny2J7vL45jIPMKP_3kYN8h3cahCr6rUfVEOQtEXq_Tw6II3nGkxXmCC0y0Pv6so_DGk3NIu4vb0Ser-Oj5l17G9/s400/HPIM1051.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></p><br /><p></p><br /><p></p><br /><p></p><br /><p></p><br /><p></p><br /><p></p><br /><p></p><br /><p>Natalie and Amanda took the cake when they talked one of the big biker boys out of his drawers. </p><br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhccgyo8cZtkZrqpkifxedkrxDCwL_O3hjWJKEUeGWKngGURWeG_MM8aLnmKHpfjT93tPYHg0S2BDv2EpW4v_0PJ5Kx2lrzb4OzAkKU5C9RVEz2NTytlaigIXQC2Aimvg5AaD9GX7nioWsk/s1600-h/P1010081.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5122310913069905202" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhccgyo8cZtkZrqpkifxedkrxDCwL_O3hjWJKEUeGWKngGURWeG_MM8aLnmKHpfjT93tPYHg0S2BDv2EpW4v_0PJ5Kx2lrzb4OzAkKU5C9RVEz2NTytlaigIXQC2Aimvg5AaD9GX7nioWsk/s320/P1010081.JPG" border="0" /></a></p><br /><p></p>Divahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14740513813386444402noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1548683198063853901.post-6289838480405831022008-01-24T16:18:00.001-05:002008-11-13T10:12:36.743-05:00Round Five- Moonshiners, Tourist Traps & NeuschwansteinAfter the complete and total nervous breakdown Ma had while getting us from Hannover in the north or Germany to Munich in the south, we were both totally excited about getting on a bus and sightseeing with the other tourists schlepping about.<br /><br />It was one of those whoop ass double decker numbers.<br /><br />The cool thing about a guided tour is that you can just kick back, not worry about directions, not worry about getting lost.<br /><br />So, it's Sunday morning. It's 7:00 am. It's cold. It's cloudy. It's a mile and half walk to the tourist trap station where all the tour buses meet to load. Brrrr.<br /><br />Again, thank God for Starbucks being worldwide.<br /><br />This is David. David was our tour guide. He was a friggin riot. Sarcasm, check.<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159153690337352754" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9yqlH78vLAgP4Me9gd7jbtzJZY_W2H50OB3tV3JGKDlUxNdNW2fPWyq38X7_sAIAL6R8kaC01hntnSrdFigZHktmk-jmIMAuXVclUysclPP2h4MzJJMnD7hhZYs7NfFWds4zqhpTMU_Z6/s200/HPIM1173.JPG" border="0" />This guy spoke fluently English, Spanish, German, Chinese & Italian. Dayum.<br /><p>They load us up. Spanish and English speaking folks on bus #1. That would be us.</p><p>We found a seat mid way back on the upper deck and settled in for the ride and listen to David say he's coming around to meet and greet in a minute... in English then in Spanish.</p><p>Once the bus gets a movin, David comes around to collect the cash for entrance to the castles.</p><p>Sort of a sucky McDucky deal, we'd already paid more than 80 Euro for the "tour", nothing said admittance to the places we were going wasn't included. </p><p>As he collected, he was chitty chatting with everybody. He asked where we were from. I said "Tennessee" with my very bestest southern twang.</p><p>David smiles, "Ahhh, Jack Daniels comes from there. You like Jack?"</p><p>I smile even bigger, "Buddy, I love Jack, Jim <strong><em>and</em></strong> Jose."</p><p>We laugh. He goes on. I go back to sipping coffee and kicking back.</p><p>Money collected. David goes back down and gets on the speaker thing. </p><p>"Ok, kids. We are about an hour from Linderhoff Castle. Now there will be lots of tour buses there with lots of groups. It is very, very important that you understand that when I call for you, you get to me."</p><p>I look at mom. "Heh. They'll leave our asses if we wander off."</p><p>Mom said, "Shut up and listen."</p><p>I think Mom was starting to grow tired of me. 9 days had been enough for her.</p><p>David continues..... "Now, I could say 'group 1", but there will be alot of 'group 1's'. So, what I like to do is give each of my groups a unique name. And you, babies, will be called 'Moonshiners' named for the folks from Tennessee."</p><p>*blinkie* *look at Ma*<br /><br />"Ain't that some shit, Mama. He digs that I dig Jack. I knew my alcoholic tendencies would pay off in fame one day and now I've got a whole friggin tour named after me."</p><br />"You're adopted."<br /><br /><p>So, on we go. Up a steep ass mountain. Now looking down off the edge of that mountain from the upper deck of that bus just about made me yack. </p><p>It was beautiful out there though, once we got to the top anyway.<br /></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOJPxkYkYXZPCe1zgpDeY7gXr6K4nseonga669CZnOSo06tQfux3d8K36WKP-WS159MM5VQWtCp-v2i3IXTsFylRdm_B9Px5OISMvS-PmI_cfds7J7XHQjxxxjUsY9BYi_-1QY2Bjn5dhi/s1600-h/HPIM1170.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159145023093349234" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOJPxkYkYXZPCe1zgpDeY7gXr6K4nseonga669CZnOSo06tQfux3d8K36WKP-WS159MM5VQWtCp-v2i3IXTsFylRdm_B9Px5OISMvS-PmI_cfds7J7XHQjxxxjUsY9BYi_-1QY2Bjn5dhi/s200/HPIM1170.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />First stop was Linderhoff Castle. It wasn't really a castle. It was just an overdone house. But it was awesome inside.<br /><br />King Ludwig, the crazy brother that built it and the other castle, was very particular.<br /><br />Of course, the castle polize would take your camera and throw you in castle jail if they caught you taking pictures inside.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZQypXYWLv2FwY0SpJt0CyxeiQpg606vV3tnLEy68gv2ry07ujo41VnWMp8SdoBo3JyWx3bRdLx8qlWF7SfSvuPAY2n7ZgYVQVH2Sxdnq8cqNnQaeOn0xOLKuVoGnll4Fc3aq4SKs9A2iw/s1600-h/HPIM1163.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159146264338897794" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZQypXYWLv2FwY0SpJt0CyxeiQpg606vV3tnLEy68gv2ry07ujo41VnWMp8SdoBo3JyWx3bRdLx8qlWF7SfSvuPAY2n7ZgYVQVH2Sxdnq8cqNnQaeOn0xOLKuVoGnll4Fc3aq4SKs9A2iw/s200/HPIM1163.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />So, we go through the inside. Ornate. Beautiful. Gold everywhere.<br />About 5 minutes after we get through, we here it...<br />"MOONSHINERS!! Get to the bus, pronto!"<br /><br />Back on the bus, we start off an hour to the east to Neuschwanstein. We went through a little town where the cool little houses were painted like pictures from fairy tales.<br /><br />The bus was tooling fast but I caught one of them... Hansel & Gretel...<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheGmAfXT7f2W_WYG_Aq25YDfCYfT3M3Tnz9kX556NZKi1XRxhoa6RVqW3NvWIdQeF7Lqd679zeslAraspXOjN5VdMVGxs3MTQqOVdNGJanyGDXo-uvvn0EhJedG5M-947NhyphenhyphenMCzXmY-5Oz/s1600-h/HPIM1168.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159147801937189794" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheGmAfXT7f2W_WYG_Aq25YDfCYfT3M3Tnz9kX556NZKi1XRxhoa6RVqW3NvWIdQeF7Lqd679zeslAraspXOjN5VdMVGxs3MTQqOVdNGJanyGDXo-uvvn0EhJedG5M-947NhyphenhyphenMCzXmY-5Oz/s200/HPIM1168.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />Finally, we get to Neuschwanstein.<br /><br />Now, this is the castle that Cinderella's castle is based off of at Disney.<br /><br />This is a mo-hunkin castle.<br /><br />Anyway, David tells us we have an hour and 40 minutes before our tour for lunch and to walk our asses 1.25 miles from where we were to the gates.<br /><br />You guessed it. I only thought the <a href="http://sweetdivathoughts.blogspot.com/2007/11/mommynme-heidelberg-castle.html">stairs of death</a> hurt me.<br /><br />We had to walk from where I stood to take this picture all the way up...<br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeI9K39iys8iGn_DQTKKESsE4gZZwn10oSSA2gYt42qgcSasq88INEJSVGZHKuXtW1WfFVlvPhN2hez6ydtWplbRWypzSgeqhEFWk5iozrvl3g88ABaWRNR7qT_aWSCD0SGU9ohfN9UwP-/s1600-h/HPIM1191.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159149318060645298" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeI9K39iys8iGn_DQTKKESsE4gZZwn10oSSA2gYt42qgcSasq88INEJSVGZHKuXtW1WfFVlvPhN2hez6ydtWplbRWypzSgeqhEFWk5iozrvl3g88ABaWRNR7qT_aWSCD0SGU9ohfN9UwP-/s200/HPIM1191.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />SHIT!!!! My fat ass is outtta shape!!!<br /><br />This is Ma telling me not to take a picture of her ass...<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9mloLtIVlcRG9R2BgElF7ZTV6c-BJU8f_OkxKzFbkHTvrZVH8BVBIs6UD6Zlq47wCj8VeoOG3lk05hMtL1snvPF8BI2f6YqRlE7jmdemMh5F1xZPXJeLnrdgXTBg6Ve1t5d-sQnqUj7eZ/s1600-h/HPIM1178.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159149781917113282" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9mloLtIVlcRG9R2BgElF7ZTV6c-BJU8f_OkxKzFbkHTvrZVH8BVBIs6UD6Zlq47wCj8VeoOG3lk05hMtL1snvPF8BI2f6YqRlE7jmdemMh5F1xZPXJeLnrdgXTBg6Ve1t5d-sQnqUj7eZ/s200/HPIM1178.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Heh... This is a picture of Ma's ass...<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFrEsgNq4n0_E89kKlUVJsyVZbSph8VLdOcuha0gd4taXjSCkNnRbZdLI2gghq0O4gKfpSa9WAGWfj9XvPnUZE73qJK4C4BrMRHnLUFqZ5fpQu5QlDHXdBYnBLU7zD5OOUi51fz88bCJsE/s1600-h/HPIM1179.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159150061089987538" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFrEsgNq4n0_E89kKlUVJsyVZbSph8VLdOcuha0gd4taXjSCkNnRbZdLI2gghq0O4gKfpSa9WAGWfj9XvPnUZE73qJK4C4BrMRHnLUFqZ5fpQu5QlDHXdBYnBLU7zD5OOUi51fz88bCJsE/s200/HPIM1179.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br />This is Me & Vashi (a chick we sat with at lunch) hoofin ass up the mountain...<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifpIECA84oiFdrQcE9K4qgfSrOhyphenhyphenWGZqPaZcin_ru2WrI4qhad1bgyzadLkav_ftiL494CyEGWU6UPAIxxP2fuIQI1I3Dk8aQ3oBxnq07k-BgoYd1rfFw6GkfWQ1dRbEVW_MefnHeAhnsp/s1600-h/HPIM1177.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159150477701815266" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifpIECA84oiFdrQcE9K4qgfSrOhyphenhyphenWGZqPaZcin_ru2WrI4qhad1bgyzadLkav_ftiL494CyEGWU6UPAIxxP2fuIQI1I3Dk8aQ3oBxnq07k-BgoYd1rfFw6GkfWQ1dRbEVW_MefnHeAhnsp/s200/HPIM1177.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br />We finally made it!! David was there to greet us... He smelled like Gin.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZDdMApkhhrzjT_iWSif09mOpqvwCobyeTIrIhJW9wY5jYvkD2MKepFfn_tGOVoVxIW8mdSban9sWvR5f_SXEKWsERbUqI6_70jF-tGUggjI81WW2Wv7rlG1jrwKtpM8K2KqBC3tQDIOf4/s1600-h/HPIM1188.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159150890018675698" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZDdMApkhhrzjT_iWSif09mOpqvwCobyeTIrIhJW9wY5jYvkD2MKepFfn_tGOVoVxIW8mdSban9sWvR5f_SXEKWsERbUqI6_70jF-tGUggjI81WW2Wv7rlG1jrwKtpM8K2KqBC3tQDIOf4/s200/HPIM1188.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br />This is from the top of the high tower to the north... Bungee jumping?? Anybody???<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiDzEuvvN5BZaDk_eRKd4KYxN5nGXyCUMfZfG6VNArN8rLBfkqORvrnOuYS3V_mitrft4GvTJlFiGROA7qK5WaJSKl7bSe1fG99j-bZ2OXiStPWrL3nVos2UljP9pOsokmSPnAhJjQWbPV/s1600-h/HPIM1189.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159151267975797762" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiDzEuvvN5BZaDk_eRKd4KYxN5nGXyCUMfZfG6VNArN8rLBfkqORvrnOuYS3V_mitrft4GvTJlFiGROA7qK5WaJSKl7bSe1fG99j-bZ2OXiStPWrL3nVos2UljP9pOsokmSPnAhJjQWbPV/s200/HPIM1189.