Divalicious

Here I Am!

2008-03-08T06:37:00.000-05:00

If you're looking for me, I've packed up and moved

HERE

Ok, I'm Pissed

2008-02-11T13:22:00.000-05:00

Yes, I'm pissed!!!!

Blogger keeps eating my posts. I don't get it.

I fix it, and Blogger eats it again.

Blogger is a good friend in theory, user friendly.

But, I must move on.

Buh-bye, Blogger. You hateful whore.

I'm moving on over to wordpress.

Which is a hateful whore too, but at least it doesn't eat posts.

HERE is where you'll find me.

It's Friday, Kids...

2008-02-08T14:35:00.000-05:00

First.

I'm not beneath jacking other people's shit.

I'm really not. I have no shame.

So, since I have no morals or ethics AND 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...

I'm jacking this here idea from Jay, Leighann & RLL.

Not that I'm nearly as interesting as either of them.

I'm not and don't claim to be.

Anyhoo. I've got mental block.

I'd likes to play Q & A in the same fashion as those guys.

You boys and girls ask me nice & sweet or sick & demented questions and I'll give you an honest to goodness answer.

Either that, or be a sport and give me blog ideas.

I get tired of bitching all the damn time.

****************************************************

Agenda - Part 2

Shamless and sad self promotion because my ego is small and I have to feel like people around me love me.

****************************************************

So, I pillaged through Not A Granny
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.

If your doctor told you TODAY that you were pregnant, what would you say?
Uhhhh. Sorry Doc, I know I'm old and fat, but shit happens. Start sending Pampers STAT!

Ehhh, sappy.

Do you believe that everything happens for a reason?
Yes.

Things happen and that reason is to make me completely insane and have total dependance on hot toddies and lollipops.

Can you make a dollar in change right now?
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.

Are you afraid of falling in love?
Why no. Being in love is better than chocolate.
Oh wait... that's sex. Sex is better than chocolate.
Or is it chocolate is better than sex???

Great, now I'm confused.

When was the last time you flew in a plane?
Home from Frankfurt Germany in October 07.
Remind me how much I hate American Airlines next time, will ya??
Delta, come to find out, gives sleepy eye masks, wine & Ben & Jerry's to EVERYBODY nowdays!!

Fuck American Airlines and their cramped seats.

What did the last text message you sent say?

and I meant it.

What features do you find most attractive in the preferred sex?
The fat wallet that buys me flowers, candy, cold beer when we go out and the occassional unexpected bling which is obviously well deserved.

Fill in the blank. I love ________.
Big T and his penis.

Would you make a good parent?

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.

Honestly, what’s on your mind right now?
The fact that I am doing this and watching the clock at the same time is driving me whacko like jacko.

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.

If you could go back in time and change something, what would it be?
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.

Best place to eat?
Anyplace that serves chicken tacos, cheese enchiladas and fishbowl margaritas is alright with me. Mom & Pop type mexican places are the best. Hottest salsa.

Been to Mexico?
Si, senor. I have been to Mexico... Tijuana, Rosarita, Cabo.
BTW. There's place in Rosarita you can get cheap ass yet mighty tasty Margaritas and $10 lobster tail.... es magnifico.

Did you get in a fight with someone today?
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.

What are your plans for the weekend?
I'm sure it will involve karaoke and drinkin beer.

If your significant other asked you to marry them TODAY, what would you say?

"We're already married, you dork."

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Lastly-

Oh God. It's Friday.

Not THANK GOD... but Oh God...

Am I the only person alive who dreads weekends?

Two days at home with the boy and I'll be having a psychotic episode.

Pass the fucking Xanex.

Have a good weekend, Boys & Girls!

Horrible Storms & A Sweet Happy Birthday

2008-02-06T15:32:00.000-05:00

I'm sure by now everyone has heard of the horrible storms that ripped through the south yesterday afternoon through late last night.

Tornados and high winds didn't damage unknown to many small communities scattered throughout western/middle tennessee.

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.

My son-in-law's grandparents and uncles live in this small town, along with several of his mom's high school friends.

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.

The tornado swept less than 50 yards from their house, taking their tabacco barn.

The house survived vitrually unscathed.

The uncle didn't fair as well. He lost everything to the ferocious storm.

His house. His barn. His tractor.

He is one of the stubborn ass people who never leave when a siren or alarm goes off.

He is the one that, come hell or high water, will stay put.

It nearly cost him his life.

His house collapsed around him.

He spent all night, in the dark still aftermath, trapped.

They found him shortly after day-break with few minor injuries.

The friends weren't as lucky.

They didn't hear the alarms or alerts on TV.

They didn't have time to run or hide or find shelter.

She was found in her home. He was found approximately 200 yards away from the house.

Please take a minute to consider a few things:

1. Do you know what to do if a disaster strikes your area?? Where to go?
2. Do you have emergency supplies stocked up somewhere safe??
3. Do you have bottled water, batteries & a flashlight??
4. Do you have a certain spot where you & your family will meet up should you get separated?

I'm sitting here thinking about my daughter's inlaws and it's times like these
when disaster really hits close to home.

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.

Very scary.

Please keep all of our blog friends that I know of in the south in your thoughts and prayers... Chuck, Flat Coke & Flies, Real Live Lesbian, and Mushy.

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Today is Miss A's birthday!!

Seventeen years ago today she made her first appearance into this cruel, hateful world.

The brat didn't want to come out.

So, I got sick of it and schedule the doctor to go in and get r' dun.

Three hours, an epidural, a psychotic episode on my gramma, and a severe alergic reaction to demerol later... there she was.

Finally.

So, here's to you kid!

May your blush be rosy, my your shoes be many and may your boyfriend be generous!
Cheers.

Just think. Only 4 more years and we'll have you a kegger!

Mommy loves you!

Nekkid Chicken, Clone Production & Damn Doctors

2008-02-05T14:26:00.000-05:00

OMG!!! It's Tuesday!! Nekkid Chicken Tuesday as hosted by our beloved Speedcat Hollydale.
Skip right over there, ya here??

Big T and I started talking about creating a clone shortly after we married (4 months ago).

This is great news and I couldn't be any more tickled for real.

Growing a mini-T in the oven. It would be a beautiful thing.

So, what's so sad about about it, you might be asking.

Well, I'll tell ya.

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.

Now don't you fret, kids.

The news is nothing Earth shattering.

Just a big FAT reality check.

1st. I'm getting old.

Dammit.

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...

LORD HAVE MERCY.

Red flags start flying up, sirens start sounding throughout the office, and a big fat sticker goes on your chart.

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).

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."

*blink blink*

I sat there for a minute.

Depressed already that I am old and I saw the sticker stating so on my chart....

I decided to ask Dr. Brad, "So, why don't you just tell me I'm old and fat?

Wouldn't that be exactly what you're saying?

Besides, you aren't telling me anything these crows feet around my eyes and the scale haven't already disclosed."

And he goes, "Well, no. It's just that with your age.."

"Fine, I'll go to the gym. But I think you should just start being honest with your patients.

Old and fat, buddy."

Big Upsets, Barn Dancin, Bob & Back Flashin

2008-02-04T10:16:00.000-05:00

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.

Sorry boys.

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.

I'm not a huge Pro ball fan at all.

College ball is a different story, can't pull me away from the TV on Saturday all fall.

I pulled for the Patriots for one reason: The boy.

I knew if they didn't win that the boy would need a visit to the shrink this morning and a mild sedative.

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.

It's over. Put on your big boy panties and go on.

Enough of that.

So, me and Big T have found a new watering hole/dive to kick it in.

It's less than a 2 minute drive from our palace.

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...

It's a cool little place we found a few weeks ago, quite by accident.

They gots the karaoke and not one of the singers sucks balls!!

Yes, friends, if you go to karaoke at the wrong place you might suffer bleeding ear syndrome.

Anyhooodle, it's called "My Place"... cute name, huh??

I try explaining that to my BFF who was coming to meet us there..

Holly: "So, where ya gonna be?"

Me: "My place."

Holly: "But I thought we were goin out."

Me: "We are, you dork."

Holly: "But you said you're gonna be at your place."

Me: "No, I said I was gonna be at My Place."

Holly: "Ok, tell me where the hell I'm supposed to meet you dammit!!"

Me: "At My Place. I'll be at My Place for fuck sake!!!"

Holly: "Ok, I'm on my way. We'll pick you up."

Me: "Gonna be kinda hard to do since I'm not gonna be home."

Bless her heart. She's my best friend, but soooo easily confused.

Reminds me of that super swell Abbott & Costello thing "Who's on First"...

So, we finally get it all straight and make it there.

We get out cozy little spot in the corner. It's set up just about like a living room would be.

Finally get my beer from the beer nazi. The Bitch...

We were sharing the corner with "Bob" and another couple.

Bob is an older gentleman who we've seen dancing every weekend we've went there.

Bob can dance. Bob was having trouble finding someone who could remain standing up straight as he twirled them around the dance floor.

Bob = good dancer
Assorted partners = not so much

Now, Diva knows how to get out there and shake what her mama gave her.

For a white girl, I'm loaded down with Rhythm.

Yes, I can line dance, but I'd rather be dancin freestyle to somethin with a wicked beat and strobe lights.

Not sure where it came from.

Maybe my mom was foolin around, cuz my daddy certainly hasn't got a drop of ass shakin in him. Never has.

So, Bob decides its my turn.

Too late, Bob, old pal. I'm already drunk.

Bob still grabs my hand and off we go. Fine. His fault if I yack on his shoe.

I didn't spew my brew, but I was dizzy and glad it was over, and as an added bonus, I danced well.

Bob was impressed. I fear he'll drag me often.

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.

This song sends my alcohol soaked brain in to flash back city.

I used to run around at this place called Cotton Eyed Joe.

It's a saloon type place, only bigger. The DJ sits in the cab of a semi. Very cool.

So, they line dance at this place. Alot. To everything.

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"?

Humorous, unless you're drunk as a skunk, then it's knee slapping hilarity at its finest.

There is this dance. The Barn Dance.

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....

The outside ring moves one way, the inside ring moves the opposite way. The partner switch is on.

It's a twisty turny dance. Which we have already established is a bad thing when I've had a few.

So, about half way through this dance, I look at my current partner as he spins me back in.

I'm green.

I'm gonna yack.

He grabs be by the hand a runs me to the women's bathroom and shoves me in.

I didn't yack on his shoes. He was lucky.

And a gentleman to shove me in the bathroom like that.

Hit me up.. I'm shamelessly whoring my bloggie!!

Body Wash, Razors & Good Hair Days

2008-02-01T09:19:00.000-05:00

As most Saturday mornings go, I drank way too much Washington Apple on Friday night and woke up feeling like something my cat yacked up.

Blindly, I wander through the lair to the bathroom where my downstairs coffee pot lives.
1/4 cup fresh ground kona beans
+ 10 cup aqua
------------
100% delicious caffiene rush

I AM top barista even in a hungover state.

I'm only as good as the java I brew... which is mighty damn fine.....

Anyway...

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.

Scary.

Dear God, who knew middle age would be swift and evil on a Saturday morning?

Last night's make-up looks like water paint on my face now.

SHOWER STAT!

Hot water streams down over the shower poof which is now cocked, locked and ready to rock with Black Vanilla Current body wash.

*sniff sniff*

Eyes fly open. Wide awake instantly.
YES!! A gift from the shower gods!!

Make up removed... thanks Clinique
Hair de-sprayed... thanks Aveda
Smooth legs....... thanks Soliel razors

I feel human again.

So, I proceed to dry my mop.

As a rule, my hair is short and way out of control.

Especially when I help it along with all the crap in my cabinet.

And the hair-do god looked down and smiled, and it was all good.

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.

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.

But oh hell..... look out if the hair gods don't shine down and decide to play a practical joke.

They don't know who they're dealin with...

Which brings me to this morning. Yah, the jokin started early.

I showered and blow dried and hit it up with product....

No good. Bad day.

Accept, I have a rook card in my pocket...

Abby.

The love of my life on days like these...

My hair dresser..

Abby is my hero.

This is Abby. She's always happy and she does the best scalp massage...

See, she knows me. 8 years doing my hair.

It took her 5 years and a hotline number to keep me out of the haircolor aisle at Wal-Mart.

She fixed some hellacious bad botched hair color jobs.

She works right next door from my office.

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.

"Grab the box of bleach from her hands, STAT!!!" and off to work she goes, being my protector against the hair gods.

She loves me. I tip well.

Therefore I don't even need an appointment. God bless her.

The moral of the story is... be nice and tip your hair dresser well.

Chancing a bad hair day is nothing to trifle with.

Fake Sun, Fat Rolls, Knee Slappin Funny (HNT)

2008-01-31T16:18:00.000-05:00

Well I've never... Been the Barbie Doll type....

Yah, yah, yah.... it's true. I'm a full-figured, plus sized, curvified mama.

This fact doesn't bother me so much really. I'm hot for a curvy beyyyach!

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.

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.

Which brings me to my thoughts for the day....

I absolutely love when somebody says something stupid.

People can really come off with utterly hilarious blurbs and not even know it.

In addition to amusing me greatly, it gives me something to blog about.

Seriously, kids, I don’t make this crap up. And boy, did this one amuse me…

Now I quote what I heard a chick say the other day:

"Tan fat is so much prettier than white fat."

I literally did a double take at her standing next to me as I was checking into the tanning bed.

It took everything in me not to fall over in the floor and gut laugh. Well, because I'm a sarcastic bitch.

What?!?! Tan fat? Pretty?

Hello, sweetheart. I’m here tanning, too.

And I’ll be honest. I see nothing pretty about tan fat as opposed to white fat.

Trust me on this.

I'm a walking ad for Lane Bryant fashions for women, so don't think I'm not saying something I wouldn't follow myself.

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.

Seriously, if you are fat and you have fat rolls, say like a Shar Pei puppy, it doesn't matter how tan it is.

Do you really think that having tan parts intermingled with the white fat rolls is pretty?

God bless the stand-up tanning bed, you can put your arms up in the air and alleviate those pesky white spots.

The only thing one can do to make ones fat rolls look prettier is cover them up with the proper clothing. I do.

And..... Happy Half Nekkid Thursday!!!!

Death March, Painful Shoes & A Subscription to Annoy Me Daily

2008-01-29T15:28:00.000-05:00

Finally. A year after the proposal. Finally, after three changes in date, time and venue. Finally, after finding a wedding cake that didn’t resemble spiderman. Finally, after managing to locate and fit into a sexy yet firm suitable set of wedding underwear. Finally, we did it. We got hitched!

Of course, in our typical style, anything less than complete and utter chaos, followed by family drama and tradgedy simply wouldn't do.

I must say, my bridesmaids were stunning and wearing sexy gowns.

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!

The boys didn’t look shabby either.

Ain’t it funny how a man in a classic black tux can make a girl weak in the knees?

It was actually beautiful, other than the bridesmaids walking to “Pray for the Dead and the Dead will Pray for you”.

I shit you not. It was not un-noticed by a single soul either.

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.

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.

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.

Sweet Jesus! I almost had a heart attack.

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.

I’m back there yelling to Val “Oh shit! Oh Shit!!!!! Cut it off, cut it off!!”

Which he did, and we went on.

Deep breath. The Wedding March is going.

Walking with Daddy (who was thankfully on his best behavior and didn’t cause any shit whatsoever).

My daddy had come to the rehearsal drunker than cooter brown and was pure evil about my Ma. Not nice.

I FINALLY got up there to my man. The longest mile... you better believe it.

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.

I never in my life imagined that I would have been nervous.

But I was. Xanax?? Didn't anybody find the damn Xanax???

We stood with everyone looking on… ohhhhh, the sweet, happy couple gazing at one another as “At Last” by Etta James played on.

Then, my friggin shoes started to hurt like hell and I was about to cry again.

We manage to exchange vows with me only tripping once over my tongue and having to start over.

Que the second song “If You Ever Have Forever In Mind”.

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.

I look at the pastor and say, “Is there anyway we can get him to turn this song off??”

”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.

“Yah, and the next one too. My shoes are killing me and I’m turning red.”

“You got it.” He said.

He got Val’s attention, music was cut. Moving right along.

We are now husband and wife.He pulled me close and laid the nicest kiss on me.

Dang. We’re in church here, pal, and you’re really turning me on.

Do you go to hell for getting turned on in church?

The only mishap was Lil T coming up to us mid-vows and yelling “Look Nana! Motorcycle.”

When he figured out everybody was lauging at him and saying, “Oh how cute.”, he took off.

So, not a single mishap that was YouTube worthy happened, dammit!

Oh wait... the death march...

I was just waiting for somebody to do something stupid.

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.

But, nobody slid and fell off the stage, passed out or puked…

No puke is an awesome thing.

Next snafu:
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.

He had said to somebody, can’t remember who at this point, that he had plenty of pictures. I still don't have them.

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!

But, I didn’t get the chance. He was gone.

Must have needed a beer or a shot of tequila or something. Whatever.

That’s when SUPERMAN appeared! My buddy Mark.

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.

My friggin hero, I shit ya not!

Ok, so what else. The reception was interesting. There was one arguement and my cake was melting.

I pitched the bouquet, and Robyn (one of my best Pirate friends) snatched it up. She’s next anyway.

Tony flipped the garter…

Curtis (Robyn’s man) yoinked the garter! So, if it wasn’t already happening, it’s bound to happen now!

We cut cake...

drank wedding punch…

and decided it was time to cruise on outta there.

We proceeded to the truck to find it tastefully decorated with multiple condoms and window chalk.

Family-kid drama was on deck... but I am trying to forget all about it at this point.
Family-mom crisis hit with Big T's mom that day too, but all turned out well.

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.

Hooters, Jolly Roger, Biker Underwear & A Naughty Chicken

2008-01-28T10:34:00.000-05:00

It's Tuesday again kids and you know what that means!!! A naughty chicken in honor of my bachelorette party and Speedcat Hollydale's quest to bring joy to an otherwise boring existence.

Ya gotta love a bunch of Pirate Chicks along with those who dare to come along for the ride.

They never let a special event go by without celebrating with cake and alcohol.

Becky and Natalie decided that come hell or high water there should be a bachelorette party the week before the wedding.

Thank God they had the sense not to have the party the night before the wedding or I would have never made it.

Yes, my friends. I got soused.

Diva + cold beer + shots of jack = hangover city

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.
Meet Ashley and Felicia:

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.

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.

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.
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.

So, we go in and invade the corner lot of CJ, nothing different there.

Olga made a real honest to God rum cake. It was a Jolly Roger, cuz she knows how pirates roll.

We love the booty, especially rum laced booty.

It was time to have a little fun. We had games on tap, and honestly, watching them set up the Pin the Bow-Tie on the Bachelor was more fun than playing it. Amanda gave the poster a hard on when she licked it from thigh to belly-button.

And Steph gave our bachelor a nice sized penis to look at...

We had Do the Dare Cards. The name alone implies that there will be some mischief going on.

I need to state that, I, as the bride to be, didn't do anything extreme.

Quite the contrary, I was very well behaved.

Four of the six cards I drew from the deck were completed by our sweetheart of a bouncer. God bless you, Steve-O!

Diva's cards dared her to:
-get the bouncer to laugh for 100 points. Done!
-get a hunk to give her a neck massage. Done!
-get the phone number of a hot guy. Done!
-get a man to show you a hidden tattoo. Done! It was on his upper thigh.
-get the bartender to give you a free drink. Done!
-find a guy, grab his ass, and tell him he has a nice ass. Done! Twice.
(Steph was witness. Two guys, two butts, double points!)

Here are some photos of the festivities! Enjoy!

Shawna found a baldguy & kissed him on top of his head.

Natalie and Amanda took the cake when they talked one of the big biker boys out of his drawers.

Round Five- Moonshiners, Tourist Traps & Neuschwanstein

2008-01-24T16:18:00.001-05:00

After 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.

It was one of those whoop ass double decker numbers.

The cool thing about a guided tour is that you can just kick back, not worry about directions, not worry about getting lost.

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.

Again, thank God for Starbucks being worldwide.

This is David. David was our tour guide. He was a friggin riot. Sarcasm, check.
This guy spoke fluently English, Spanish, German, Chinese & Italian. Dayum.

They load us up. Spanish and English speaking folks on bus #1. That would be us.

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.

Once the bus gets a movin, David comes around to collect the cash for entrance to the castles.

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.

As he collected, he was chitty chatting with everybody. He asked where we were from. I said "Tennessee" with my very bestest southern twang.

David smiles, "Ahhh, Jack Daniels comes from there. You like Jack?"

I smile even bigger, "Buddy, I love Jack, Jim and Jose."

We laugh. He goes on. I go back to sipping coffee and kicking back.

Money collected. David goes back down and gets on the speaker thing.

"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."

I look at mom. "Heh. They'll leave our asses if we wander off."

Mom said, "Shut up and listen."

I think Mom was starting to grow tired of me. 9 days had been enough for her.

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."

*blinkie* *look at Ma*

"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."

"You're adopted."

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.

It was beautiful out there though, once we got to the top anyway.

First stop was Linderhoff Castle. It wasn't really a castle. It was just an overdone house. But it was awesome inside.

King Ludwig, the crazy brother that built it and the other castle, was very particular.

Of course, the castle polize would take your camera and throw you in castle jail if they caught you taking pictures inside.

So, we go through the inside. Ornate. Beautiful. Gold everywhere.
About 5 minutes after we get through, we here it...
"MOONSHINERS!! Get to the bus, pronto!"

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.

The bus was tooling fast but I caught one of them... Hansel & Gretel...

Finally, we get to Neuschwanstein.

Now, this is the castle that Cinderella's castle is based off of at Disney.

This is a mo-hunkin castle.

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.

You guessed it. I only thought the stairs of death hurt me.

