FFS

License to be a Parent

2007-12-14T03:34:00.000-06:00

I really believe that they should issue licenses for people to become parents.

If you think that I'm wrong, or that I'm some kind of freak for thinking that, I'd like to plead my case.

I've been busy and haven't been able to blog much, but I remembered something I wanted to blog about last year.

The end all be all of the worst Christmas presents !ever!

A friend of mine, who has been overweight since birth, received a brand new wardrobe from her size 2 Mother last year.

Very thoughtful, incredibly cool, right?

Wrong. It was all 4 sizes to small. Yes, the whole shabang. I'm talking work clothes, dressy clothes, club clothes, the woman must have spent a small fortune.

And my friend couldn't wear a single stitch of it.

When she asked her Mother why it was all to small, she just replied, "Well maybe NOW you'll lose weight!"

Yes, parents should have to get a license to have children, yes indeed.

It's the End of the World

2007-11-15T03:57:00.000-06:00

I'm pretty sure this is a sign of the appocolypse.

Uhhh

2007-07-24T10:48:00.001-05:00

So I am like the worst.blogger.ever.

Pounded

2007-02-08T01:09:00.000-06:00

So we here in Chicago have taken quite a beating since that joke of a game Sunday.

First, we played like Pop Warner players in their first year at the Super Bowl, FFS, and then we got pounded with snow.

I fucking hate snow. I'm really kind of getting used to this global warming stuff, and I am not as used to this fluffy white stuff as I was growing up.

Here's one member of my family who was very grateful for the snow:

Ah yes, my "little" puppy who almost weighs as much as I do now. I need to start lifting weights or sumfin.

Gay Rehab

2007-01-26T10:51:00.000-06:00

So does anyone know what exactly gay rehab is?

McPsychobigot has went to gay rehab to atone for his sins.

What do they do exactly in gay rehab? Do they make them get manicures and talk about their feelings?

This whole subject with McPsychobigot just really gets to me. We seem to have a large ratio of gay people in my family, and I was always raised with the thinking of it's normal. That is how some people are, it is just how they feel and there is nothing wrong with it.

So to have someone talk like McPsychobigot, especially someone that knows how bad those kinds of words can hurt someone-how dangerous they are, and then flat out lie, and then turn around and say "OOooooooh I'm going to rehab because I need help" just stinks. Just typing it has smelled up my whole blog.

I watched Grey's Anatomy last night, and as Isaiah entered a scene all I could think about was what a nasty creature he is. There was no disconnecting the person from the character.

Gay Rehab my ass. They need to fire his ass before one of my favorite shows is just forever gone to me.

I'm really getting tired of these celebs that do these horrible things and just say "I need help, I'm going to rehab." Gibson can be the biggest bigot in the world, say really hateful, dangerous things, but then say he's a drunk so that's why.

Bullshit. Some things are just wrong no matter what.

Are you ready for some football?

2007-01-22T10:21:00.000-06:00

So you know you are from Chicago when you go to your friend's house and their little niece who is like one year and some months can't really say Mom or Dad or Hi or Bye but can say "GO BEARS."

I remember my Dad crying three times in my life. The first two times were when each of my Grandmothers died.

The third time was when the Bears won the Super Bowl.

Here's a blast from the past:

Super Bowl Shuffle Video

It's painful to watch. #4 tries so hard...lol How could so many people with so little rhythm ever win a Super Bowl?

Carry on...

Stopping the Cycle

2007-01-19T17:47:00.000-06:00

So I'm afraid of things. Most of them are things that most people are afraid of like spiders and snakes and really any kind of bug.

Some are not so common like how I'm scared to death of Jaws. Like that doesn't seem to uncommon I suppose, but when you stop to think about the fact that I'm afraid of Jaws in like Lake Michigan or a really big swimming pool late at night you start to come to the conclusion that this is not an ordinary fear.

Which, by the way, I still blame on my stupid ass Aunt who took me to see Jaws when I was like 5.

Anyway, I have this other unusual fear. It has drove many of the ex boyfriends crazy. The Mystery Man and I used to travel a lot, and I think it got to him the most. "It is just IRRATIONAL," he would say. "I'm sitting right here for God's sake!"

Just what was this irrational fear of mine? Something that terrified me so much I would never, ever do it in a million years, even with a big strong man right next to me?

Eating in the car.

Yes, you read that right. I have a highly irrational fear of eating in the car. TMM and I used to take this long road trips up the California coast and I'd insist we stop and eat instead of grabbing something to eat in the car.

Now I explained why I have an irrational fear of Jaws, so I guess I should explain why I have this irrational fear of eating in the car.

If you've read my blog at all you know that I grew up as a chunky/fat kid and lost weight in my early twenties.

Well that fat person doesn't go away when you lose weight, and she is always there, just behind your eyes.

My fear isn't because I'm afraid I'll get fat again, but because of a death. The death of someone I never met in my entire life.

I was working for a two doctors while I was going to college-Married doctors just out of school. They were Optometrists, and one day they informed me they would be leaving town because a friend of theirs had died.

This friend died while eating a Ho-Ho in the car. Choked to death. Now this was not enough to give me my irrational fear, no sir. It was what the male asshole doctor said after he told me how he died. "Figures. That guy was so fat he probably ate all the time!"

Now at this time I was in the middle of going from chunky to curvy. Anyone who has ever been fat, is fat, might become fat, or is a skinny woman that has been called fat because jackasses know they can get to any female by calling her fat no matter how skinny she is (why is that?)can tell you when you hear the word fat you equate it to me.

What if I died eating a Ho-Ho in my car? What if I died eating M&M's? Imagine the people saying, "Well that tank ass never could control her volumes of food."

So began the fear. I don't think I have eaten in my car since then.

Well today I stared that fear down. I've been moved back to days for a week at work, and after a complete nightmare of a day which included no calories at all, I was feeling a big light headed and weak.

So I stopped at a Subway outside of work on my way home. My Veggie Delight on wheat sat there in the seat next to me begging to be eaten. Now I could have just ate there, but after being gone for 10 hours and my doggy sitter came after I was only gone for 2 I had to get home right away considering the sizable "mistake" a 125 pound puppy would make if he couldn't hold it any longer.

So I'm driving on 94 with all the construction and asshats that don't know how to drive, and I'm starting to feel really, really sick. So I have a choice to make. Will I be the idiot that passed out from low blood sugar and caused the 20 car pile up on 94 and died or the formerly fat girl that choked to death on a veggie delight sub?

I chose the later, thus going against my irrational fear of eating in the car, and I lived to tell (or write) about it..

I'm thinking nothing can help me with the spider/bug thing, but at least I can eat when I'm hungry now.

My Hero

2007-01-18T21:25:00.000-06:00

So I blogged about my new love and addiction for Roswell a bit ago on my blog.

I just gotta say it. I heart Katherine Heigl. After how she called out McPsychobigot I want her to be my bestest friend.

That is all.

Hello Karma!

2007-01-14T14:16:00.000-06:00

So, I got my very first ticket today. After having a driver's License for 20 (holy! shit!) years, I have finally got a speeding ticket.

Now I've been pulled over for just about everything you can think imagine. Speeding, blowing red lights (it was yellow, I swear officer), unsafe start, unsafe lane change (I didn't even know that existed), swerving, and expired license plates.

Never once did I receive a ticket. I have a tried and true plan on how not to get tickets. Tell the truth. I did it, I'm sorry, give me a ticket if you must and let's get the show on the road.

Double DD's don't hurt either.

Anyway.

I was driving through my old hometown this morning on my way to visit some family. Of course I was arriving late because it is unnatural to be up early on a Sunday morning unless you are a church person, which by the amount of fuck's you'll find in my blog, I'm obviously not.

So this ticket might have ground on me a bit since I seem to be spiraling to 40 at an alarming rate.

The only thing that saved me and my self esteem was who gave me the ticket.

It was that bastard from Kindergarten.

Now don't ever, ever think things you have done in your past will not come back to haunt you. Don't ever, ever think that your actions did not effect people, no matter how small, no matter how young you were.

So let's go back in time, shall we? The year was 1976 and I was starting Kindergarten. Much to my horror I found a little boy in my class that had the same name as me-Kelly. Not only that, but he had the common version of my last name.

My great great great grandfather changed our last name when he stole a horse and was on the run from the law. It was actually weirder before, but the way he changed the spelling has been the bane of my existence ever since then.

So my real last name is one letter off from being a real common last name and sounds completely different. Fucking criminals.

Anyway, so this potato of a head little boy decides that it is funny to point out that my last name is spelled wrong and that I have a boy first name, which all the other kids thought was real funny.

I kept it cool man, because even at that young of an age I think I knew that little children can pick out weakness better then anyone on Earth. They can smell that shit from a mile away because none of that survival of the fittest stuff has been deprogrammed from their little brains.

"Who's gonna listen to you, you are the Smelly Kelly!" I said. How one little sentence could make such an impact.

He cracked. You could see the panic and discomfort as he scanned the room to see if anyone had picked up on that one. Oh, they had. They sensed that weakness. They sensed that fear. Little kids are brutal, man.

So boy Kelly with the misspelled last name was forgotten about and Smelly Kelly was in for the rest of the year. He was Catholic, so he went to a private school after that, but rumor has it that he was called that all through elementary school.

Whoops....He started it....I finished it...Survival of the fittest, right?

Well it may have been survival of the fittest, but he definitely ended up getting the last laugh.

Yep, Smelly Kelly is the one that pulled me over. Smelly Kelly is the one that gave me my first ticket.

He did the whole I'm a bad ass cop swagger to my car. I rolled down the window while my breasts were accidentally flying out of my shirt. All of this while trying to get the big beast Nitro's head inside the car.