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Anyway, we made it through, without going to castle jail. </p><p>But, what a jip, it was only 1/4 of the way completed on the inside. </p><p>Ain't it funny, that even in a 400 year old castle, they can make you exit through the gift shop??? </p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh654_gLM21LDjEGc4SjJ80-MmtxIrDt11snoR03MkzWtO36Rb_iXJafY_MBwsNULQ46EBj6XqtAn2tBjaIrrYObQsknj2H56T2kkEDh0flrYijC5Lj8pf086bF9aXx7p0MQyGRJbssvlTm/s1600-h/HPIM1182.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159152126969256978" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh654_gLM21LDjEGc4SjJ80-MmtxIrDt11snoR03MkzWtO36Rb_iXJafY_MBwsNULQ46EBj6XqtAn2tBjaIrrYObQsknj2H56T2kkEDh0flrYijC5Lj8pf086bF9aXx7p0MQyGRJbssvlTm/s200/HPIM1182.JPG" border="0" /></a>Divahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14740513813386444402noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1548683198063853901.post-70434103448183608012008-01-23T10:23:00.000-05:002008-11-13T10:12:37.561-05:00Round Four ~ Won Tons, Manicotti & Haufbrau Haus Beer Garten<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzUE0J74wPYTK0ojxAwsSZnArMnoj7gvUnQKfcNRC_pmtpAsuOAhSIZSHXLZlv9OvxpdvUWfRvEJLr1co9HogoGFQXcWIS5qKz-bZ8MvunKjCjJEfA0dlO4446rP7nUcHkH-X3sgxfEoGE/s1600-h/crazyChicken_ani.gif"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158774668063415122" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzUE0J74wPYTK0ojxAwsSZnArMnoj7gvUnQKfcNRC_pmtpAsuOAhSIZSHXLZlv9OvxpdvUWfRvEJLr1co9HogoGFQXcWIS5qKz-bZ8MvunKjCjJEfA0dlO4446rP7nUcHkH-X3sgxfEoGE/s200/crazyChicken_ani.gif" border="0" /></a><br /><div>I wandered over to <a href="http://speedcathollydale.blogspot.com/">Speedcat Hollydale's page</a> today for the first time. Interesting stuff.</div><div>In honor of this visit... I post a chicken!</div><div></div><br /><div>I never realized eating in a forgein country would be so damn difficult.<br /><br />First, I am the second pickiest bitch you will ever meet in your life, behind the boy of course... he'd have starved to death.<br /><br />Ok, being the typical American tourist type, not to mention a closed minded, livin in the box kinda girl, I never realized that Chinese people that run a chinese restaurant in Germany wouldn't speak English.<br /><br />It was odd to me that they spoke Chinese and German and not English.<br /><br />Go figure, huh?<br /><br />But, the place was across the street from our hotel, and smelled really, really good.<br /><br />The only lucky part is the menu did have English, I can point and the chick could speak some limited broken English.<br /><br />Chicken Won-Ton Soup: #3 on the menu.<br />Mini-Spring Roll: #2 on the menu.<br />Cashew Chicken: #42 on the menu.<br /><br />Best Won-Ton Soup I ever have had... EVER.<br /><br /><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsVj-UdBorRZH-F7_2bPmUViyONkEwiosFEdz03wuA1a4HUI_IgHkSK55GWBdLWRN5e49h9G7QdQEGSCcFcULFDQmNzc9txcTf7qKYDTECKJkUS-hquNQWodNl11p4dQIgYnSttCYfcxY_/s1600-h/HPIM1096.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5128343379128433330" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsVj-UdBorRZH-F7_2bPmUViyONkEwiosFEdz03wuA1a4HUI_IgHkSK55GWBdLWRN5e49h9G7QdQEGSCcFcULFDQmNzc9txcTf7qKYDTECKJkUS-hquNQWodNl11p4dQIgYnSttCYfcxY_/s320/HPIM1096.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Since I am afraid of anything ending in -wurst or-snitzel, I steered clear of tradtional German food.<br /><br />God forbid I pork-penis-wurst or something like that.<br /><br />I'm sure I'd yack.<br /><br />It's not like I can translate German to English very well.<br /><br />We were in Pforzheim the first several days:<br /><br />So, we ate Chinese food at the same place on Sunday and Monday nights.<br /><br />The Tuesday night, we switched off for some Itatlian. The spinich manacotti was yum and the wine was a-flowin.<br /><br />Then Wednesday night, we were gonna give the Brazilian place a crack.<br /><br />But I wussed out, paid for my beer and ran away. They couldn't speak the English and I couldn't figure out anything but shrimp from the Brazilian/German menu.<br /><br />I don't do shrimp.<br /><br />So, we ended up back at the Chinese place again, where we were greeted with..<br />"Hello. You wanta Coka Light and Hotta Tea, yes?"<br /><br />With a sweet smile I tell her, "Of course and can we have the same table by the window?"<br /><br />I know she had to be thinking... Crazy American bitch won't eat anything.<br /><br />She's right. I have food fears.<br /><br />Then we went to Hannover:<br /><br />Thursday night we ate food from the hotel bar, which is always tasty with beer.<br /><br />Bar food = GOOD.<br /><br />Friday night, we had another awesome Italian dinner with the owner of my company.<br /><br />Then to Munich:<br />Saturday night, I finally broke down.<br /><br />Mommy & Me went to Haufbrau Haus Beer Garten in Munich.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZIT-Qit-ajiylxl0fS8OotuWJANErwWxeON3zzJAm0UbR9-5lIZLcH6aDYZoAqfjShuwHVRq8i55A9JBNpVs_zhw-B0FUGZJMtGHqz4bnJuM44mpLvKh_RChF0TMecMCYDiVlcJ41lgVa/s1600-h/100_3270.jpeg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156921628696337698" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZIT-Qit-ajiylxl0fS8OotuWJANErwWxeON3zzJAm0UbR9-5lIZLcH6aDYZoAqfjShuwHVRq8i55A9JBNpVs_zhw-B0FUGZJMtGHqz4bnJuM44mpLvKh_RChF0TMecMCYDiVlcJ41lgVa/s200/100_3270.jpeg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />It's one of the oldest original beer joints with 400 years o' history.<br /><br />Oktoberfest was over. Missed it by a week.<br /><br />But you couldn't tell it by the guy on the table who had a bucket on his head and was leading the whole place in a German ding dong sing-along.<br /><br />After several pints of some the delicious brew, I was starting to pack a nice buzz.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1F-tz7uAwDYd52hI6iAGVgy_9BV9G4MhQPnVajKCbXE3OLKons83buS2rd_vHzuTZ8GkviLDDgtsEXw9rZoinFHPrzGB7Pdv8TBfqJYAv7bTHMfmuLI2XGDsYxFp3ilv-VzSouOv7rU0Q/s1600-h/thirsty.jpeg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156922655193521458" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1F-tz7uAwDYd52hI6iAGVgy_9BV9G4MhQPnVajKCbXE3OLKons83buS2rd_vHzuTZ8GkviLDDgtsEXw9rZoinFHPrzGB7Pdv8TBfqJYAv7bTHMfmuLI2XGDsYxFp3ilv-VzSouOv7rU0Q/s200/thirsty.jpeg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />So, I broke down and ate stewed steak smothered in roasted onions (DAYUM!!) and some kind of potatoes.<br /><br />The beer was the best ever though. It didn't have that watery as piss taste to it.<br /><br />Sunday night, we found us another Chinese place. It was pretty tasty and it overlooked downtown Munich..<br /><br />So, I guess I totally blew the opportunity to expand my culinary palate...<br /><br />I suck. If it ain't Taco Bell, I don't want it.<br /><br />I do know one thing for shizzly. Germany has the corner on the beer and ice cream markets. It was grub and I had my fair share.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi71vNZZ-7_mv4WwG1b_6byTKkzrTz0mmU05HtlWAAFtL6Oz4cXgkyI-ePxwxa3NtoEpYMM1Rhx58WZ4_ZMU4sHqpMwx_6XyIF09R0Qa88LC5CBreBElO8euSLdLCLTUkaraRYGoFeWiGrC/s1600-h/HPIM1099.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5128343881639606978" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi71vNZZ-7_mv4WwG1b_6byTKkzrTz0mmU05HtlWAAFtL6Oz4cXgkyI-ePxwxa3NtoEpYMM1Rhx58WZ4_ZMU4sHqpMwx_6XyIF09R0Qa88LC5CBreBElO8euSLdLCLTUkaraRYGoFeWiGrC/s320/HPIM1099.JPG" border="0" /></a>Divahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14740513813386444402noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1548683198063853901.post-43920169972414570362008-01-22T15:42:00.000-05:002008-11-13T10:12:39.354-05:00Round Three - Heidelberg CastleMy pal, Markus from Pforzheim, decided that we needed to go to Heildelberg to the Castle grounds and wander as it was a beautiful Sunday afternoon. We parked the car and looked up the hill. There it was, as it was last time I was in there, very eery yet beautiful.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA0QXoqndfKyH-QMeQns0CFhK9w-Ce3dzuoGtHn-OE0TdyUNnEvGwcQDtWGZQio3yQhl4FK5pQLbACjXGykm0oylMOtVora92mD6z2AlS14Z6q27yUfJzhXw1OYgMBgL7FQzgiYwxu2srt/s1600-h/HPIM1065.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5128308499699022450" style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA0QXoqndfKyH-QMeQns0CFhK9w-Ce3dzuoGtHn-OE0TdyUNnEvGwcQDtWGZQio3yQhl4FK5pQLbACjXGykm0oylMOtVora92mD6z2AlS14Z6q27yUfJzhXw1OYgMBgL7FQzgiYwxu2srt/s320/HPIM1065.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I assummed (ass-u-me) that we would go the same way I had went in last time.<br /><br />Up a nice stable incline to the front of the grounds. Not so much.<br /><br />Let's just say I assumed way wrong.<br /><br />We ended up climbing the STAIRS OF DEATH.<br /><br />All 315 of them.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8bYxZTnQEcmpBjBt2DTHWbxT91kS8cZsfIk3jXwCCU8LuBzoozFlifvISD-vEwAQP_skV_hoXxNpExa_DLNTnOa57fim6k0EFNNZlK_RQ0-mqVGLZwYlj-YvoeN0AYt749vyey_LLHMtc/s1600-h/HPIM1089.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5128301370053311042" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8bYxZTnQEcmpBjBt2DTHWbxT91kS8cZsfIk3jXwCCU8LuBzoozFlifvISD-vEwAQP_skV_hoXxNpExa_DLNTnOa57fim6k0EFNNZlK_RQ0-mqVGLZwYlj-YvoeN0AYt749vyey_LLHMtc/s320/HPIM1089.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Straight up.<br /><br />On the bright side, I was feelin bad that I thought I was gonna have a heart attack because I smoke and I was climbing stairs...<br /><br />until my non-smoking Ma almost fell out too!!<br /><br />Thanks for making me feel good about being me, Mom!! I loves ya!<br /><br />And here are Mommy & Me at the top in the gardens.<br /><br />We survived the climb.<br /><br />Since that was in October, now I can say it was worth the pain & suffering. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGmmvvy_ZpVB691vQAm6tgQyOvYJV82k4GpHdgx6vk4XncNZHSQ25IeXKDRUbuRAV7J3kkJxVg13FJy-0oBRXIBeV9BsMVHxf5vNqSVSrg5Vpqfe9q3lqzeSeSMnL4z3cAoKtxWeJOrSHk/s1600-h/HPIM1070.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5128297508877711906" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGmmvvy_ZpVB691vQAm6tgQyOvYJV82k4GpHdgx6vk4XncNZHSQ25IeXKDRUbuRAV7J3kkJxVg13FJy-0oBRXIBeV9BsMVHxf5vNqSVSrg5Vpqfe9q3lqzeSeSMnL4z3cAoKtxWeJOrSHk/s320/HPIM1070.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />Although in total ruins from WWII...<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguQPHU7WKLdH4Gi4wMop98ZiK7h-2aXL4eDxIsl8-u1dQVNvc0_YYwYYI8_7rXqCv52e9ojZ2oRGLp_7XjqgqugvxNMs7WwYAl1ruMdB1GMK75SpSN6nw29_mSCvgqo0XBdpmBqdM9sNi0/s1600-h/HPIM1067.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5128305080905054802" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguQPHU7WKLdH4Gi4wMop98ZiK7h-2aXL4eDxIsl8-u1dQVNvc0_YYwYYI8_7rXqCv52e9ojZ2oRGLp_7XjqgqugvxNMs7WwYAl1ruMdB1GMK75SpSN6nw29_mSCvgqo0XBdpmBqdM9sNi0/s320/HPIM1067.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br />still a very beautiful place...<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigz3Bsb_8opzZMVZyo_nl7wxwd47COqU_AY3Qv0s5f6XrGPrV0vOow3fd0FpWRBEQv_aZbI00MuOmc_H_vgguyVdvT7Olo95r3pc9LYUe1ZvDth0q8FMpsT31mZASjM0ssW_Tgokt_8V-7/s1600-h/HPIM1079.