We had to walk from where I stood to take this picture all the way up...

SHIT!!!! My fat ass is outtta shape!!!

This is Ma telling me not to take a picture of her ass...

Heh... This is a picture of Ma's ass...

This is Me & Vashi (a chick we sat with at lunch) hoofin ass up the mountain...

We finally made it!! David was there to greet us... He smelled like Gin.

This is from the top of the high tower to the north... Bungee jumping?? Anybody???

Anyway, we made it through, without going to castle jail.

But, what a jip, it was only 1/4 of the way completed on the inside.

Ain't it funny, that even in a 400 year old castle, they can make you exit through the gift shop???

Round Four ~ Won Tons, Manicotti & Haufbrau Haus Beer Garten

2008-01-23T10:23:00.000-05:00

I wandered over to Speedcat Hollydale's page today for the first time. Interesting stuff.

In honor of this visit... I post a chicken!

I never realized eating in a forgein country would be so damn difficult.

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.

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.

It was odd to me that they spoke Chinese and German and not English.

Go figure, huh?

But, the place was across the street from our hotel, and smelled really, really good.

The only lucky part is the menu did have English, I can point and the chick could speak some limited broken English.

Chicken Won-Ton Soup: #3 on the menu.
Mini-Spring Roll: #2 on the menu.
Cashew Chicken: #42 on the menu.

Best Won-Ton Soup I ever have had... EVER.

Since I am afraid of anything ending in -wurst or-snitzel, I steered clear of tradtional German food.

God forbid I pork-penis-wurst or something like that.

I'm sure I'd yack.

It's not like I can translate German to English very well.

We were in Pforzheim the first several days:

So, we ate Chinese food at the same place on Sunday and Monday nights.

The Tuesday night, we switched off for some Itatlian. The spinich manacotti was yum and the wine was a-flowin.

Then Wednesday night, we were gonna give the Brazilian place a crack.

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.

I don't do shrimp.

So, we ended up back at the Chinese place again, where we were greeted with..
"Hello. You wanta Coka Light and Hotta Tea, yes?"

With a sweet smile I tell her, "Of course and can we have the same table by the window?"

I know she had to be thinking... Crazy American bitch won't eat anything.

She's right. I have food fears.

Then we went to Hannover:

Thursday night we ate food from the hotel bar, which is always tasty with beer.

Bar food = GOOD.

Friday night, we had another awesome Italian dinner with the owner of my company.

Then to Munich:
Saturday night, I finally broke down.

Mommy & Me went to Haufbrau Haus Beer Garten in Munich.

It's one of the oldest original beer joints with 400 years o' history.

Oktoberfest was over. Missed it by a week.

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.

After several pints of some the delicious brew, I was starting to pack a nice buzz.

So, I broke down and ate stewed steak smothered in roasted onions (DAYUM!!) and some kind of potatoes.

The beer was the best ever though. It didn't have that watery as piss taste to it.

Sunday night, we found us another Chinese place. It was pretty tasty and it overlooked downtown Munich..

So, I guess I totally blew the opportunity to expand my culinary palate...

I suck. If it ain't Taco Bell, I don't want it.

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.

Round Three - Heidelberg Castle

2008-01-22T15:42:00.000-05:00

My 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.

I assummed (ass-u-me) that we would go the same way I had went in last time.

Up a nice stable incline to the front of the grounds. Not so much.

Let's just say I assumed way wrong.

We ended up climbing the STAIRS OF DEATH.

All 315 of them.

Straight up.

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...

until my non-smoking Ma almost fell out too!!

Thanks for making me feel good about being me, Mom!! I loves ya!

And here are Mommy & Me at the top in the gardens.

We survived the climb.

Since that was in October, now I can say it was worth the pain & suffering.

Although in total ruins from WWII...

still a very beautiful place...

"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."

Constantly antogonizing poor Ma is what I live for.

"Ya right, you take pictures of everything and use them for your benefit."

For an older broad she catches on quick.

I DO take pictures of everything.

She's right though. I'd have saved it as leverage for later...

"Be nice, or I'll send this picture of you to the ladies group, Missy."

That's just the way I roll.

So, the front of the place is actually in pretty good shape.

Supposedly the last prince of Heidelburg got pissed at his lady and jumped out the window...

... and all that was left was his footprint where he hit the ground so hard...

yah, yah, yah... a little Heidelburg bullshit there.

Heard that from no less than 6 German types trying to amuse us.

Didn't work.

After we finished wandering the castle grounds, we hoofed it through the downtown area.

All I can say is God Bless Starbucks Heidelburg.

It was cold, it was dark and I needed java.

I know, I know...

I make fun of all things Starbucks.

But when you're that far away from home with all the strange sights and smells of a foriegn place...

let me tell ya... you're thankful for Starbucks.

Also thankful that Markus went in and ordered....

Diva don't brechen zi duetch.

Round Two - O'Hare Airport

2008-01-19T09:55:00.000-05:00

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.

Saturday, October 6th. 5:30pm. Chicago.

Smoking in Chicago's O'Hare Airport was proving to be quite the challenge.

There are no longer smoking rooms in any airport, a fact I was unaware of.

It was 85 degrees and smoggy as hell outside where they bannish all nicotine addicts to wither away for their sins.

We had just walked off the plane for our long ass lay-over when I decided it was time to find the smoking area.

I'm not the type of toker that needs a ciggie every 5-10 minutes.

Hell, I go 8-5 M-F without one.

Mom decides to take one for the team and walk with me to find a smoking area.

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..."

Blah blah blah.

After 30 minutes of searching, I just happened upon a friendly airport employee.

We'll call him Papagorgio.

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."

He smiled and winked. Ughhh....

"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??"

"I was just trying to help, Miss. You can always go outside." He said, rolling his eyes and walking away.

Yah. I think Papagorgio gets kickbacks.

I can just see him watching me slip into the bathroom... eyes crazed with anticipation.

It would go down something like this:

"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!"

Needless to say, I decided to go outside for a smoke. This happened only once.

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.

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.

I refused to go through having to remove my shoes, waiting in line to pass them and my purse through the x-ray machine.

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.

Then after all that putting my shoes back on and walking a mile back to the gate.

Seriously, I'll pass.

Anybody got industrial strength Nicorette?

What ever happened to designated smoking areas in the dang airport?

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?

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.

Now, it wasn’t that she was hungry. No, this wasn’t the case.

“It’s almost like tradition.” She says beaming that smile of hers.

“Yogurt is somehow a tradition? Do tell.” I ask. I like tradition.

“Not really yogurt, but eating in the airport.” she explains.

“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.

“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?”

“I saw a fat guy up by the security check thing, but I think it was ice cream, not yogurt.” I tell her.

“I want fat-free-frozen vanilla yogurt…” she starting to sound all dreamy.

Not ice cream. Not chocolate. Not full of fat…. No.

With that I pick up my 50 pound carry-on bag at Gate K-5 and we start walking.

We see a sign for frozen yogurt and head that way.

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!!!

Easy right?

Well, not so much.

The little dude at the first TCBY didn’t have any vanilla,

SO, he pointed us to the other food court way the hell down the way at gate K-15.

We get there, and sure enough, TCBY. Score!

We walk up smiling, only to see that the lady has the frozen yogurt machine torn down for cleaning.

The sparkle immediately left my eyes. I'm disenchanted.

So, we walk and ended up in the “L” terminal.

Only one TCBY and no vanilla. Shit!

Back out of “L” and wander over to “G”.

Now this sucks. My bag is too damn heavy for this.

After walking 2.5 miles to get there, we learn that it’s a commuter terminal and they have no TCBY at all.

Friggin figures.

Defeated and depressed, we turn around with our heads hung low.

The pep in our step was lost long ago as but we shuffled along.

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.

And in the very back end of that little hidden jewel sat a TCBY.

We walk up, skeptical that anything will come of the visit.

“Vanilla?” Mom asks the girl with that desperate tone in her voice.

Friends, the heavens opened up and I swear a chorus of angels sang Hallelujah in unison.

“Sure. What size?” The girl says with an angelic smile on her face.

So, an hour and a half and 10 miles later, Ma had her yogurt.

Next stop. Pforzheim Germany.

Round One - McGee Tyson Airport

2008-01-17T15:31:00.000-05:00

Day One - Round One

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.

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.
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.

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.

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.

"A little heavy there, huh?" I asked him, whilst cackling at her.

"Just a little." He said. Shaking his head that I can be so snide and yet so loving at the same time.

We gave each other some seriously tight hugs and sweet kisses and I went on in to check in our stuff.

"Name and identification, please." The robotic sounding lady at the American Airlines counter blurted out.

"Well, ok. Gotta dig it out." I said as I start shuffling through my carry-on bag looking for my passport.

"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.

"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.

"Mmmm, yah. These two." I rolled my eyes as I lifted them onto the scale.

"Ok, they are checked all the way through to Frankfurt. Have a nice trip."

Sweet! Phase one of the objective was complete. Mom's turn.

"Name and identification, please." Robot lady says to her.

Mom handed her passport over and started lugging her bag up onto the scale.

"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).

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.

"Gonna fit it all into one bag are we?" I say to her as I cackle a little more at her packing defeat.

She shoots me the most evil of all evil looks and says, "I can fix it."

She unzips the offending suitcase and proceeds to pull out a fat bag of hair products, a Bible, several books.

"Sweet Jesus, Mom." I ask in amazement. "How the hell did you get all that in there to begin with?"

"Can you please put some of these in your carry-on and I'll put the rest of it in my other bag?"

"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.

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.

"Let's see if that does it." She says as she pushes the suitcase back up on the scale.

"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.

Mom couldn't say anything, she just smiled back as we walked toward the secure area.

"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."

She showed her compassion and said, "Ok. Let's go outside."

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.

"Let's go, Mama." I said as I walked back up to her.

With that, we were off toward security check point.

"Oh shit!" I whined.

"What now?" She asked me.

"They're gonna take my lighter. I just bought that lighter."

"You can buy a new one when we get there." She said.

"Fine." I took the lighter out and pitched it in the lighter collector jail they had set up.

So, we made it through security and we were on our way. Quite an eventful afternoon and we hadn't even left Knoxville yet.

Bitchin, Moanin, Yep... I'm PMS'n

2008-01-16T11:27:00.000-05:00

No sooner do I get over the demon turd, then I am striken with the murderous rage... Yah, PMS.

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.

Guess what... I decided to bitch and moan.

In no particular order, these are the things that are just chappin my ass during this time of hormonal distress.

WalMart
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.

Gas Prices
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.

Mistake.

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.

Chompin, Crunchin & Slurpin
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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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...

"I swear to God and all things Holy... If you don't back away from me I'm gonna kick your ass!!!!!!!"

Soup/hot liquid slurping is another issue that makes me tick.

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.

Manners, people. It's not that hard.

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.

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.
I'll fix it tomorrow. My head hurts.

Lil T

2008-01-15T16:27:00.000-05:00

The 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.

As shown in the picture below, Little T is actually a mini-clone of Big T.

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".

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.

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.

The little redneck has already been schooled in the difference betwixt the Ford and Chevy while sitting on the front porch with Big T.

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.

Little T has ambitions of being a total rock star. The girls get all giddy when he's flowin on the mic.

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.

Analyzations, Constipation, and Heartfelt Thanks

2008-01-14T11:40:00.000-05:00

Ahhh, 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.

Analyzation
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.

I didn't consider a diet, not as a resolution anyway.
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.
God forbid, someone might actually see a girl eating, or think that even though you're a girl, you might be human.

Constipation
It's finally over, and thank God above for it. Childbirth wasn't nearly as annoying and painful as this experience was.

Either the Exlax finally kicked in or the exorcism Big T performed on the demon turd was 100% effective.

Maybe it was drinking the warm water. I did give that a whirl. Maverick's idea.

Maybe it was the threat of buying a snake at Lowes... Chuck's idea.

Maybe it was the weekend attack of porn and Taco Bell as suggested by Rockdog. Happy and FUN idea when you combine the two, by the way.

It was suggested by Amy 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.

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..

I'm just so glad it's over!!! As is Big T, he was running out of constipation jokes.

Heartfelt Thanks
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.

Anyhoo, I had printed out all of the comments wishing Gram's a happy birthday from everyone.

She got all super excited! She thought she had met each and every one of you at some point in the past.

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. =)

The happiness in her eyes while she read each word was priceless, kids.
She says, "Thank you for all the birthday wishes!"

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.

Happy Birthday Gramma!

2008-01-11T09:17:00.000-05:00

My Grandmother turned a ripe 82 on Monday.

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.

The family got together and had her a ho-down on Sunday afternoon.

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.

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.

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.

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.

So, Sunday we all get together, as we do every Sunday, but this week we have a special dinner and birthday cake for Gramma.

I walked in the door to find her sitting there staring at the cake.

"Who's birthday is it, honey?" She asked me as she hugged me.

"It's yours Gramma. It's your birthday! Cool, huh?" I tell her.

"I'm 82?" She asked referring to the candles.

"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."

She was clearly taken aback by the writing on the bag that wasn't in English.

"Honey, what does this say?" She asked.

"Gooberstankin." I tell her all serious.

*blink*

"Gooberstankin. Come on Gramma, say it and you'll be speakin German. Gooberstankin."

Well, she ignored me and opened the bag. But Nat didn't ignore me, she was listening the whole time.

"Mom? What's gooberstankin?" She asked all sincere.

"You're kidding, right?" I forget sometimes how naive and silly my kid is.

"No. What does it mean?" She asked again.

"Nat, baby. Mommy was making up a word that sounded German. Goober-stankin. Get it?"

"No. I don't get it." Bless her heart.

"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.

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!" She gets it, "You were just trying to get Gramma to say goober... I get it."

That child of mine, bless her little heart, is a dork.

Gramma never did say gooberstankin. I tried all damn day to get her to say it.

Gramma blows out the candles...

Gramma sucks the icing off of the candles (the original pirate)

Constipation, Cramps & Criticism

2008-01-10T15:09:00.000-05:00

Yes, 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.

It could have been the cocktail of cold medicines, Midol and Motrin I have been feeding on since New Year's Day.

Or maybe it was all that gackity oil from I breathed in whilst preparing the spread of deep fried food.

Or maybe it was the damn Cheese Stix. Those Cheese Stix can apparently jack a body up.

Regardless of how and why it happened. It happened and I'm in dietary hell.

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.

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.

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.

More than that, though. He's being outright shitty about my current state. Pardon the pun.

"I'm gonna start calling you Roto-rooter. No, wait, that's who we should be calling for ya baby." He muses.

*crickets*

"When the whites of your eyes start to turn brown, baby, you know its time to take action."

I just look at him.

"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.

"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?"

"Great, a shit lesson." I'm less than amuzed at this point. "Why can't you just go get me some Exlax or something???"

He rebuts. "Pay attention, dammit!! I'm trying to teach you how to shit."

*blink*

"Medicate, medicate, medicate. That's all ya wanna do ain't it?? Maybe you should sing while ya rock back and forth."

He breaks into a lovely rendition of Swing Low Sweet Chariots. Why that song, you may ask.

Because, if you sing in a low, low tone, it will rattle your intestines. Genius.

"I'm a girl, shithead. I can't sing bass. How bout I sing Take This Job and Shove It? How bout that??"

I'm now not only constipated and dying from the cramps engulfing my entire being, but I'm annoyed.

Friends, Fried Food & Freakin 22's

2008-01-08T13:06:00.000-05:00

Ok, 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.

Between the cake disasters, underwear crisis, and other wedding nightmares... not to mention the wedding itself... jeeeez.
Glad it's done... bad as it was, it's legal and it's over.

Onward and upward.

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.
Check. Check. Check. And check. I accomplished every bit of it.

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.

I made a plethora of nastily perfect deep fried goodies and other finger foods along with homemade dipping sauces. (My marinara is muy excelente).

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???

Note the cutsie foo-foo little finger sandwiches... Aren't they just adorable??

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).

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.

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!!!!

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.

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.

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.
He sucks, I don't. Haha.

Books, Brats, Dirty Santa & Boobs

2008-01-07T09:43:00.000-05:00

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 solely for the holiday season, but just because that's the way I am.

That said, I finally pulled the grinch 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, deleteing, stashing away for private moments.. ya know, all the normal stuff.

This year, I got Miss A and The Boy reading material, so they could prove to me that, at their advanced high school age, they could in fact read. Wonders never cease, both of them can actually put letters together to read words. I was thrilled.

See the happy Miss A with her Happy Bunny, Bite Me book? She was thrilled.

The Boy was full of genuine redneck delight when he opened his beautifully 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 MySpace pages now.

Brats. The holidays are brimming over with them, don't you agree?

As if that old threat "Santa only comes and brings prezzies to good little boys and girls" really works... Shaaaaa, 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.

Lil T put on quite the little performance after opening his and everybody else's stuff. Granted he's only two, but Nana (that would be me) dig that bratty little kid screamin horseshit. I so wanted to bust his ass for kicking and screaming, but instead I took his picture.

"Lil T, you should stop being a brat. I'm taking your picture and blogging about you and the internet will never go away so a history of your bratiness will always be there."

Watttta 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 gettin his way.... loook out he gets pisssssed!

I blame this on my step-sister, she is his babysitter. Therefore, he is immersed 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.

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 Big T's mom has recovered very well and isn't having any real after effects of the stroke now. She was crackin on everybody and occasion would slap one of her kids upside the head for good measure. Excellent, Ms. Pat!!

One by one, the whole new family by marriage showed up. All of them carrying gifts for the Dirty Santa Game we played.

The rules go like this. You can either pick a prezzie from the pile or steal somebody else's prezzie. I said all along I was gonna steal just for the fun of it.
And I did. I yoinked my sister in law's mini crock pot. She shouldn't have acted like she liked it so much.

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.

Big T's brother J got the most interesting prezent, but only because he was a boy. Sexy, sexy.

And just to skank my blog up a little. A picture of my half hidden rack, an idea blamed on Bottled Blonde.

Teenagers, Recycling & 80s Music

2008-01-04T09:20:00.000-05:00

Recycling: High School

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.

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:

"Ahh, recycling are we?" He was referring to the fact that I was now a parent with a kid, Miss A, in high school.

"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.

Recycling: MY music

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.

Anyhoo. On this particular morning we were talking some and out of nowhere she comes off with a question:

"I've been listening to Jack FM and they play all kinds of OLD music. Dr you have a clue who sang "Come On Eileen?"

*blink*

"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.

"Do you know who sings it?"

"Dexy's Midnight Runner, and it's not all that old."

"It's older than me, thank you very much." She smirked. Satisfied that she had put me in the "older than shit" catagory.

"Whatever. Oldies are named as such, Miss A. You know? Like the Golden Oldies, like Chubby Checker? That's oldies."

"Cubby Checker? Is that a real name? Who sings Love My Way?" She asked.

"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."

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."

With that she slams the door and slinks off to share her knew found knowledge of the OLD music.

Brat.

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.

Sunday Morning, FleaMarkets & 18 Wheelers

2008-01-02T11:26:00.000-05:00

I 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.

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.

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.

First stop. Breakfast. McDonald's. Clinton, TN.
Now I'm not sure if the manager bitch working the cash register and taking orders was pissed because:
A- it was Sunday morning before the chickens were up and her ass was at work...
B- she didn't get any Saturday night, but from all appearances she had been rode hard and put up wet...
C her district manager was combing through her files with a magnifying glass...
D-I was there at an ungodly hour, lookin like a million bucks...

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.

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.

Second stop. TN's Largest Fleamarket, Crossville, TN. (1.5 hours west of home)
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.

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.
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.

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.

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.

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?"

*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."

Finally, we get to Sevierville (+/- 1 hour east of home)
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.

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.

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.

What is life, but to make it interesting for my hubby?

Roses and Shit

2007-12-27T09:28:00.000-05:00

I 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.

So, the majority of my ramblings come from ridiculous shit and silly conversations that happen within my newly formed family surroundings.

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.
I reckon that's considered, the learning and growing process within a marriage.

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.

I'm sitting here trying to figure out how to write this crap without sounding like I have multiple personalities... too late.

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 and 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.

I suppose that would be the set-up. This is how roses and shit tie in...

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.

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).

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.

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.

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.

Anydiddle, we ate, drank and I was super social and then we left to go home.

On the way, Big T had an epiphany about my social skills...

Driving down the interstate he says, "You know, you could fall into a bucket of shit and come out smelling like shit."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I seriously had no clue it was a compliment.

"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."

"Hmmmmm. And this is a good thing?" Still not sure it's a compliment.

"Why yah. You can talk to anybody, anywhere about anything whether you know them or not. You're comfortable around everybody."

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:

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.

I talked to a librarian about my wildest drinking binge on a business trip in New Orleans.

I talked to a government contractor dude about how many Christmas lights are too many Christmas lights.

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.

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.

yay! Gotta go. I'm thinking way too much for my own good.

What Jiggles & Floats, But Refuses to Bounce?

2007-12-21T10:04:00.000-05:00

First here, I wish to extend my warmest and deepest heartfelt wishes for this wonderful and joyous holiday season to each of you, my newest and bestest friends, here on Blogger's Lane. You are a blessing and each one of you has touched me with your stories. I've giggled with you and cried with you. Thank you for making every single day something to look forward to you.

How was that for mushy** gushy stuff?

Onward and upward... So, what jiggles & floats, but under no circumstance does it bounce?

Big T is long gone for work. He is a prince. He gets the coffee going for my anticipated awakening to the new day a dawning before he leaves every morning. It's 6:22 in the A.M. and the alarm has been going off for 2 minutes before I crawl across the bed to slap the snooze button My general M.O. is to hit snooze until around 7ish but I have to let Big T think I wake up earlier than that.