Isn't he cute? Anyway...

So I thought Smelly Kelly looked sort of familiar, but I haven't seen him since an accidental meeting in like 10th grade. I gave him the "I'm sorry Officer, I know I was speeding" blah blah blah speech as I handed him my license.

The look of utter disgust as he recognized my name was clear. Crystal even...

"I remember you from Kindergarten," he said. "I'm Kelly _____"

Fuck me running. I knew I was screwed. I'm kind of surprised he didn't search my car and like plant drugs in it or something. He was probably afraid that Nitro would eat him.

So as always karma has come around from a bad thing I did, which totally isn't fair since it was a self defense sort of deal. It kind of left me thinking though....

If all it takes is $159 to have not been called Boy Kelly with the fucked up last name for the rest of my scholastic career, then I'll take it.

Smelly Kelly still got the wrong end of the deal.

I can't take it anymore...

2007-01-11T22:35:00.000-06:00

Ok, this has bothered me for years. YEARS.

Why the fuck don't the fine folks at Blogger put the word Blogger into their spell checking device. Every time I type the word Blogger and go to the spell check I come up with suggestions like blocker, blockier, blacker, blusher.

It really, really annoys the hell out of me. Why would they do this when the name of their site is Blogger?

Someone please tell me why!

Electronically Over-accessorized

2007-01-11T22:12:00.000-06:00

So every thing I log into blogger it taunts me with the whole "Your new version of Blogger is ready!"

Like it's saying, "Hey dumb ass, upgrade to the better version already!"

I'm fucking tired of better versions of electronic type things.

Lately I have been yearning for the days of yesterday, days when I could leave my house, and no one could get a hold of me.

Yeah, I had a pager, and starting in the early 90's I have had a cell phone, but unless it had a 911 attached to it no one really cared if you didn't answer a page right away and the price of a cell phone call was like calling the moon or something. I remember paying $50 a month for 75 minutes of talk time. Date myself much?

Today I have a text pager, not one but two cell phones, and a two-way radio that I must keep on at all times at work. It's like all these electronic leashes wrapped around me.

I fucking hate it.

The whole downfall of this electronic revolution started with the whole Pagers! They're not just for drug dealers anymore! Phenomenon. Now before I said that unless you put 911 after your number no one really cared if you answered back right away.

Then everyone started putting 911 after their number. Like all the time. It would be like calling an ambulance when you stubbed your toe, FFS.

My old pager from yesteryear is probably still at the bottom of the Chicago River. Where I threw it. After my crazy ass ex paged me one time to many. At least it has good company, with Dave Matthew's feces settling around it by now.

I heart Dave Matthew's, and I don't even rock the ganja......Well....Anymore...

Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, so people started abusing the pager thingy waaaay too much, and it was the beginning of the end. Then people started getting cell phones, and things have just gone horribly awry since all these cheap ass phone plans have come out.

People get terribly upset with me. I actually shut my cell phone off. Nothing annoys the crap out of me more then when someone is standing in line at a store talking their whole personal life for everyone to hear and the cashier is trying to get their damn money so they can get the fuck out of my way.

God that's rude. I can imagine how much cashier, servers, bank tellers, and the like hate cell phones. I bet they hate them almost as much as me.

So when I'm grocery shopping or in a restaurant or driving in my fucking car I am sure there isn't anything that is soooooo important that people must get a hold of me right! now!

But they sure act like they do. "Your cell phone was off again" or "Why didn't you answer your cell phone" are questions I hear on a daily basis.

Because I fucking turned it off or was fucking busy or I fucking didn't want to talk to anybody right at that particular moment, ok?

Then they get all hurt or mad or indignant because I waited a half hour to call them back. Like if I am eating in a restaurant with someone, I am sure as hell not going to answer my phone, and when people do it when they are with me I think it is rude as hell.

Yes, rude! as! hell! all you cell phone addicts. There is a person right in front of you to talk to, so talk to them. Enjoy your meal. Cut the electronic cord for one hour. You might just like it.

The first day of work

2007-01-08T15:06:00.000-06:00

So no, I didn't go and get another job or anything, it's just that so many people at work have taken the "you suck so we'll pay you to get the fuck out" package that many days feel like the first day of work.

The worst part is I have all new bosses. It takes awhile to train a boss. I just got the last one broke in rather well when he went to be like the head of international quality for a major cell phone company.

He did give me a free Razor at least......

At first it seemed like it'd be ok, till one of the new bosses is one of those. The I'm fucking superman you peon so listen up types.

Needless to say him and I spent a good month or so not getting along so well. This came to an end when I finally told him, "Look dude, I can be your best friend or you worst fucking nightmare. Take your pick."

You have to know a lot of shit to get away with saying something like that, and fortunately I know more shit than anyone.

It's been roses and kittens since then with the one with the God complex. Well, with me anyway. Everyone else still has major problems and they still hate him, but hell that is their problem for not knowing a lot of shit.

So What's Happenin?

2007-01-06T13:35:00.000-06:00

So it's been almost a month since I wrote anything here. What's been going down on my end of the blogosphere you might ask?

I blame my Mother totally for this one. My niece and I made an impromptu trip south of the Mason-Dixie line to visit the parental units.

While visiting and having a grand old time the Sci-Fi channel had this marathon on. It was a show I had never heard of before.

Roswell.

"Ooooooh I love this show," my 60 something year old Mother gushed. "They say it's like a mix of Dawson's Creek and The X-Files."

So the thought of my Mom even knowing what Dawson's Creek is blows my mind, until she tells me that she has no idea what it is but it must be good if it is like this show.

Immediately I think this Roswell must be about horrible.

But then we started watching it, and watching it, and watching it.

It hooks you I tell you, and it is great. It has Katherine Heigl pre Grey's, Adam Rodriguez from CSI Miami later on in season three, that dude from The Grudge Jason Behr, Shiri Appleby from my all time favorite Project Greenlight Season, and Brendan Fehr also from CSI Miami.

But the biggest surprise of this whole little show were two of the actors that have me as a fan for life: Colin Hanks (yes, Tom is his Dad but I didn't realize that until a sugar fueled coma sometime while I was watching season 3) and Majandra Delfino.

Two of the finest comedic actors I have seen in a looooooooong time. Truly gifted.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, so the addiction began at my Mom's as we watched 4 episodes of season 2. I really didn't understand what was going on as you kind of should start from the beginning in a show like this.

So before using up three of my Netflix movies on this, I wandered over to You Tube and looked to see if they had any episodes uploaded.

And here it is, the beginning of the end:

I watched this and changed my little queue in Netflix for the first three disks of Roswell Season One.

My niece and I ate them up like candy, and we decided we could not wait on Netflix for our Roswell fix so I trucked on over to Amazon and ordered all three seasons.

Which I think brings up another interesting little point to the whole debate about You Tube and copyrighted material and all that jazz. I'm totally ADD. If I wouldn't have found it and watched that moment when Liz is saved by Max, I prolly would have forgotten all about Roswell.

Instead I bought the whole series. Then I bought the whole series for my Mom for Christmas since she said she used to get to watch it every day but now Sci-Fi only has it on at like 4 in the morning on Fridays.

Anyway, so my niece and I have spent a month watching three years of TV. We got to experience the ups and downs of Alien Hybrid teenagers figure out who they are, their place in this world, and how to deal with their human counterparts.

Classic TV folks, I'd highly recommend it.

Scrooge

2006-12-07T09:40:00.000-06:00

So yes, I am a big time Scrooge this year. I did my Christmas shopping in 20 minutes at Tar-jay. In the gift card section.

The only people I bought actually presents that need wrapping paper and bows and all that jazz are for my parents-and I bought those on-line.

I've never been a gift card type person. The whole thrill of finding that perfect present that would make someone's face light up when they opened it, yeah that was me.

Bottom line is I'm just tired this year. That, and I won $1500 gambling Thanksgiving weekend so it made it real freakin' easy to stop by that poor man's Cosco and finish Christmas in no time flat.

The whole "B" word is coming up too, and I don't know how happy I am about that. I'm mean Jesus, I'll be 36. Thirty-six. Dare I say that is closer to the 40's then the 20's? Granted, I wouldn't go back to the two-oooohs for nothing in this world, and the thirties have been good to me thus far, but I'm tellin' ya....No birthday's have ever freaked me out, but when I turn 40 I think I'm going to have some kind of breakdown. At it is still over 4 years away.

Ahhhhh Haaaaa!

2006-11-13T14:21:00.000-06:00

Yes, I've had an ahhhh haaaaa! moment.

As anyone who hasn't been bore with a super fast metabolism knows, weight loss/maintenance is a constant battle.

When I started this blog almost 3 years ago I was starting to lean towards being in the "chunky" category, which I quickly resolved before I headed straight towards the "tank ass" category.

I had put a few pounds back on the last couple of weeks. By a few pounds I mean my clothes still fit but were decidely uncomfortable. Dangerously close to going up a size.

Well now that weight is starting to come off. I'm a big believer in calories in/calories out.

What was the change? What was going on almost 3 years ago when I started this blog?

I was on the dayshift. I recently had to go to the dreaded shift for 3 weeks, in which I put on a whopping 7 pounds. In 3 weeks.

I eat like a farmer when I'm on afternoons. When I was a small child and my parents forced us into child slave labor for our Grandparents, things were greatly different. Lunch, or dinner as they called it was the biggest meal of the day. Breakfast was the second biggest, and sometimes what we call dinner or they call supper was just a small snack.

This is how I eat on afternoons. And I have no problem whatsoever in the maintenance of my weight when I'm on afternoons.