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5128298131647969842" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigz3Bsb_8opzZMVZyo_nl7wxwd47COqU_AY3Qv0s5f6XrGPrV0vOow3fd0FpWRBEQv_aZbI00MuOmc_H_vgguyVdvT7Olo95r3pc9LYUe1ZvDth0q8FMpsT31mZASjM0ssW_Tgokt_8V-7/s320/HPIM1079.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />"I'll give ya $5 if you'll jump across and act like you're makin out with that pee-ing statue. Obed (her pastor) will never know. I swear I won't tell him and Jesus will forgive you."<br /><br />Constantly antogonizing poor Ma is what I live for.<br /><br />"Ya right, you take pictures of everything and use them for your benefit."<br /><br />For an older broad she catches on quick.<br /><br />I DO take pictures of everything.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-h4FizejpViYawkrZgxohl4enOC5-7DkyGCO6FEJTfxBn1QrC-G5IQKaubCNhwMGTVy8phnvgA-60e1xC3yhx1tSDMeV3x_x54d9q8uwUOyeJbcRCZRNQwrm5BrA9It-o8hZ2D0YICZnY/s1600-h/HPIM1080.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5128306369395243618" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-h4FizejpViYawkrZgxohl4enOC5-7DkyGCO6FEJTfxBn1QrC-G5IQKaubCNhwMGTVy8phnvgA-60e1xC3yhx1tSDMeV3x_x54d9q8uwUOyeJbcRCZRNQwrm5BrA9It-o8hZ2D0YICZnY/s320/HPIM1080.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />She's right though. I'd have saved it as leverage for later...<br /><br />"Be nice, or I'll send this picture of you to the ladies group, Missy."<br /><br />That's just the way I roll.<br /><br />So, the front of the place is actually in pretty good shape.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjRQD4RhpCtp5h8BSgU61rovAi7cgXz4Yzce6TYMOcExCBCrmDYYKETj9f7oxAe7VtdpihUzStNUdAXpufSqSw-DWetNhg98_O-iZ4_sy7nvliYPYsF3RlcmwqrEJf4gPTfCKnY_GhFmP5/s1600-h/HPIM1087.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5128310273520515730" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjRQD4RhpCtp5h8BSgU61rovAi7cgXz4Yzce6TYMOcExCBCrmDYYKETj9f7oxAe7VtdpihUzStNUdAXpufSqSw-DWetNhg98_O-iZ4_sy7nvliYPYsF3RlcmwqrEJf4gPTfCKnY_GhFmP5/s320/HPIM1087.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Supposedly the last prince of Heidelburg got pissed at his lady and jumped out the window...<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDFefyPOCS84R655Hq1tKx_zJcqtZ05jYhsr6a6CsRATZbq1mlXVFCQyBX1aAn1DU2Kp9z1awIRk0YT4HlhF2HUp4laTTa8BEOgFnfgHjT5U06RlCTnZSwd2118f-yHpWL1JM956Qp87-B/s1600-h/HPIM1088.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5128312390939392674" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDFefyPOCS84R655Hq1tKx_zJcqtZ05jYhsr6a6CsRATZbq1mlXVFCQyBX1aAn1DU2Kp9z1awIRk0YT4HlhF2HUp4laTTa8BEOgFnfgHjT5U06RlCTnZSwd2118f-yHpWL1JM956Qp87-B/s320/HPIM1088.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />... and all that was left was his footprint where he hit the ground so hard...<br /><br />yah, yah, yah... a little Heidelburg bullshit there.<br /><br />Heard that from no less than 6 German types trying to amuse us.<br /><br />Didn't work. <br /><br />After we finished wandering the castle grounds, we hoofed it through the downtown area.<br /><br />All I can say is God Bless <a href="http://www.kneipen-suche.com/heidelberg-starbucks_coffee_house-2904.html">Starbucks Heidelburg</a>. <br /><br />It was cold, it was dark and I needed java.<br /><br />I know, I know...<br /><br /><a href="http://sweetdivathoughts.blogspot.com/2007/12/confessional-week-2.html">I make fun of all things Starbucks</a>.<br /><br />But when you're that far away from home with all the strange sights and smells of a foriegn place...<br /><br />let me tell ya... you're thankful for Starbucks.<br /><br />Also thankful that Markus went in and ordered....<br /><br />Diva don't brechen zi duetch.Divahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14740513813386444402noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1548683198063853901.post-2053711836570550422008-01-19T09:55:00.000-05:002008-11-13T10:12:39.735-05:00Round Two - O'Hare Airport<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix03PkxhhRyWYVI5u_vyjtQjEZP0MuozGj3_nyPNjREmyuIFm5EiBhXs1kPGKSNAOkP_hiW6pTJdPzF7kSNNwWSG1h8hwjwBnwvfbavfFpBmsX1ZCsZghOudTjGBq1Q-lSQXDB7p-84-xY/s1600-h/HPIM1062.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix03PkxhhRyWYVI5u_vyjtQjEZP0MuozGj3_nyPNjREmyuIFm5EiBhXs1kPGKSNAOkP_hiW6pTJdPzF7kSNNwWSG1h8hwjwBnwvfbavfFpBmsX1ZCsZghOudTjGBq1Q-lSQXDB7p-84-xY/s200/HPIM1062.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156936798520827202" /></a><br /><br />Disclaimer: Yes, kids, I know smoking is bad and I should quit. If it makes any difference, I am a polite smoker and I do not subject anyone who does not smoke to my toxic fumes. Ever.<br /><br />Saturday, October 6th. 5:30pm. Chicago.<br /><br />Smoking in Chicago's O'Hare Airport was proving to be quite the challenge. <br /><br />There are no longer smoking rooms in any airport, a fact I was unaware of. <br /><br />It was 85 degrees and smoggy as hell outside where they bannish all nicotine addicts to wither away for their sins. <br /><br />We had just walked off the plane for our long ass lay-over when I decided it was time to find the smoking area. <br /><br />I'm not the type of toker that needs a ciggie every 5-10 minutes. <br /><br />Hell, I go 8-5 M-F without one.<br /><br />Mom decides to take one for the team and walk with me to find a smoking area.<br /><br />She hasn't smoked since it was fashionable in the 60s and she totally hates that I do... I hear it all the time... "Think of alllll the money you'd have..."<br /><br />Blah blah blah.<br /><br />After 30 minutes of searching, I just happened upon a friendly airport employee. <br /><a href="http://i43.photobucket.com/albums/e399/paladinmantis/janitor.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://i43.photobucket.com/albums/e399/paladinmantis/janitor.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />We'll call him Papagorgio. <br /><br />Papagorgio said to me "We don't have smoking rooms anymore. I would encourage you to slip into a stall in the ladies room and smoke. It should be okay." <br /><br />He smiled and winked. Ughhh....<br /><br />"Um... yah. Let me tell ya something, buddy. It is clearly marked all over this God forsaken place that anyone busted puffing a satan stick in the bathroom will be promptly and stiffly fined. Not to mention that they would most likely imprison me in the bowels of the airport in some make-shift jail until I confess every sin I've committed since my birth into this cruel world. Now why would you tell me to do that??"<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCp-pPxVEvcZbAhrlY1pVzO3tVJIezy-eCogubK2wqSn5azqx2w8yE9qxvwh6S-W8ruFYMiqJ3KSowR2B4x12UPAEu9MHb_5SVj-yBiF5Kqg_ZlmdGHZhEF6O0el4BbIchJJlEHcwBRPwL/s1600-h/HPIM1063.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCp-pPxVEvcZbAhrlY1pVzO3tVJIezy-eCogubK2wqSn5azqx2w8yE9qxvwh6S-W8ruFYMiqJ3KSowR2B4x12UPAEu9MHb_5SVj-yBiF5Kqg_ZlmdGHZhEF6O0el4BbIchJJlEHcwBRPwL/s320/HPIM1063.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5125299484266150418" /></a><br /><br />"I was just trying to help, Miss. You can always go outside." He said, rolling his eyes and walking away.<br /><br />Yah. I think Papagorgio gets kickbacks. <br /><br />I can just see him watching me slip into the bathroom... eyes crazed with anticipation. <br /><br />It would go down something like this:<br /><br />"This is Papagorgio. There's a crazy white chick with pink Nike shoes and a Mickey Mouse sweatshirt about to enter stall three to light up. Move in!"<br /><br />Needless to say, I decided to go outside for a smoke. This happened only once.<br /><br />In order to have this simple pleasure, I had to stand outside, 15 feet from any human activity. This is pretty much in the path of the fumes from the never ending parade of buses and trams. Eh, mixed with the heat and the smog, I decided to deal with it. It wasn't so bad.<br /><br />What prompted me to hold off my intake of required nicotine level until landing in Duetchland the next day was the hassle of going through security over and over and over and over. Once was enough.<br /><br />I refused to go through having to remove my shoes, waiting in line to pass them and my purse through the x-ray machine. <br /><br />Have you ever thought about the funk on the floor in the security area of the airport with all those folks walkin barefoot?? I have. <br /><br />Then after all that putting my shoes back on and walking a mile back to the gate. <br /><br />Seriously, I'll pass. <br /><br />Anybody got industrial strength Nicorette?<br /><br />What ever happened to designated smoking areas in the dang airport? <br /><br />You know the glass cubicle of death. Even though they were ventilated it resemebled the great city of Los Angeles with a smog bank looming over?<br /><br />As if hunting for a smoking area wasn’t fun enough to occupy our 4-hour layover at O’Hare International Airport, mom decided that she needed airport food. <br /><br />Now, it wasn’t that she was hungry. No, this wasn’t the case.<br /><br />“It’s almost like tradition.” She says beaming that smile of hers.<br /><br />“Yogurt is somehow a tradition? Do tell.” I ask. I like tradition.<br /><br />“Not really yogurt, but eating in the airport.” she explains.<br /><br />“Oh hell, now I’ve heard it all. That’s like me running right to Manchu Wok for Lo-mein everytime I hit the ground. It ain’t tradition, Mama. It’s called eating out of bordom and that's how folks get fat. Pure and simple.” I lecture.<br /><br />“Well, whatever you want to call it, Missy. I want a frozen yogurt and we’re gonna walk until we find one.” She commands. “Did you see anyplace to get one?”<br /><br />“I saw a fat guy up by the security check thing, but I think it was ice cream, not yogurt.” I tell her.<br /><br />“I want fat-free-frozen vanilla yogurt…” she starting to sound all dreamy.<br /><br />Not ice cream. Not chocolate. Not full of fat…. No.<br /><br />With that I pick up my 50 pound carry-on bag at Gate K-5 and we start walking. <br /><br />We see a sign for frozen yogurt and head that way.<br /><br />I have to say this should have been an extremely simple and painless task as right there in the “K” terminal are TWO, not just one, but TWO TCBY’s!!! <br /><br />Easy right?<br /><br />Well, not so much. <br /><br />The little dude at the first TCBY didn’t have any vanilla, <br /><br />SO, he pointed us to the other food court way the hell down the way at gate K-15.<br /><br />We get there, and sure enough, TCBY. Score!<br /><br />We walk up smiling, only to see that the lady has the frozen yogurt machine torn down for cleaning. <br /><br />The sparkle immediately left my eyes. I'm disenchanted.<br /><br />So, we walk and ended up in the “L” terminal. <br /><br />Only one TCBY and no vanilla. Shit!<br /><br />Back out of “L” and wander over to “G”.<br /><br />Now this sucks. My bag is too damn heavy for this.<br /><br />After walking 2.5 miles to get there, we learn that it’s a commuter terminal and they have no TCBY at all. <br /><br />Friggin figures.<br /><br />Defeated and depressed, we turn around with our heads hung low. <br /><br />The pep in our step was lost long ago as but we shuffled along. <br /><br />All of a sudden, my mom happened to see a hidden food court area that we had somehow walked right past at least 3 times.