So, I slapped the snooze button and drop back down on his side of the bed, and off to zzzzzz-land I am again in mere miliseconds. I experience my slumbering bliss for another seven minutes when that bitch starts to scream at me again.

Welllll, I hopped up on all fours fixin to crawl across the bed to slap the snooze button again. Only problem with this scenario is the fact that I'm not on my side of the bed, I'm on his side and I don't have any bed to crawl across.

OOOOOPS!

As of today, I have scientifically proven that fat does not, in fact, bounce.
One paw in front of the other, off the bed I went. Like a cat, I managed to land on all fours, but my knee crunched and so I was laying flat on my face.

Yah, fat jiggles, fat floats, but it certainly doesn't bounce.

Ass Scratchin', Booger Pickin' & Other Forms of Nasty

2007-12-21T09:53:00.000-05:00

Ahhh, the things I did for public knowledge in the quest for excellent grades... Since I started working here and subsequently enrolled in my biology courses in college some years ago, I've been a total germ-a-phobe. Sad, but true, I'm 100% horrified to shake a stranger's hand because after the research I performed for one statistics term paper, I came to realize.... EWWWW... You just never know.

I mean folks might have been picking their crack:

Picking a booger *gagging*

Wiping their boooty after a rather scary dump session:

In addition you never can tell if a one has been wigglin the willy or spankin the monkey. Not that there's one damn thing wrong with Lovin Yaself... Not at all. You just never know.

Oh, back on task here....
I make such a big deal of this that people close to me are scared not to do it for fear I'll grow horns and fangs and break ninja on their ass.
But, it's all in the name of simple personal hygeine, kids. Kill the cooties!

What am I bitching about today, you're askin? The simple task of washing one's hands.

I was a super, nay, excellent student throughout my college career.
I did all kinds of nasty shit just so I could get an "A" on term papers and research projects. Call me an asskisser if you want, but all my professors loved it and I graduated pretty damn close to the top 'o me class.

This specific semester led me staking out the big handicapped stall in the ladies bathroom of the Clinton Hwy. Wal-Mart for more than 2 hours on a not very busy Saturday mid-morning. Sweet mother of all things Holy and not... the lack of sanitary personal hygiene was (to say the very least) disgusting, pathetic and totally lacking.

I hid out, acting as if I was in there for the obvious reason, making tinkle. What I was really doing is standing there with my little note book, peeking out towards the area of the pottyroom where the sinks are.
I would put a mark in one section everytime someone would enter one of the bathroom stalls. I would place a mark in the column for people who didn't wash hands if they didn't wash hands. I would place a mark in the column for people who half ass washed hands (less than 30 seconds) and a mark in the column when someone would finally properly santize hands.

In the two hours I suffered in order to get that almighty A on my research paper I made note of the following:

23 people entered a pisser.
11 people didn't bother to wash hands at all.
8 people half ass ran water over hands and dried.
4 people... ONLY 4, actually used soap and stood there washing hands.

Of the 19 people who did not bother to wash hands or didn't do it up right, 7 of them were employees of Wal-Mart. Wal-Mart DOES have signs that say: "For good health, please wash your hands before returning to work".

Ok, now I don't know about y'all, but that is just the ickiest thing I've ever seen or heard.

Being as obsessive and compulsive as I am by nature, my lil mind went wild. These 19 people would be touching shopping carts and money that will be for public use..

Then I thought, this is Super Walmart... what if they are touching the fresh fruit and/or vegetables?????

*gasp* OH GOD!!! What if one of them works in the deli/bakery!!!!!

By the time I turned that research paper in, I was so completely grossed out that I wouldn't touch anything without slapping GermX all over it first.

Kid Rock, Chippendales & Clapping Monkeys

2007-12-19T08:58:00.000-05:00

What do Kid Rock, Chippendales and Clapping Monkeys have in common? They have precisely nicht in common, other than the fact that these are the types of things that decorate my office at work. I have all the pictures and what not that everybody else has, but

There is no wonder why I love my job so much. Since nobody ever comes in our office other than our super sexy UPS fella, my boss could care less about anything I do as long as we're gettin the job done. Fact of the matter is, she picked some of this shit out.

Now I would like to guide you on a highlight tour of my Monday-Friday home. My office is like a teen-aged girl's bedroom.

The door to my office is tastefully decorated with 25 cent hula lai's and a stolen Chippendale's poster from my graduation party. (The girls took me to see them, but that's yet another story). Boys aren't the only ones who can have tacky, tasteless eye candy on their walls. Equality.. I love it.

Come on in... next we'll see my favorite reading material displayed proudly on my book shelf. This was a donation from OG. She realizes how happy Happy Bunny makes me. I appreciate her sarcasm.

Next to Happy Bunny is my pill crusher, pharmacy style baby!! I crush my aspirin and motrin and make a wicked cool combination in that bad boy.

On around to the filing cabinet... not only does my office have it's fair share of beautifully tropical plants, but it also has my daquiri glass from Excalibur where me and OG saw THUNDER FROM DOWN UNDER in Vegas. This was a helluva night. I was drunker than dammit and vowed to keep my pennies in this glass until I had enough to go back and see them again. REOW!! Ladies, we highly suggest you save your pennies too... it's worth every one...

Onward, shall we? Here we are at the wall of shameless shit. It's in plain site, so everybody that does happen to stumble in here, gets a gander at Kid Rock's sexy self. Mmmm, mmmmm, mmmmmmmm. In addition, please note the Van Halen 2007 Tour Schedule along side my pink teddy bear Big T gave me for Valentine's Day.

My "Grow A Pirate". Me and OG are waiting for the opportune moment to sling his ass in a 2-liter bottle and see how BIG he gets.

Lastly, but not leastly, my clapping monkey. He provides hours of entertainment and cures of the dead silence of some days. I used to wind him up often, but he has dusty bunnies in his ass. *hang on, I'm windin' him up*

Go monkey, go!

Finally, The piase de la resistance... this was found by OG in her boy's old crap in her basement. She found it soooooo adorable, that she brought it to me to proudly display. Oh yah.... your eyes are not playing tricks on you.... it's a penis flower vase and I dig it. Thanks to lil OG for being a perv in training.

So, that's my office. Hope you enjoyed finding out what a dork I am.
Peace.

Gettin Hooded

2007-12-18T09:48:00.000-05:00

I haven't been around since approximately high noon on Friday. Yes, folks, I've been one busy beeeyach. Because I chose to be a holiday sloth, I'm officially paying for it now. Unorganized would be the word for it I suppose. I buy, I wrap and I remember yet someone else I forgot to get a lil sumpin sumpin for. Dammit! I got sick of the cycle last night, broke down and made of list of nasty lasty gifts I have to fight the crowds for again tonight. But this will be it. Finito. Done. No mas.

But, enough bitching. Leave us get to the topic at hand.

My girl, OG, who has been my life partner for damn near 7 years, took on a MAJOR life altering challenge a short 18 months ago. In addition to her multiple master degrees, she decided she needed one more. YOU GO GIRL!

Anyway, all the pain and suffering of having absolutely zero time to go drinking or anything else has finally paid off!! The lovely OG has finally reached the destination of grad-u-ma-way-shun. I shared with she and her man the joy of the University of Tennessee Hooding Ceremony for the ProMBA graduates, class of 2007.

So what does an uber educated, top-notch executive look like after 18 months of scholarly hell look like?

Congratulations, lil mama!! You did it!!! Now... go get a high-level, senior executive position and take me along as your beeeyach!!

Parkin spaces, Bargain hunters & Chatty Kathy

2007-12-17T11:42:00.000-05:00

Ok, before anybody goes and indicts me on charges of being a hateful, Christmas squashing skank, I am going to attempt to defend myself. I have officially pulled the Grinch out of my ass and found the holiday spirit, somewhat at least. I put two trees up and lit the outside of my house up with an ill flashing duck. I should really get a picture of it, it's ugly as hell. But since my daughter absolutely hates that cheezy duck sooo much, I find an added bit of joy when I plug the lights in and it starts nodding. Heh. She's since learned not to tell me when she doesn't like something as I go out of my way to rub it in. (But that's another story).

I've finally figured out what the hell has made me need liquid happiness the past few years. It's the complete commercialization and exploitation of a HOLY season by corporate assholes banking on us spending every last penny we don't have.
But being broke ain't the real problem, kids. Nah... Robert has already said he was gonna tell Jesus I'm broke, so I'm not worried about all that so much. I'm all caught up on the credit card bills by say mid-July of the following year. Nice, eh? Whatever...

Oh shit, I'm supposed to be defending myself against Bah Humbug Syndrome. Right, so here we are. I swear I'm in an awesome holiday mood. I'm just pointing out the obvious. Let's discuss all of the little things that make this season so jolly and bright.

- The parking situation. This time of year is a nightmare worse than Freddy Kruger chasing me in my unbuttoned button-up oxford shirt and panties through a lonely, dark street whilst I fight to wake up from the dream before he kills me. With people playing drag race down narrow parking aisles in an attempt to get that one spot that opened up close to the door.

I nearly got taken out three times in two parking lots Saturday while trying to get to a semi-non-populated part of each parking lot.
Since I drive Big T's big truck every chance I get, the front parking space means precisely dick to me. I'm not one who minds to walk to and from the store, even if it's pretty far. I park toward the back of the lot where all the asshats wouldn't dare park as it would mean they have to actually walk more than 20 steps to enter the shopping establishment. Which means it's less likely that a NASCAR slide into the parking space I have chosen is not very likely.

- Bargain hunters. Those ladies will run you down and put you into the wall, like Dale Jr. comin up on Gordon in the final few laps at Daytona, with their buggy full of goods to get that one thing that's on the other side of you. "Look! It's a tube of KY Jelly discounted 25% for the holidays!!!!!" she squeels as you feel the buggy ram your hip and said bargain beast rolls through the already packed aisle to get .

I really think shopping buggies are in dire need of horns, brakes and blinkers. No shit. I think I might just market that. There's cause for it as Wal-Mart and my local Food City are the spawn of satan year round anyway.

- The talker. Now, I admit it, I talk on the phone whilst cruisin the warzones (also known as Wal-Mart, Target, Bed Bath & Beyond, Goody's, etc, etc...). But I never have, nor will I ever, be so inconsiderate as to stop dead still in the middle of a friggin aisle to continue my conversation, creating a backlog of people waiting to pass by my fat ass. Look it sister, if you're gonna take about the corns on the big toe of your left foot, do it somewhere else. Don't stop mid-step, put your hand on your hip and share about it where all of your fellow shoppers have to hear it. I personally don't care about your corns or any of your other podiatric flaws. You are doing nothing more than creating an angry mob behind you, who (if held up too long) will pommel you to the ground stampede style.

So, that was my shopping experience from the weekend. Swear to all that's Holy, I'll at least consider Christmas shopping around the 4th of July next year.
Thank goodness I'm nearly done with it except for the "mystery gifts" for the Dirty Santa festivity with Big T's family on Christmas Day. (Blog on that one to come.)

xoxoxo Love all ya'll. xoxoxxo

Foraging for Pizza, Wish Lists & Comparisons

2007-12-14T12:09:00.000-05:00

I got home from work yesterday afternoon to find Big T building a big ass fire in the fireplace down in the love den. He takes pride in his fire building abilities and I respect that. Without his love of fire, I'd freeze my ninnies off.
He'd just got that bad boy blazin' strong when the boy came down stairs to find out what, prey tell, I intended to make for dinner because dammit, he was hungry.

"Why don't you just order pizza??" He asked with actual hope I could detect on his desperate teenage face.

"Oh hell, no. I'm not ordering pizza." I take such joy from raining on his happy parade.

"Fine. I'm goin upstairs." He gets all snappy when i rain on his parade.

"I'll be up in a minute to sling some soup on for ya, pal. Wanna lay the can opener out to expedite the process?" Inside I was gigglin like a school girl.

Eyes all rolled back in his head, "Why don't you ever make anything I like??"

That's all I needed to hear. "Um, who's fault is it we are such a picky eater? Who won't eat anything if it's not chopped, processed, formed and them flash frozen, only to come out of our freezer when you get hunger pains? Who won't eat anything that isn't a breaded piece of fake chicken, pressed and deep fried??"

"God. You are wicked." And off he goes, stomping up the stairs, making enough noise that you would think it was a heard of friggin cattle.

I win.

I smile at Big T, who remained silent throughout the pizza banter. Mmmhmm, he has to come to bed with me, he knows who's side to be on.

"Ya wanna go get a pizza?" I asked. He knew I was just dishing out a load of shit on the boy. That's how I get along with said boy. If I'm not being semi-evil with him, he thinks I'm mad. So, really I'm keeping the peace by being my bitchy self.

"Yah. I'm hungry. I'll tell the boy to come on."

Big T had been seeing commercials for CiCi's Pizza (which makes me gag and spew) and he wanted to go there, as it was on his list of things to do before he dies. *rolls eyes*

It's about 25 minutes to either location of CiCi's in Knoxvegas, so off we went.
We were tooling down the speedway in on a pizza quest at warp speed.

"What do you want for Christmas?" Big T's been on me for months about what do I want from Santa.

Always one to give a good answer, I reply...
"Baby, I got all I could ever want this year already. I have my girls, I have Lil T and now I have you, the boy and a dog. What I want didn't cost anything."

"Whatever. What do you want?? I have everything, but I still always want something. So, just tell me what you want!?!?! I've been listening, I swear to God I have and you haven't said anything or dropped any hints." He's getting frustrated.

"I'll think on it and get back to ya, ASAP." Conversation over.

I really wish he'd just go get me some kind of sentimental, mushy, big ass diamond like they show on the Kay Jeweler commercial, but I'm not gonna tell him that. He'd do it and we'd be broke until Jesus comes back.

Out of the backseat the boy comes up with this, "I think you guys act like Al & Peg Bundy. Well, except you work and don't have flamin red boofy hair."

"Do what? Al & Peg Bundy? Married with Childrens like? Have you lost your goofy teenager mind, boy?" I adjust the rearview to get a good evil look at him eye to eye.

"Well, dad comes home and sits on the couch and just listens to your crap." The boy had an opinion. Nice.

"You're dad does lots of shit around the house. I don't know where you come up with that. Look at the big ass fire blazin'. He's good at makin fires and he doesn't do that from the couch. He's all the time doin somethin to one of the cars and he doesn't do that from the couch."

"Whatever.. I'm right and you know it." He's gloating now.

"Like hell you are. If you're gonna compare us to anybody, I'd say we're more like Dan & Roseanne Conner. I work, I have an opinion about everything and I'm always right. And your dad is always tinkering around with something to look busy, works hard to provide for us, and lets me say and do what the hell ever I want."

Big T chimes in, "Besides, I look more like Dan than I do Al."

I wondered if what the boy was saying is true or not. So, I took a poll within our family. The results are as follows:

4 said we are like Al & Peg.
7 said we are like Dan & Roseanne.

My opinion is that we are some jacked up combination of the two, which is cool. Life will never be boring.

I reckon I should be glad he didn't go and compare us to Homer & Marge.

Compliments of Mr. Underhill - Quite the Snappy Thinker

2007-12-13T14:52:00.000-05:00

When I have a mental block, brain fart or other such phenomena that interupt my otherwise snappy, quick witted and generally sarcastic train of thought, what do I do? Play MEME.... that's right. I was nosing through Mr. Underhill's page and found this little ditty that he came up with all by his lil ol self... Good for you, man. You're keeping me occupied during this time of crisis!

1. Post a picture of your cat. Don't tell me you don't have a cat - you are a blogger for fuck's sake. Just post it!

Rather than just a picture of my cat that has a major identity crisis and personality disorder, I thought I'd give you a picture of my cat molesting my infant chihuahua puppy. She has no clue.

2. What meds are you taking? Again, you're on blogger.I know you are on pills. Now spill the beans!
I am a Midol addict. When I can't get Midol, I will take Premsyn PMS. Hell I'll even take Pamprin. Those are, of course, accompnied by mega-doses of Motrin or other OTC pain relievers. PMS is a hateful whore.

3. What/who did you eat for lunch?
I damn well didn't eat lunch because my head is pounding and I was afraid I'd yack.

4. Do you knit?
Hell no, I don't knit. I'm a young whipper snapper. My hobby is taking naughty, dirty pictures and scrapbooking them.

5. What song do you intend to listen to when you commit suicide? And don't choose freebird. That one's mine!
Bittersweet Symphony - The Verve (super great depressing mo-fo of a song).

Drunk Wine & Sleepin on the Job

2007-12-12T13:56:00.000-05:00

We generally have friends over on Saturday nights. Not because we don't dig going out, because we do. But going out all the time does tend to get old, plus you have to worry about the PO-PO pullin your ass over in the middle of the night.

Of course, I'm a spoiled, lucky girl. I have a designated driver at all times and I dig it. Regardless of that, it's nice just to stay in, cook a smorgassboard of tasty good stuff and drink hot toddies or beer or wine or Jack....

Well, on tap for the past weekend's buffet was pork tenderloin, rosemary potatoes, steamed snow peas and a variety of other crap.

I must say, I've never cooked a tenderloin before and I rocked the balls out of it.
Baked it sloooooow in the oven, double wrapped in foil filled with every herb you can think of. After being on slow bake for 3 hours, I jerked that badboy out of the foil and slung it on the grill... G-R-U-B!!

Everybody ate way too damn much.

I, of course, was no exception. Quite the contrary. I started drinkin whilst cooking. The flavor of the day was Meridian Chardonnay, mighty good.

I asked Big T to open me the first bottle and it was on. Between me and Taucha, we polished off close to three bottles. A little much.

I paced myself, like a professional New Orleans drinker. Sipping all night long. It's hard to tell how much wine one has consumed when one's glass never quite gets empty before somebody happens by to freshen it.

So, it's 1:00am, and everybody is leaving. I had been giving Big T the eye and making obscene gestures toward him all night. REOW... come here big daddy.

He was sitting on the couch in the love den, when I crawled up in his lap and made close up obscene gestures at him before departing with my clothes and heading toward the bed. I knew it was a matter of 1.8 seconds before he'd be following me that way.

Woooo! I was feeling my oats. I was gonna tear his ass up. I was gonna make him scream my name and write bad checks. I was gonna make him beg for mercy.
Let the makin out and major league cannoooodlin begin!

I kiss my way down into a desireable spot. Somehow, don't ask me how... I passed out. His goodies right in front of me and I pass out. Of course at first, he thought I was thinking or taking a breather....

He taps me on the head. "Baby, are you ok? If you're gonna go to sleep, release that and get on a pillow."

"I'm not asleep. Swear I'm not." As I sit up and leave a drool puddle on his belly. "Ok, so I might have been asleep."

"That's ok, baby. Go to sleep."

So I did.

Well, I woke up to him staring at me. "Gotta hang over?"

My head was spinnin, "Hell ya. I'm dehydrated and my head's spinnin."

"Why don't you go back to sleep?" He picked. "You do remember falling asleep last night, right?"

All day long, kids, I had to hear him slip in little comments about my inability to handle my alcohol and still be sexually fucntional. I mean, granted, it was all in fun, but how embarrassing is that?

"Sorry, baby. I swear I'll never drink again." Rolling my eyes. "Gimme some aspirin."

"Yah. Yah." He gets me aspirin, "You know you got yours and you were done, ready to go to sleep. Sometimes I think our roles in this marriage are jacked the hell up."

"I know, huh? I spit, burp, and fart better than you." Smiling at him like the cat that ate the canary.

Pick on me again some more.

Fiestas, Gigalos and Beeeeyaches

2007-12-11T11:42:00.000-05:00

There's nothing Diva digs more than a fiesta. Well, unless beer is involved. And what would ya know... I got both over the weekend. My bestest friends Holly, Mario and Tausha heard through the rumor mill that I was making enchiladas and such for dinner Saturday night and that was enough for them. Holly said she'd bring some good stuff and we'd have a fiesta. Complete with rice, beans, salsa and chips.... and BEER. Yay! Come on over boys and girls. There were all us adult types, 6 teenager and 2 munchkins. So, I was cooking my ass off listening to the VOLS get spanked. (Sorry drifting off, a little annoyed it didn't go any better than it did... interception throwin mama's boys)... Anyhoo...I made Chicken enchiladas and homemade red sauce (mmmmm) And beef enchilada casserole Rice n Beans (refried beans just aren't pretty, so there's no pic). And Holly's grub-ass homemade, garlic filled, spicy as hell salsa

We were playing kamakazi karaoke in the lair when "Just a Gigalo" came on. This is the point where Lil T (the 2year old grandson) informs me that he is, in fact, a gigalo. Big T confirmed to Lil T, that it's ok to be a gigalo.

I tried to explain to him "You should be a pimp, it pays better. Say pimp." "No! Gigalo!" He screams and runs off. It's true. If ya have a choice, for goodness sake, be a pimp. Look, he could pimp his auntie and her friends out. He's got every one of those girls wrapped around his pinkie finger...

And its official. I crowned my BFF (Holly) my beeeeyach. She's a skank and I love her more than a squirrel loves a nut.

She is now in charge of kitchen clean up every time we drunk at the house. She is quite good at it. Reckon if she would have known I was gonna blog her ass and slap her picture up on the internets that she would have stayed in her PJs? Heh. Again, I say, you are a skank, but you are a damn fine kitchen cleaner upper.

Quick - Main-line Caffeine STAT!

2007-12-10T16:39:00.000-05:00

Not only do I need a support group for my klepto issues, but I am also an addict. That's right, kids. If I don't have an I.V. drip of strong ass coffee every morning, then I'm about as useful as a pantyliner is to Bruce Willis.

I consume no less than a pot of the stuff before I even leave my house in the morning. That's just the regular, rut-o-the-mill crap too. The the games really begin when I get to the office. Oh yes, I have it made there. My boss is sympathetic and spoils me with Seattle's Best beans. For Christmas 2 years ago, we acquired a mac-daddy espresso maker that grinds the columbian beans into powder and then spews boiling hot water through it with extreme pressure so as to extract every last bit of the caffinated goodness inside. God bless espresso and the occasssional vanilla latte.

