What Jiggles & Floats, But Refuses to Bounce?

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.

Quick - Main-line Caffeine STAT!

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.)

12-Step Program Needed

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.

Turkey Porn and Giblets

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.

Earthquake!!

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....

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.

The Love of a Sarcastic Mother

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.

Honey, I've Been Violated... again

"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."

The Perfect Gift this Season

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!

Do Orangutan's Have A Penis Bone?

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!

Honey, I've Been Violated

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

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

F*&k You Like An Animal

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).

Lame Things I've Heard

Okay. By now, we all know I am a big mouth girl, with an even bigger personality and a colossus opinion about most everything. So, it seems that lately, I’ve had plenty of time to sit back, watch and listen. And some of the things I have heard recently make me want to say, “Um. What?!?!?! Get a grip, you ditz!” This is merely one of them.

***You don’t like me because I’m fat, huh?***

During a discussion about male/female carrying ons, a male friend of mine, Spike*, told me that some girl had said this one to him because he wasn’t paying her the attention she felt like she deserved or wanted.

Oh, please, honey!

Will somebody please explain to me how women figure that if a man is not paying attention to them, or not “liking” them, or not fawning over them, then it’s surely because of that big ass attached to their backside???

First off, I wonder if she ever stopped to think, if a brother isn’t giving her skins, that maybe it’s not her fat butt… maybe it’s the beautiful personality that she displays constantly… You know, the personality that rivals Peyton Manning’s dripping wet sweat sock midway through the 4th quarter of the Superbowl?

B- What man is going to want you when you are oozing ickee-ness all over the bar, grocery store, or library by hitting on and trying to make out with anything and everything with a penis? Seriously, if I was a dude, and I saw a girl (any girl) hitting on one guy, getting the boot, then hitting on the next guy, getting the boot, then hitting on the next guy, getting the boot… I’m not so sure I’d be into her either. That’s just icky.

Thirdly and lastly (as if I don’t wrap it up here, I may keep going on and on)- Diva isn’t exactly a petite, Barbie doll sized girl of perfection. Now Diva knows that, although men do dig up on the arm candy, they also love women who will laugh with them, talk to them and have a great time doing whatever it is they are doing. Diva does not, nor has she ever, suffered from lack of attention from the opposite sex. Because regardless of the size of her blue jeans, Diva has no lack of esteem.

Why?

It’s a little thing called self-confidence, sister. You might try looking that one up and studying on it for a minute.

Yup, yup. You don’t dig me because I’m fat…..That’s one of the lamest things I think I’ve ever heard.

*Names have been changed to protect the innocent AND the guilty.