<br /><br />And in the very back end of that little hidden jewel sat a TCBY. <br /><br />We walk up, skeptical that anything will come of the visit.<br /><br />“Vanilla?” Mom asks the girl with that desperate tone in her voice.<br /><br />Friends, the heavens opened up and I swear a chorus of angels sang Hallelujah in unison.<br /><br />“Sure. What size?” The girl says with an angelic smile on her face.<br /><br />So, an hour and a half and 10 miles later, Ma had her yogurt.<br /><br />Next stop. Pforzheim Germany.Divahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14740513813386444402noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1548683198063853901.post-21130520118315650602008-01-17T15:31:00.000-05:002008-11-13T10:12:39.938-05:00Round One - McGee Tyson AirportDay One - Round One<br /><br />It was Saturday, October 6th in the year of our Lord, 2007. A beautiful and mild day for flying I thought to myself as I peered out the glass door at Tony and the boy loading my colassal pieces of luggage into the bed of the pick-em-up truck. <br /><br />I tried and tried to whittle down the amount of crap I had packed up. Deleting various pairs of shoes and casual clothes by the handful. My Mother swore that she was going to get all of her stuff packed into one reasonably size suitcase the night before when she was packing.<br />I thought to myself, I'll be damned if she gets all her shit shoved into one "reasonably sized" bag and I can't. But I couldn't and I was at the point of accepting my defeat when we left the house to go pick her up.<br /><br />As we pulled down the drive way, my uncle was helping her roll her reasonably sized bag out of the garage, followed by yet another bag nearly the same size as her reasonably sized bag. Hmmmm. Defeat? Me thinks not. Get 'em hoisted and let's go. The sunny skies are waiting on us.<br /><br />We took off for McGee Tyson airport here in beautiful Alcoa, Tennessee. Tony helped up get the bags out of the bed of the truck and almost dropped a nut trying to get her suitcase out. <br /><br />"A little heavy there, huh?" I asked him, whilst cackling at her.<br /><br />"Just a little." He said. Shaking his head that I can be so snide and yet so loving at the same time.<br /><br />We gave each other some seriously tight hugs and sweet kisses and I went on in to check in our stuff.<br /><br />"Name and identification, please." The robotic sounding lady at the American Airlines counter blurted out. <br /><br />"Well, ok. Gotta dig it out." I said as I start shuffling through my carry-on bag looking for my passport. <br /><br />"Ah. There it is!" I say proudly, as my digging expedition proved I hadn't forgotten my passport. I lay it on the counter in front of her.<br /><br />"Very good. Will you be checking any thing through today?" as she peers over the counter at the obviously over stuffed luggage at my feet.<br /><br />"Mmmm, yah. These two." I rolled my eyes as I lifted them onto the scale.<br /><br />"Ok, they are checked all the way through to Frankfurt. Have a nice trip."<br /><br />Sweet! Phase one of the objective was complete. Mom's turn.<br /><br />"Name and identification, please." Robot lady says to her.<br /><br />Mom handed her passport over and started lugging her bag up onto the scale.<br /><br />"Oh my." Says robot lady. "It appears we have a problem. This first bag is nearly 17 pounds over the limit. You can try to redistribute it, or you can pay the $50.00 over weight fee." (Have photographic proof of overpacking. Sorry mom, you knew I'd use it).<br /><br />In typical JLamb fashion my mother overpacked for real. And Tony said my bag was way heavier than hers, hmph. I wasn't the one sitting in front of the check in counter redistributing 67 pounds of crap to meet the weight limit. Hahahaha.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghtx_YKk6-JXImljZqML5tS76XvEacg-i_yyLZoEerK1nfPHboWLW7PW7ohk4wGoWN3yEhxHgOlrhOag-ugW3bxOT_8e336qWsIjfu6fP0IzlpwgpH9FPsRXIN1GuEWdbp44neD8O19ymT/s1600-h/HPIM1059.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghtx_YKk6-JXImljZqML5tS76XvEacg-i_yyLZoEerK1nfPHboWLW7PW7ohk4wGoWN3yEhxHgOlrhOag-ugW3bxOT_8e336qWsIjfu6fP0IzlpwgpH9FPsRXIN1GuEWdbp44neD8O19ymT/s320/HPIM1059.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5125008341510354274" /></a><br /><br />"Gonna fit it all into one bag are we?" I say to her as I cackle a little more at her packing defeat.<br /><br />She shoots me the most evil of all evil looks and says, "I can fix it."<br /><br />She unzips the offending suitcase and proceeds to pull out a fat bag of hair products, a Bible, several books.<br /><br />"Sweet Jesus, Mom." I ask in amazement. "How the hell did you get all that in there to begin with?"<br /><br />"Can you please put some of these in your carry-on and I'll put the rest of it in my other bag?" <br /><br />"Yah, yah, yah." I babble as I shove her books and other random small items into my bag. I decided rather than start her off pissed, I'd shut up and pick another battle later. <br /><br />There's nothing better than messing with my Mom. I don't do it to be mean to her. I just find it to be the most entertaining activity around these days.<br /><br />"Let's see if that does it." She says as she pushes the suitcase back up on the scale.<br /><br />"Just made it." Robot lady said, actually cracking a smile. "Have a nice trip, Mrs. Lamb." She said as she handed mom's boarding pass over the counter.<br /><br />Mom couldn't say anything, she just smiled back as we walked toward the secure area.<br /><br />"Damn, mom." I said with sincere realization. "I really think I should go chain smoke for a few minutes since it's gonna really suck once I cross that security line."<br /><br />She showed her compassion and said, "Ok. Let's go outside."<br /><br />She sat there in the waiting area while I chain smoked a couple of cigarrettes and got enough of a ciggie buzz to border on a headache.<br /><br />"Let's go, Mama." I said as I walked back up to her.<br /><br />With that, we were off toward security check point.<br /><br />"Oh shit!" I whined.<br /><br />"What now?" She asked me.<br /><br />"They're gonna take my lighter. I just bought that lighter."<br /><br />"You can buy a new one when we get there." She said.<br /><br />"Fine." I took the lighter out and pitched it in the lighter collector jail they had set up.<br /><br />So, we made it through security and we were on our way. Quite an eventful afternoon and we hadn't even left Knoxville yet.Divahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14740513813386444402noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1548683198063853901.post-86627700891374979362008-01-16T11:27:00.000-05:002008-11-13T10:12:40.388-05:00Bitchin, Moanin, Yep... I'm PMS'nNo sooner do I get over the demon turd, then I am striken with the murderous rage... Yah, PMS.<br /><br />Due to this fact, I had a huge decision to make. Do a post bitchin and moanin about everything that is putting my panties in a wad or pass on the post until I cheer the hell up.<br /><br />Guess what... I decided to bitch and moan.<br /><br />In no particular order, these are the things that are just chappin my ass during this time of hormonal distress.<br /><br /><em><strong>WalMart</strong></em><br />I am a hater of WalMart. I think the place is the spawn of Satan himself. Especially the Super WalMarts. There is no good time to go to WalMart. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibd-d9TsRbCkBlAGvvPyldLMOMSHkttpwKVgrw2rvECC2p_ZM33JtXvebVJU6RhHDPPDQxQj54FJBIz6ikI-pTN4rZxtb4MlxURR93QpgHMkTIY4G_5E5U8wB1O5Uw8MdFy7mF8Au-eEfd/s1600-h/untitled.bmp"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibd-d9TsRbCkBlAGvvPyldLMOMSHkttpwKVgrw2rvECC2p_ZM33JtXvebVJU6RhHDPPDQxQj54FJBIz6ikI-pTN4rZxtb4MlxURR93QpgHMkTIY4G_5E5U8wB1O5Uw8MdFy7mF8Au-eEfd/s200/untitled.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156088886077250626" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Gas Prices </strong> <br />I was taking Miss A to school this morning and was low on petroleum feul in the automobile. I knew I should have stopped last night on my way home from the office. But, I'm a lazy bitch and figured... Eh, tomorrow.<br /><br />Mistake.<br /><a href="http://i99.photobucket.com/albums/l305/bagedime_06/mobil_gas_prices.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://i99.photobucket.com/albums/l305/bagedime_06/mobil_gas_prices.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />Never fails that when I go into lazy sloth mode and don't get gas when I notice I need it, the prices jump up over night. Pisses me off.<br /><br /><strong>Chompin, Crunchin & Slurpin</strong><br />Ok, I know alot of people who think I am completely and totally anal rententive for this one. For this particular issue pisses me off any day of the year, not just today. <br /><br />But, since I have high levels of estrogen streaking through my being at lightening speeds, the level of irritation created by these noises is severly increased.<br /><br />It all stems back to a traumatic semester in 7th grade pre-algebra, when I sat in front of Sergio. Sergio smacked and chomped his gum in my ear every friggin day. <br /><br />It drove me to the point of shooting fire out of my eyes and screaming at him just before spring break. I was promptly issued 3 days of detention for my outburst, but it was worth it. That asshat wasn't allowed to chew gum in math class anymore. <br /><br />Seriously. How hard is it to keep your mouth closed when you're chewing? Granted, some things are just crunchy. And there is a certain amount of crunch noise that doesn't grate my vertabre like a knife. <br /><br />But, when the boy stands right behind me with a bag of chips, crunching and chomping with his mouth open and chips falling down his chin. Sorry, I have to say somethin, and it's usually in the form of...<br /><br />"I swear to God and all things Holy... If you don't back away from me I'm gonna kick your ass!!!!!!!"<br /><br />Soup/hot liquid slurping is another issue that makes me tick.<br /><br />No shit. I spout obscenities and tick like I have tourettes when people in my direct vicinity act like animals during feeding time in the fucking zoo.<br /><br />Manners, people. It's not that hard. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqPEErM34YATjUyj6saPydfLeMk_iccLVM-n_WNVXLF9E5yBdH0u2pyoU-s912L359KMNIe0LJW5Q-4SN04fJA25TVfBJl93_9ynGvVtYzgm3MO0Fwen9tXhM6qrRjFSMst9yBIeka3Hec/s1600-h/jah17.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqPEErM34YATjUyj6saPydfLeMk_iccLVM-n_WNVXLF9E5yBdH0u2pyoU-s912L359KMNIe0LJW5Q-4SN04fJA25TVfBJl93_9ynGvVtYzgm3MO0Fwen9tXhM6qrRjFSMst9yBIeka3Hec/s200/jah17.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156152541787544786" /></a> <br /><br />Basically everything is pissin me off today. My computer is acting like it's on crack, my hair looks like I stuck my finger in a light socket and I have a hole in my right sock.<br /><br />Oh yah. Blogger sucks balls. Why is it that the date and time are never right? And I just prettied up my blog, but conveniently lost my "Dog Pound" blogroll thing.