If I don't get my daily dose of good stuff, I become as foul as an 87 year old school lunch lady who's sloppin cole slaw food stuff onto the tray of a smart ass high school kid. It's cool. I don't do without much.

However, I have went on strike from Starbucks. Pisses me off that I have to pay around $4 for a latte that I can whip up here for nearly nothin.
Nevermind the fact that I feel like the total redneck as I am ordering my "Non-fat venti vanilla latte, please" with my thick ass southern drawl. I always feel like they give me my total, ask me to drive around to the window, all the while making fun of the redneck chick with the funny accent.

Plus, I'm highly influenced by what I hear. And I a little squirrley told me that StarSchmucks is evil. He doth spout the truth!

(If you're offended by extremely foul language, I advise you not to click that down there. And I apologize in advance for being so easily amuzed by such profanity. Please know, my mother raised me better than this. I am a black sheep.)

Sugar Queen & Olga Slapped Me on the Ass

2007-12-10T09:51:00.000-05:00

Ok, so they really actually reach over and smack my goodies, no. Too bad, huh? They actually cyber slapped with a meme. After they reads my answers, they'll think long and hard (heh I said long and hard... =)

With the fact that I'm pretty boring in mind... everybody knows I love my kids and family and all the good stuff people tend to take for granted, so I shall give insight into who I am on a deeper level.

All Of The Eight Things You Didn't Want To Know About Me

Eight Things I am Passionate About:
1. Widdling down Big T's many collections.
2. Coffee (need I.V. drip STAT!)
3. SEX woooo hoooo! yah, I said SEX in all caps.
4. Taking the boy to see the monkeys the zoo at least once a month.
5. Bill Clinton being first lady gets me hot.
6. Karaoke. I AM DIVA, hear me roar
7. Blogging cuz ya'll put up with my whining and verbal vomit.
8. Ignoring people who are drama freaks.

Eight Things I Want To Do Before I Die
1. Invent something cool that will get my name in the news (any ideas?)
2. Give forth one more mini-me that will in turn drive me crazy like the others do (uh, maybe. It might just be temporary insanity)
3. Route 66 with Big T, a camera, & a cooler of cold beer (Cold beer and the worlds biggest ball of yarn!!)
4. Quit being flaky and actually go to a blogfest (I suck)
5. Join the mile high club (I travel alot and I just want my wings)
6. Lose enough weight to wear sexy slutty tight around the ass jeans (just once)
7. See Van Halen and the Police in concert (I missed it back in the day)
8. Get Dancin with the Stars good at Latin Dancing (reow sexy sexy)

Eight Things I Say Often
- "For fuck sake"
- "Bite me"
- "And you want me to do what about it?"
- "I'm gonna love you forever and ever. Amen."
- "Stop bitchin'. You're goin' to school!"
- "You suck!"
- "Good morning, 'insert company name'"
- "What are you thinkin?"
-

Eight Books I’ve Recently read
1. It's Happy Bunny. Life, Get One. (only 10 pages with big pictures)
2. Killing Yourself With a Fork & Knife (read half)
3. Elevate Your Life (one month devotional with short stories)
4. Tuesdays with Morrie (still working on it)
5. Herotica

I have ADHD and can't sit still long enough to read a book very often. I stick to recipes, blogs, and magazine articles.

Eight Movies I’ve Recently Seen
- 1408 (kinda creepy)
- Mr. Brooks (extremely psycho)
- Premonition (easily confused me)
- Oceans 13 (I needed a nap anyway)
- Come Early Morning (Jeffrey Donovan makes me wet)
- Elizabethtown (actaully a good movie after I got over Orlando being in it)
- A History of Violence (Ed Harris made me sad cuz he was evil)
- I Now Pronouce You Chuck & Larry (Hahahaha. I highly recommend)

Eight Songs That I Could Listen To Over And Over
* You're In My Heart - Rod Stewart
* Your Man - Josh Turner
* Candy - Will Smith
* Forever - Will Smith
* Rocky Top - Pride of the Southland Marching Band
* Rapper's Delight - Sugar Hill Gang
* Gold Digger - Kanye West
* The Most Beautiful Girl - Prince

Eight Things That Attract Me To My Best Friends
(I'm keepin it real and keepin Sugar's answers to this one. Kudos.
Honesty
Laughter
Energy
Intelligence
Pride
Morals
None judgmental
Ethics

Eight Things I Have Learned This Past Year- You can't merge two families and not expect kaos.
- Don't get pissed, make fun of it.
- I found out who my friends are.
- I went around the mountain ten times but got the wedding planned and executed. I will never plan another wedding, ever.
- My baby girls can accept change and go with the flow.
- No matter how nice I am to my EX, that's he's always gonna be a dick.
- Life is lived one day at a time.
- I need to relax more

Eight People That Should Do This Meme and Not Complain:
- Chuckie @ What's Up Chuck?
- Lenae @ Flat Coke & Flies
- Ms. P @ Fresh Taste of Banana Puddin
- Robert @ Observations from the Back 40
- m@ @ Animal Mind
- Mark @ Blogitude.com
- Lee @ Vicinity of Obscenity

If Anybody Was Wondering

2007-12-07T09:32:00.000-05:00

I know you, my friends on Blogger's Lane, are really getting uptight thinking "What the hell would Diva want for Christmas??"

I'm here to help. I don't want to end up with another toaster.

In no particular order, I will list the items you are welcome to put under my tree this year. We'll have a hot toddie and discuss the fun uses for these lil ditties.

First. The Yodeling Pickle. Anybody out there who wouldn't want a pickle that yodels? I for one am just bubbling with anticipation for Christmas morning! Wake up, all dreamy eyed to a beautifully decorated box... and out pops the pickle.

I'm also amused at the thought of getting this cute little smoking monkey. I think I could teach it to spit, fart, burp, cuss and drink beer too with enough time and training.

Lastly, I want this so I could always have a weinerschnitzel in my hand.
Sick, huh?

There ya have it kids. I promise not to regift.

Hot Toddies, Christmas Trees & Nekkid Bell Ringin

2007-12-06T09:11:00.000-05:00

I swear to all that is Holy... I'm trying my bestest to get into the holiday spirit. It just ain't me. But I'll not sit here and spew a bunch of Bah Humbug and tinkle on everybody else's happy happy ho-ho-ho.

Quite the contrary. In my efforts to pull the Grinch out of my ass, I have found that a nice alcolhic beverage can be very beneficial. My drink of choice? Ahhh, a nice cup of fresh brewed double shot o' espresso combined neatly with a shot of Bailey's Irish Creme. Yes, it is tasty. Mmmm, mmmm, mmmmmm.

So, one cup of cheer at a time, I have managed to begin my holiday-ing with relatively little pain and suffering.

I slung up two Christmas trees this year. One in the living room where everyone hangs out and the other in the Den Of Love downstairs.

Wanna see? I know you do... even if you don't... here it is in all it's blinged out glory!! This is the silver & white tree. This sucker glows by the light of the fire even with the twinkle lights not plugged up.

Let's sing...
"Silver balls..... Silver balllsssss... it's Christmas time in the Lair"

This is the wooden tree. Tastfully decorated thanks to JoAnn's craft emporium. Everything on it is made of wood. We like it. Eco-safe, tree parts that will be used for years to come. Poor thing still needs something on top, but I've yet to find me a wooden angel or star or santa...

Up close with my fave ornaments.... The sappy but sexy LOVE BELL... When I get lucky, I run upstairs in all my nekkid glory and ring that bad boy... (Scary thought, huh?)

Now just because I have my own forest of Christmas trees doesn't mean that this tree or this tree are safe.

I made a promise to myself that I would go steal them and leave ransom notes for each tree if either tree owner turns their respective back for more than 2 minutes.

Happy Holidays, boys and girls.

Bras, Burritos, Ninjas & Hair Pullin

2007-12-05T09:51:00.000-05:00

I have decided on what one of the most annoying occurances in a woman's life can possibly be.

I was at work and everything was coming up roses. I had an super great hair day. I even woke up early enough to slap on some war-paint.
I had a box to pack up for a customer who is in a shit panic to get something done RIGHT NOW, after he had been advised a week ago that he needed to take action.

Whatever. Lack of planning on his dumb ass part, does not constitute a shit panic for me. None the less, I went ahead, as a good colleague would, and got his stuff put together for him and was putting the large part (a 50 pound instrument) into the box when I felt it.... SNAP! The underwire in my most favoritest bra gave out.

That kids, is annoying. My boob popped out of said bra into my shirt, making my the girls look all awkward and crooked. Needless to say, the bra came off and I wore my sweatshirt for the rest of the day.

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

I made an attempt to be stealth like a ninja this weekend. I did, really. I waited for Big T to get up and go to work, acting totally and convincingly asleep. He was out the door and I jumped up to take a shower. I hi-jacked the truck and snuck all the way to Pigeon Forge to the Music Outlet.

I cried on the sales fella's shoulder about how I had to have the camo Morgan Monroe guitar case, of which they only had one and was already half paid for by some psycho woman.

Being the spoiled brat I am, I tried to talk him into giving me that one and ordering her another one, but to no avail. Kids, I haggled this dude for 20 minutes before his son said, "Dad, I think there might be one upstairs in the storage room."

The waters parted and the heavens opened when I saw the boy coming back down the stairs a mere 30 minutes later carrying the last one they would ever have.

I am such a good wife that I pay attention to all the stuff Big T says. And I specifically remember him making a mental note that he was going to go back and get that case one day. Check. I made a mental note too. I was sure it would get me a free pass for a wicked roll in the hay. Woo!

Anyhoo, I get home and try to get in the house before Big T can come help me in with the stuff. But, I didn't make it. He was out the door before I could fart and run from it.

He asked obviously annoyed that I would have enough nerve to put something back there when he had specifically told me not to.
"What's that in the back of the seats? I thought I told you not to put anything back there, baby."

"I know you did. It's for Natalie (my kid) and it's lightweight. I was afraid it would blow out of the bed if I put it back there." I protested.

He rolled his eyes and said "Unlock the door, let's get it out and take it in the house."

What could I do. I handed him the key. Mind you, he's had a hard-on for this particular item for a little over a year.

He pulls the box out and looks in it. I swear, I thought he was gonna cry. The look of horror on his face that he had found one of his Christmas presents.

Oh well, his bad. He ain't gettin it until Christmas day. I'll wrap that bitch up and put in under the tree anyway. He better act surprised and he better still give me some major league nookie.

So much for being a ninja.

***********************************************************************************

Taco Bell gets a stay of execution for now.
As promised to Ms. P, I went ahead forewent my diet in order to keep Taco Bell in business. I have had a burrito and large Diet Dew two days in a row. There is no need for anybody so sweet to die of hunger because of my vanity. What the hell was I thinkin anyway? Maybe that is why I broke bitch in like 1.3 seconds... maybe it wasn't PMS... maybe it was lack of bean burritos with extra red sauce.
Thank you, Puddin, you saved me from myself.

*************************************************************************************

What is a school zone? A school zone is a place where flashing lights, crossing guards and cops all come together with one goal in mind... to slow folks down in order to avoid mowing down of any munchkins.

I respect the school zone and all of its components. However, some asshat in an SUV, who apparently woke up a little late, doesn't.

I drive my kids to school every single day, as she is too much of a princess to ride the damn bus. Which is fine. I too was a princess. I take into consideration that I might just run into traffic in the school zones, and allow this into my alotted time for the AM commute. Generally I take it for what it is and am a mellow driver. I don't suffer from road rage very often... until today. Today was the day I finally snapped.

Anyway, the forementioned asshat decided that he was in a hurry and as a result his SUV was raping my poor little car he was riding so close... like right up the tailpipe raping. Not like I could go anywhere any faster with the half mile of folks trying to do the same thing I was.

I didn't think about my daughter (16) sitting next to me when I finally got pissed off. I rolled down the window and yelled back at him "If you're gonna ride my ass, at least pull my hair, asshole!"

Ooops. Of course, my kid busted out laughing and looking back at him. He must've been humiliated cuz his boy was laughing his ass off as his dad yelled at him. Good. Back off and don't ride other people's bumper. It's just consideration.

Prayers again, please

2007-12-03T09:51:00.004-05:00

They found a lump in my Mom's breast today at the doctor's office. Please send a message to the Big Guy upstairs for her, please. Breast cancer is scary.

12-Step Program Needed

2007-12-03T09:51:00.000-05:00

I think I need a 12-step program. I have a major problem that, no matter how much effort I put into it, I can't seem to fix.

Big T comes to my office now and then to visit. One afternoon, he popped by and asked us, "Do you have any string or twine or anything around here. I need about 2 feet of it."

I, forever and always being the helpful & loving wife that I am, say, "Well baby, I have this left over blue ribbon from the bridesmaid bouquets if that'll work."

I toss him the ribbon and think nothing else of it. He says he loves me, gives me kisses and goes on his merry little way.

Fast-forward to 5:15pm, when I get home from work. I come in as usual and Big T gives me my hugs and kisses as I head upstairs to start dinner... when it caught my eye...

That ass-munch had duct-taped the ribbon to his lighter that sits on the end table. The other end of the ribbon was inserted into the slate slabs that make the top of the table. It looked like one of those pens that the bank tries to keep safe by chaining them to the teller spots.

Why would he do such a sarcastic thing?

Because I am Diva. I have a problem. I steal lighters.
Yes, my friends, I'm a kleptomaniac.
I found that I am attracted to steal lighters like a monkey will steal your wallet at the circus. It is bad.

How bad is it, you ask. When Big T asked me to empty my jacket pocket and purse, the lighter count was seven (7). Ooops.

Moral of the story is.. Until I get the proper help, if we're out drinkin' together, please (please, please) keep your lighter in your pocket or at least come get it back from me.

Consider this fair warning. I can not be held responsible.

So, This is Art

2007-11-30T13:14:00.000-05:00

Many of you may not know, but the week after I got hitched, I bailed and went to Germany for 10 days. Fun, fun, fun don'cha know.

Anyway, I was in Hannover for a couple of days and managed (between the raindrops) to get out and do the tourist schlep. Grabbed a cab and took in Herrenhausen Gardens. Quite the impressive place actually. One could get lost up in there.

Figured I'd share with you what the German folk consider to be art, as they had an art exhibition in full gear within the garden gates whilst I was there. Enjoy.

Ok, so these are babydolls cocooned in Saran Wrap and hung in trees.
*scratches head* I still don't quite get it, but ok. Kinda creepy in a Blair Witch kinda way.

And this is an exhibit called (surprisingly) "Split Pea Soup & Beer"

In case you're wondering, the lil sign says no drinky the beer or do not touch or something to that effect.

This here is the Creme de la Creme. A Penis made out of a sticky bush. Nice. The exhibit was entitled "Sex".

Imagine that. I certainly could have done with a lil nookie after looking at a seven foot tall prickly penis.

And the grande finale photo is not actually part of the art exhibit, it was just one of the few flowers left that hadn't frozen it's stamen off yet.

It was cold and miserable that day, but the oversized penis... dayum, it really did make the whole thing worth it.

Cherry Poppin, Fart Wars, Makin Babies & Bankruptcy

2007-11-30T11:53:00.000-05:00

You perverts!! I know you thought to yourself... "Ohhhh, Diva's done been rollin' in the woods again."

No. I'm a good Christian girl and I don't roll in the woods or anything of that nature. Not anymore anyway, I got married 2 months ago.

Oh, speaking of pervi-ness. It has come to my attention that I am NOT the only one around this place who had no clue what Half Nekkid Thursday was! Go me! Still doesn't mean I'm gonna tack my rack on my page. (Although it is more of a ragin' thing that I thought).

Anyhoo... the cherry I refer to is the Christmas song cherry. I am a complete and total karaoke junkie. Why, I dunno. It's not that I'm any good at it. I think it's the fact that I can go get hammered and make an ass out of myself and it not bother me.

So, I made the rounds over the long weekend to my favorite waterin' holes to partake in cold beer and greasy food whilst listening to all the other drunk monkies attempting to sing their own renditions of many-a-song. Sometimes can be scary, sometimes can be totally awesome, sometimes I need earplugs to keep from bleeding out my ears.

It's after Thanksgiving and not a single holiday ditty had been krooned. WTF? It's time to get in the spirit and make people accept the fact that they are going to spend more money than Hugh Hefner does on his playmates.

At both Ronnie's and Coyote Joe's, I popped the cherry on the beloved Christmas tune, by belting out Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas. Actually, I only sang it because I felt the need to pull the Grinch out of my ass. I'm not sure if it worked yet.

*************************************************

Me and Big T called a truce on the fart war as he was getting way too serious and thinking of ways to smoke me out. I waved the red flag sometime on Saturday night when he was kicking my ass by close to 10 farts, er points.
Besides it was costing me too much in candles and air freshner to keep the house smelling fresh with that much shit flying.

************************************************

I have been a really good girl the past couple of days. And Big T has been very cooperative! He's even trying to cut back and eat healthier with me as a show of support. Not sure how long he'll last before he caves and sneaks to Burger King for a grease bomb, but he's got my undying gratitude for not doing it in front of me.

I have sucked down ungodly amounts of water rather than Diet Dew and Diet Coke. I have kicked Taco Hell to the curb (last I heard, they're about to file bankruptcy). The fridge is filled with healthy crap like you'd find at a fat farm and we're actually eating it. My ass has even managed to hoof out 3+ miles a day on the treadmill at increasingly increasing speeds. Go me.

Swear to God, there is no way my ass is buying new fat clothes after I gave all the old ones away and done went out and bought all new smaller clothes last year. Not gonna do it.

*************************************************************************************

On the baby makin' front, we gots a big fat strike out. No bun in the oven over here yet. I reckon since the doctor said my fat ass needs to lose a few pounds before actively pursuing baby makin. I have to admit I was sort of bummed out when I had to make my way to Walgreens for Midol, tampons and bon-bons (actually I got Diet Dew, not bon bons...).

I can only assume that I knew I wasn't pregnant because I had a wicked mean bout with PMS this week and felt like I was going to strangle several people for relatively small and mostly harmless offenses.

HNT - How much fun is that?

2007-11-29T14:26:00.000-05:00

Hot damn! Even though I'm still relatively new at all this blogging stuff, I just figgered out what HNT means! Go me! HALF NEKKID THURSDAY!

If I wasn't such a pansy ass prude I'd slap a big bold picture of my ta-ta's up on this here website. But alas, we are not plucky enough to do such a thing. Although I'd consider it, because afterall Bottle Blonde swears it's ok to do and that's how she gets the traffic back to her page when things get a little laggy on her end of the world.

So, for now, I'll just be excited that I actually figured out what it means (cuz I was nozing around this page). All the web lingo kinda throws me off most of the time, so I get all giddy when I finally learn and retain something new.

Who knows, maybe one day when I'm all growed up I'll get a little more daring.

Only at THE Waffle House

2007-11-28T13:56:00.000-05:00

There are some things that you just expect when you are on a 3am-after-party-food expedition. Granted at 3am, choice are limited to few establishments.

After partaking in my fair share of cold brew and closing down Coyote Joe's on Wednesday night, the whole load of us decided food was in order as it was late & we were packing a cool buzz. Never mind that my ass had to get up at 7:00am to finish brocolli casserole. So, personally, I was in need of coffee.

Where else would ya go at 3am on Thanksgiving morning for a little sobriety effort? Why, Waffle House, of course.

We wandered in giggling and cackling about anything and everything. All it takes for me to get tickled is enough beer and somebody else starting to laugh. No shit, laughing & yawning are contagious around me.

We finally played musical chairs long enough, got seated and our waitress came over. She was obviously annoyed that she was working and she was obviously even more annoyed that she was dealing with us. If you have to work that shift, at least make an effort to enjoy it.

Whatevers. This poor chick had the personality of a wet-sweat-sock. She took 2 of our orders, not speaking between, just sort of grunting at whoever happened to be next.

Just as she grunted toward #3, her cellie rang. The fact that she had her cellie on her was no big deal. Even the fact that it rang while she was waiting on us was no really big deal even. But when the bitch cut me off mid-order to answer it, now that just pissed me off. Her side of the conversation went this-a-way.

"I gotta answer this." She grunted as she lowered her head, still facing our table(presumably so her boss wouldn't see).

"Hello? Who is this? Who is this?" She acted like she didn't know who HE was.

"Who the hell is this, I'm at work and I have customers." Why the hell would you tell somebody you don't even know that you are currently at work and are waiting on them?

"Jesus, Robert. No, I'm not talking to anyone else." She DID know his ass.

"How can I be cheating if I'm working?" Apparently, Robert didn't have any faith that she was truly working. I guess that Waffle House distinct waffle and bacon smell being emitted by her apron wasn't enough proof.

Taucha, my drunk monkey friend, decideds she wants to talk to Robert. So, the waitress obliges (and takes another little bit of our order). After only 2.7 minutes, Taucha hands her the phone back and says to our lovely server, "Lose him, girl. He's a dick."

Mario getting on the phone didn't help. It made Robert believe that she really was in the cubicle of a bathroom bangin' the customers.

We all figured Robert would show up waving a semi-automatic threatening to blow up the Waffle House and everyone in it because in his head he believes that his girl was fucking us all.

Get a grip, pal. Let the girl bring home the bacon in piece you loser.

Turkey Porn and Giblets

2007-11-27T14:26:00.000-05:00

Giblets. Who the hell named all the yack in a turkey "giblets" anyway?

And it's not that giblets aren't around any other time of year, but this would be the only time of year that I will actually touch and prepare an actual bird.