On dayshift I find it hard to even grab a banana and yogurt at 4 in the morning, much less a big hearty breakfast. Lunch usually flies out the window because I hit snooze one to many times. So by the time I am driving home from work I am Famished with a capital "F".

So there you go. I've done went and figured it all out!

It's offical

2006-10-24T20:42:00.000-05:00

I'm a crazy dog lady. Long Live The King.

It's a bird...It's a plane...

2006-10-23T17:44:00.000-05:00

It's kj as Supergirl. For Halloween that is. More to come......

7 months

2006-09-19T08:44:00.000-05:00

Look who's 7 months old. Why, it's my puppy Nitro. I'd guestimate him at about 95 pounds now, considering he was 85 @ 6 months. The days of picking him up and getting on the scale are long gone.

The only way I could feel more safe is to have armed guards outside my house with machine guns.

Yeah, you'd have to be pretty stupid to break in here if you got a look at that great big head that is full of great big teeth.

Now I used to think that little hunny bunny (god help me that's what we call him most of the time) did not have an aggressive bone in his body. He is a baby that is bullied by the cats Oliver and Martini

and won't even go in the same room as the hamster. There will be no picture of the hamster Lucifer because I am deathly afraid of him and the only reason he lives in my house is because he is my nieces pet. That's all I got to say about that.

I figured the German Shepherd half of him that would be protective had not kicked in at all. Oh, he follows me from room to room and is incredibly attached and loyal to me, but when you see a 95 pound dog scamper away because your niece is cleaning a hamster cage you gotta kind of wonder how much balls this dog actually has.

Then we went for our walk and the really horrible neighbors with the really horrible pit bull had let him loose to run. As it snarled and ran towards us Nitro turned from hunny bunny to a dog that I do not know.

I did not know he had that many teeth as he bared every single one of them. He did not lunge at the pit bull, he just stood in front of me emitting a very scary low growl while showing the dog exactly how big his teeth are. The pit bull said "fuck this" and ran the other way. Then Nitro returned to hunny bunny status and pranced around me, who was now frozen in shock, fear, and awe, because he wanted to get walking again.

I have a feeling if anyone ever entered my house uninvited they'd leave on a stretcher. Who needs a gun when you can get a hunny bunny?

It should be illegal

2006-09-19T08:29:00.000-05:00

So I got home from work last night around 1:00 am, a couple of hours earlier then I usually roll in. My niece, who lives with me, is the TiVo queen. This means I just might be able to keep up with all that water cooler talk about the hot new fall shows.

She had TiVo'd CBS's new show "The Class."

It should be illegal for CBS to advertise that the people behind the show "The Class" are the same people behind "Friends" and "Mad About You."

This is like comparing a little league team to a World Series championship team.

It. Sucks. Hardcore.

The Class tries as hard as a woman who just got laid properly for the first time.

Yes, it is that bad.

The only redeeming feature of this show is Jason Ritter, who shows great potential and really, really reminds me of his father, which I mean as a HUGE compliment.

Maybe it'd be ok if I couldn't keep up with the water cooler talk, eh? Unless it is about Jericho, of course. See post below.

I wonder

2006-09-17T09:54:00.000-05:00

So I wonder if my day I had yesterday is how people live if they are rich or a housewife.

I'm guessing not, since rich people more then likely work thus the rich part, and housewives usually have kids which mean there is no way in hell you'd have a day like I had yesterday.

Unless you are a rich housewife that has a nanny. Yeah, that's it. Yesterday was like if I was a rich housewife with a nanny.

But not a maid, because I did have that chore to do, which only took an hour or so.

Then I was free........

So I spent a good portion of the day lounging on the couch, planted some bulbs for next spring, caught up on some emails, watched a couple of movies, surfed the net for awhile, and ate some bad for me food.

Heaven, pure heaven.

One thing that I did do yesterday was watch this on Y! TV. It happened by accident really, and I found myself riveted to my computer while I watched the first episode of Jericho.

Riveted. I'm telling you people, if the rest of the season of this show is this good......I've found a new addiction.

Lazy Saturday

2006-09-16T09:01:00.000-05:00

So for the first time in a long time I think I might get a lazy Saturday.

A Saturday where I don't have to do anything that I don't want to do.

My friend C is coming over for a bit this morning. My lovely now 90-95 pound 6 and a 1/2 month old puppy has learned how to open the gate in my back yard. He's coming to install a taller gate with double locks.

Double locks for fuck's sake.

C has got to be real sick of my house, and eventually my I loooooove yooooooooou's are not gonna work anymore. I just want the work to end around here. My bank account wants the work to end around here. I shouldn't complain about that though, since it basically just costs me the materials because C looooooooooove's me.

So after C is done I have nada to do. My new business venture has taken up way more time then I thought it would (and made me a hell of a lot more money then I thought it would). You gotta love being on the ground floor for something that has just started out west.

On top of that I had all the construction stuff going on, a long distance type relationship going on, a very bad puppy, crazy working hours at my regular job, and friends that need to be seen.

I haven't had a fucking minute to myself in about two months. But today....The construction is pretty much done, the sometimes-boyfriend is on a guy's weekend, the very bad puppy is wore out from playing with his girlfriend, Rizzo the Boxer,

I am off work at my regular job, and my friends all have family crap going on.

A whole day to do nothing.

Honestly I can't remember the last time I had a day like that.

Oh how wonderful this shall be......

I'm a Soccer Mom

2006-09-15T08:58:00.000-05:00

Ok, so technically I don't have any kids, but I now look like a Soccer Mom. At least while driving.

Who am I kidding, my big ass honking SUV's of the past made me probably look like a Soccer Mom, but I didn't see it that way.

This new vehicle, ummm yeah, it is total Soccer Mom.

You see ever since that fateful day back in 1998 when Chicago got dumped on with snow and my itty bitty Escort GT (you know, the really good Escort *snort*) would not get me out of here I have owned something that could switch to 4x4 and climb a damn mountain if necessary.

I think I wrote about it before, but here's a recap. My brother came to get me because there was no power and I used the last of my water (have a well, didn't realize it ran on electric) to fill up my cat and dog's bowls. So after one huge ass fight about how I was in no uncertain terms leaving my animals we (my brother, cat, dog, and I) made our way to his house because he had a generator. He had a big honkin' F250, and the normally five mile trip took an hour.

His two year old had chicken pox, and his 6 year old was just getting over them. Two very cranky kids. His wife was pissed that my animals came with, every freakin' person in the neighborhood was there, and I ended up breakin' up with my then boyfriend because we had a major cell phone fight.

I was trapped and I swore that would never happen again.

So I have always owned SUV's since then. With my tendency of crashing this isn't just for snow purposes people. I need something safe.

Well gas prices don't exactly mix with SUV's right now, mine had about 130,000 miles on it (I go lots 'o places), and I hadn't exactly kept up with the maintenance part of the deal.

As my truck was smoking and leaking, I pondered on why the hell I was so stupid and didn't keep up with that maintenance part of the deal.

Anyway, I had a choice. Fix it, which was going to cost some major $$$$, or get a new one.

So I bought a car. Not just any car, the car we make here in Chicago. The Soccer Mom car. A Five Hundred.

There they are rolling off the line where I work. It's a big honkin' car, just voted the safest in America.

Which I totally need.

While this isn't a vehicle I would normally pick out, I decided to support my plant and to support American made Union made products. I know, I know, those little foreign car manufacturers have their little plants here, but when you think that the American car companies employ like 3,000,000 people they they employ 300,000, it kind of puts it into perspective.

Yeah, hungry? Eat your foreign car comes to mind. How the hell did I get on my soap box? Ok, getting back down now.

So I decided to support Chicago. It isn't that it is a bad looking car. I totally love the way it drives and how it sits up high and the interior feels like a luxury car.

It's just that I've always had well different vehicles. Like when I bought my first car. It was this candy apple red Escort. Once I realized that there were a million other candy apple red Escorts my Dad and I proceeded to paint it PINK. Like Bubble Gum Pink.

I then bought a PURPLE Escort GT. Back then I couldn't fathom buying a car that costs as much as a really small house, so I always went cheap, and always went Ford for obvious reasons.

Then the storm hit and I bought my first semi-expensive vehicle. The Explorer.

Oh how I hearted that truck. I would probably still be driving it if it wasn't for that little incident with the black ice and the guard rail. Oppps!! The people that picked it up assumed I was dead, thus enforcing my belief that I needed a really big, safe suv.

So I'm back to a car, which I sure will make my tree-hugger Mama happy. I must admit, even though it isn't Pink, and even though it doesn't have a GT in the name, and even though it has four doors, I'm really diggin' it.

It's so smooth and quiet. You ride up high like in a truck, so you can really see. It has lots of cool bells and whistles like a navigation system and satellite radio.

All for way cheaper then my truck. I can probably get about 3 new coach purses a year with how much cheaper it is. Yay!

Let me tell you about the interior folks.....Beautiful soft leather seats that would fit a line backer. I feel like a size 0 model on a skinny day in it. My friend C, who is 6'5, can cross his legs in the back seat, which is good because the huge puppy Nitro

will have to fit back there.

So yeah, I'm diggin' being a soccer mom.

My GOD please tell me this doesn't mean I am fucking growing up, mmmkay?

Admitting is the first step

2006-09-09T10:47:00.000-05:00

When is the last time you went trick-or-treating and dressed up and asked for candy?

I didn't do it last year, so for me it would be 33.

Age is a state of mind they say.

That is all.

Damn Disney to Hell

2006-09-07T11:45:00.000-05:00

So if you have read this blog for any amount of time you may have come to realize that I love Halloween a little more then the average person.