<br />I'll fix it tomorrow. My head hurts.Divahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14740513813386444402noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1548683198063853901.post-1144242493186491592008-01-15T16:27:00.000-05:002008-11-13T10:12:43.727-05:00Lil TThe boy always wakes up with a big ass smile on his face. What a pooopiedooo... His Lil T voice echoes down the stairs when he wakes up and calls out my name so I'll get my ass up and come get him out of bed. I love it cuz he's all lovey-dovey in the mornings.<br /><div><br /><div><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5149104646483696258" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhg_9GbZJqTtZMEuJ4zVM4B6eY0pq5gG8HJ0RfIoYAOBmzLRXHqT56Ls87rvVPfoQeQ71RpMCWm3d6grcTBBI6JHemJtkIujTa_nKZ4aiW-iwkoLiImaNG5K9c7hgdqixZgzzfm5BFUEpy/s200/HPIM0807.JPG" border="0" /> As shown in the picture below, Little T is actually a mini-clone of Big T.<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5149105295023757970" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJz4WHRGaeskQfTowfczzuiWbOlRcy8-R__cAZxSDrJh-86qBeGhcZbZqeozEG042pnQd0DT6QC-CtbsOc1J8Z4LK7YkymhZU2g-D8T1Q2mcbMw2YQMSU93gQ54Tu8p5HnfXpo77YXt77k/s200/HPIM0808.JPG" border="0" /><br /><p>At the ripe old age of two, he knows he gets what ever the hell he wants out of me by batting his eyes and saying.... "pweeeeeze Nana". </p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5149107747450084002" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvmS2vt3iA_LyBomeBROWa1uj4sgDX-xUadcFTEOWQPQ31eYg77VNmdCj4YDCCuNpQgduWWTWHAzpWSRbJ3AE3m2EbcQN48oUoA6_CqNAqz1IKAT0cYEc8XHaQILtq8xurLhJSB9DWKfXh/s200/HPIM0696.JPG" border="0" /><br /><br /><br /><p>He sucks me in with the way he snuggles up against me, like I am the one who can keep him safe and warm when it's dark, cold and scary.</p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5149108481889491634" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbe4-W8Ki-cT4J4sjc7xx_sbSIwnHMxrIruB23IBh6LdnxT33lOih9sqMNCCj9GIMfx-VPd8isZBJlX8PgBfT1O-_b87ugVdOz4FvLhG1O0UzFV1EoWRYWjE5FWnHLowkvD6nOUd7eO8tR/s200/HPIM0711.JPG" border="0" /><br /><br /><br /><p>The bugs in our backyard don't stand a chance against him. He's all about catching bugs, he just doesn't realize they smooch really easy.</p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5149108950040926914" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4Exd3P0LGFQ1YSgv-daczu0EKlo_6MNBHJRjLiOF-O0XmqCAXXgFs33NHpY-X10unl5w7GlTza2MAQ0dW6WZrkT6E2WLcFWs5mTuCiwCMMIVJlRU0hv-C_peqstUAH71UR0loE9Vl6_6A/s200/HPIM0662.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p>The little redneck has already been schooled in the difference betwixt the Ford and Chevy while sitting on the front porch with Big T. </p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5149112252870777554" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW3wBEzhPN7yqq5fbuSjZIg66Eazhj2mQ5YhhPFqDrerJxbl3ykYFP-4nt7uu3T3QjFIFcI5g4HgXNmv_o4XP-qfodO1HrUtcmSATYC2GHaG2goYOrkzI8qnzJVImqRLnO6lbilI7wLlK9/s200/HPIM0619.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p>It's impossible to get mad at him for being bad. It's impossible not to know when he's done something he shouldn't have... You can see it in his eyes, the little brat.<br /></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5149120138430733042" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBJ6ojjIwayzz_pfov4T5RZSt7vK5zG1yXoLBz5rVM5YVW2_MdPAJDUjyNqvc668emshlzQ2fhykC_M25ZYs_ThU_5r1PemMs1glZSCDXlaObrg78HtLxuHPY_AUoSqwFFBG9AWuSMEZZB/s200/HPIM0024.jpg" border="0" /><br /><p>Little T has ambitions of being a total rock star. The girls get all giddy when he's flowin on the mic.<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5149114280095341282" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgMyrwkUhiLLXIPOGSB5a1f0J-r-JWmO95jYDFaRCRAyIHrL7X3bYQYkMykbY7mKtNc54sBDub7-MUfrjx-M55lOP5KPmhsdckyAHV_9Dl-0e9_4AExKL-RlFSXig8xp39AwNXe1t4Rys5/s200/8-3-2006-07.jpg" border="0" /></p><br /><p>The way he has filled my life with a special joy and happiness, something I didn't even know with my own kiddies. Not that I didn't love them. It's just muy differante. </p><br /><br /><br /><p></p></div></div></div>Divahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14740513813386444402noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1548683198063853901.post-35027870671248432222008-01-14T11:40:00.000-05:002008-01-17T16:23:26.652-05:00Analyzations, Constipation, and Heartfelt ThanksAhhh, it never ceases to amaze me that I'm so thankful for the structure of a Monday morning. As much as I love Big T and my family, the peace and quiet of my office is sheer bliss. Work is my escape and I digs it.<br /><br /><em><strong>Analyzation</strong></em><br />I have analyzed why, in fact, I resolved not to make any resolutions. I didn't make any, because without a doubt by 12:04 on New Years, they would have been broken anyway so there was no need to bother with it.<br /><br />I didn't consider a diet, not as a resolution anyway.<br />The thought of not eating jalapeno poppers at the bar never even crossed my mind. It's the right of any happily married, middle aged woman NOT to starve at a bar, while out drinkin' just because she's a girl & simply put, we don't eat in bars.<br />God forbid, someone might actually see a girl eating, or think that even though you're a girl, you might be human. <br /><br /><em><strong>Constipation</strong></em><br />It's finally over, and thank God above for it. Childbirth wasn't nearly as annoying and painful as this experience was. <br /><br />Either the Exlax finally kicked in or the exorcism Big T performed on the demon turd was 100% effective. <br /><br />Maybe it was drinking the warm water. I did give that a whirl. <a href="http://fightersalwayfight.blogspot.com/">Maverick's</a> idea.<br /><br />Maybe it was the threat of buying a snake at Lowes... <a href="http://whatsupchuck.wordyblog.com/">Chuck's</a> idea.<br /><br />Maybe it was the weekend attack of porn and Taco Bell as suggested by <a href="http://talesofa.blogspot.com/">Rockdog</a>. Happy and FUN idea when you combine the two, by the way.<br /><br />It was suggested by <a href="http://burtsstache.blogspot.com/">Amy</a> to punch Big T in the crotch for the simple comfort of making his middle area hurt too, but then porn wouldn't have been as much fun! However, I would have only taken about one more hung chow joke and I would have let him and his boys have it.<br /><br />Maybe it was the lettuce and spinach sandwich Big T brought me from Subway on Friday. ***Note to self... DO NOT eat jalapenos on a spinach sandwich while gastrically blocked. Sweet Jesus the burn..<br /><br />I'm just so glad it's over!!! As is Big T, he was running out of constipation jokes.<br /><br /><em><strong>Heartfelt Thanks</strong></em><br />Sunday is the day when our whole entire family (uncles, cousins....) gets together at Gramma & Grampa's pad. We rotate weeks for cooking duty and meet up to eat, play spades, watch NASCAR or football.... Family reunion once a week.<br /><br />Anyhoo, I had printed out all of the comments wishing Gram's a happy birthday from everyone.<br /><br />She got all super excited! She thought she had met each and every one of you at some point in the past.<br /><br />Then again, bless her heart, she thought we were all there to wish her Bon Voyage and that she should hurry and finish packing for her cruise. =)<br /><br />The happiness in her eyes while she read each word was priceless, kids.<br />She says, "Thank you for all the birthday wishes!"<br /><br />I appreciate the all of my friends here on Blogger's Lane. And to answer a question I saw somewhere.... Yes, Blogger friends are real friends.Divahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14740513813386444402noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1548683198063853901.post-83065867480962434632008-01-11T09:17:00.000-05:002008-11-13T10:12:44.552-05:00Happy Birthday Gramma!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr_eOh_QjzDs4-uZq_Xn8YzNpPIz289U1jMjiHes7wUHrjgjXIRdzsKn3N1U3FtWyO6HBxj5AI5MCJ8pYZa7yZnP87qSXZ7ZxSC76ENVTDMZW-KyLt84Oei_vJ5wpaUbfyaLvxdtTg36wJ/s1600-h/HPIM1475.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr_eOh_QjzDs4-uZq_Xn8YzNpPIz289U1jMjiHes7wUHrjgjXIRdzsKn3N1U3FtWyO6HBxj5AI5MCJ8pYZa7yZnP87qSXZ7ZxSC76ENVTDMZW-KyLt84Oei_vJ5wpaUbfyaLvxdtTg36wJ/s200/HPIM1475.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5153227183727664146" /></a><br /><br /><br />My Grandmother turned a ripe 82 on Monday. <br /><br />Happy Birthday to the woman who raised me. The one who taught me how to cook. The one who loved me no matter how bad I had screwed up. The one who thought I did no wrong.<br /> <br />The family got together and had her a ho-down on Sunday afternoon.<br /><br />She doesn't know it or realize it, but she did. The doctors say Gramma has Alzheimer's, and that it is in the "dementia" stage. <br /><br />Whatever. As long as she can eat and have a good time with us, they can call it whatever they want to. She's still as sassy as she ever was. She just gets confused now and then.<br /><br />She has never failed to recognize me or remember who I am both in person and on the phone. She forgets that my Nat (oldest daughter) is mine. And she is totally blows her away that Lil T belongs to Nat, not me.<br /><br />Anyhoo. We brought Gramma a really cutsie foo foo pill box back from Germany when I was over there in October. It was in a bag from the little German store, which had writing in.... you guessed it... German.<br /><br />So, Sunday we all get together, as we do every Sunday, but this week we have a special dinner and birthday cake for Gramma. <br /><br />I walked in the door to find her sitting there staring at the cake. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkzSd3bU59mnvR9bzhdNSWHGrBdkPIO4B2xCnRub9mAICgVX5Ke5ZRjseiTuysfapwt1m7-t_CC8NHIe8vePBUfZOIEpZHRbN7n1IU0hYriN_XWUBF16VltN5NGbp2wrhnPCkhgA3-DaYu/s1600-h/HPIM1482.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkzSd3bU59mnvR9bzhdNSWHGrBdkPIO4B2xCnRub9mAICgVX5Ke5ZRjseiTuysfapwt1m7-t_CC8NHIe8vePBUfZOIEpZHRbN7n1IU0hYriN_XWUBF16VltN5NGbp2wrhnPCkhgA3-DaYu/s200/HPIM1482.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5153225070603754466" /></a> <br /><br />"Who's birthday is it, honey?" She asked me as she hugged me.<br /><br />"It's yours Gramma. It's your birthday! Cool, huh?" I tell her.<br /><br />"I'm 82?" She asked referring to the candles.<br /><br />"Yep. Ain't nobody that old, Gramma." I told her as I gave her the bag with the pill box in it. "Look it. I brought you something back from Germany for your birthday."<br /><br />She was clearly taken aback by the writing on the bag that wasn't in English.<br /><br />"Honey, what does this say?" She asked.<br /><br />"Gooberstankin." I tell her all serious.<br /><br />*blink*<br /><br />"Gooberstankin. Come on Gramma, say it and you'll be speakin German. Gooberstankin."<br /><br />Well, she ignored me and opened the bag. But Nat didn't ignore me, she was listening the whole time.<br /><br />"Mom? What's gooberstankin?" She asked all sincere.<br /><br />"You're kidding, right?" I forget sometimes how naive and silly my kid is.