A note to all you kids who aren't savvy when it comes to turkey porn... When looking for the giblets, it is required that you stick your hand up the turkey's ass. There you will also find it's neck (please know I'm gaggin' over here just thinking about this). If you find a neck but no giblet package, pull your hand out of the turkey's ass, turn the turkey over, and shove your hand down it's throat. There you are sure to find that lovely little package of turkey gutz.

Trust me on this one kids, it happened to a really close friend of mine. You DO NOT want to bring your beautifully golden, perfectly tender turkey to the table for the ceremonial carving only to find a baked, crusty, brown bag full of nasty turkey goodies. It's just not a pretty sight.

Piss Off, Buzz Kill

2007-11-26T19:17:00.000-05:00

I've finally figured out that most of my knee shaking epiphanies hit me while my ass is firmly planted on a bar stoll. This past weekend was, without doubt, no different.
I finally realized why, in fact, my past few months have been, how shall I say, like stink on shit.

Although I'm extremely happy with Big T, I feel like I have lost myself somewhere along the way... I've packed on 20 pounds since I got married and my clothes are too tight... which has led to me being severly annoyed at everything... which led to my lack of tolerance to drama in any circle in my life. I got enough drama dealing with my ever expanding ass to deal with anybody elses bull-caca.

I've decided that all the petty bullshit and disharmony must be flushed from my life like a Biore strip removes the blackhead on a super model's ass.

I was in the midst of three different people, on three seperate occassions, having three separate issues during the long weekend, who, for whatever their reason, seem to tote sadness, misery and all out drama in their purses.

Swear to God, after number 2 acted up, I was seriously considering becoming a recluse and avoiding all humanity until these three got it together. Jeez.

My advice to them, get happy. Nobody wants to be around somebody who can't smile and just share in the happiness. The world does not spin on its little axis simply for you to be in the center of it, no. Your problems are no bigger than anybody else's. Get a grip, get a job. It's life, get one.

There is absolutely no sense what-so-ever in all this crap.

How's that? I just needed to get that off my chest. I'll put on my hater blockers, go have some Chai Tea and meditate.

They've Recalled the Butterballs!

2007-11-21T16:49:00.000-05:00

For those of you that don't know, Ms. Pat (Big T's mom) had a severe brain aneurysm on our wedding day. Then brain surgery 2 days later on October 1st. On October 5th, they called in the family with the grim news that they (the doctors and such) gave her less than a 50% chance of making it. She was placed on a ventilator and was being fed by tubes, basically surviving on life support. There wasn't much in the way of response at all. The awesome thing is, nobody gave up hope.

Now, on with the good stuff...

The home team scored one this weekend when Tony's mom got to come home both Saturday and Sunday on a "day-pass".

It works like this... they don't do any of the therapy sessions on the weekends, so they send her home to break her back in slowly to life with husband and puppy. They start the time clock around 10AM (I think) and she's allowed to be at home all day! Yay!

Only catch is, the rules and regs state the she has to be back at Patricia Neal by 9:00 PM. No exceptions, no excuses. If she didn't show back up by precisely 9PM, they send the dogs and lynch mob out to hunt her down and bring her back for multiple lashings with a wet noodle.

Anyway, me and Big T went up to see her while she was in her own surroundings, eating her own home cooked food. I don't give a shit what they say, there is no place like home to make one snap back to theirself.

When we got there, Big T told him Mom the joke of the day. Which made her cackle like a hen.

So, the women folk were sitting around the kitchen table as women folk commonly do and the men folk were congregated in the livingroom around the t.v., farting, burping and scratching their balls as men frequently do.

The phone rang and Ms. Pat answered it. It was T's neice Christine. Ms. Pat is back to her self. She decided to tell T's joke.

"Christine, honey, don't buy a Butterball Turkey this year. They've recalled 'em. Yah, they've been recalled. They forgot to butter the turkey balls."

In all seriousness, she's come so far in the last six weeks that they are actually kicking her loose today.

So, here's to Ms. Pat, getting out to enjoy the drama and stress of the holiday season!!! I honestly couldn't think of anything that sums up the Thanksgiving holiday, like the near loss of a loved one turned upside-down by an obvious miracle.

Give thanks, Kids. You never realize how important your family is to you until an eye-opening asskicker happens.

I'm Cookin with Gas Now, Baby!

2007-11-19T17:08:00.000-05:00

I'm officially cookin with gas now... No, I don't mean the fumes that burst periodically out of T's butt from the fart war. No, I'm actually steppin in high cotton now, kids. T acquired me a new, gas grill yesterday. Ain't it cool? I pity those ladies who get flowers and jewelery. Sheer chicken perfection came off that bad boy last night. Beautifully sliced for fajitas which I shall scarf down for lunch today.

In other flatulent news, Me and Big T have been in a fart war for a little over a week. Yah, I know, that's not lady like and totally sick. Just so you know, he started that shit...(hahaha). It has been scientically proven that, in fact, my shit does NOT stink and his could peel the paint off the walls. Please don't look down on me for being childish and obscene. Thanks!
Running score: Tony 5, Me 4

How do you keep a marriage fresh? Make time to go on a date together. Get rid of the kiddies and get 'r dun. After Big T and Me saw his mom Saturday night and dropped the boy off. We were feelin a little froggy. We went to Shoney's for their sinfully rich-half frozen tasty treat... Hot Fudge Cake. Actaully it wasn't a bona-fide date, but I told him I was goin for something sweet and yummy and that I wasn't driving not even 1/10 of a mile farther until I got loaded up with some coffee.
Still yet, we had some alone time to make fun of all the people making mountain sized salads.

The Holiday Spirit kicked me right square in the ass over the weekend. I got all holly and jolly and started up with the Christmas decorations. No, I'm not redneck enough that I'm going to light them up just yet. I'm just pre-decorating in an effort to be the tackiest, most well lit house in the neighborhood. Go me! I've got more than 3,500 little twinkle lights and I fully intend to utilize every single one of them. (Once I get in the running for Tackiest Decorations of 2007, I'll post some pix).

S.O.S. (Taco Bell's a-goin bankrupt)

2007-11-15T14:26:00.010-05:00

I lost 70 pounds last year. I gave away all of my "fat clothes" and went on a serious shopping spree. Then BAM! All of my newly acquired, smaller sizes are officially snug to the point that my eyes feel like they're gonna pop out when I try to button my jeans. I've packed 30 pounds back on.

I went down to a sexy, curvy 16. REOW. Ooops, I've managed to get back up somewhere between a big 18 and a small 20. I'd be totally fine if it wasn't for Taco Bell and chinese food.

No, I don't want any cheese to go with my whine... LOL. I swear to Larry, Curly & Moe that I'm not whining at all. I'm just letting you kids know that if you hear me talking about bean burritos, custard Krisy Kreme donuts or sesame chicken w/eggroll, you can kick my ass for me and remind me that I should be in step class, not the fast food line. See how it works?

I'll be honest, afterall, I'm amongst friends. I'm flat lazy and wussed out of going to the gym like I should have.

I loved the gym and looking at all the hot dudes with well defined legs and massive arms. Hell, I even loved looking at the hottie girls that have dedicated their gym time to maintaining that hottiness. I know that ain't right, but remember I'm being honest here. Whoever says people don't pay attention to the other people in a gym is full of shit.

So, today I started out very well. I got up this morning, packed my bag and went to the gym immediately after work. I trotted at a leisurely 3 to 3.5 MPH on the treadmill. I managed to crank out just under 3.5 miles before I decided I'd had enough. Made me want to throw up on the extremely fit fella right next to me that was running his ass off and didn't even get out of breath. But, then again, who's fault is that? I think I cursed myself to gain the weight back when I wrote that friggin blog about gluttony.

So boys and girls... Wish me luck. Wish me back into a sexy size.

Prayers for my PooPooPeDoo

2007-11-15T14:26:00.004-05:00

Howdy kids. My daughter called me last night and told and asked me what she should do with Tyler, my lil angel of a grandson. She said he was spiking a bigtime temperature and he couldn't catch his breath. Turns out he was taking 50+ breaths per minute, which is way too much for a 2 year old.

After spending the evening at the ER, they told us he has pneumonia. Apparently, a kid can go from slight sniffles sans snot and goo to pneumonia in no time flat.
So, his right lung is kinda jacked up and he's taking a shit-pot of munchkin strength anti-biotics and breathing treatments.

Of course, no pneumonia epidemic is gonna get him down. Absolutely not. He was still raisin' all hell in the waiting room and wasn't diggin that nurse trying to take his vitals during check-in. It was all over when Natalie tried to strip him down to get him in a sexy, midget sized hospital gown. It pissed him off even more that he was getting a draft on his ass.

Keep my lil angel in your prayers, please. Even though he's still full of piss and vinegar, pneumonia is an ass-kicker.

Somebody Please 'Splain This To Me??

2007-11-15T14:26:00.001-05:00

How in the hell do folks roll in a vehicle when the music is so damn loud I can hear it from inside my office when they are a mile or more away??

Why am I concerning myself with such petty bullshit on a Friday afternoon, you ask?

Well, friends and neighbors, I'll tell ya why. I just got set off like I have a fire cracker up my ass and it's the 4th of July.

We have had our office location for nearly 7 years. We are located between Fade to Black Barber Shop and Vogue Hair Salon. Our only source of entertainment here is to watch the old ladies wander in and out of their weekly hair appointments and listen to the drama/comedy coming from the barber shop next door.

But,what really pains me like a full on titty twister in cold ass weather is when the good 'ol boys next door come driving up with that shit blarin' so loud that it rattles the windows in my office, not to mention their whole damn car.

I've even had customers (mind you I work with Doctors and Researchers and other esteemed individuals worldwide) ask me why I don't turn my music down before I bother the answer the phone.

I've busted out the front door of our office and sneered dirty looks that way. How fucking hard is it to have a little common sense and public decency to turn that shit down to the point where your whole car isn't shaking along with the ground under it.

I've come to the conclusion that these kids have something to prove to one another. In addition, the music gets cranked way loud right in front of said barber shop, because I reckon they feel it impressive to the rest of humanity.

Personally, I think the louder and more abnoxious the music is, the smaller the dick of said music master is.

Asshat of the Day: Timberland

2007-11-15T10:58:00.000-05:00

I am the type of person who requires some sort of white noise in the background at all times. The news on while I'm cooking, the stereo on while I'm scrubbing the toilet, or even just the radio on while I'm driving.

I was transporting my 16-year-old daughter to school today when Timberland's, "The Way I Are" came piping through the speakers. Have you ever listened to the words of this song? It's a duet about a scrub and some skanky chick's acceptance of his scrubiness.

I would like to take a moment to address Timberland and clear the air about what is acceptable, and what is not.

It goes a little somethin' like this:

*Verse 1* (Timerland)
I ain't got no money
I ain't got no car to take you on a date
I can't even buy you flowers
But together we'll be the perfect soulmates
Talk to me girl

Ok, first, if you have no money and no car, what are you gonna do? Are you gonna walk to my house with the intentions of gettin' a little lovin'? And trust me, even if you were lucky enough to hitch a ride with a homey, even if you hit the bell with flowers in your hand, you still ain't gettin none. And to even consider that we might be soulmates is blasphemy. Soulmates are connected. I gots a job, I gots a ride. Accept your destiny, pal, walkin and beatin off.

*Bridge* (The chick)
Oh, baby, it's alright now, you ain't gotta flaunt for me
If we go there, you can still touch my love, it's free
We can work without the perks just you and me
Thug it out 'til we get it right

Now, I'm no gold-digger by any means. But, if the boy ain't got a job, money, or car, what hell would he have to flaunt in the first place? And to think she's gonna consider "going there" with him... for free... without the perks? What perks? Massage oil? Happy Jack Rabbit? Sweet Jesus. I am going out on a limb here... she's got to be very horny and/or very desperate to reproduce.

Let's skip her part from here on out. It's repetition of the previous desparation and her forgiveness of his slackeristic nature. Let us explore the remaining 2 verses of this mockery of man-li-ness.

*Verse 2*
I ain't got no Visa
I ain't got no Red American Express
We can't go nowhere exotic
It don't matter 'cause I'm the one that love you best
Talk to me girl

I wouldn't care much that there is no plastic, so long as he has a J-O-B that results in some sort of cash flow. It's nice if a man has the money to give birthday and Christmas presents that aren't from a Cracker Jack box along with small tokens of his affection through-out the year.
No exotic trips? It's mandatory to go somewhere to have sex, other than ones own bedroom, at least occassionally. A trip to the Keys. A trip to Vegas. Sex is good in Vegas. But, still he spouts that he's the one she loves best. Again, most likely her poor self image. Get therapy.

*Verse 3* (The finale)
Baby girl, I don't got a huge ol' house I rent a room in a house
Listen baby girl, I ain't got a motorboat but I can float ya boat
So listen baby girl, once you get a dose of D.O.E. you gon' want some mo'
So listen baby girl, when I make it I want you back, want you back, yeah

He rents a room. Nice. A room in a house where other people live. Which means either the home owners are going to hear the headboard bangin' and the naughty sounds coming from the room or we'll only be gettin busy in my house. Uh. No.
No boat floating from you until you get a job, a car, flowers, some select pieces of jewelery.

They Grow Up So Fast...

2007-11-15T09:26:00.000-05:00

My youngest clone is 16 years old. She and her friends are so much more "grown up" than me and my friends were at her age. All we really cared about was ditching school to go to the beach, sneaking a cigarette now and then, and other stupid crap.

These guys talk about saving the world, like the little tree huggers they are.
They talk about saving the rain forest. They talk openly about so many things.

I guess I'm the type of mom who, for better or worse, never kept any secrets from my kids. I've never pretended that smoking, drugs, alcohol, or sex don't exist in their worlds. I took the preemptive approach of actually telling my kids the pros/cons - good/evil of these things.... and from a young age.
All of these things were unthinkable and taboo in our house when I was growing up.

Don't get me wrong. I don't encourage my kids to smoke it up, drink it down and knock boots. Quite the contrary. I encourage them not to do any of it, at least the youngest one and her friends (who still listen).

I just think it to their advantage if they know they can talk to me about anything and that I will be there for them and they won't be treated as if they have the plaque and be banned from my sight for being human.

With that in mind... the youngest and her lil friend designed and baked me a penis for my bachelorette party. Dear Lord.

Telemarketer - The Tables Are Turned

2007-11-14T13:30:00.000-05:00

** The name of the company in question has been changed.

Ok, kids. I have been doing my bestest trying to be nicer to people. This has been going on for some time now. However, nothing gets the better of me than those annoying ass automated phone calls from Joe Solicitor. Or the calls you get from Sally Salesperson where they ask for you by first name and try to act like an acquaintance... Dayum. I thought that shit was borderline illegal on a harassment level.

Anyway, today I turned the tables. I got an automated call from "Kelly". She was offering us the moon and stars and possibly the sun too if we would "press one to stay on the line for a representitive".

So, I press one. I hold for a brief 20 seconds or so, expecting "Kelly" will pick up personally and explain to me this great pitch of hers. A pitch I intended to let her waste her time giving before asking to have all of our business numbers removed from her bullshit auto-dial system.

All that went out the window, when rather than "Kelly", some deep voiced, crankity, old british dude picked up.

"You're not Kelly." I say to him, agast that the wool was pulled over my eyes.

"No, that was a recording. Are you interested in learning more." He blurts out in harsh monotone.

"Uh. No. Actually. I'm really, really tired of you people calling us and would like you to remove our number from your database."

"Done." He said as he disconnects my call.

OH NO HE DIDN'T.

God bless *69. I annoy the shit out of many-a-telemarketer when I can actually get my hands on the number they called from.

So I dial *69 and get the number. I press each digit and the little british weasel that hung up on me answered.

**"First Asshat" He answers.

"Yah. I was connected to you to be removed from your call list and you hung up on me." I lament.

"Well, I didn't hang up, but you have been removed." He sneers.

"How the hell am I removed when you only called one of our numerous numbers, sir? Can you explain that? Do you have a list with every company that notes every number within that company?"

I'm ready to fight with him by this time.

"We have them." He hangs up again.

So, me (being me), I dial them up again.

"First Asshat" It was some uptight manly sounding british woman this time.

"I'm calling to be removed from your call list."

"Yes, that's why I answered, I heard the conversation with my employee." She says.

"It's pretty simple. Remove all of our numbers, now, or I will call you 500 times a day until Jesus comes back." I tell her.

"They will be removed." She retorts as SHE hangs up on me.

Needless to say, I have spent the last hour randomly picking up the phone, dialing the number and saying...

"Hi it's me. Only XXX number of the promised calls left today."

I kind of wonder if I can get in trouble for it. If anybody would like to have the same big ball of fun as I am, and help me annoy the shit out of these people, I'd be glad to share the phone number with ya.

Happy dialing!

Earthquake!!

2007-11-13T13:30:00.000-05:00

Or not. It might just be my man snoring as he sleeps. I was blog browsing today when I came upon a blog by Zoning Out Again - Can A Uvuvla Be Cut Out While Someone Sleeps? and it brought back memories of nights that border on semi-insanity.

First, I am so glad that I am not the only person who has a semi-glazed look on her face sometimes from a lack of a good nights sleep.

Second, Anthony still swears I'm insane because he's never heard himself snore. But he does. He must be deaf if can't hear that.

Actually, he was a sport and went to the sleep clinic to get it all checked out after this particular night.

When Tony and I first started dating, we generally would see each other when we could. Then we progressed to staying weekends at one another's house, since we lived nearly an hour away from each other.

We had went to bed after we had watched a movie and cleaned up the kitchen from dinner. We lay there all snuggled and quiet when it started. At first it was just deep, deeep, deeeeeeep breathing. But after about 5 minutes, it sounded and felt like an earthquake. After lying there for a few minute and assessing the situation, I realized he would breath in really deep, quit breathing then exhale. This attibuted to the volume of the snoring itself.

Well, the snoring set off the dogs, which are caged at night. The two dogs took turns howling and barking. I got up, opened the door and they barked even louder.

So, there I am, in fairly unfamiliar territory, in my PJs, standing in a scary dark hallway with two caged and barking dogs.

I covered my ears and closed my eyes, but when I opened them, I was still there. It's not a dream. He'd snore in really loud, the dogs would freak and bark like crazy. All of this at 1:30 am.

I made my way down the hall to the couch only to find his son sleeping there instead of his bedroom. So, I went in his room to find my daughter had called claim on the bed, which is why the boy was on the couch to begin with.

By this time, the symphony of loud snoring and dogs barking was making me insane. I really thought I was losing my mind, since all this racket didn't seem to be bothering anybody else.

I had no other choice. I had to escape. I fumbled around and found my way back to the bedroom. Somehow I located my purse and shoes by the side of the bed. I grabbed the small throw blanket from the bottom of the bed and took off. Back down the dark and scary hallway I went. Feeling my way along until I made it to the back door. Yes! I made it! This was December and it was cold out.

I found my keys in my purse and got in the car. I fired up the car, cranked up the heat, pulled the blanket over my me. No sounds but the sound of the radio as low as it would go and me still be able to hear it.

Somewhere around dawn, Tony realized I was gone, but saw the headlights shining through the livingroom window. He came outside to find out what had happened, so I told him.

Needless to say, he made the appointment and went to the doctor over it. He told the doctor he had to fix it or I'd never marry him.

Ain't that the sweetest thing you've ever heard???

These Boots Ain't Made For Walking....

2007-11-12T15:30:00.000-05:00

It's Monday. In most cases, that would be enough. Not today. Actually my head started to spin around last night thanks to my wonderful, caring EX-husband. But, that's another story all-together now isn't it?

No, today (after last night), I decided to:
-- get up early - check
-- drink some coffee - check
-- Have a nice long shower - check
-- Do my do - check (thank God for Aussie Freeze)- check
-- Actually put on some war paint - check

and be somebody and have a great day...

Yah, right.

I managed to amp up on caffeine, have a shower and look like somebody today. Most days, I go to the office looking scary because who the ever comes in our office? Not a damn soul but the UPS guy and he's used to seeing me look like something my cat just yacked up.

All is going well, I main-lining my Juan Valdez coffee, I get dressed and look pretty damn good for a Monday, drop my purse and coffee cup on the end table so I can run up to the kitchen and grab my lunch. I get back downstairs, I stick my lunch in my purse, grab my coffee and out the door I go. So far, so good, eh?

Well, not so much because as I hear that click that signifies the door is indeed shut and LOCKED, I realize my damn keys are in the house... Figures.

"Damn!" I said out loud to myself and the trees. "No biggie. I'll just call OG and she can pop over and get me."

It was already 8:30 and since 8:30 is merely a suggested time to get to work, I knew I wouldn't be able to reach OG for at least another few minutes.

"Good grief. Here they fucking come." I muttered to myself standing in the middle of the driveway.

THEY are my nosy neighbor and her moppy looking muts. I can't stand her or them. She's the one neighbor that everybody has. She knows everything about everybody in the neighborhood well exeption for us, we avoid her like the plague.

I saw them coming at me, barking like there's no tomorrow. I looked at the one taking a shit the neighbor across the street's yard and looked up to see NOSY in her front yard, yelling "No jump! No jump!" Whatever.
Those dogs don't understand plain English because they still run and jump all over anybody that has the balls to walk anywhere on our road when she has them out.

I looked her dead in the eye and gave her my "you're a skank" glare her before I made a snap decision to take off and walk to work.

Off I went, thinking I'd make it a little ways, be away from psycho neighbor and her muts, I'd get hold of OG in a few minutes and she'd come get me. I try her again.

"Hey. Come get me. I'm a dork, I locked all the keys in the house..."

"Dude," she said in a solemn tone, "You just take this like a man. But you're F-U-C-K-E-D."

I'm automatically assuming some more fresh cooked drama is coming my way.