Ok, I love it a lot more then the average person. The annual Halloween party that is thrown by my friends and I is the party of the year. It is the party that people talk about for months afterwards. It is the party that turns people into insecure 15 year olds praying they get an invite.

I'm having a bit of an issue this year. You see, my bestest friends and I always do some kind of theme. Like last year we were fairies, and another year we were fembots.

Well this year someone came up with the brilliant idea to be Princesses from Disney. Ok, the idiot was me. Originally we wanted to be Kiss, but since my sis-in-law just had twins in February it is going to take her another year to have her body spandex-ready.

Anyway, so I thought it would be cute to do the whole Disney Princess thing. Actually I have always always always wanted to be Cinderella for Halloween.

So I was excited when I found out that a local party store had their costumes out already. I went found a beautiful deluxe Cinderella costume. Just gorgeous.

Then I remembered why we are usually so original with our costumes and make them ourself.

The dreaded Adult-Size-Standard.

You see, the costume companies do not exactly anticipate that some of their customers may have bigger then a B Cup. The adult-size standard usually encompasses a size 10-12. No prob, as I'm an 8 on the bottom right?

As I slipped on the beautiful Cinderella dress everything seemed fine. I started zipping it. No problem as the zipper went over the small of my back with ease and room to spare.

Then I got to that spot about 4 inches above the small of my back. The dreaded area that I always have problems with.

About the only way I could get it zipped there would be a yard of material and a miracle from God.

I mean, check out the pictures of these damn disney princesses. They have a little tiny waist. They have no hips to speak of. Oh yes, they also have quite a rack.

Ummm hello that kind of costum would fit perfect!! Why don't they make them like that??? Why do they assume that every person that is a size 10-12 have the breast of a 10-12 year old boy?

What the fuck?

So I checked out some plus-sized costumes thinking that I could get someone to take it in for me. The only one they had was Snow-Freaking-White and I don't wanna be Snow-Freaking-White. They'd also have to cut 3/4 of the damn thing off to fit my damn hips and waist.

This is such bullshit.

So I can either be Snow-Freaking-White, buy the Cinderella costume and try and find fabric to make it bigger, or try like hell to find a plus-sized one somewhere out there on the Internet and get it taken in.

Looking on the Internet has not been working out to well. They have some, but not much in the plus-sized arena as far as Disney goes. Mostly ghastly Mini-Mouse crap. I did come to find a couple of "Sin"-derella costumes.

Sinderella? FFS...... Why is it they try and sexy up all these costumes? Sexy Raggedy Ann....Sexy Bo Peep....Sexy Judge...Yes, that's right, sexy judge. Anytime I have been standing in front of a judge sexy is the last thing I thought of, but I digress from my digression...

So Halloween is not going well so far this year. Will I be Cinderella? Will I be a rather grumpy Snow-Freaking-White? Only time will tell. Stay tuned.

Drowned

2006-09-06T08:27:00.000-05:00

So last weekend, after a long couple of weeks, a few of my bestest girlfriends came over to celebrate the fact that I was finally getting my house back after all that construction.

One of my friends ~D~ brought up the fact that her little sister, who is 30, told her that at 35 ~D~ is now certifiabley old.

Pfffffft. Whatevah!

So we reminded her that while her sister maybe 5 years younger then her, she also has the wrinkles of someone 10 years older then us, with all the sunbathing she's done in her lifetime. We also reminded her that little sis hasn't exactly hit the treadmill in awhile either, if you know what I mean.

Ok, so maybe we were being catty and just a wee bit mean, but we need to perk up ~D~'s spirits because if she is certifiabley old, that means we are too.

We can't have that.

I'm pretty much convinced little sis's attack came from the fact that we all went out a few weekends ago and us geriatrics scored far more free drinks then the spring chicken. In fact, I don't think spring chicken scored one drink.

They say the best form of flattery is jealousy, no?

Our attempts to make her feel better led to a discussion on plastic surgery. Now looking at all of us, I wouldn't say that any of us were even close to needing it. I think acting immature for so long has helped us stay young looking or something. That, or we have just plain embalmed ourselves with alcohol over the years.

I mean I was upset last year when this guy thought I was 27...lol I guess it had to happen some day, me looking over that 25 year mark. I still get carded for cigarettes, so I'm not too worried.

Anyway, so everyone started discussing what they would get done if plastic surgery was free and had no pain involved whatsoever.

One of my friends wanted bigger lips, another wanted a breast reduction, one wanted implants, one wanted lipo....

Then the eyes turned to me. I'm pretty happy with my body right now, the girls are thankfully still in the upright and locked position. I already have full lips that are big but not too big....

So what would I do? What would I change?

My nose. It would have to be my nose.

You see, I am a bit paranoid about my nose, and people think I am cRaZy. It's one of those little button noses you see on Barbie Dolls. I think you can kind of tell if you click my pic to go to the profile and view full size. There are no lumps or bumps. It's very petite.

So why would I want to change my nose? It's all my Dad's fault. When I was a little girl and it was raining he always used to say, "Don't go outside or you'll drown!"

I've always hated my nose, even though the more sensible side of me tells me that is like the skinny chick saying "I'm soooooooooooooo fat."

So of course saying my nose was met with groans and boos from the crowd. It really makes you think though, about what affect parents have on their little kid's vision of theirself.

My Dad was just kidding me, and he has made me paranoid about my nose for the rest of my life. Paranoid about a nose that I know most people with more "distinct" noses would kill for.....

Thank God that's all I had to deal with, eh? I can't imagine being one of those kids whose parents tell them they are fat or stupid.

A Return to Normalcy

2006-09-05T07:55:00.000-05:00

So the construction inside my house is COMPLETE. Done. Finished. All my stuff is back to in place, no more paint fumes, dust, and dirt everywhere.

There is a God.

I did my living room in beeeeeeautiful Ralph Lauren paint, which let me tell you, is the BEST I have ever used. It's a rich red color and I love love love it. Here's a pic of the almost completed room:

I hadn't hung all my stuff back up or put furniture back in it's proper place all the way yet, but you get the idea. I love my Home/Where your story begins on the wall. It's absolutely stunning. Kudos to this new company for that. I'm an independent demonstrator for this relatively new company, which means discount! Score!

But the new real love of my life is the new deck:

This picture only shows half of it, as it was raining and I took it from under the Gazebo. With benches instead of railings, this deck is perfect for entertaining. Plenty of seating, the deck shall be christened next weekend.

My friend C made the benches incredibly comfortable. They have a slight recline that only those of us who are rather well endowed can truly appreciate. I was afraid that they would be not very cozy, but once I throw a couple of cushions on them they will be as comfy as my beeeeautiful wicker furniture.

I heart my new wicker furniture, and I heart it even more since I got it @ 60% off!

Now I just have to deal with the mud pit that is the rest of my backyard now and a dog recovering from surgery. Yes, the Nitro went in and got fixed. He's not to happy right now.

Then hopefully I will have a full return to normalcy. Well, at least what normalcy is in my world.

So

2006-08-14T07:50:00.000-05:00

This weekend was the big party, and fate lent me a little hand in keeping everything in line and trouble free.

TMM had to catch a plane for Texas Sunday, so there were no worries about the meeting of the opposites.

Everything went really, really well, and a great time was had by all. Most of the construction was done thankfully, but it was a down to the wire type deal and unfortunately not everything was back in place, but pretty damn close.

My 74 pound puppy decided to help with the construction and decided "help" take wallpaper down which resulted in this nice little hole:

Note to self: do not tear anything down in this house with the dog watching.

Now I just need to sleep for a couple of days and all will be right with the world.

Hall of Fame

2006-08-06T09:02:00.000-05:00

If For Fuck's Sake had a posting hall of fame, this post would certainly be at the top for consideration.

Now I know I haven't been posting regularily, I don't have near the readers that i used to have, and life has really kicked me square in the ass for most of 2006, but I still manage to get a ton of hits from the Evile search engine Google.

Why in the world people are searching so much for how many carbs are in cough drops is beyond me. I mean, we are not talking like one or two a day, but like 20-30 people a day looking for that magic number.

The fact that Halls was advertising it was low carb freaked my shit out then, and it still freaks my shit out now.

The Making of a Disaster

2006-08-03T05:04:00.000-05:00

So a couple of months ago I was sitting in a movie theater getting ready to watch a movie. The lights started to dim, and the now mandatory commercials came on before my beloved previews.

Then it happened. The preview for "World Trade Center" came on.

I kind of looked around the theater now lit with horrible images that are already engrained in most of our minds. Most people had a look of horror or disgust on their face.

Then the booing started. It got to be so thunderous that you could not hear Nick Cage saying any of his little catch phrases.

I'm really curious to see how this one is going to do. I'm curious to see if it is just this midwestern town that found this movie in totally bad taste or if the rest of America is going to agree.

Forces of Nature

2006-08-01T08:44:00.000-05:00

So I have this friend, and she's a real force of nature.

I also have this sometimes boyfriend, who is also a force of nature.

I know, I know. I'm supposed to stay away from The Mystery Man. It has become increasingly hard to do that since he has moved a mere 4 1/2 hours away, to Northern Kentucky, right outside of Cincinnati. Maybe I should hook him up with Kate the Great. Then again, maybe I shouldn't. I know she wants the whole marriage/kids thing, and he would run away screaming his fool head off at the first mention of marriage.

Which is also why we are a good fit. I am not really into that whole be-with-the-same-person-all-of-your-life thing either.

Anyway, back to my dilemma. TMM has not met all of my friends, considering out of the 6 years of back and forth dating he has only lived in the same area as me for about a year. I've been selective about who he has met, and who he hasn't.

My friend M is one that I have selectively chosen to not meet him.