<br /><br />"No. What does it mean?" She asked again.<br /><br />"Nat, baby. Mommy was making up a word that sounded German. Goober-stankin. Get it?"<br /><br />"No. I don't get it." Bless her heart.<br /><br />"You know. A dude has a goober. And stankin is just stankin. You put them together and you have a word that sounds German." I tell her.<br /><br />"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!" She gets it, "You were just trying to get Gramma to say goober... I get it."<br /><br />That child of mine, bless her little heart, is a dork. <br /><br />Gramma never did say gooberstankin. I tried all damn day to get her to say it.<br /><br /><br />Gramma blows out the candles... <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzz67xBCFu6Bnp7mpjqnWpdE3Yr8cgGR-jdKKVJ8w1q4y_U_MU8Awym_DK9UXXkvXuqRt5shweu7-D11du2nAJh8ZLciAZCf9GVbsA1yeusTb48y613zp4nTm90zOj8cydsgHhvUbirWcB/s1600-h/HPIM1483.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzz67xBCFu6Bnp7mpjqnWpdE3Yr8cgGR-jdKKVJ8w1q4y_U_MU8Awym_DK9UXXkvXuqRt5shweu7-D11du2nAJh8ZLciAZCf9GVbsA1yeusTb48y613zp4nTm90zOj8cydsgHhvUbirWcB/s200/HPIM1483.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5153226109985840114" /></a><br /><br />Gramma sucks the icing off of the candles (the original pirate)<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqj0e4GX8qRJrhtoXNn3sU6puWyLC_tc5rDQfm4HNfv1nml7avO6T893_8HEDRAarZDG1H4ZR23D0wWZbiz3OIx3IZBc39qcjzgZGWbNvfhHhdXbCeTDXfdIWE9l88lF2s_0HjAYl54MTg/s1600-h/HPIM1484.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqj0e4GX8qRJrhtoXNn3sU6puWyLC_tc5rDQfm4HNfv1nml7avO6T893_8HEDRAarZDG1H4ZR23D0wWZbiz3OIx3IZBc39qcjzgZGWbNvfhHhdXbCeTDXfdIWE9l88lF2s_0HjAYl54MTg/s200/HPIM1484.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5153226522302700546" /></a>Divahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14740513813386444402noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1548683198063853901.post-54264853684649254172008-01-10T15:09:00.000-05:002008-01-18T16:05:51.513-05:00Constipation, Cramps & CriticismYes, as a matter of fact, you did read the title right. Constipation. It's a bitch. Now, I'm not exactly sure how this happened, but it did. <br /><br />It could have been the cocktail of cold medicines, Midol and Motrin I have been feeding on since New Year's Day. <br /><br />Or maybe it was all that gackity oil from I breathed in whilst preparing the spread of deep fried food. <br /><br />Or maybe it was the damn Cheese Stix. Those Cheese Stix can apparently jack a body up. <br /><br />Regardless of how and why it happened. It happened and I'm in dietary hell.<br /><br />I don't know if criticism is exactly the word I am looking for in this particular situation. Big T isn't really doing that. He's just less than supportive. Let's think of a better word. <br /><br />I think maybe a better description of what he is would be lack of compassion for his dear, sweet wifey's intestinal discomfort. Yah, that's it.<br /><br />Now, I'm not really thrilled here, writing about my lower digestive issues. However, due to the obvious kick my darling husband has gotten out of my sorry state, I felt it an amuzing subject. Or I'll find it amuzing once the Heaven's open, angels sing and the pipes are unobstructed.<br /><br />More than that, though. He's being outright shitty about my current state. Pardon the pun.<br /><br />"I'm gonna start calling you Roto-rooter. No, wait, that's who we should be calling for ya baby." He muses.<br /><br />*crickets*<br /><br />"When the whites of your eyes start to turn brown, baby, you know its time to take action."<br /><br />I just look at him.<br /><br />"What ya need to do is, sit on the pot with your feet pointing straight ahead. Not sideways, but straight ahead." Wisdom from a master shitter. <br /><br />"Then, grab your knees and rock forward and back. Not side to side because that'll just scare it back up. Back and forth. Got it?" <br /><br />"Great, a shit lesson." I'm less than amuzed at this point. "Why can't you just go get me some Exlax or something???"<br /><br />He rebuts. "Pay attention, dammit!! I'm trying to teach you how to shit." <br /><br />*blink*<br /><br />"Medicate, medicate, medicate. That's all ya wanna do ain't it?? Maybe you should sing while ya rock back and forth."<br /><br />He breaks into a lovely rendition of Swing Low Sweet Chariots. Why that song, you may ask. <br /><br />Because, if you sing in a low, low tone, it will rattle your intestines. Genius.<br /><br />"I'm a girl, shithead. I can't sing bass. How bout I sing Take This Job and Shove It? How bout that??" <br /><br />I'm now not only constipated and dying from the cramps engulfing my entire being, but I'm annoyed.Divahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14740513813386444402noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1548683198063853901.post-75156878377335643282008-01-08T13:06:00.000-05:002008-11-13T10:12:45.849-05:00Friends, Fried Food & Freakin 22'sOk, so it's officially 2008 now. It didn't even feel like Christmas, and yet it slipped by along with the passing of a nightmare of a year. Good friggin riddance. <br /><br />Between the <a href="http://sweetdivathoughts.blogspot.com/2007/08/cake-is-cake-right.html">cake disasters</a>, <a href="http://sweetdivathoughts.blogspot.com/2007/08/torture-device-problem-solved.html">underwear crisis</a>, and <a href="http://sweetdivathoughts.blogspot.com/2007/08/blushing-bride-my-ass.html">other wedding nightmares</a>... not to mention <a href="http://sweetdivathoughts.blogspot.com/2007/10/finally.html">the wedding itself</a>... jeeeez.<br />Glad it's done... bad as it was, it's legal and it's over.<br /><br />Onward and upward.<br /><br />Me, I looked at it for what it was. A good reason to have friends over, eat a bunch of fried crap, drink way too much, and loose my ass at poker.<br />Check. Check. Check. And check. I accomplished every bit of it.<br /><br />As with any other weekend or holiday, our casa was just brimming full of folks on New Years Eve to ring in the New Year. We always have plenty of crap to do which amuzes us... I mean, seriously... how hard is it to amuze a drunk?? The cursing parrot kept us occupied for a good hour or so. <br /><br />I made a plethora of nastily perfect deep fried goodies and other finger foods along with homemade dipping sauces. (My marinara is muy excelente).<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTiY7sQk5s7U7sI-BkeHrVTTqmlFAnhee5K2fOm2BL8werEse-W-eRfoXORIVflc2Lv99E-1S-f1LXE04aVmpzTvXzr_VUPSnpC4m_8U4vHQZBwrll2epEdlkmCy32c9jbBxgoRyVxrTQE/s1600-h/HPIM1470.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTiY7sQk5s7U7sI-BkeHrVTTqmlFAnhee5K2fOm2BL8werEse-W-eRfoXORIVflc2Lv99E-1S-f1LXE04aVmpzTvXzr_VUPSnpC4m_8U4vHQZBwrll2epEdlkmCy32c9jbBxgoRyVxrTQE/s200/HPIM1470.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5153163433528089474" /></a><br /><br />My lazy ass even went through the hassle of setting all this crap up buffet style, which ain't an easy thing to do with a bunch of brats (i.e. teenagers) running around trying to get into it before it's all done. But, I dished out beatings and yelled enough that the backed off the food until the buffet was set and I got a picture.... for what is good food for if not but to make pictures of it???<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEYtJz4c0NcMI3E2xt3_JAUg_mh8jXBp17S1FIW1cU6IYCHmeiRpsRkM73JYkg1-xRAq9F6xfQD2fTvymiTuslaU0Pr0NwaPIzPq9QrYO6QtjbRZhOUL4W8I97buxsZJofNEANvrtZRlT8/s1600-h/HPIM1469.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEYtJz4c0NcMI3E2xt3_JAUg_mh8jXBp17S1FIW1cU6IYCHmeiRpsRkM73JYkg1-xRAq9F6xfQD2fTvymiTuslaU0Pr0NwaPIzPq9QrYO6QtjbRZhOUL4W8I97buxsZJofNEANvrtZRlT8/s200/HPIM1469.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5153163141470313330" /></a><br /><br />Note the cutsie foo-foo little finger sandwiches... Aren't they just adorable??<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiATVNJVn9-nRQ32UL5SBA6IABkW-0EYlNrjxEzUnw8wjOrvqYOry_6jkSYC250F9houHWXqAjzz1-Di282R305TMO4cnToJzzaj6HY987YvIjwbO-WUe1Y1WkgsBgkKFd5CPkmNWgvnP-A/s1600-h/HPIM1472.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiATVNJVn9-nRQ32UL5SBA6IABkW-0EYlNrjxEzUnw8wjOrvqYOry_6jkSYC250F9houHWXqAjzz1-Di282R305TMO4cnToJzzaj6HY987YvIjwbO-WUe1Y1WkgsBgkKFd5CPkmNWgvnP-A/s200/HPIM1472.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5153164313996385170" /></a><br /><br />Yah, enough with the food. I sucked down my share of cold beer (Mich Amber, of course) and Big T inhaled his Jack n Cokes, while Holly & Mario partoook of Segram's and Cranberry stuff (fucking ewww).<br /><br />So. After we got bored of playing karaoke and driving the kids nuts with songs they had never heard of ever, we decided to play BlackJack, followed up with dealer's choice poker.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh47PFJDqaf4r1p0KavBvsCdi99vN76KArmNCIRlrFG-FWUiPprhzRtuYvChOIGEk6zAaeu6CZAVdJwnai2m-_EmJwphyphenhyphenuBKWYntm6nA0-vFmH8J2S2lKkSjo0QcZ40O76IblM2rgzq1zUW/s1600-h/HPIM1461.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh47PFJDqaf4r1p0KavBvsCdi99vN76KArmNCIRlrFG-FWUiPprhzRtuYvChOIGEk6zAaeu6CZAVdJwnai2m-_EmJwphyphenhyphenuBKWYntm6nA0-vFmH8J2S2lKkSjo0QcZ40O76IblM2rgzq1zUW/s200/HPIM1461.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5153166513019640738" /></a><br /><br />If it had been strip poker, I'd have been close to fully dressed, I actually did pretty good. I managed to keep all my chips and then some. Look out Texas Hold 'Em championship... if you switch to strip poker, I'M THERE!!!!<br /><br />Anyhoo, Mario, God bless his heart, couldn't bid a hand of poker if he had poker brilliance or even the slightest bit of good luck.<br /><br />Sorry brother, fact is, you suck. Don't go to Vegas, Atlantic City, Tunica or any other casino town. You'd loose your house, your cars, your money, your family, not to mention your ass. Face it, you need your ass.<br /><br />How is it one can suck so bad?? Well, it's those fucking 22's. He didn't know when to hold and let the deal bust. Oooops. I started throwing extra bets in that the poor boy would hit 22. This would be how I doubled my money. Which pissed him off.<br />He sucks, I don't. Haha.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjewclKCvwfZVGoxmfvOWsL2njuEQZHoTHjkg2tRu5tdq_O-wmTm7xaeB1NsBmm3muiv4-cNmoHHVuxgA7cb_tq1-YIw7JF1djFn5dBfTVsNUr27qpZHToO4hJiCx7PR-hKp7BTzvMAfr18/s1600-h/HPIM1462.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjewclKCvwfZVGoxmfvOWsL2njuEQZHoTHjkg2tRu5tdq_O-wmTm7xaeB1NsBmm3muiv4-cNmoHHVuxgA7cb_tq1-YIw7JF1djFn5dBfTVsNUr27qpZHToO4hJiCx7PR-hKp7BTzvMAfr18/s200/HPIM1462.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5153167183034538930" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwYBGNznKIzF7-jioZNeTpJtoVghgoIlEergkC5s7HJ8PmhimGOKlop266ve3hl7wlALMqn-AuU8_5h8GQCR8PxGJiTNZJOy6MGRpVF4-9HuE39KIORr7kD5GMLSN3v-ovZgJbLRa7oXNx/s1600-h/HPIM1465.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwYBGNznKIzF7-jioZNeTpJtoVghgoIlEergkC5s7HJ8PmhimGOKlop266ve3hl7wlALMqn-AuU8_5h8GQCR8PxGJiTNZJOy6MGRpVF4-9HuE39KIORr7kD5GMLSN3v-ovZgJbLRa7oXNx/s200/HPIM1465.