"I rode my bike to work today." She concludes. Excellent, no drama, but it appears I'm walking the 6 miles to work today in these friggin shoes.

They are Gloria Vanderbilt and they were expensive. These are the most comfy slides I own. However, I don't think Gloria had me walking to work in them. Cuz after the first mile and a half, my dang dogs were barkin.

I made many personal observations on my trek this morning.

1. I shouldn't wear silky, thin pants in fall. It's fucking cold and I might get locked out of the house.

2. I really, really don't like my neighbor. Her dogs shit in everybody's yard but their own (trained to do so by their proud owner I assume).

3. Random people who walk along the river in Oak Ridge are super friendly. I suppose I exchanged 10 smiles and at least that many "hello" and "Good mornings".

4. Our ex's are never going to go away. They are part of our pasts and we just have to learn to deal with it.

5. I can indeed do two things at once. I can walk and text at the same time.

6. People really do throw some nasty stuff on the side of the road. For example:
some dude chucked his Joe Boxer tighties out the window... Ewwwww...

7. There is too much roadkill for a Monday morning... The count goes a little somethin like this:

* One disemboweled and half masticated deer (bllluch)
* Two squished baby skunks
* A racoon that had just been plowed down
* A poor bunny rabbit that being eaten by crows

Ah, but... ya gotta love a Monday.

Peace.

Happy Birthday Big T

2007-11-07T12:30:00.000-05:00

Tony's birthday was Tuesday, but we started celebrating over the weekend. When there's a birthday, it lasts through the weekend before or after, sometimes both... cuz that's the way we roll.

So, last Saturday, it just so happened that his favorite bluegrass pickers were in Maryville for their final show of this year!! Go BlueMoon Rising! You saved the day, boys, because I had no idea what to get my man, the who has every-damn thing.

So, we ventured to the Palace Theater for a knee slappin, toe tappin helluva time.
They did two one hour sets and at half time they took the time to wish Tony a Happy Happy Birthday from the stage. They also signed a t-shirt for him wishing him a good one!

On his birthday Tuesday, he was Hooter'd. He'd never been to Hooter's before and it's one of my favorite places to go.

Who doesn't love tits and ass? (Oh God, if that didn't sound sexist.. wait I'm not a man)...

Paging Dr. Tony

2007-11-01T13:30:00.008-04:00

I’m sure everybody knows that Tony’s mama got really, really, REALLY sick on the day we got married. It is amazing, incredible even to see Ms. Pat now and how incredibly far she’s come along since that day. Had I known the day we got married, before I walked down the aisle, that she wasn’t there I’d have postponed the whole damn thing again (yah, yah Spanky, you’d have won the bet again). But I didn’t know until I actually walked up to Tony and they played the first song in the ceremony that she was even sick.

By 4:30 that afternoon, Tony’s brother called and said that Tony needed to come to make Ms. Pat go to the hospital because she was “out of it” and really, really ill. We made it to Methodist Medical Center, where they quickly found out she had suffered a life threatening aneurysm and needed to be transferred to Univeristy of Tennessee hospital immediately. They did surgery and it honestly appeared that things weren’t going so well and the outlook was grim.

That was six weeks ago. Today she is in EXCELLENT shape! The first thing she got back was her since of humor. When asked “Mom, how do you feel?”

She’d shoot back, “With my fingers.”

She is breathing and eating without any assistance from machines, which 6 weeks ago she could not have lived without.. Her right side is getting stronger and stronger by the day. She has improved so much that she has been moved from UT to Patricia Neal Rehab Center where she’s walking with parallel bars and peddlin’ her ass off on the bikes. GO MS. PAT!

So, we were there to visit her last night. Tony keeps her laughin all the time, which is what she needs for sure. Nobody needs to be sad and worried anymore!! She’s made it through the bad stuff already.

We walked into her room and Leacha is sitting on the end of the bed with her. I took the real chair and Tony got to sit on the portable shitter.

“Damn, mom.” He says. “If you’re not careful on this thing, you’ll shit on your shoes.”

It’s always so good to see her smile and laugh.

As it turns out, Ms. Pat had found out what all had happened to her in the last six weeks yesterday. When we got there, Tony’s sis (Leacha) asked his mom to tell him what had happened.

She looked at Leacha really sad, then over to him still really sad, like she was afraid she’d scare him if she told him.

“He already knows what happened, Mom. He just wants to hear you tell him so he knows you know what happened.” Leacha told her.

Ms. Pat looks over at Tony, still worried, “Well, they told me I had a brain aneurysm and that I was real sick.”

“Yah. You were pretty serious, Mom.” Tony pets her arm. “You know how that happened don’t you?” He asked her all serious like.

“No.” She tells him as we all sit and wait for his professional diagnosis.

“Well, it happens when people hold in their farts.” He explains. “If ya don’t let it out, then it travels up and causes real problems.”

“That’s your son.” Leacha tells her.

Ms. Pat laughed to hard to say anything back.

Thank God for Dr. Tony and his warped since of reality.

The Love of a Sarcastic Mother

2007-11-01T13:30:00.007-04:00

I was sitting in my office today when a friend of mine sent me a text message on my phone that had little hearts and said "I love you". At the bottom it instructed me to send it on to all of my friends. So, I did. I sent that bad boy to everybody, including my teenaged boy, who hates that kind of crap.

About 20 minutes later, my phone rang.

"Hola!" I answered. I have caller ID so I knew it was my boy, Matt.

"Hey! Guess what!!!!" He said, all giddy and excited like.

"Uh... what?" I played along.

"My phone's workin!!!" He exclaimed.

You see my boy has a really bad habit of tossing, flipping, pitching his phone..(along with other various forms of abuse). About two weeks ago, the phone, in an act of ultimate retribution, just up and quit working. He could still send and receive text messages, but not talky talky.

"No shit?!?!" I get giddy with him. "You mean the phone you called me from works?!?!?"

"Ha. Ha. Ha." he retorts. "But I wanted to let you know."

"Well, very cool, baby. I'm glad its workin." I tell him.

And I am genuinely glad it's working because he's been on an "I want a new phone" kick for about 2 months now. So right at this second, he's thrilled to have one he can speak into and hear from.

Then it hits me that he's calling from school, because I can hear all the chatter of teenaged boys in the background. So I ask him, "Why the hell are you in school?"

"Cuz we're rednecks and apparently we don't vote up here." He says as serious as can be.

"Did you get my text message?" I ask him all lovey dovey.

"Yah. Yah." He says trying to put me off like teenage boys do when they are confronted with the "L" word.

"Well? Do you love me, dammit?" I push out of sheer enjoyment knowing he was squirming in front of his buddies.

"Come on, Matthew. You can say it." I prod.

"Oh, God." He said. "I gotta go."

"Fine. Love you." I tell him. He knows I really do love him.

"Ya. Ya. Bye." He said and hung up. I'm pretty sure his eyes were rolling in back of his head too.

That's ok. He has to come home sometime.

Santa's Sexy In His Jockey Shorts

2007-11-01T13:30:00.006-04:00

You know, for the past decade, I kept thinking to myself "Damn. Christmas seems to come earlier and earlier every year. I thought it was only in my head because I am simply annoyed by how commercial Christmas has become.

I took note, back in August no less, that as soon as Wal-Mart took out the swimming pools and other summer items... in came the Christmas stuff. IN AUGUST! Before even halloween had time to come and go.

Pisses me off, the money-grubbing devil stores peddle as much as they can for as long as they can. And what really slays me is the fact that, everytime I'd pass through lawn & garden, even back in late summer, there were people buying that shit up. It wasn't on sale, it was just out on display and for sale at regular prices.

Now I don't know about you, but I certainly don't want my house decorated with little elves and the like that early in the year. I'm the type that as soon as Christmas is over, I'm ready to jerk the ornaments down and sling the tree in the yard.

What I think should happen is, since the the stores have all the Christmas crap out that early, the Salvation Army should round up sexy bell ringers and have them out there in the heat of summer in a Santa-like underwear or a swimsuit made of red velvet with white trim.

BAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH, Humbug.

Refreshed, Rejuvenated, Renewed

2007-11-01T13:30:00.005-04:00

I'm working on finding my sarcasm again after losing it somewhere between the altar and Germany. In hindsight, I don't actually think I ever lost it. I think somehow it got kicked in the corner, or under my dresser with the dust-bunnies when I started having girl problems. Nothing like some girl issues to jack one's system completely up. None-the-less, I started to feel my sassy self coming back to life.

Honey, I've Been Violated... again

2007-11-01T13:30:00.003-04:00

"Baby!" I hear Tony calling out as he comes down the stairs to the bathroom where I was in the shower.

"Baby?!?!" He calls out again before bursting into the bathroom.

"What's wrong?" I ask him reaching for the towel.

"Well, that damn cat. That damn cat keeps on bothering me." He says shaking his head.

"What'd she do this time, baby?" I asked, as this is quite a normal conversation in our combined domicile.

"Well, I went up there to see if the cheesecake was thawed out, and she was trying to get it. I had to push her fat ass off the table just to get to it. She went down swingin. It was like she was trying not to let me get it." He says, serious as can be. "I think she's got something against me."

"No baby, she's a psycho. It's not just you. She attacks anybody and everybody. She's an equal opportunity hater." I try to mend his feelings.

"That's not all she did, baby." He laments.

"Ok. Tell me." I roll my eyes as I towel dry my hair.

"Then I decided I had to pee, and she followed me in there." He goes on, "She jumped up on the toilet as soon as she saw me go in there. And I shewed her down, so she jumped up on the sink and she started swatting my butt while I tried to pee."

"She's always hung out in the bathroom, Tony. She's not out to get you."

"But the cat violated me. She was grabbin my ass while I was in a vunerable position. I was tryin to pee!" He protests.

"Well, baby. All I can tell you is to keep your back to her or she's liable to swat somethin else."

Adreneline Bubble Has Burst...

2007-11-01T13:30:00.000-04:00

Just down in the dumps. Don't feel good. Blah. Miserable and on a self serving pity party.

The Perfect Gift this Season

2007-10-22T10:00:00.000-04:00

OG came into my office the other day. She was giggling and terribly amused about something. She told me to sign onto AOL so she could shoot me a linkie.

And she did. And it was funny. I plan to purchase multiples.

The Hillary Clinton Nutcracker. Get yours today!

How Do You Know - Part Duex

2007-10-20T22:39:00.000-04:00

I'm getting mushy. Yah, I know ya'll are so used to my general disdain for life and this is coming as a complete shock. But, I'm gonna let 'r' rip while I'm feelin it. In the moment, is how I suppose you'd classify me at this second.

So, I'm at home at 10:40 on a Saturday night. I'm friggin thrilled to be sitting here. This time last week I was doing a toast with a bar full of drunken Germans in Munich (God bless Oktoberfest, ya'll. Those old boys could drink our old boys up under the table on any given weeknight)....

Anyway. How do I know that Anthony Kidwell loves, ME (Mrs. Diva Kidwell) more than any fat ass kid love a slab of pudding filled cake???

Well, we spent the evening discussing the US census and football and food and all the good things in life.

Then, he asked me about a certain CD, Blue Moon Rising, to name it.
So, I popped it in. There is one song on that CD that will bring tears to my eyes every time I hear it. And I pushed play.

My man, in the privacy of our DEN OF LOVE, took my hand and danced with me by candle-light. No one but me and him and a little candle light. He held me so close to him and sang into my ear. My heart did a pitterpat and I couldn't have ever felt closer to him than that one single moment. Together, alone, cherishing each other.

That, my friends, is how I know.

Damn That Fortune Cookie Nazi

2007-10-18T15:47:00.001-04:00

I am sad to say that my addiction to Chinese Food was abruptly halted as a result of the ongoing battle with the Fortune Cookie Nazi. He won, I lost; no MSG, salt loaded, sugary goodness for Diva. Dammit.

So, I come home from a business trip and OG tells me that while I was gone, she had went to said establishment to partake of take-out as her man had taken ill.

She went to the self serve bar, I remember so well. She filled her to-go boxes with treats of all kinds…

She went to the front to pay our friend the Fortune Cookie Nazi…

“You need-a any sauces today?” He asked.

“No. I don’t think so,” she politely replied.

“Well, you must-a take the fortune cookie,” he tells her.

A light bulb went off off over her head. She finds out first hand that I’m not kidding when I say he just won’t give me a fortune cookie. That he has an inner drive within his deep dark soul, which keeps him from simply dipping in and giving me my friggin cookie.

What’s wrong with a brother when he won’t even share a 5 cent cookie? He would give me a truck load of sauces, chop stix, but no damn cookie. All I want is my cookie!! Why can’t you just give me my cookie!!!

I’m going to go rock back and forth in the corner now.

Do Orangutan's Have A Penis Bone?

2007-10-18T15:47:00.000-04:00

Yah. I’m back home and totally enjoying the comforts of my OG and my happy little office. It’s always nice to get to travel far and wide, but even nicer to come home… especially since I had only been married a scant week when I had to leave on that jetplane. But that’s another story all together ain’t it?

So, OG and I have been known to have some pretty interesting conversations in the last 7 years that we have worked together. No holds barred. Really. We talk about anything and everything. Which brings me to what we are talking about here.

At lunch, we generally find some kind of magazine full of gossip or short, yet hilarious ditties. The conversation turned interesting when I found a short article about an ape who doesn’t dig girl apes…. Read this… you’ll love it.

AMSTERDAM (Reuters) - Sibu the Orangutan has miffed his Dutch keepers by refusing to mate with females and showing sexual interest only in tattooed human blondes.

Apenheul Primate Park hoped Sibu would become its breeding male when he arrived two years ago, but orangutans aren’t his type.

“He chases them, or ignores them, but he doesn’t do what he should do,” said a spokeswoman for the park.

Instead, Sibu fancies his female keepers, especially blondes. That, the spokeswoman said, was common for orangutans but Sibu has a fetish for tattoos, harking back to a heavily tattooed keeper who reared him.

“Orangutans have special interests in special subjects. Sibu happens to like tattoos,” she said.

So, this brought up the question of whether orangutans have a penis bone like most other mammals or if their penis gets hard like a human penis does. Yah, I know what you must be thinking…. perfectly acceptable, lady like lunchtime conversation. So, we finished up our lunch and google’d it, as we google every sick and twisted thing we can think of. And we found out that an orangutan does, in fact, have a penis bone.

OG has decided that I, being the blonde and tattoo’d chippie that I am, should stay the hell out of Amsterdam.

Just thought I’d share that tid-bit with you kids. Cheers!

A Wrap It Up Post - The Little Things

2007-10-17T13:30:00.000-04:00

One week to the day after I was wed to my prince, I was on a plane to Germany for a business trip that would keep me away for 10 days. I can't say I've ever been happier to be home than I am now.

I realized there are so many little bitty things I manage to take for granted every single day. You better believe the following is a tribute to those things.

Ice. I never really realized just how damn much ice meant to me until I didn't have it in my drink, for 10 days. No friggin ice. Luke warm yacky soda with no ice to chomp on. Damn.

Soda. Well, the German people have soda. But they don't have a friggin clue what Diet Coke is, no. They call that shit Coke Light. It's super sweet and it tastes like real Coke. And without ice it is simply undrinkable to my spoiled American palate. And Diet Dew? They don't have Dew at all, let alone Diet Dew Light. Damn.

The Dollar Being A Dollar. The US dollar is nothing more than a flipping piece of paper at the time of this writing. I'm here to tell ya, by the time I paid the currency exchange fees and the exchange rate being as it was... my damn dollar was worth less than 47 cents, my friends. It was extremely apparent to me just how bad it was when I came home to do my expense report and found that for 10 days, with exchange rate, I had spent more than $400 on food and drinks alone. Damn. Wait! Rachael Ray would be totally impressed, that would be $40 a day. Go me!

Courtesy on the road. Well, not that we have the most courteous drivers in the US, especially in the states that start with "I", but even those numbnuts are courteous compared to the asshats on the autobahn. Hello dickhead, get out of my tail pipe and learn to use a signal other than the bird!

My man. Now this es muy imporante. I never in my life thought, with all the traveling Diva does, that I would be homesick for my man. I thought, I'm gone all the time. It'll be no big deal. WRONG! After more than a year of seeing his face and hearing his voice every single day... I realized how much I need those things and how much that he means to me. Oh God, I'm getting all mushy again.

But seriously, doing without Diet Dew with ice on the autobahn was enough to make me want to walk to the coast, buy a boat and start paddlin my ass back home.

The Rose Peddler

2007-09-21T13:58:00.000-04:00

We had just sat down to have our mid-day bread breaking when a good-old boy, who apparently either can’t read or just doesn’t give a shit about the no-soliciting sign on the door cruised in. I figure it’s the latter, as it is posted on our door in plain sight where one would grab the handle and pull the door.

So, there we are. I wish my delicious Chicken Caesar Salad and OG with her ethinic beet soup. We are about to give thanks and partake, when this asshole walks in.

”Did you miss me?” He asks as he swaggers our way, booty in hand.

“Uh, no. It’s been about a year though.” OG says.

He sets his goods, dozens of long stem roses (which were mighty pretty to be sure) on our lunch table.

“Remember how much they are?” He winks at OG as she was the one who actually paid notice to his punk ass interupting our bread breaking.

“No,” she says, “but it doesn’t matter. We don’t want any anyway.”

Then I chime in, “You can donate some for my bachelorette party tonight.”

Of which he offers congrats, but ignores the donation request… dick.

“Well, you could buy some to toss at your stripper.” He says trying to appeal to my wild side.

“I ain’t got no stripper lined up, dude.” I reply, agast that he would even dream up that sales pitch.

“Mother or mother-in-law you could get some for?” he’s getting desparate.

So I decide to go in for the kill.

“Look guy, I’ll be completely honest. I’m not buying any because I am saving every penny to get balls out drunk tonight and if I buy your roses… that, my friend, will cut into my drinking budget.”

Have a great desert day, pal.

Fortune Cookie Nazi Wins Battle... Game Over

2007-09-14T13:35:00.000-04:00

I just hate craving that damned chinese food from that damned yummy place over here by the office.

I mean, I get a craving for it and I decided that, despite the fact I know that evil ass munch won't give me the fortune cookie without a square off in the middle of the parking lot, I was going to go have me some tastey morsels of saucy goodness.

So, as usual, I go in, get my little styrofoam container, proceed to the buffet of happiness, load up my choices and go to the register to pay. I set my container on the scale, as they charge for buffet to go by the pound. This is where it the ugly gets on.

So, everything seems to be going smooth. I'm mentally preparing for the fight for the fortune cookie. I intend to win this time.

"You need sauce or fork?" He asks me all smug like.

"Nope. But I want a Diet Pepsi." I tell him.

"Diet Pesi" He calls out to the chick at the waitress station.

She totes it over and sets it on the counter as he rings me up.

"That be $4.62." He tells me.

UH OH! Houston we have a problem. Diva don't carry cash. Just something I don't do. It's way too easy to use my debit card to have to fool around with dollars.
This ass munch only takey the credit cawd fo ova fi dolla. Hasn't he seen that VISA commercial that shows the world is officially going plastic???

Still yet, I try to slip it by him. I pull out my debit card with VISA logo and push it toward him.

"We only take cawd fo purchase ova fi dolla." He reminds me.

"Look guy, I don't have any cash. Well I have a handful of change in the bottom of my purse, but not enough." I tell him as show him my empty wallet.

"You always can get another drink take wif you." He tells me.

"Uh, no. You can run my card or I'll have to leave it." I tell him, now pissed.

"Well, I not running cawd. You get cash, come back." He tells me.

"OK, fine." So, I walk out the door. No lunch, no friggin fortune cookie, and definitely no balls to tell him what he could do with his no useless carton of to-go.

God Bless Taco Bell. They'll takey my debit card for a 89 cent bean burrito.

Honey, I've Been Violated

2007-09-12T14:39:00.000-04:00

So, I'm still extremely new to this living in the same house and sharing the same bedroom full time thing. Not that it's bad. Actually, it's quite nice being able to reach over in the night and play with his hair or crawl across the bed and give him a light little kiss while he's sleeping.

What is taking some definite time to get used to is the fact that his alarm clock is a screamer! When I say screamer, I don't mean one of those annoying buzzer sounding things. I mean it's an indescribable sound that has rattled my ass awake a 4:45 in the morning. Not only does it rattle my ass awake, the clock actually grows legs, walks around the bed to my side, shakes the piss out of me, picks me up and drops me right in the middle of the bedroom.

Now, I'm not a morning person by any means. It really doesn't matter if I get 4 or 8 hours of sleep. But when that damn thing goes off before the chickens are even awake, that's a problem for me. Especially since his ass doesn't get up when it goes off the first time. No. He slaps the snooooze button like 6 times. So, six times I get picked up and dropped on my ass in the middle of the floor before daylight. What the hell? We are gonna have to find an empass. A new alarm clock, maybe? Setting the bitch a little later instead of hitting snooooooze so many times, maybe?

Anyway, so he finally wakes up after the 7th roar of the alarm. I'm wide awake already. Sitting up in bed, smoking a ciggie, waiting for coffee to get done. Me and the cat staring at him, daring him to hit snooooze again. Thank Jesus, no more snooooze button.

He rolls over, smiles all sweet and says, "Honey, I know I complain alot."

"What's the matter?" I ask in the sweetest 5am voice I can muster.

"Well, I woke up and had to pull this out of my ass." He says as he hands the DVD player remote to me laughing his ass off.

God bless his little heart. I love him so much. Maybe this is the answer to my being late to work every day. If I'm dropped in the floor and wide awake by 5am, surely I can make it work work on time by 8:30?