M has one of the best hearts I have ever known. She would do anything in the world for you. Kind, caring, generous, she's a great person.

She is also very obnoxious. Like REAL obnoxious, especially if she has a few cocktails. An only child with all the trappings that are generally associated with only children, she can be a bit much for someone who does not already know she is this kind, caring, generous person.

In all honesty, when I first met her I couldn't stand her, but her hubby is a great friend of mine, so I put up with her. Over time, I came to know the "real" her, and not the "public" her.

You see, when there is a party or gathering of friends, M has a totally different side to her, and it can be rather annoying. Attention is her drug of choice, and she will do whatever it takes to get it.

Say someone does a shot of tequila. She's say, "OH YEAH? Watch this!" and drink a whole glass full of tequila. No matter what topic of conversation there is she will turn it into something about her.

Now mind you this kind of junk only goes on when there are more then 4 people around. Normally she is fine.

The Mystery Man will clash with her, and clash bad.

About a month ago he spent the weekend here, and I toyed with the idea of getting the two of them together. Then M called me and said, "I need to check this guy out, put him through his paces, see if he's good enough for you."

Rut Ro

This made me immediately change my mind. I wanted to have fun this weekend, not a screaming match. You see, if people say smart ass comments back to her rather obnoxious behavior, she gets pissed, especially if alcohol is involved.

And you see, The Mystery Man is the KING of smart ass comments, which is one of the reasons why I puffy heart him so much.

Well all of this is coming to a head, dear readers, because in a week and a half I am hosting a Luau for my niece's 20th birthday.

Thy Mystery Man wants to come. M will definitely be there.

I repeat, Rut Ro.

So I've tried warning him about this potentially explosive situation. TMM would never be mean, but he sure as hell would call someone out if they are acting inappropriately.

Which would cause M to really, really hate him. Which would cause me to hear endless conversations about why she really, really hates him.

At first I thought it was maybe just me being a bit paranoid, until the first words out of my best friend R, who knows TMM, said, "How the hell are you going to keep M in line during a whole party?"

Rut Ro

So we've debated the situation between ourselves. Should we try to talk to her? I think that might make it worse, or worse yet, hurt her feelings, since she really doesn't believe she acts this way.

Should we talk to her long suffering husband, who knows how she is, has been embarrassed to many times to mention by her, but deals with it cuz he loves her?

Should I tell TMM that it is cancelled even though it's not cuz he lives so far away he'd never know?

We quickly ruled that option out, as I cannot lie to save my life and would so be busted.

The option of talking to her was ruled out because the last time someone tried to do that she actually cried. It hurt her feelings so bad that she was devastated. Not enough to stop the behavior, but if I made her cry I'd feel like total pond scum.

Talking to her hubby option probably won't work because while he will sympathize with my situation, he probably won't be able to do anything to remedy the problem. If he hasn't been able to remedy this problem in 13 years, I'm sure he won't be able to now.

So we came up with another option. If TMM doesn't roll with the punches, he is not having sex that weekend.

Ok, back the fuck up. Now this is punishing ME, and that is just not going to fly.

So I am out of options.

I am fucked.

If anyone out there has an option I have not thought of, please let me know. Now I know I have a certain control over TMM, one that only a woman who knows exactly what he likes can have, and I'm sure I can keep him towing the line.

But I will hear about it afterwards. Either from him or her, I will hear about it.

This sucks.

Baxter the Wonder Dog

2006-07-31T07:54:00.000-05:00

So Baxter was my first experience with having a really, really large dog. I had lived with two dogs in my lifetime at that point, Samantha (named after BeWitched), a terrier mix that was somewhere around 20 pounds and Sasha, the anti-christ 4 pound Yorkshire Terrier. He was a gift from my manager at my job, and needless to say my parents were! not! happy! about it one bit.

He looked just like the dog from "Please Don't Eat the Daisies" (showing my age people). Baxter was an adorable puppy, and none of us were prepared for just how big he was going to get.

Thankfully my parents ran their own business and had a huge fenced in backyard. As Baxter grew he did not like to be in the house at all, and would cry every time he came in. The only time he did come in and was satisfied was when I slept. He would sleep in my doorway, never with me. We weren't used to dogs that didn't like to just sit in our laps and be cuddled, so this was a totally new experience.

He could also be out of the fence, and would walk the perimeter of their business as if guarding it. Considering we lived on a major four lane highway, this was amazing. Baxter knew what his property was, and he was their to protect it.

Problems started to arise when he was around a year old. I had moved out, but I would bring Baxter to my parents backyard while I was at work. Their Garden Center parking lot was right next to the fence. Baxter was fine as the customers came in and out, but he would hang on the fence looking so damn cute that people would want to pet him.

They always ignored the "DON'T PET THE DOG" signs or the "BEWARE OF DOG" signs, because he just looked so friendly. Well, as soon as that hand went over that fence, they entered Baxter's territory. This was not good people. Many a person almost lost their hand by doing that.

So Baxter was becoming more and more of a pain in the ass. He meant well, really he did. I have never in my life seen a dog more protective of his land or his family.

This didn't satisfy my parents who were scared to death that despite the signs they were going to get sued or someone was going to seriously get hurt.

So an extension was put on the fence on the parking lot side, paid for by yours truly (damn tough love parents), and the problem was solved. My bank account took a spanking, but my dog was allowed back in the fence.

Then the day came that made me a true believer in big dogs for the rest of my life.

I had painted my apartment and was staying with the parental units for a weekend while the fumes cleared out. It was hot outside, so staying there with windows open would be torture. Some friends and I painted all day late into the night.

I drove my tired ass to my parents house to get a shower and some beautiful air conditioning. Baxter had stayed their the whole time, because painting would not! be! fun! with a 150 pound sheepdog in the mix.

I pulled into the dark parking lot and got out of my car. Now one thing you learn when you live on a major highway that stretches coast to coast is their are some really weird fucking people that travel at night.

Well one of these weird fucking people came out of no where and grabbed my arm.

"What are you doing here girly-girl?"

I can still hear that phrase in my nightmares every once in awhile.

Now I've always thought I was a tough chick that could take care of myself, but I learned that night that when a man that out weighs you by probably 60 pounds wants to drag you somewhere, he is probably going to be able to do it. I also learned that the mace on my keychain was pretty much useless when he had my arms bound to my side by his shear force.

He pulled me towards him and wrapped his hand around my mouth. I fought against him with all my might, but it was furtile. He was just to strong.

He was dragging me to the back of the garden center when I heard it. This low, rumbling growl. Baxter had went to the side of the fence that didn't have an extension, jumped it, jumped into my neighbors yard, jumped that fence, and then ran down the street to get back to our parking lot.

I had never seen dog attack a person before. Baxter clamped on to the guy's thigh and he let me go, trying to get the dog off of him. I ran like hell to my parents house screaming my head off, my parents woke up, police were called, and the man, about half dead from what my dog continued to do to him until the police showed up, was arrested and taken to the hospital.

My cute, beautiful sheepdog was now red instead of white, and treated like a king amoung kings after that incident. It still makes me want to throw up thinking about what might have happened if he wasn't there. It ended up the man was wanted for rape in a couple of states and a possible homicide.

Baxter was only 2 years old when he disappeared. You see, after this incident he learned he could "be free" by jumping the fences. Now if we let him out of the fence he would walk the perimeter of our property and never, ever leave it. But once he was outside of that area, he was just gone.

So a couple of times we caught him coming back home. A couple of times the police called us from a couple of miles away to please come get him. Everyone knew Baxter as he was a bit of a local hero, but the cops also saw what he did to that horrible man and were scared to death of him. They would patiently follow him with their car until we went and got him.

The fencing people were coming to put an extension on that side of the fence the day that Baxter didn't come home.

Frantic searches to shelters and the police being on alert for him turned up nothing. It was like he disappeared into thin air. About the only thing we can think of is someone opened up their car door and he got in. Once he was away from his property he was fine with people, and he loved going in the car.

I like to think that a nice family took him home and he lived out his life on some big farm running and playing. I don't believe I could stay sane if I didn't hold on to that little fantasy.

He really taught me that love comes in all different forms. While he didn't sleep with me or sit by me all the time or want to be cuddled, that dog loved me to no end. That dog saved me from what could have been a life ruining experience, or really possibly a life ending experience.

Which is why I now love big dogs. Now I know not all big dogs are as smart/protective as Baxter was, but I do know this. Mace wasn't going to help me. A gun wouldn't have helped me.

But that big dog saved my life, and I will love him and be grateful until the day I die.

My Dog, the Graduate

2006-07-27T06:30:00.000-05:00

So lil (or not so little) Nitro has graduated from puppy kindergarten.

Unfortunately the pic of him with his little hat on turned out real blurry as he felt he Must! Eat! The! Tassel! once we put it on him.

Damn dog.

He's going to another class soon that isn't in the middle of some cheesy pet store chain floor. He's going to "big dog school", a school where they teach the working dogs like police and search and rescue dogs. I want him to go through as much training as possible, because he very well could end up weighing more then I do.

The "big dog school" wouldn't take him before because he was to young, so I enrolled him in the cheesy chain store school just to get him some basics so I could control a puppy that at five months is prolly around 70 pounds.

Many people have asked me why the hell I didn't just get a little dog and be done with it.

I have an unfair and unnatural prejudice against any dog that can get it's ass kicked by a hamster.

When the dog I grew up with died my Mother promptly went out and bought a teacup Yorkshire Terrier From Hell.

Her name was Sasha. I still hate that name. This dog gave new meaning to the word bitch. Granted at first I hated this dog because I felt like they replaced a member of my family with a damn dog that was only 6 ounces when she came home. She wasn't big enough to go down the stairs until she was around a year old, and even then I think she weighed in at a whopping 4 pounds.