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5153167475092315074" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH03leVdGHAfrs_AN0jVMfAItvFHyqMpkokU49gBGFCwCVQoA-q1GV__cO63Q7p8_aZdb46kED21AL2m54Bvcj67MPZLscqZnxzDSUhmQOckp9bKWnP7XkQUjyzqCcAPjURbTWLLex7iql/s1600-h/HPIM1466.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH03leVdGHAfrs_AN0jVMfAItvFHyqMpkokU49gBGFCwCVQoA-q1GV__cO63Q7p8_aZdb46kED21AL2m54Bvcj67MPZLscqZnxzDSUhmQOckp9bKWnP7XkQUjyzqCcAPjURbTWLLex7iql/s200/HPIM1466.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5153168140812245970" /></a>Divahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14740513813386444402noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1548683198063853901.post-11945976468567807542008-01-07T09:43:00.000-05:002008-11-13T10:12:47.359-05:00Books, Brats, Dirty Santa & Boobs<div>So, now that the holiday season is, thankfully, behind us, I can go on about my daily business of being bitchy and pissed off and it won't look like I'm doing it <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">solely</span> for the holiday season, but just because that's the way I am.</div><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>That said, I finally pulled the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">grinch</span> shaped corn cob I had up my ass for a month out and uploaded all 49,723 pictures taken in the last five weeks to my PC for sorting, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">deleteing</span>, stashing away for private moments.. ya know, all the normal stuff. </div><br /><div><br />This year, I got Miss A and The Boy reading material, so they could prove to me that, at their advanced <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">high school</span> age, they could in fact read. Wonders never cease, both of them can actually put letters together to read words. I was thrilled.</div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div></div><br /><div>See the happy Miss A with her Happy Bunny, Bite Me book? She was thrilled. <br /></div><br /><div><br /><br /></div><br /><p align="left"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B_zTOWPKdYo/R36WrBT5WwI/AAAAAAAAA0/2i5LtVaoQv4/s1600-h/HPIM1385.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5151720689588853506" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWQEYukOMKflk1YoC84Ci8ErG3Mh_F2PBpWybEANTr_RXpgzm1bMFq0wFEWwFtQXaKBTFkRrvpZqn14OjDtC0dZOPW8AjdJUXEBlprbFOCpuFMUDqyFLyvqdYwrSE9Y2QD0EzM43kqUbto/s200/HPIM1385.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />The Boy was full of genuine redneck delight when he opened his <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">beautifully</span> wrapped Larry the Cable Guy epic novel. I think he's read more than half of the damn thing. However, if I had even thought for one second of the backlash of my book buying, I would have put it down and walked away. Now, most of the conversations I have with The Boy start out, "Larry the Cable Guy says...." Great. Eh, at least he's reading something other than naughty <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">MySpace</span> pages now.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJIAmMQMVTjAyGLcUnjzTCWgNqK1Lc1FqFEvgm3SEMvLcEp24hHHVBE9xxX56AP7qdBO4xuatqUHiNHJ1gMT1HZJmWTVLmxyNbnnEaH0SoJYP5ESVEmUOWBFA5__cMtQj8nmKGKd4OhDua/s1600-h/HPIM1386a.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5151720921517087506" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJIAmMQMVTjAyGLcUnjzTCWgNqK1Lc1FqFEvgm3SEMvLcEp24hHHVBE9xxX56AP7qdBO4xuatqUHiNHJ1gMT1HZJmWTVLmxyNbnnEaH0SoJYP5ESVEmUOWBFA5__cMtQj8nmKGKd4OhDua/s200/HPIM1386a.JPG" border="0" /></a></p><br /><div><br /><br /></div><br /><p>Brats. The holidays are brimming over with them, don't you agree? </p><br /><div>As if that old threat "Santa only comes and brings prezzies to good little boys and girls" really works... <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Shaaaaa</span>, right. Most of the kids in my family would kick Santa right in the balls and laugh about it while the others are raiding and snatching the good stuff out of his sleigh. Conspiracy theory? I think not. These children are fucking evil.</div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><p>Lil T put on quite the little performance after opening his and everybody <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">else's</span> stuff. Granted he's only two, but Nana (that would be me) dig that bratty little kid <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">screamin</span> horseshit. I so wanted to bust his ass for kicking and screaming, but instead I took his picture.</p><br /><p>"Lil T, you should stop being a brat. I'm taking your picture and blogging about you and the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">internet</span> will never go away so a history of your <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">bratiness</span> will always be there." </p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5151724451980204850" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtQutqwnB94nEe7BcQb79Byjgtd2wNpMktCroZNwzd925biTXzfuBH9C6Y-374AHBKnIKZsyYDI2cYaDkM68Q0v1YCNEf6t4qNG-8q5w6EHB7dOWeO2Lx-YeJe-gb13xxbLZwHiFawbUlQ/s200/HPIM1438.JPG" border="0" /> <br /><div></div><br /><br /><p><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Watttta</span> brat. It goes a little something like this... He's cute when he's happy.... he's happy when he gets my way... when he ain't <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">gettin</span> his way.... <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">loook</span> out he gets <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">pisssssed</span>!</p>I blame this on my step-sister, she is his babysitter. Therefore, he is <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">immersed</span> in a boiling vat of brat soup all day, everyday... as my stepsister's kid is the spawn of satan himself, I shit you not. But that's another whole story there.<br /><br />After the early meeting with my family unit, we took a nappy and then wandered north to see his family unit. I am pleased to say that <a href="http://sweetdivathoughts.blogspot.com/2007/11/theyve-recalled-butterballs.html">Big T's mom has recovered </a>very well and isn't having any real after effects of the stroke now. She was <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">crackin</span> on everybody and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">occasion</span> would slap one of her kids upside the head for good measure. Excellent, Ms. Pat!!<br /><br /><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5151723017461127970" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIGA3NbvV7pcu-Z75bXqyjTdKFr5ZmklIv_h7kElztXAgefT5LyM6qycVb7J4SZvIW_19Z6gvL-nByTKQrAiKQQ5ZZkv-y1GWNV8WTxMU7AiYzYvx9iq3LNAFKDWU6qau3yyfZ6Grk4Jik/s200/HPIM1445.JPG" border="0" /><br /><br />One by one, the whole new family by marriage showed up. All of them carrying gifts for the Dirty Santa Game we played.<br /><br />The rules go like this. You can either pick a prezzie from the pile or steal somebody e<span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">lse's</span> prezzie. I said all along I was gonna steal just for the fun of it.<br />And I did. I <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">yoinked</span> my sister in law's mini crock pot. She shouldn't have acted like she liked it so much.<br /><br />Now Dirty Santa rocks balls because you just don't know what you're gonna reach in and pull out of that there big ass pile of prezzies.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwuP1f9qWWy_9zAiV5pWfupZYU8lH3gIlBCdQQNWgOGNTnIee1ffb-TpnTA0qygNEpeX9qr9Rt7Ac2uGDEwZsm5O-O7CQpUnB1GvS_0aRs-OzMkw_cSiekzXgK-RFbssAKAXU8n7dd9vbO/s1600-h/HPIM1448.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5151736121406348114" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwuP1f9qWWy_9zAiV5pWfupZYU8lH3gIlBCdQQNWgOGNTnIee1ffb-TpnTA0qygNEpeX9qr9Rt7Ac2uGDEwZsm5O-O7CQpUnB1GvS_0aRs-OzMkw_cSiekzXgK-RFbssAKAXU8n7dd9vbO/s200/HPIM1448.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Big T's brother J got the most interesting <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">prezent</span>, but only because he was a boy. Sexy, sexy.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiDpQfIWRLpRNi_-BSMgqdLWTHuGjYH1PZikBt6Cb8PYHG6OLMhdwcTo1ri5s10NqbCda-BnyNMYYnpj18uQKsZMAk-l6uU_20ZHPh_D7bXq6Lfatyqz4p5A0nhNbPcQwWOfkD40yYwyqB/s1600-h/HPIM1453.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5151727290953587522" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiDpQfIWRLpRNi_-BSMgqdLWTHuGjYH1PZikBt6Cb8PYHG6OLMhdwcTo1ri5s10NqbCda-BnyNMYYnpj18uQKsZMAk-l6uU_20ZHPh_D7bXq6Lfatyqz4p5A0nhNbPcQwWOfkD40yYwyqB/s200/HPIM1453.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br />And just to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">skank</span> my blog up a little. A picture of my half hidden rack, an idea blamed on <a href="http://confessionsofabottleblonde.blogspot.com/">Bottled <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">Blonde</span></a>.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKWhR4rjcO-pU5XW2AxbwTAt_ilGqXrVxjDoO-mVHreaGhJxFDAwPOkYEabrGwjSNaB3Q_vwQpz7-OGarMWEL162m9HhdESrACBJJx94Gsab0pkoj7u5IeoEiNcecCCfbG-Uu97nCDBeYg/s1600-h/HPIM1280.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5151736662572227426" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKWhR4rjcO-pU5XW2AxbwTAt_ilGqXrVxjDoO-mVHreaGhJxFDAwPOkYEabrGwjSNaB3Q_vwQpz7-OGarMWEL162m9HhdESrACBJJx94Gsab0pkoj7u5IeoEiNcecCCfbG-Uu97nCDBeYg/s200/HPIM1280.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div>Divahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14740513813386444402noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1548683198063853901.post-58506515886665464562008-01-04T09:20:00.000-05:002008-01-17T16:30:49.654-05:00Teenagers, Recycling & 80s MusicRecycling: High School<br /><br />Mr. McPherson was one of my teachers when I was either a junior or senior in high school. He was a totally cool cat who taught American History. I enjoyed his class, well as much as a 17 year old who doesn't want to be in school anyway can enjoy a class. He made it tolerable and he was pretty laid back.<br /><br />I couldn't believe it, but when we were at the school for some social function, we ran into Mr. Mac. I couldn't believe it when he actually remembered who I was and spoke to me:<br /><br />"Ahh, recycling are we?" He was referring to the fact that I was now a parent with a kid, Miss A, in high school.<br /><br />"Can you believe?" Admitting that I am shocked that I have a kid in high school. AM I that old? Is Miss A that old... Jeeez. Time is going by FAST.<br /><br /><br />Recycling: MY music<br /><br />We have about a 15 minute drive from our house to Miss A's school every morning. Alot of mornings, since neither of us digga morning, we ride mostly zoning out and listening to the blah, blah, blah of the morning d.j. on whatever radio station happens to be on.<br /><br />Anyhoo. On this particular morning we were talking some and out of nowhere she comes off with a question:<br /><br />"I've been listening to Jack FM and they play all kinds of OLD music. Dr you have a clue who sang "<em>Come On Eileen</em>?" <br /><br />*blink*<br /><br />"Miss A, you think that's old???" I was offended as hell that she would insinuate that I and my era of tunes was ancient.