Messin with the Telemarketers

2007-09-11T09:47:00.001-04:00

So, we get bombarded with uberous amounts of telemarketing calls every day at the office. I'm usually not very nice to these poor people. I know they are just doing their job, but for fuck sake... Go back to school, get a degree and get a real job not bothering the people who already have a real job. Jeeeez, it's pretty simple.

Some days I'm pissy, so I find it an amusing way to take out some aggression and anger... "I've asked you damn people to put me and our other 3 numbers on you damn do not call list. Call me again, I dare ya."

Some days I'm busy and I simply have no time for the bullshit they are trying to pimp off on me... "I am way too busy to bother talking to you. Have a great day." Then I generally slam the phone in someone's ear.

Some days I'm bored with work, and blogging, and Poppit, and porn *snicker*, so I may entertain a telemarketer for a few minutes if what they say off the bat is interesting enough to make me release the mouse and stop popping the balloons hanging on my monitor.

Mind you, I never know if it's my boss calling from Germany, so I always, ALWAYS answer the phone in an oh-so-pleasant voice... until I find out who it is.

"Good Morning, how may I help you?" Note how pleasant that is.

"Hello, Ma'am. This is Sherri. I'm calling from Fairfield with a wonderful offer that we thought you may be interested in."

I say, "Oh, really? What kind of offer do you have there, Sherri?"

Sherri goes on her schpeeeeel now:
"Well, we are calling to offer to individuals who have been pre-qualified in your area, the opportunity to come stay for a week at one of our several resorts, your choice. All you have to do is come and listen to a presentation about the property and take a tour. We do have a small fee to cover taxes and meals, but the stay itself if complimentary. What do you think?"

- First, let me tell ya, I'm sure I'm not prequalified for dick. Up until a week ago, I didn't own a home, I don't have a husband, and I'm sure my credit report would make someone run screaming away... But I decided what the fuck. I'm bored. I'll play along.

So I say "Can I ask you to hold one sec. I need to grab this other line."
Totally a lie, but I need to get Olga to play along with me. We are life partners from way back. I run into Olga's office and tell her the story and she's all ready to play along. So, I get back on the phone.

I start off....
"Thanks, Sherri. I'm glad you held for me, I'd like to consider signing up. I could use a cheap vacation. You said there is no obligation?"

Sherri says, "No. No obligation at all."

I ask, "How much is this fee you were talking about."

Sherri says, "It's not much. Only $275.00 and you can even put it on your Visa or Mastercard."

I say, "I can put it on a credit card? But I don't have a credit card. My partner keeps them and won't let me charge anything. Let me put her on the phone."

I half expected to hear shock and/or awe in Sherri's voice that my parter is a chick, and a dominating one that won't give me a credit card at that. But she was impressively non-judgemental since money talks.

Olga gets on the phone, "Hello?"

Sherri said, "Hi. I'm Sherri from Fairfield."

Olga asked, "What is this deal that you have Rhonda so excited about that she wants the credit card right now?"

Sherri goes through her whole schpeeeeel again.

Olga says, "Well, I don't think we are interested. I do not want to get tied up in a timeshare type deal and I know all about this kind of scam. Since we aren't married we aren't qualified for any kind of couple deals or anything."

Sherri didn't want to lose the sale so she said, "Can you put Rhonda back on the phone?"

Olga goes on, "Well, it would be pointless to put her back on the phone since she has no money and no credit cards. But you have a nice day now, ok?"

At least if Sherri was on an hourly wage, she made her money honestly that day.
And Mom, I'm getting married. We aren't really life partners. Just partners in crime, heh. =D

Diva Gets Sucked Up By Tornado....Story at 11

2007-09-11T09:47:00.000-04:00

I am sitting here at my computer. The past two weeks have come and gone, thank God. My head is still spinning from the last 5 days. You know, I feel like Dorothy in that old farm house, when the tornado sucked it up and threw it to munchkin land?
We may not have landed in munchkin land, but the house seriously looked like a tornado had whipped through. Crap scattered everywhere. At one point, a body would actually be considered lucky to make it through the down stairs area without losing a big toe to ill placed boxes and unsituated furniture.

I honestly have no idea where all the stuff we have came from. I have little recollection of purchasing it at all. It's like the "Here, have loads of useless shit fairy" came and did a dance at my old place.

We're in our new place now. *YAY* And everything seems to be falling into place and setting up nicely. The new hacienda is a rancher with a fully finished basement. It's huge and I get lost in it occassionally if the lights are off. The upstairs is 1150 sq. ft. This would be the area designated for children and midgets under the age of, um let's say 35.

The downstairs area is the same 1150 sq. ft. area, but is set up to be our lair. How cool is that? It has our bedroom, which is plenty big for the bed and furniture. There is a closet, that if I had to, I could easily live in. I think its 12'x14'. Finally a space big enough for all of my shoes!!!! There is a bathroom that, truth be told, is a sucky little spot and needs to be bigger. There is the den. It's a huge space that looks half empty even with the furniture in it.

I've decided that since I like to have my share of spirited beverages, that we need a bar in the one corner that makes the room so empty. Liven it up a wee bit. Slap some mirrors behind it, a disco ball.... will go great with the existing stripper pole... hahahaha.
____________________________________________________________________________________

The kiddies haven't really done shit yet since the move. They have social agendas and activities to tend to, don't ya know. Amanda has put a few things away, but there is no way to walk through her room unless you are ready to take your life into your own hands. The girl has more stuff than I remember seeing before we moved. Her Beta fish has lived on the bathroom counter for days and is lucky that kitty is feeling so wimpy. Under normal circumstances said fish would have been a kitty snack quicker than a fat kid could snatch the last chocolate chip cookie from the cookie jar.
My kitty, Isis, has been severely traumatized by this whole moving of the residence. She has been hiding inside one of the dressers in my bedroom for 3 days now. When she comes out to eat or piss, she does the low crawl. I've not seen her walk like the bad-ass she really is since we did the kitty transport on Friday.
Hopefully she'll realize she is still queen and act as such instead of mopping the floor with her well fed belly.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

My grand-booger, Tyler, adjusted very well to the move. He found his room. He seeked out and destroyed. The Hot-wheel bomb blew up in his room. He came to stay with his Nana and Papa on Saturday night. He did good. He wandered around the house. The upstairs and the downstairs areas both go in a big circle, so he ran circles round and round with his cars.
He did good until bed time.
Now at the old house, he had a baby jail to sleep in because he didn't have his own room and there was no room for him a bed. So baby jail it was. And he did well in it. But he's getting to be a big boy and we decided that he's gotta have a big boy bed at our pad. Ok, so, the boy kisses everybody goodnight and we go off to bed. I figure I'll lay with him in his new bed until he falls off to sleep. It's way after his bed time and he's bushed so it won't take long for him to drift off, right? Uh, no.
He keeps saying "My bed, Nana."

I told him, "Yah, baby. This is your big boy bed."

"No, Nana. My bed." He says again.

"Show Nana what you want, boy. It's late and your ass needs to be asleep."

So, he gets out of the bed, and drags me by my pinkie finger to the livingroom where his baby jail was neatly piled under half a ton of crap. He stands there tugging at it. And it hits me, he needs his lil bed. So, we dig it out and take it in his room. It was like his little security thing. Him needed to have his familiar bed. Him also got away with filling it up with hot wheels and other random toys. He went right to sleep once he was put in it, fists still holding tight to his cars.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

My only request in the choice of new house was that it have a functional, user-friendly kitchen. Diva likes to cook, but cooking in a kitchen that is ill-set is nothing short of a pain in the arse. This kitchen whips ass! The only thing I want to change is simple. I want to slap an island right in the middle. There is plenty of room and I want it. I want it! I want it! I want it! I'm about to break Veruca Salt, you know that little bitch from Willy Wonka) if I don't get my island!
_____________________________________________________________________________________

We are trying to adjust to having a shower the size of a broom closet in the bathroom in our private, adult only lair. Tony's a big boy. He's tall and his big. Which means he feels super confined in this thing. He's actually come out of it fighting mad a couple of times.
My biggest issue is trying to shave my legs in there. Sweet Jesus! I bend over toward the door and I nearly drowned. So I turn around and bend over the other way and I kept knocking the door open with my ass. Something's gonna have to give there, not sure what or how. Maybe rip the shower out and put a nice, big garden tub in? I vote for that.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

All in all, this has been an easy move. The lead up to it sucked a big ass, but now that I'm able to go into cruise mode, it's not so bad. I'm hoping to have the feeling back in my hands soon. Painting over the excentric colors I just had to have in the old place proved to be an arm/hand killer.
Hopefully once it's unpacked and perfecto I can take some pictures of the stripper pole and other noteworthy spots in the house.

F*&k You Like An Animal

2007-08-29T16:42:00.002-04:00

Dear Lord.

The things I hear come out of Miss A's (my teenage daughter) domocile.

My house was infested with her and her little teenage friends last night.

So, I'm painting last night in the hallway between my bedroom and hers when I hear, "Oh my God, he's raping her!"

Being somewhat alarmed that they were watching something questionable on the boob-tube, I put down my paint roller and wander in there to find out who's raping who.

As it turns out, it was her latest acquisition of animal friend. Rats.

Not long ago, we lost our dear bearded lizzard to a firefly.

Well, she didn't waste any time finding a new pet.

Actually, she got one, her boyfriend got one, her friend Jesse got one, her friend Cody got one, and Aaron got one.

They were supposed to reside at Josh's house.

But, Monday night, here come the teenagers with this huge tank of rodent friends.

Not to mention that Amanda's rat just gave birth to 9 babies, that will be full grown soon enough.

I've already demanded that they be sold, released away from the house or taken back to Josh's dad's pad.

Anyhoo...

Turns out that one of the boy rats was horny as hell and he was chasing this girl rat around and around and around the cage.

Apparently he got lucky for a split second and caught up with her.

Which explained who was raping who.

Other things I heard come out of that room last night whilst rolling paint on the walls:

- Damn, if that was me, I'd have done given up, lit me a cigarrette and counted my losses. (In reponse to the chase for ass)

- Well, those two ate him because he had a big package and they were sick of it. (In response to why the one albino rat was missing).

Somebody Just Shoot Me... Thanks!

2007-08-27T14:16:00.003-04:00

So, after the boy's football game Friday night, I'm tired and I feel just nasty. I was full of Italian Ice, as I had engulfed like 5 during the game trying to cool of. I'd had sweat running from my neck, down my back, directly down my butt crack. That, my friends is not a nice feeling.

Even with feeling grody and tired, I still hoped to go home and get a little lovin after a nice cold shower. Know what I mean? I think ya do.

But, no. Why is it that I can never seem to get rid of both of teen-aged-mutants at the same time? Amanda, my girl, was spending the weekend at Jessie's (the child that claims me as her other mother).
But, the boy couldn't stand it, he had to stay home. Worse yet, he had to stay awake. So, we get home, I go take a shower and I go to bed.... to sleep.

Hell if I didn't wake up early, before the boy. So, I poke Anthony and told him wake up and GET R DUN!!! Door was closed and I was under the blanket. I got too hot, so I go and throw/kick/pitch/toss the blanket in the floor.

Well, Anthony's cell phone was in the livingroom. His phone rang. Matthew decided to answer it. Matthew decided that he would just bust into MY bedroom to tell his dad that Mario was on the phone.

Sweet Jesus. Now up until that point in life, I don't believe anything has ever both made me absolutely furious and at the same time nearly given me a heart attack.
BUSTED!

This non-knocking problem we are having is getting a little bit on my nerves.
Admittedly, I am most likely the most sexual natured I know. I dig it. I want it.
I just can't help it.

But even my horns are nipped in the bud knowing that kid is in the house lurking. There have been numerous times I've just decided to forego play time just because I'd hate to think about anybody else in the house knowing.

GRRR!!!! Can we say frustrated???

I mean, I swear, I think he has a sixth sense when it comes to knowing if and when we may be even considering having sex. It's like he goes that extra mile to keep trying to drive a wedge of any kind between me and Anthony.

Makes me nervous to have anything in my room, let alone my happy drawer.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Then this happened:

So, I get started to get over getting busted by the boy. And I go outside to start working on the cleaning out of the shed. This shed is barely a shanty. It is missing the bottom boards on the walls, so it's wide open to anything and everything that wants in.

Ok, now there is a reason that shed was in the shape it was in. I don't dig going in it and flat refused to go in it for three years.
Not to mention the fact that I'd seen various critters and rodents zipping in and out of there. *shiver*.

But, the time had come. We have a week to be getting all of my crap up and out of the house. Which means the shed had to be cleaned too.
I get the broom, the hair spray and my lighter and head out back where the shed stands.

I stand outside, looking to see what sort of arachnid may be lurking up above my head or down below my feet. Ewwww. Dark, scary and spider infested.

So, I finally take the broom, poke it inside the shed and start swingin like a wild woman at whatever might be in my path. When I didn't feel that was enough, I took the hairspray and lighter and started blow torching anything that appeared to be an insect of any sort. The smell of sizzling spiderwebs is a lovely one.

My spider problem apparently taken care of, I forge ahead. Looking at the piles of shit that were piled into this shed nearly three years ago when I moved into the house. I decided that if it had been in the shed for damn near three years and not missed, that it wasn't ever going to be missed. Rahter than digging through the boxes, I hauled them right out to the bed of the truck. Locked and loaded for the Knox County dump.

I had gotten most of the crap our, when I thought I heard something. It was a rustling around sound. I stopped and assessed what it might be. I didn't see anything. So, I turned around to get another box and IT ran over my foot.

Well, I'll swear I thought it was a 2 foot rat. After nearly having the second heart attack of the day and hearing IT run into a window thinking it was a way out of the shed, I saw it. A baby rabbit.

Still when I'm confined in an icky space where I'm already paranoid, I don't even want the cutest of furry woodland creatures hippity-hopping over my foot.

Woot! Go Cougars!

2007-08-27T14:16:00.001-04:00

The weekend started with a nice drive to Campbell County. It was the Campbell County Cougar's season opener against the Union County Patriots. My step-son to be is a Cougar and my ass promised to be there.

It was hotter than 10 hells on Friday and I was not dressed to go to a football game straight from work. I was in a short, black skirt and dressy tank top. Not exactly the gear I'd prefer to be wearing whilst resting my ass on 110 degree concrete bleachers.

The fun part was that my friends, Duck & Debbie, well, their son plays for Union County. So there we are... Me & Anthony and Duck & Debbie. Rooting for our respective kids. When the guy on the P.A. makes the announcement that the kids in the league are encouraged to have good sportsman-like conduct, and how we as parents, should be the same way.

I looked at Debbie and told her as soon as Union County scored I was gonna punch her right square in the mouth. Well I didn't get to pop her a good one because I had no more than said that when Campbell County scored, twice, in the second quarter.
Good sports-man-ship my ass.

It seemed like we were gonna be pulling splinters out of the boy's ass from his riding of the bench, but low and behold, the last 3 minutes 22 seconds of the game they finally put his ass in. He made a serious tackle and assisted in a final touchdown. Go Boy Go!

I decided not to tell him that the majority of the Powell team was there watching them play. I reckon they wanted to see how hard it's gonna be to whoop up on some Cougar ass.

I don't know what to do when Powell and Campbell County play. I gradu-ma-wated from Powell several moons ago. But the boy is a Cougar.
I suppose I sew the back of a Powell shirt to the front of a Cougar shirt and be for both.

Underwear Crisis - Solved

2007-08-27T14:16:00.000-04:00

As usual nothing can go just as smooth as a newborn baby's ass. This whole bridal underwear crisis was starting to wear on me a tad bit.

I had rescheduled with Angenette, the wedding dress alteration lady, for today to begin alterations on my gown. Of course that was assuming that my damn boob liftin, fat squashing chinese torture device arrived in time for me to carry it along to her house.

Did it come? Why, hell no.

Found out when I finally checked my email this morning, that it, in fact, had not even shipped. Found out that OOOPS, it ain't even in stock!!!
Cancel my order! Refund the Georges back to my credit card and piss off!!!

So, me and Olga wisk off to David's Bridal for a fun time trying to shove me into a boned corset. If you've never put one on, I suggest you try it.
It's a delightful little contraption that effectively displaces fat to places it was never intented to be. All the while cutting off all hopes of taking more than a gasp of air at a time.

I have alot of breathing exercises to be performing before I am in this thing for the day. Or like Elizabeth on Pirates I, I shall be passing out and falling off a cliff into the water. Well, maybe nothing that extreme. I'll just pass out and fall at Anthony's feet (hopefully after squeeking out "I do")

Anyway, if nothing else, it should make for good YouTube footage.

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A Cake is A Cake, Right?

2007-08-24T16:13:00.000-04:00

So, this wedding hasn't exactly went off without a hitch... If I don't end up in a padded room by the end of this thing it will be a miracle..

Leave us recap all of the issues, shall we?

**I mean, the date has been changed from July 14th to June 2nd and now (officially) September 29th.

**My stepbrother (the preacherman) was who was supposed to officiate the ceremony, ceremoniously backed out on me without letting me know.

**My chinese torture underwear has been returned for the proper size, yet the company has yet to send the replacement (the bastards).

**I am now going to have to reschedule AGAIN with the dress alteration lady.

GAAAA!!!! Then there is the issue with the cake.

Now call me simple-minded. But ain't cake, cake? Nothing more, nothing less?
At least that is what I thought when I started all this.

My original cake lady gave me the schpeel about how her cakes cost from $2 - $2.50 per serving. Now, I'm thinkin, if all of these folks that have been invited to this here illustrious event show, I'm gonna end up shellin out around $450 for a cake.
Cake, kids. Flour, eggs, oil, frosting. A cake. She cuts me a deal, and agrees on $230.00 set up and all.

Well, when the wedding got cancelled twice, I ended up losing the original cake lady. Which I was really bummed about, because although it was ass expensive, she was talented enough to make me the cake I wanted:

But alas, Elaine is looney and completely booked from now until Jesus comes back.

So, Olga (my boss) comes in this past Monday morning and says "Dude, you know when one door closes, another one opens." She had found someone, quite by accident, that does cakes. Yay!

Or so I thought. So, the lady calls me. We discuss the cake and how many I need to feed with this cake and so on... She goes on to tell me that she doesn't do that pricing by the piece stuff. I was thinking, "are you for real? You rock cake chick!".

So, she says give her a day or so to work on pricing and she'd get back to me. Well, today was the day. The phone range this morning and I was thrilled to be hearing back from her so promptly.

She says she can do the cake (mind you, I downsized from the original cake, so it was smaller). And she'll do the cake for a measley $550.00.

Sweet Holy Jesus, I almost fell over. Since I was at the office and unable to pass out right that second, I settled for my jaw dropping so far it hit my desk.

I thanked her kindly for her call, and told her I had to get in touch with my Mama since she is the one paying for it. We've decided to forego the half thousand dollar delight and put the blame on my Mom. She'll never know.

Anyway, off to Food City I go, as in a previous grocery foraging expedition, I noted in the back of my mind, that they have cakes for all occassions.

Seriously, who give two shakes of pig poo if the things tastes like sweet cardboard. It's still cake. Like anybody will eat it anyway.
Well, anybody other than my paternal grandfather would would eat the leather off of a shoe if it had icing on it.

They are going to prepare me a cake, that althought it ain't nearly what I wanted to begin with, will do. Especially for the $$.

For a mere $160 plus tax, we are getting a mighty fine work of edible art.

But still, I beg of you this answer... Ain't a cake, a cake?
I could just as easily go to Sam's and get a mac sized cake for $21.99. And they'll even airbrush Spiderman on it if I want. =)

Give Me My Friggin Fortune Cookie, Dude!

2007-08-23T10:28:00.002-04:00

There is a tasty little Chinese Food place here in Oak Ridge that offers take out from the buffet. It's very good; it's always fresh, and super-dooper tasty! (Not to mention they always score well when the pesky healthy inspector happens to drop in unannounced).

Now our office has been in Oak Ridge for a many moons and my boss and I have traveled many miles, many times to partake of this sweet and sour plethora of tastiness.

I go so often that when I walk in the door, the little dude says, "Ahh. To go, right?", and hands me my little environment-killing-Styrofoam container with which I am set free into the pasture of goodness.

I'll graze for a few minutes, making my choices wisely. They have garlic beef w/broccoli, sweet n sour chicken, general tsao chicken, and my personal favorite - mixed spicy vegetable.

Then I wander over to the sauces and get a nice ladle full of that hot-ass mustard (yah, that stuff that when you get it in your mouth it makes your eyes water and your nose run… that stuff that makes you beg Jesus for forgiveness for eating something so friggin hot.)

All sounds like a beautiful lunchtime excursion in the making, yah? Well, no. I love the food at this place. It’s marvy, but the folks that run the place and work there make me more nervous than a cat in a room full of rockin chairs…

FLASHBACK…
Now I don’t know if I’m just traumatized from being married to a man who’s mother and all of her friends are Korean and you know they talk about you in their language while you’re standing there… All the while they are looking at you, nodding their heads, laughing and smiling as the chatter on… Bring on the cold sweat… I know those bitches were talking smack and plotting my untimely demise by way of extra spicy food.

BACK IN THE NOW
So, my selections are made, my mouth starting to water. I close up my little lunch box that still has steam pouring out the sides. I carry it to the front, so as to pay for it.

Let the uncomfortable state of affairs begin.
I am going towards the front to obtain my chopsticks, Diet Pepsi to go and to pay. When I notice the gaggle of them standing there… looking my way…. giggling like school girls… The skank at loitering at the cash register talking to dude keeps covering her mouth and saying “sorry” “sorry”.

Now this is what really just jerks my chain:
Don’t you expect to get a friggin fortune cookie when you have Chinese food? I mean, you eat in, they bring you the bill with a fortune cookie. You call for take-out, you go pick up and pay for it, in the bag you get your fortune cookie.
Right?