It didn't take long for her to give me a real reason not to like her. She was 4 pounds, but had the attitude of a 100 pound dog. My GOD this dog was unreal. Say you accidently kicked her, which was real easy considering she was always under foot and so small.

She would go find YOUR shoes and poop in them. Just a total nightmare. High pitched barking, would jump up on you and scratch, and always wanted to be in your lap.

If for some odd reason you didn't want this anti-christ in your lap she would growl at and/or bite you.

God I fucking hate small dogs....So ok I know they aren't all bad and some are well behaved. A friend of mine has a Shitzu that is cool as hell. I think the problem is most people get a small dog and they think, "It's a small dog, it can't do damage. It doesn't need trained."

Bullshit. All dogs should be trained. Add the fact that people for some reason think it is fun to dress these little monsters up and you just have an untolerable situation. I mean really, God wouldn't have gave them fucking fur if he wanted them to wear clothes.

My great love of big dogs started around the age of 18, when I got my first big dog, a 150 pound Old English Sheepdog named Baxter.

We'll save that for tomorrow......

Under Construction

2006-07-23T08:40:00.000-05:00

So I'm living in a construction zone right now. No, the greedy ass town has not forced me to sell my house yet, but I made a decision.

If these people do come in here and do make me sell my house, they are gonna pay for it, and pay dearly.

So I called up my friend C who does random construction when he needs money and still lives in his parent's basement.

He's 33 by the way. 33 and hott with 2 t's. 33 and would probably be the most fuckable person I know except for the fact that he's permanently stuck in that stage most people go through when they are around the age of 18.

Such a waste. Anyway, so I call up C and tell him I need some work done. Major work.

He fixed my door and put a nice new deck in for me a couple of months ago, but I'm going to be expanding on it. Part of it is going to be screened in with this cute Gazebo type thing I found at Costco. Oh how I heart Costco.

Then I'm getting hardwood floors in a majority of my house, new wood trim, new landscaping, a small pond, painting every room, a couple of dangerously leaning trees cut down, new window treatments, and a wall knocked down to make two small bedrooms one big bedroom.

There goes my savings account.

But I made a decision. If or when these bastards ever decide they are going to buy me out of my house, they are going to pay for it. That, and I haven't done much work to my house because I always considered it more of a starter type home for me. I was planning on moving this year, but since the rich people are invading my neighborhood I decided to wait it out.

So I'm getting everything new, everything the way I would have wanted it in my new home I was planning on purchasing. So right now my house smells like paint fumes, I have no floor in part of it, and I'm trying to keep this guy

from causing more destruction. I mean, more destruction then he already causes like eating my cell phone, kitchen table, random shoes (shoes! for the love of GOD! not the shoes!), the wood trim in my bedroom (hence the replacement), and the passenger's side seat in my SUV. Having a puppy that is 5 months old and oh I'd say around 65-70 pounds is so! not! fun!

So things are crazy around the kayjay household right now, but at least I'll have some good eye candy. Think of an Italian version of Matthew McConaughey. Think of a 6'5 Italian version of Matthew McConaughey.

Nice, eh?

Run for Your Life!

2006-07-18T15:07:00.000-05:00

It's the seventh sign!!! Earthquakes will consume the earth. Tidal waves, tornadoes, chaos, and the apocalypse in general are all about to happen.

Why am I so sure of all this doom and gloom? The media has actually reported a Toyota recall.

Update-sort of

2006-07-13T07:24:00.000-05:00

So I could apologize for not writing, but the truth of the matter is I have been writing quite a bit.

Just not here.

I've been working a lot on my other writing, you know the kind I hope might get turned into a movie one day. I suppose all my creative juices have been flowing in that direction, so I've been a bit tapped when I go to do a blog post.

So my blog has been neglected, but not forgotten. Those damn Baby Boomers won't let me. You see, even though a lot of you bloggers have probably given up on me (and I don't blame you), the search engines live on.

My 50 is the new 30 post gets at least 40 search hits a day. They inevitably go back to those February '05 archives and read my delusional boomer post and my rants on the echo bastards.

Then they email me. Quite a bit, actually. I am pretty sure that I put not ALL boomers are like that, that not all echo boomers are bastards, and that not all Gen Xer's got fucked. But quite a few people take these posts rather close to heart, like I wrote it about them personally.

Which I think is some funny shit, let me tell you. Thou protest to much.

Another big one from the search engine camp is the E Harmony posts in the December archives. Thank god they haven't found the one about them hating fat people.

I've been emailed quite a few times about how E Harmony is for people serious about finding relationships and that I shouldn't treat it like a game or laugh at it.

Don't worry people, when my birthday present ran it's course I didn't re-sign up. But I still think it's funny. Sue me.

Oh, and I've been dealing with a puppy that now weighs somewhere in the neighborhood of 60-70 pounds at 4 1/2 months old, which is so not fun.

So far he has ate a $200 cell phone, dug a hole in my bedroom carpet, went through the screen in my brand new storm door, and ate the corner off my coffee table. He is big enough to reach all counters and tables in my house, and my beautiful wall length window in my kitchen can no longer be open because he thinks it's an escape hatch.

He also follows me everywhere I go, sleeps on the end of my bed, and patiently wakes me up in the morning by staring at me like I am the most bestest person in the whole entire world.

Somehow this makes up for all the destruction. He isn't a bad dog, just misunderstood is what my niece says. Now he does have his good qualities, as he has excelled in potty training (THANK GOD), and passed beginning puppy training with flying colors.

He was like the valedictorian of his class, if they had one. Nitro will sit, lay down, shake, roll over, stay (sometimes), leave it, take it, and drop in on command. Not to shabby for a 4 1/2 month old. Now if he would just stop chewing and/or running through things we'd have it made.

I still totally adore him though, in spite of it all. He's a big mamma's boy, big baby. He's afraid of birds and when his little 20 pound beagle pal gets mad. It doesn't hurt that he's just too cute for words.

So that's what I've been up to. Writing and damage control. I can't promise that I'm going to be blogging on a regular basis, but I really have no intention of closing up shop. I will be checking in occasionally, and really do plan on blogging regularly once I have my current script completed.

Stay tuned....

Charmed I'm Sure

2006-06-16T06:59:00.000-05:00

So now that I have TiVo I can catch up on all those pop culture-ie things I have missed out on while being a night shift type traveling person for the last 8 years.

I will full well admit with just a hint of embarrassment that one of my guilty pleasures is the show "Charmed".

Now I have only randomly watched Charmed over the what, 8 or so years that it was on. After that brought in their kid Chris from the future I didn't really watch it anymore. It wasn't so much because the show jumped the shark, but because it was just missing something, or someone....

That would be Cole. The world's perfect man.

But never fear, because Cole lives on in the land of re-runs on TNT.

So yesterday my TiVo picked up those first episodes that had Cole in them. When he meets Phoebe, and he is just oh so bad.

I vaguely remember them making him good and getting rid of his demon side. He was a mere mortal, and was a total freakin' wuss.

Cole was at his best when he was still a demon, but trying to be good because he loved Phoebe. He didn't really do bad things, but every once in awhile he'd get that flicker of bad in his eye.

I loved me some Cole then. I loved me some Charmed then. Not so much after Cole got all good then went bye-bye.

This is probably really telling. Perhaps I should stay single forever, eh?

Gimmicks Galore!

2006-06-02T10:20:00.000-05:00

So I've been getting these little emails from reunion.com.

"You've received 230 views to your profile this year! Could it be an old high school buddy? A long-lost love? A family member you may have lost touch with over the years? Find out now!"

Find out now is a link that takes you directly to a page asking for your credit card to become a paying member of the site.

I can't help but wonder how many adults there are out there that fall for this shit. How many adults really care who the hell is looking for them from high school.

I could care less. It isn't even tempting for me. While talking to one of my friends that is also on the site she informed me that only 26 people have viewed her profile.

It's a bitch being popular, let me tell ya.

Well, I wasn't exactly popular, not in the traditional sense anyway. I wasn't the homecoming queen, I wasn't the smartest, and I wasn't the worst.

But all those people were my friends. More like aquaintances. A lot of that had to do with the fact that my brother who was a senior when I was a freshman was the "it" guy-you know, the local version of a boy bander. The one that all the girls in school swoon over.

Gross.

So instead of being Jeanie from Ferris Bueller's Day off I rode the wave and was popular right along with him. I had a great time in high school, but I still wouldn't go back there for all the money in the world.

Well, maybe for all the money in the world, but definitely not for like $100,000 or sumfin.

So where was I? Oh yeah, reunion.com. I can't help but think the people that fall for that gimmicky shit are people that would go back to high school for free. Those people that still yearn to be accepted and popular. Those people that are secretly praying my brother is single and will fall madly in love with them from across a crowded room and wonder why the hell he never noticed them in high school.

Now I'll admit I had an "it" guy in high school, and unfortunately he was my "friend". In my mid twenties I had a Romy and Michele moment with him, as he had turned into a fat landscaper with bad hair and a bit of a drinking problem. There are no wild high school fantasies going on in my head, let me tell you. He totally ruined it.

So the question is, would you want to know who was clicking on your profile, or are you like me and could care less about people from so long ago?

Here Comes the Neighborhood

2006-05-29T09:21:00.000-05:00

So we've all heard the expression "There goes the Neighborhood", but in my situation it is the exact opposite.

My neighborhood is being invaded by rich people.

I moved to this quiet little lake town when I decided I needed to buy a house because of the ginormous amount of taxes I pay as a single person with no kids that worked lots of overtime.