<br /> <br />"Do you know who sings it?" <br /><br />"Dexy's Midnight Runner, and it's not all that old."<br /><object width="425" height="355"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/7z9bPrUark4&rel=1"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/7z9bPrUark4&rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"></embed></object><br /><br />"It's older than me, thank you very much." She smirked. Satisfied that she had put me in the "older than shit" catagory. <br /><br />"Whatever. Oldies are named as such, Miss A. You know? Like the Golden Oldies, like Chubby Checker? That's oldies."<br /><br />"Cubby Checker? Is that a real name? Who sings <em>Love My Way</em>?" She asked.<br /><object width="425" height="355"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/-P09gm_I5RI&rel=1"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/-P09gm_I5RI&rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"></embed></object><br /><br />"Psychadelic Furs, smartass. Make a list and I'll bet I can name every song you can come up with from the 80s as I am a child of the 80s and proud of it. Old or not."<br /><br />Finally... we are there, she opens the door to get out "Mom, I don't think you're old. You're the coolest mom I know."<br /><br />With that she slams the door and slinks off to share her knew found knowledge of the OLD music.<br /><br />Brat.<br /><br />It seems like the music from the 80s is being recycled in its original form as well as being jacked by some of the new artists.Divahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14740513813386444402noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1548683198063853901.post-1225888030350539972008-01-02T11:26:00.000-05:002008-01-18T15:58:21.790-05:00Sunday Morning, FleaMarkets & 18 WheelersI haven't worked or blogged much in the past couple of weeks. I actually can't tell you what the hell I've been doing for the past couple of weeks, as everything has been pretty uneventful and quiet. <br /><br />Not that I'm complaining. I like my uneventful, drama-free exisitence. Boring and quiet is good. Drama and angst are of the devil. The only drama I was in tune to dealing with was the shit I was giving Big T for not giving me any Saturday night. The nerve.<br /><br />This past weekend was full of driving around aimlessly and playin poker. Me and Big T woke up at the buttcrack of dawn on Sunday, way before the chickens even. He decided that we should go ridin. So... up, showered, made-up, dressed and out the door... turn-key job performed in like 35 minutes. Not bad considering I AM NOT a very enthusiastic morning person.<br /><br />First stop. Breakfast. McDonald's. Clinton, TN. <br />Now I'm not sure if the manager bitch working the cash register and taking orders was pissed because:<br />A- it was Sunday morning before the chickens were up and her ass was at work...<br />B- she didn't get any Saturday night, but from all appearances she had been rode hard and put up wet...<br />C her district manager was combing through her files with a magnifying glass...<br />D-I was there at an ungodly hour, lookin like a million bucks...<br /><br />Whatever the reason, she had a friggin corn-cob wedged up her ass and it was apparent that she didn't want to be there. Friendly McDonalds' greeting? I think not. <br /><br />Now, I don't deny being a complete and total bitch. It's part of my genetic make-up. As a result, I do not have a job where it is required that I be friendly while on the clock. I can be pissed off and bitchy if I want to, but I'm not serving a Big Breakfast to the church crowd on Sunday morning either.<br /><br />Second stop. TN's Largest Fleamarket, Crossville, TN. (1.5 hours west of home)<br />Largest, my ass. It might be the largest fleamarket spot, but there wasn't a damn thing to be seen. But, my Big T is a die hard fleamarket junkie. I'm not so much, especially the outside kind, but I can take one for the team when I have to. <br /><br />It was cold, it was wet, it was NOT fleamarket friendly weather. There were, at best, 10 stalls of shit open for business. Ten. Out of 120 or more booths. <br />But it was ok. We were out riding and I found 3 pairs of cutsie foo-foo socks to add to my overflowing sock drawer.<br /><br />So, we leave Crossville. Buh-bye. By this time it's nearly 10:30 EST, we decided to drive to Sevierville for the other big ass fleamarket. <br /><br />On the way back we pass a huge convoy of 18-wheelers. That is a bad-ass sight when there's a line of semi's as far as you can see. I started talking about a friend of mine that calls them 16-wheelers. They are not, 16-wheelers, they are 18-wheelers for fuck sake, call them what they are.<br /><br />Big T is amused by this chatter. "Count the wheels, baby. You do realize that the trailer only has 8 wheels and that the rig actually holds the others, right?"<br /><br />*blink* "My argument, Big T, isn't where the damn wheels are or what they are attached to. My arguement is the total number of wheels under that bad-mama-jama."<br /><br />Finally, we get to Sevierville (+/- 1 hour east of home)<br />This was fine with me. This fleamarket is is heated and indoors. My kind of fleamarket. Plus they have cute little dogs and those sinful roasted cashews, makes the place a winner in my book.<br /><br />I fell in love a little shit-zoo immediately. Big T is a poop and wouldn't buy it for me. I'm still holding that against him and am not sure when I will let the whole thing drop. I think if I play it right, I can get maximum mileage out of my bitchin' about not getting the puppy and end up with the puppy at the same time. <br /><br />In addition to the puppy fiasco. I found 10 MORE pairs of foo-foo socks, a wire scooper number for my FryDaddy and a cute little shot-glass measuring cup that you use instead of measuring spoons. Very nice. <br /><br />What is life, but to make it interesting for my hubby?Divahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14740513813386444402noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1548683198063853901.post-44339107742022465072007-12-27T09:28:00.000-05:002008-01-18T13:54:57.364-05:00Roses and ShitI know that post title is a little icky. But, so what. I try to name my posts so as to give a body some kind of idea what they might be reading... or not. Actually I just amuze myself by doing it. Both the words ROSES and SHIT will appear in the body of this here text.<br /><br />So, the majority of my ramblings come from ridiculous shit and silly conversations that happen within my newly formed family surroundings.<br /><br />Me and Big T have been together less than 2 years and only married for 3 months next week. Awwwww. Newlyweds. Even though we have spent alot of energy getting to know each other, there will ALWAYS be plenty more that the other doesn't know. <br />I reckon that's considered, the learning and growing process within a marriage.<br /><br />Well, Big T knows the silly, mostly redneck, totally laid-back Diva. Don't get me wrong, he's seen me act all professional when dealing with these hoity-toity types with my job, but for the most part, he sees me as I am on a daily basis at home. <br /><br />I'm sitting here trying to figure out how to write this crap without sounding like I have multiple personalities... too late.<br /><br />Anyway, the last holiday season, we were together, but we both had our respective families to deal with and holiday functions to tend to and we did these things solitarily. OG (who is my friend <em><strong>and</strong></em> boss) is all about having a kick ass social life. We generally have a couple of company social dinners around the holidays, which includes folks from her husband's company and other highly edu-ma-cated types from the local scientific community.<br /><br />I suppose that would be the set-up. This is how roses and shit tie in...<br /><br />Big T is a wonderfully simple, extremely laid back total redneck with excellent social skills and exquisite manners. He's a blue jeans and long sleeve camo t-shirt kinda feller. He is totally not used to dealing with multiple people he doesn't know in a social setting. Which is cool, because as I said, the man has top notch manners.<br /><br />Well, this holiday season, we be hitched. So, now he been thrown into this situation where he has to come with me to all of these functions. Last Friday night, after OG's gradumawayshun, we had our company Christmas party. There were OG, her man, me, Big T and 14 other people (all of whom Big T didn't know).<br /><br />Actually, of all the 14, I only scarcely knew one chick and her man. I was in the same boat as he was on the knowing yer neighbor. <br /><br />Now, in this type of new situation, Big T tends to clam up. He watches everybody and hears everything... but he says precisely ZIP, nada, nicht.<br /><br />I on the other hand could make some shit up about anything and talk to any-damn-body about it. At the table were several Ph.D types along with many, many masters' of science types. Whatever. I am who I am, regardless of my surroundings.<br /><br />Anydiddle, we ate, drank and I was super social and then we left to go home.<br /><br />On the way, Big T had an epiphany about my social skills...<br /><br />Driving down the interstate he says, "You know, you could fall into a bucket of shit and come out smelling like shit."<br /><br />"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I seriously had no clue it was a compliment.<br /><br />"Shut up and lemme finish. You could fall into a bucket of shit and come out smelling like shit. Just like you could fall into a bunch of roses and come out smelling like a rose."<br /><br />"Hmmmmm. And this is a good thing?" Still not sure it's a compliment.<br /><br />"Why yah. You can talk to anybody, anywhere about anything whether you know them or not. You're comfortable around everybody."<br /><br />After a little thought, I figured he was right. I talked to a bunch of people about a bunch of stuff that night and never thought about who they were or how "hoity-toity" their life style is:<br /><br />I was talking to a professor of chemistry about how I despise touching the door handles to get out of a bathroom because people are disgusting.<br /><br />I talked to a librarian about my wildest drinking binge on a business trip in New Orleans. <br /><br />I talked to a government contractor dude about how many Christmas lights are too many Christmas lights.<br /><br />I talked to a labrat (a lil chick who does nothing all day but pipette samples into a tube for testing) about all of our collective children.<br /><br />So, I'm happy Big T found me to be as socially acceptable as shit and roses. He should know by now I don't put on a front or act hoity-toity for anybody. I is who I is and I'm completely comfortable being me.<br /><br />yay! Gotta go. I'm thinking way too much for my own good.Divahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14740513813386444402noreply@blogger.com10