Well, not here. I think it’s just this guy’s way to annoy me. A kind of battle of the wits. He ain’t giving me no fortune cookie unless I ask for the fortune cookie.
And even then, it’s iffy if the asshat puts it in the bag.

Frankly, the guy who owns the place reminds me of the SOUP NAZI from Seinfield. NO COOKIE FO YOU! Be gone now!

I’d start screaming to give me my fortune cookie or I’m going across the street to Wok n Roll. But those guys suck big balls and I hate their food, generally greasy as hell and cold… but they give Diva her fortune cookie without her having to beg.

Tish Thinks Diva is Nice (Awwwww)

2007-08-23T10:28:00.000-04:00

I feel officially appreciated, validated, and initiated. Tish (The Kat House & BlogsWeLuv) has bestowed upon me the Nice Matters Award. Ain't that sweet? I think it is and I'm tickled about it!

I can't say that I feel very like I'm very nice, I am totally honored! As I spend most of my time being bitchy, grumpy, sarcastic and down right snide.

I can say that although I feel not so nice most of the time, I make every effort not to make anyone feel bad about themselves, ignorant or outright stupid because they don't know me or about the things I know about.

Reckon that's why Tish hit me up?

So, along with tradition, I'll pass this bad boy along. I don't know many bloggers yet, but I have certainly run across a few that make me laugh and give me something to think about. Here's to y'all who tickle my fancy!

Boobs, Injuries & Dr. Pepper

Mushy

Fracas

Sugar Queens Dream

Have a great day now! Bugger off!

The Internet Age... Jeeez

2007-08-21T09:53:00.002-04:00

I have never been interested in meeting anybody in an online setting. I crusied some of the sites and even checked out some of the adult type friend sites. But, when it came right down to it. I never met anyone because I'm too much of a chicken shit.

I mean you hear horror stories of people meeting in person and one or the other, or neither of them, is what they claimed they were. Or look like that picture they sent you.

Call me old fashioned, but when I was looking to meet somebody, I would rather it be over the cucumbers in the produce section of the local Piggly Wiggly, or maybe over a goofy "cooking for one" book at the library.

I joined MySpace last year to comment and cut up with my REAL LIFE FRIENDS. I never accept "friend requests" from people who I have never met in MY REAL LIFE. Nor do I ever randomly pour through page after page of people requesting them to be my friends. No. If I don't know ya in real life, then you'll never make it past the gate.

I know more than a few people who have met their significant other online (eHarmony, Match.com, MySpace...) and who have actually made it for a minute. But I know of none who has made it for the long haul. Why?

Well, in this day and age, it seems that those in the online dating community just shift around. Maybe its because there are so many available folks out there just lookin for love in all the wrong places.

It's a meat market for reals. But, it's not like a meat market as a bar would be. No. Say you go to your favorite bar or club. Yah, it's a fashion show. Yah, everybody is there hoping to meet someone unless they are there with someone.
But, at least you now when you are talking to them face to face, they aren't sitting there browsing profiles of others while they are talking you up.

I don't know. I guess I was jaded, or tainted against this kind of crap. I'm not a very trusting individual since a guy I was seeing in the last century was a total computer dork that (I found out later) was always looking at online personals and profiles.

Now you're prolly sitting there thinking, why is she going off on this lame ass tanget? What the hell pulled her trigger today?

Well, friends, I'll tell ya. There's a dumb-ass on AOL and yahoo who surfaces now and again thinking we're the best of friends. Before MySpace, he used to comb AOL profiles and email unsuspecting females. I guess so he would have someone to talk to or whatever. Anyway, I guess it was middle of last year, after he joined MySpace, he surfaced again, showing 198360876 (exaggerated for impact) friends, all of which are female. Which proves my point. Or maybe it doesn't. I'm sort of annoyed right now.

So, today on my little yahoo messenger thingy, I posted my status as "I'll never paint again, swear to God!" And I guess it piked his little curiousity button somehow. So, he (out of the blue) decided to IM me... Lord have mercy...

The conversation went a little somethin like this:

Dork: ok, I just gotta ask why won't you ever paint again?

Me: Because I have no feeling left in my arms from painting over dark colors with white like I promised my landllord. lol

Dork: see you should of called me you know thats whats i do for a living****

****NOTE: Actually, I didn't know that, but whatever

Me: Nopie, didn't know that.

Dork: yes i told you when we first started talking i remodel houses for a living

Me: How long ago was that though? And how long has it been since we talked? Prey tell, do you remember what I do or where I live?

Dork: couple days...lol just kiddon and in winter months

Me: No, it was well before last summer. And as I recall I wasn't interested in talking to you because you find it to be wonderful to collect women friends online.

Dork: no it wasnt you must be thinking of that other man lol

Me: I talk to no other men, other than the one I'm about to marry***

****NOTEThat is not all together true. I have REAL LIFE FRIENDS that are male and I certainly talk to them.

Dork: see

Me: See what? You act like you know me.

Me: He lives with me, I don't talk to him online (Also not completely true, he lives with me part time until we actually jump on the weddin train)

Dork: well that's cool

Then the dork went silent and didn't bother me anymore. I just get irritated that people have so little value for someone else's time I suppose.
Anyway, he is like every other person out there waiting to see some long lost person they added on to their buddy list, so they can feel important because they are chatting it up.

GET A LIFE!

Blushing Bride - My Ass!

2007-08-20T16:22:00.001-04:00

There are two things I've seen women be extatic and smiling through. One is planning a wedding, the other is childbirth.

I've decided that unless you have unlimited fundage and a perfect body, planning a beautiful wedding is nothing more than a super big charlie horse right in my ass.

I guess I really shouldn't be complaining, because things have finally started to work out as they should. With the exception of the minister backing out, of course.
But, today I was supposed to have my dress fitting with the alterations lady, Angenette. Well, my underwear that we ordered was supposed to be here on Friday but it wasn't. This is a thing which resembles an archaic chinese torture device used to suck the breath out of women to keep them quiet! I have no idea where the fat is supposed to go once we get me into it, but supposedly it'll smooth one out under a wedding gown.

So, I had to call and reschedule with Angenette for next Monday. Great! Problem solved. Not quite.

Today, the torture device arrived in a pretty little box. Apparently the people who sewed the size into this thing were smoking some good shit at the time. Because not only was it too small, but it fit my boss rather snug and she's a tiny chick. Way tiny, like a size 8 girl. Now I'm no rocket scientist, but I would think if something is supposedly my size, but it fits her and it fits her snug, what the hell size am I supposed to get????
That was the only thing that made me feel even slightly less like a cow.

I talked to Anthony whilst he was out on a ring shopping spree in tears. God bless his heart, he said "Piss on it, don't wear underwear."

Hottie of the Day: Jeffrey Donovan

2007-08-20T11:28:00.001-04:00

"When spies get fired, they don't get a letter from human resources. They get BURNED... "

Now I'm not so sure about getting burned, but Jeffrey Donovan as Michael on BURN NOTICE give me hot sweats. I'm honestly not sure what it is about dearest Jeffrey that does it for me. Maybe its that smile. Maybe it's his insatiable wit. Maybe it's his handling of Fiona (romantic interest on the show). Maybe it's the fact that he is shirtless a lot of the time...

Whatever it is, he DOES do it for me.

Here's to you Jeffrey. You make me weak in the knees, my friend.

NewsFlash! I Must Have Been Under A Rock

2007-08-20T11:28:00.000-04:00

My attention was drawn to a NEWSFLASH today, that apparently isn't such new news.

One of my three alltime favorite bands is reuniting for a reunion tour!!!
Who?

Why, none other than Van Halen. With the exception of base player Michael Anthony, all of the boys will be crankin out the tunes that made 'em famous. Eddie Van Halen's son, Wolfgang, will be providing the bone thumpin bass now.

As long as David Lee Roth sticks to the songs and doesn't try to speak, I will be a happy girl! He has proven time and time again that he is a complete dip-shit, but buddy can he belt out the songs.

I'm sitting here having flashbacks to those wonderful days in the early - mid 80's in which Van Halen ruled the radio waves...

Tour information www.van-halen.com. Anthony has agreed to take one for the team, change up our honeymoon plans, and take me to Greensboro NC to see them rather than going to the Keys (as we are diving into wedded bliss on September 29th).

All I have to say is, for $125 floor seats, I better get to hear ICE CREAM MAN!

The Sweetest Story Ever

2007-08-17T11:37:00.001-04:00

Everybody who knows me personally knows I am not shy, I am not quiet. I am not backward when it comes to expressing emotion. In other words, I am the complete opposite of my Anthony. Anthony is shy and quiet. He would rather sit quietly somewhere and observe what's going on instead of being what's going on. Opposites truly do attract.

Our tastes and personalities couldn't be more different.
I like top 40, rock, southern rock... He is a bluegrass musician.
I like karaoke bars.... He'd rather be somewhere listening to a live band.
I like sushi & other exotic foods...He'd rather have Burger King or Taco Bell.
I drive like my pants are on fire... He takes his time a & enjoys the scenery.
The differences are many, but the love is the same.

Anyhoo... Anthony wasn't 100% sure about me in the beginning. I think he had been convinced by various mutual acquaintances that I was a complete wild cat and was one to be reckoned with. That, my friends, is just an act.

Still yet, he was gun shy of me enough that even after he had fallen in love with me, he was skeerd to say it. Rather than saying it, everytime he'd come around, he'd have another CD for me and he'd tell me "listen to #8" or whatever number the specific song would be. All of these songs would be lovey-dovey, oooey-goooey ditties. I got the message really fast and eventually he gave in and told me how much he loves me. What's not to love, right?

I just wanted to share the words to a song and the outcome of his profession of love and devotion to me, his Diva.

The song that captured my heart was:
You Are My Flower - Flatt & Scruggs - Circa
It goes a little somethin like this:

You are my flower
That's blooming in the mountain so high
You are my flower
That's blooming there for me

When summertime is gone and snow begins to fall
You can sing this song and say to one and all

So wear a happy smile and life will be worthwhile
Forget the tears but don't forget to smile

Now, ain't that the sweetest thing you've ever seen in your life?

What was the outcome of this? Well, I went and got more ink.

Whew!

2007-08-14T16:37:00.002-04:00

Well, kids. Minutes are ticking non-stop and soon I will be moving out of my bachelorette pad into my marital lair. So here I am, with approximately 2.5 weeks to go if I am to be out of my bachelorette pad by the end of this month. I honestly don’t see it happening because there is so damn much to do.
It doesn’t seem that there will be enough days, let alone waking hours to do all of the stuff I have to do before said countdown is over. Seriously doubt I’ll make it by the end of the month, but that’s no big deal. I can pay the rent for one more month and take my time.
So, I'm having a complete meltdown trying to get the black trim in my bedroom covered back up with antique white. What kind of brain fart did I have when I decided to paint my bedroom walls pink with black trim all around?? Honestly, I think I could have found a better way to express my female creativity. But no, I had to have my bedroom look like a Pink Lady jacket. Even though I’m bitching about it now, it was really, really cute. I had pink sheets and black comforter and curtains. My lil girlie space that I shared with NO MAN…. well, at least until I met Tony.

Insight on Women - Part Deux

2007-08-14T16:37:00.001-04:00

Women are catty. Especially toward each other. Especially when on woman has performed an act of woman on woman betrayal. It is not something taken lightly and is most likely not to be forgiven.

Over the last several years, I have emerged from spending most of my time locked in the house and being a slave to my life, kids, ex-husband…. blah, blah, blah. I was young (17)when I married my first husband and didn’t experience the “meat market” type bar scene in which women are all in competition with one another to take some schmooo home. Pu-leaze.

Then I toddled into life as a single, grown woman. It was never my intention to pick up on any dude at all. We (the Pirates) were always out, and if you saw one, the rest weren’t too far behind. We generally were out together, as a group, on Wednesday and Friday for close to a year. During that year I witnessed several acts of sluttiness on various levels and even fell victim once to a chick chasing my fella. Of course, this chick (as it turns out) has extremely low self esteem and chases anything with a penis.

Even though I’m not single anymore and I have no desire to go back to yesterdrama… Damn if I don’t hold a helluva grudge toward someone in particular that recently not so directly crossed my path. She was just in the area. The fur on the back of my neck stood up and my claws came out and if I’m not mistaken, I think I even hissed a few times. And they wanted me to come out and have a drink in the same bat bar at the same bat time?? Um. No. I’ll stay home and watch Burn Notice, thanks!

Expressing interest in a man that another woman has already expressed interest in is a huge no-no. Even if you are sadly repugnant and shameless. Wouldn’t you rather keep your girlfriend (who you know will be there for you for life) than to stab her in the back in order to have a one night fling with a man who is going to talk down about you to his friends and other lovers who know about you?

Kissing another girl’s man when she goes to the bathroom is also a big no-no. Seriously. Do you think that his girl isn’t going to find out that you waited until she got up and excused herself from the table, before you not-so-eloquently shoved your tongue down his throat? If the girl has any real friends, they will tell her about your skanky ways as soon as she gets back to the table. In general, you will have lost a friend (maybe several) as well as becoming a laughing stock. (I witnessed this scenario last spring… since I wasn’t involved, it was actually quite amuzing).

A Little Insight into Women

2007-08-09T13:37:00.000-04:00

In general, women are emo-kids in adult wrappers. At least I am, and I know alot of other women (my age, younger and older) that are the same way.
Everybody has baggage. By the time you make it into your mid-30’s, if you don’t have baggage, you must not have been doing a very good job at having a life. Many folks, men and women, by the mid-30’s have been married, had children and (in many cases) suffered through an ugly divorce or split with a significant other.
I for one have dished out my fair share (if not much, much more) of questions as to whether my significant other really loves me. I’ve tried to push him away several times, because it’s easier to let go and hurt a little than to really fall in love and get hurt ALOT in the end.
Why did I hit him with the ever present question, “Do you love me?” “Why do you love me?”????
Because I had a life, a past. And the experience wasn’t all good. Not that my life was stricken with hardship on a constant basis, but I was married to a man who had no clue about anything but drugs and video games. Yes, I chose to stay in it a lot longer than was advised. Yes, I could have packed up and left. But, I married him, and I was hellbent to stick with it or die. He was nice to me when he wanted something from me. Otherwise, he said little and did even less.
Then I grew up. I realized it wasn’t healthy and I had to get out. So, I got out. But I found out I had trust issues when I finally jumped. My significant other has NEVER done the first thing to make me think he’s going to hurt or leave me. He has never done anything but open doors for me and treated me like I am his equal.
Could I accept that? Simply put, no.
I ass-u-me (d) that there was no man out there that is genuine. There was no man out there that could really love me, for rowdy old me. There was no man out there that really would ask how my day went just because he wanted to share a few minutes together after work. ETC, ETC, ETC….. the list could go on forever.A woman wants to be happy with a man. Companionship, intimacy… yes, please. But sometimes getting her to accept that not all men are the same is a real challenge. Even if she knows it’s true. Her past may be a horrible, scary monster that must be slayed before she can go on. It can be done if there is room to work on these things in the relationship. If not, it’s doomed, go on.
Men can carry the same baggage, but due to ego and other manly things, it may not be as apparent.

Seven Deadly Sins: LUST

2007-07-24T18:54:00.000-04:00

In the 6th century, Pope Gregory the Great named the seven deadly as follows: Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Sloth, Vengeance, Envy, and Pride.

Lust, as defined at Dictionary.com, is an intense sexual desire or appetite, or an uncontrolled or illicit sexual desire or craving.I'm human.

I am admittedly full of lustful thoughts. I can't help it. God made me a catty creature. If I see somebody totally hot, male or female, I automatically think about how hot they are and become somewhat fervent.

Adultery? Cheating? Same thing… all of it, lumped into lust. Kissing a girl while dirty dancing? Yes. Lust. Dreaming about being in a hot tub with a gorgeous man during a thunderstorm? Yes. Lust.

I'm not saying I'd go out and have an affair or wicked one-night-stand with any hottie individual that came my way, no, at least not any more. What I am saying is that due to unsatisfying situations in my past, I have indulged in certain extra-curricular activities and enjoyed them immensely.

As a human creature, one has desires that might not be quenched without lust coming into play. Simply spelled out, if you’re not getting what you want and need at home, you’re going to go out and find it.

People can deny their corrupt human nature all they want. But it’s there inside all of us. It just depends on if one has the overwhelming urge to act on it.

Look at our politicians. Look at our Holy leaders. They all claim to be best friends with Jesus, then turn around and condemn one another shaking hands with the devil. As it turns out they are all just as guilty as the other. Come on, kids.

Brother Newt condemned Fast Willie and Monica for doing the deed. (Well kind of). Jimmy Swaggart was banging a prostitute while he condemned Jim Baker, who was having an affair behind his wife’s back.

So, I've decided that I'm going to embrace my human nature for what it is.

Friday the 13th

2007-07-13T05:02:00.000-04:00

Today panned out to be a super day. Work was awesome. I stayed busy all day. We cleaned the office. I wrote OG’s paper and she was happy with it. Tony loves me, Tyler is here. Natalie and Amanda are good.

Tony said today to go get the papers and he’d marry me now.
He really must love me. Well, hell. What's not to love?

Seven Deadly Sins: Sloth

2007-07-10T09:43:00.000-04:00

SLOTH.

I went into sloth-remission last year and got into excellent shape.
I lost more than 70 pounds.
I was wearing slutty tight jeans and looking pretty good in them.
I had enough self-confidence that I even scared me a time or three.
I was attracting ample attention from the opposite sex.
I wasn’t the fat Pirate anymore.
I blended in well with the other girlies.
I was becoming a certified hottie patoddie.

Then… around turkey day… I lost my motivation or ate way to much turkey with dressing and punkin pie or something. I started eating everything in sight that even looked like it had a carb attached to it. I quit going to the gym like I was. My butt went from being touchably firm back to jiggly like a bowl of jello. Of course, poured into the jeans, nobody could tell. But I could tell. I’m still down several sizes from where I started. Thank God, because I gave all of my fat clothes away and bought new. They just don’t fit as comfortably as they did. I find myself having to hold my breath… ALOT! Didn’t take long before I started to get more and more miserable.

Now here it is summer. The season I spent the whole of last fall dreaming of, only to wake up and realize… I had failed. I’m not beach worthy. I’m not bathing suit worthy.
I honestly do know what the problem with my motivation is and I am actively working on a resolution to it. I couldn’t beat ’em, so I joined ’em.

I have quit with the Taco Bell, Papa John’s and Booger King. I have stopped sneaking into the kitchen and scarfing down a couple cookies here, a few chips there. And most importantly, I’m not just spending ungodly amounts of money on a gym membership. No longer will it just be an expense sucked out of my bank account. No.

I have started doing cardio and group exercise classes again. I have started eating healthy again. For my health’s sake.

I had forgotten how good I felt when I was working out and eating right. It wasn’t just the ability to wear skanky clothes. It’s more internal than that. I liked the way I felt. I had energy. I had attitude.

So, here I go again. Wish me luck. I have a wedding dress to fit into in 2 months and 19 days.

He, I mean She, I mean He…. Wants What?!?!?!

2007-06-27T09:43:00.000-04:00

So, I’m pretty much sick of thinking and talking about Paris and Lindsey. I’m over Anna Nicole, her monasery of man whores and her kid.

Thank God there was something fun in the news today!

This dude, err, chick, err, well I think its still a dude, Robert Kosilek, wants the state of Massachusetts to pay for his sex change surgery.

Um. Yah. He just isn’t happy being a he and isn’t going to be happy living as a he anymore, dammit!

Whatever!!

This asshat killed his wife in 1990 after she dumped hot tea on his testicles. I’d probably have dumped hot tea on his testicles too, but I would have run for the hills and not looked back.

Apparently she wasn’t that smart and he strangled her. How I don’t know. I can only assume that if I had hot tea spill on my nuts, I’d be in the fetal position crying like a baby.

Anyhoo. So, this guy has been in jail for murder for many moons. Now, I don’t know about ya’ll, but I am all for swift offing of anybody who is a murderer. I mean, why are we wasting our tax dollars on feeding and showering these folks? I am not tolerant of blatent evil or being mean for the sake of it, but I think there are way too many murderers, child molesters, and rapists in prison, living the good life, instead of getting a needle in the vein.

And this jack ass wants the state to pay to remove his penis and give him a vagina? If they do it, I hope he gets molested by the biggest, baddest man in the prison.

Any Tom, Harry, or Dick in society would be fighting with a multitude of shrinks to get the sex change, not to mention spending a small fortune on the operation itself. How in the world could his request even have gotten so far as to have made it into court? And not only did it make it into the courts, but an obscene amount of money has been spent on mental evaluations of this guy because he keeps threatening suicide. Good God, let him do it!

Dang, give me the needle or let me have control of the switch, I’ll euthanize him and save the fine tax paying citizens of Mass. a whole lot of money.

Toby Keith - Hottie of the Moment

2007-06-25T13:46:00.000-04:00

Ok. If I’m nothing else, I’m completely honest and tend to let all my inhibitions fall to the ditch with my pals in our little blogging world. Since only a few of you know me on a totally personal level, and have never seen my face, and could most likely not pick me out in a line-up… I don’t mind sharing my innermost thoughts with you… even if they are sometimes a little off.

So, we were at Catscratch Jane’s, and Scotty reminded me that I was going on about how much of a hottie Toby Keith is. Yes, it’s true. I’d sop that boy up with a biscuit.

In the midst of a discussion about blogging a “Hottie of the Day” about Toby Keith, I (without thinking, of course) blurt out that, “I have had so many wet dreams about Toby Keith, I can not possibly do him justice in a blog”…

So… I will not attempt to discuss why Toby is such a hottie, but will continue seeing him “Dream walkin and Pillow talkin”.

I will recess now to the confines of my cold shower.
Peace. Out!