It is a quirky little town on the outskirts of Chicago, one that has lots of different classes of people. One side of the lake is really, really rich people. The other side, where I live, is more middle class. Surrounding the rich and middle class are small little houses that used to be weekend homes for the Chicago folk that have now turned into permanent residences. These tend to be the people from the "wrong side of the tracks".

So this little sleepy town has started getting a major makeover since the Supreme Court decided that a town can just take your fucking house whenever they damn well want to, whether it is for a road or to promote economic growth.

Almost to the day that this decision was passed down by our highest court in the land the bulldozers moved in. Two blocks from my house they are building condos that start at $400,000. Considering the most expensive house in my subdivision goes for around $160,000, this is a big increase.

It makes me wonder what is to come. If this decision is going to one day force me to sell my house to make room for the rich people that want to live near a big lake. Down the street the developers have acquired a piece of property and the rumor mill has said the condos going in there will start at a million dollars.

Originally I moved here because property taxes were reasonable, crime was at a minimum, and it really was such a diverse mix of individuals. Great location, reasonable priced housing, and a beautiful lake.

What more could you want? My yellow lab and I spent many a night on the public pier watching the lake at sunset. We met so many interesting people, from all walks of life.

Yet I have a feeling all of this is going to change now. The affordable housing will be gone. Taxes are going to go through the roof, causing the more modest income families to sell their homes.

Now maybe I am just paranoid. Maybe that development was really in the works for a long time and it was just a coincidence that once that decision was passed down my town started to get bulldozed to the ground.

But some how I doubt it. This town has not had the development because of those "wrong side of the tracks" people. It is just funny how two months after that passed things started to change around here, and changed rapidly.

It makes me wonder if one day I will have to sell my house because some millionaire likes the location and wants to build a bigger house on my land. The court's decision was for an office building, but I am betting greedy developers will use the whole economic growth scenario to take desirable areas from normal people to build for the rich.

Maybe I'm taking a big leap to make that connection, maybe I'm paranoid, or maybe I have just lost faith in the ability for our government to distinguish between right and wrong.

Time will tell, and oh how I hope I am wrong. Otherwise all us middle class and poor folk are going to end up living next to garbage dumps.

Nitro Comes Home

2006-04-02T07:02:00.000-05:00

My little guy has joined my little fur family

Everyone altogether now...

Awwwwwwwww!

Eharmony Hates Fat People

2006-03-22T12:58:00.000-06:00

Well maybe they don't hate them, but they figure other people do.

Let me explain this, k?

Back in December I told you about my worst birthday present ever, a 3 month subscription to Eharmony. Not only was it the worst birthday present ever, but the biggest waste of money ever.

Now keep in mind that I pretty much thought of this whole thing as a joke. I really had no intention of meeting someone from an online dating community, not that there is anything wrong with that. After reading a few of my potential men I figured this place knew nothing about what I wanted.

Practically every match I got was a yuppie from downtown Chi town. They all have the same three pics. The one of them skiing. The one of them walking on the beach next to Lake Michigan. Oh, and my most favorite one? The one of them in spandex riding their bike or running.

Let me make this clear, mmmkay? I would never date a man that wears spandex. Maybe that is small minded of me, but hey, a girl has to have her limits.

The other thing I have noticed is a disturbing trend in the can't have/must have section. You get a bunch of canned answers to chose from. Like must have an active person. Can't stand a person who's happiness depends on me. Yadda, yadda, yadda.

Every single person I was matched with had Can't Stand Overweight People.

To be honest, this kind of offends me, in a split personality kind of way. I know it doesn't mean that they really can't stand overweight people, just that they don't want to date them.

Which seems really small minded to me, especially since I am a former tank ass.

Now the other side of my personality says, "Hey, people can't help what they are attracted to. They are just looking for someone that fits physically and emotionally."

Yeah fucking right.

So I decided that maybe I would change my can't stand/must haves after my latest match. Of course he had the pre-requisite no fat people one, and a bunch about how he must have someone who is sexually experienced. Oh, and must have someone who really really likes sex.

Now looking at this guy, he is no one I would be attracted to. He is tall which is a plus, but skinny as hell. His prerequisite beach picture also had one of those little Paris Hilton annoying as fuck dogs in it.

I am not a little dog person. But hey, I have an open mind, right?

Anyway I decide that if these fucking arrogant men that only want a skinny chick can put that, I'm gonna change mine to reflect that I don't want some bone skinny guy.

Guess what? There is no choice for that. Appearance wise you can chose fat. That's it.

So why they hell can't I pick that I don't want someone skinny if they can pick they don't want someone that is fat? Now I'm usually not one of those fatcentric type people but this really seems like a double standard. You can't even write it in.

Oh well, thanks for the memories Eharmony. My "gift" is about to run out, and if my friend extends it he is in a world of hurt.

To Hell with Shamrock Shakes

2006-03-20T12:03:00.000-06:00

So I had my very own Supersize moment this weekend.

You see, growing up my dear, sweet Mother would not allow us to eat fast food. In fact, if we ever went out to eat it was a special occasion indeed. But fast food, never.

Yes my Mother was a bit of a health food junkie in a kind of cute, hippy kind of way. She did allow certain things in the house, but fast food was OFF LIMITS, except for one time of year.

Shamrock Shake time at McDondald's.

For whatever reason, and I'll take a stab at it and say because she's Irish, we were allowed to have a Shamrock Shake once a year. If she was in a really good mood we might even get to have Mikey D's fries.

Oh they were just heaven. Yes, I had fast food when I went with my friend's parents, which of course my Mom wouldn't know about, but this was our special treat every year.

Fast forward to when I turned 16 and could drive. My chubby ass went to fast food places whenever I could. I worked and went to high school, and a lot of kids went to Burger King after school. My work schedule gave me about a half hour to kill after school, and my expanding tank ass could be found there most of the time.

So when I had to lose weight in my late teens/early twenties I swore off fast food. I swear I can track when I really started ballooning up in weight to the day I could drive. Sure, some of that could be because I walked and rode my bike before that, but a huge portion of that was my freedom of food choices.

Over the years except for the occasional drunken White Castle drive thru I have stayed away from fast food. No more of that for me.

The one time of year that I do is what? You guessed it, Shamrock Shake time.

Even then all I get is the Shamrock Shake. One time deal.

So I remembered Friday that I hadn't had my Shamrock Shake yet. I was running late to work, hadn't prepared very well, and was starving.

I know I used to love those Whoppers, and I proceeded to try and order one. "You are at McDonald's, that's Burger King," the voice boomed from the drive thru microphone.

Whoops. Hell they have all these numbers and junk where you can order value meals. I ordered a #2, Quarter pounder/w cheese, fries, and my Shamrock Shake.

It was almost like a heroine addict getting a fix after many years of being off the wagon. I drove to work savoring every bite of that quarter pounder, scarfing french fries and drinking that delicious Shamrock Shake.

It wasn't until about an hour later that I realized that was a BIG mistake. It felt like the pits of hell had took up residence in my stomach. I won't go into details, but I'm assuming that what happened next is a lot like what those Gastric Bypass people refer to as "dumping", and it was happening from every orifice of my body, or so it seemed. Sorry for the TMI.

It was so not pretty. I can't ever remember being so sick. Needless to say I wasn't very value added at work that night.

So it really got me thinking. I remember when I saw Super Size Me with a friend she talked about the scene where he is throwing up in the parking lot. She kept saying that had to be staged, that no one would have a violent reaction like that.

Like hell I say. I kind of thought that too, that it was something put in there for dramatic effect. But maybe, just maybe we are all so used to eating that crap that our bodies are just used to accepting it.

Kind makes you wonder what it is doing to our insides if it causes a reaction that strong, eh?

Good Old Fashioned Liberal Guilt

2006-03-15T07:27:00.000-06:00

So my puppy Nitro is coming home in two weeks. Here he is again:

I repeat, isn't he the cutest thing ever? Anyway, even though he is not in my house yet, he has already caused me grief.

Well, not directly, so it's not exactly his fault...

You see, the arrival of these two:

(I finally found a way to tell them apart in pictures)

has caused me to spend way to much time with my brother's in-laws. Oh, the 'rents are ok. Hard-working typical Midwestern people. It's their two daughters.....

My brother's sisters'-in-law have never really worked a day in their life, and don't ever plan on it either. My brother's wife is the youngest, so these women are both in their early 40's.

Their Mom, who is in her mid 60's, just got a part-time job because one of them needed a car, and she signed for it. They promptly stopped paying the payments, hence sticking their Mother with the bill.

I would scrub toilets before my Mother would have to get a job at that age. Anyway...

Did I mention that husbands of these two sisters aren't a whole lot better? They randomly work until they can collect unemployment again. Oh, and God forbid they make too much money and can't get their food stamps anymore.

These are people that definitely prove "the system" doesn't work. They know exactly how to exploit it, and have ever since their teenage asses got pregnant.

So even though they have never really had a job, don't plan on getting a job, and have done nothing to better their situation, they just LOVE making comments about me.

You see, I'm rich. Well, not really, but in their eyes I am rich. Yes, I make a comfortable living. I get union pay and have a side business that does rather well. I probably make more then the average American, have a nice house, nice car, nice stuff...

But I work my ass off for every penny I have. Nothing in my life has been handed to me. I worked my way through college. I payed for it myself, with the exception of scholarships I received for my grade point average, which wasn't much, because I made too much money.

So since they leech off the government and have been delt such a bad hand in life they feel the need to make comments on any purchase I make. Why do I need a house as big as mine (which isn't big, just in a nice area). Why do I need a car and an SUV (try driving in the Chicago winter on the expressway and tell me you wouldn't have one if you had the money)?

Don't I know there are people in America that don't have anything?

Why yes, yes I do. I really do have great empathy for those who are not able to improve their situation, and there are many charities I donate to help these people. I know I'm very fortunate. Lord knows I wasn't born with a silver spoon, but I am lucky enough to have the mental and physical ability to make a good life for myself.

But I also believe if you are able to work you should go out and get a fucking job.

Where was I? Oh yeah, Nitro causing me grief. So I went downtown shopping, and one of my favorite stores, Coach, had the cutest ever dog collar and leash.

And I bought it.

My sis-in-law called me while I was driving home to see if I would bring my camera over to take some pics of the twins. They were going to send out It's a Girl! cards and needed a good photo. I made the huge mistake of saying what I had bought.

Now she didn't do it on purpose, but she said something to the affect of "Your dog is going to be better dressed then me!"

The welfare sisters were sitting there while she was talking to me, and I'm assuming they asked her what she meant by that when she got off the phone with me.

They had plenty to say when I got there about my new purchase. You know, things like "That's just ridiculous" or "You have that much money that you can buy things like that" or "If you have that much money you could always give me some" or "I can't even get my kid decent shoes and you are buying designer collars?"

So I'll admit for a minute I felt that good old fashioned liberal guilt. I mean really, what was I doing buying something like that for a dog.

Then I got over it real quick. I usually never really say anything back to them. It's considered to politically incorrect. Kinda like if someone is naturally skinny it is ok to make comments about their size, but if someone is fat you better not say a word.

It's been an emotional month. Not a real good time to fuck with me...

I just looked at her and said, "Well why don't you get a job so that your kid can have some decent fucking shoes?"

Shock and Awe people. You see, while the fuck's freely flow here, in real life I really don't ever say that word.

After a moment of rather uncomfortable silence the subject was changed and that was that. No going on and on about how much I make. No going on and on about how some of my purchases are frivolous.

I'm diggin' this being politically incorrect stuff. Yes, I bought my fucking dog a designer collar and leash and I don't even HAVE him yet. That is just one of the benefits of having a master that works hard.

He's so going to be stylin'. And I don't feel guilty about it at all.

While I'm at it...

2006-03-13T19:18:00.000-06:00

So while I'm posting pics of poor, defenseless people that can't bitch about it I figured I'd post another one where the subject can't bitch about it.

That sentence made absolutely no sense, but oh the fuck well. :)

I'm still getting back into the swing of things after my month of pure hell, but I'm getting there. In the mean time, check this out.

Introducing Nitro @ 4 weeks old, my soon to be new baby:

He's just so damn cute!

And Now For Something Really Different

2006-03-11T09:07:00.000-06:00

So usually I don't put pictures up on this blog of other people. Mostly because I know they wouldn't be all that happy about it. These two can't exactly complain yet, so here goes:

Both twins are home, happy, and healthy.

There is a God after all.

They came home the day after my Step-G's funeral, and I don't think my brother or sister-in-law have slept since.

I believe they are just now realizing what exactly they have gotten theirselves into......

It's great for me though. I go over there, play with the babies, and leave when they start crying in unision.

Being an Aunt is the best.

The End and The Beginning

2006-03-03T13:34:00.000-06:00

My step-Grandma has finally lost her long battle with Alzheimer's.

Little twin Sarah is getting to come home from the hospital this weekend after a valiant battle for her life.

The circle of life continues.

After spending the last two weeks in one hospital or another, I need a time to gather my emotions and thoughts.

To quote Rich,

More Laters

How Cool is That?

2006-02-28T12:47:00.000-06:00

My Dad was actually born in a barn. His Mom was out in the field picking cotton when she went into labor, and the barn was the closest indoor space.

He leaves doors open intentionally hoping that people will ask, "Were you born in a barn?" to which he gets to joyfully answer, "Why yes, yes I was."

The Things People Will Do

2006-02-25T10:32:00.000-06:00

About a year ago I ran into an old friend at Target. She wasn't the world's best friend, that is for sure. Every woman I know has had one of these friends in their life - A great friend when they don't have a certain someone special in their life, a horrible friend when they do.

She was also a bit overweight. We were about the same size back then-past the whole chubby point but not quite on our way to using one of those motorized carts at Walmart. When the weight started to melt off me our friendship melted right along with it.

Half Italian and Half Mexican she had really good genetics going on in the face department. Beautiful skin tone with incredible cheek bones and green eyes, she had the face of a model. Her body didn't match, and she did everything to try and rectify that.

Everything except exercise and eat healthy, which is what I did. She tried every pill, diet, lose weight fast scam. It would work for awhile, but most humans cannot live like that.

I was really shocked when I ran into her. She was thin. Like Olsen twin thin. Her hair was thin, and she just looked sickly. The words "You look great!" came out of my mouth even though I was secretly scared that she was sick or had cancer. Her wonderful complexion was pale and her skin sagged on her face like she was in her late 40's.

"Thanks!" was all she offered. I figured if she was sick she just didn't feel like talking about it. We shared the awkward conversation that people have who were once friends but grew apart years and years before, and that was it.

My SIL has kept in contact with her over the years, and I told her I saw her. "She's really thin, isn't she?" my SIL asked. "Yes, yes she is," I said.

"You know she had Gastric Bypass, right?" my SIL asked.

Gastric bypass surgery? I thought you had to be over 100 pounds to even be approved for that. I thought there was a long screening process, and knowing her, she would never make it that long.

So the SIL goes into the story. She went to Mexico to get it. She even walked into the operating room and got on the operating table herself. How desperate do you have to be to do something like this?

I guess she tried gaining weight so that she would qualify here in the US. She had to lose like 80 pounds, and needed to get to a 100. Her doctor told her to just gain the weight. What the hell is that, FFS?

Then she found out that she had to do all these psychological tests before her insurance would approve her. This was no good. Her Mom had "connections" in Mexico and knew a really good doctor.

Her Mom is a post all in itself, as she did not like having a fat daughter at all.

So she went and got it done in substandard conditions in Mexico. By some miracle she made it through and didn't have to many complications.

She lost the weight rapidly along with her hair and her looks. I'm not kidding when I say it aged her at least 10 to 15 years.

Fast forward to a week ago. There she was, standing in line at the same Target.

Except that she was bigger. Not bigger in relation to how skinny she was before, but bigger in relation to how big she was before.

She had Gastric Bypass Surgery and 2 years later was bigger then before she had it.

We had our awkward old friends conversation. I was just in shock. Along with what probably most people think, I thought you had that, you can't really eat a lot anymore, and you are just skinny forever.

*Buzz* Wrong Answer.

I guess you can eventually stretch your stomach back out and gain the weight back.

So these are people that risk their lives, re-route their innards, and suffer all this pain inevitably still have to eat right and exercise. They lose their hair from vitamin deficiencies and have sagging skin.

I don't get it....I can see someone that is in danger and needs to lose weight rapidly to live. But someone that just wants to be thin?

Someone looking for the next magical pill, diet, solution?

That easy, quick fix? Easy and quick are not two words to describe this.

It is sad really. As a former overweight person I can understand to some degree, but as someone who just buckled down and did the work necessary to achieve it I can't imagine risking my own life for a more pleasing appearance.

Twins!

2006-02-24T12:21:00.000-06:00

The twins arrived Tuesday, February 21st. Emma weighed in at 5 lbs 1 oz, and Sarah at 5 lbs. 8 oz.

Blogging might be at a stand still over here at FFS because poor Sarah has some medical problems. She drank some fluid which happens sometimes to the second twin delivered. The poor thing is having a hard time breathing and is on oxygen.

She is not out of the woods yet, but doing better today. Please keep little Sarah in your prayers/thoughts.

A Dog's Life

2006-02-20T10:18:00.000-06:00

So I might be getting a dog again in about 6 weeks.

A friend's dog had puppies last Thursday, and now I am probably taking one of them.

My God, what am I thinking? I already have two cats. Just what I need, another animal.

But I love dogs. I mean, I really, really love dogs. I'm a dog person that just happens to have two cats.

It seems that all my animals I have had in my lifetime have picked me, including the cats.

I have had a dog since birth. My beloved yellow lab Ladybug was put to sleep a few years ago, and in a way cats are a lot easier for someone like me. Between working and commuting I'm gone a lot.

That evil voice in my head keeps telling me how Ladybug did just fine. Ladybug loved doggy-daycare. Ladybug lived better then most people's children.

It is actually a good idea for a single woman to have a big dog that will rip someone's head off if they break in the house, right? Yeah, that's another reason why I like having a dog.

That and dogs just love me. It can be the meanest, nastiest dog in the world, and it'll jump in my lap and lick me. I have that dog-and-small-children gene. They just instinctively trust me.

I mean, what's the big deal, it's only a dog, right? I always think of my very first dog Sam when people say that.

It's all my parental units fault. My Dad brought home my first dog when my mom was about 7 months pregnant with me. Sam, The Best! Dog! Ever!, was left for dead near the expressway, and my Dad came upon the small, freezing puppy on his way home from work.

She was a mixed terrier, white wired hair and fox from what my Dad could tell. He didn't have the heart to let the little puppy die, so he brought her home.

My Mother was not amused, pleased, or happy. My Father was given his orders to find a home for that damn dog ASAP.

Then I decided to make an early appearance into this world, and finding a home for the dog became the second priority. I was a preemie so I was in the hospital for an extra week, and during this time Sam managed to learn how to mind her manners and become potty trained.

Sam was here to stay. From that very first night I was home she slept under my crib. When I was old enough to move to a big girl bed she graduated from under the bed to sleeping right next to me.

Where ever I went the dog went. She walked me to the bus stop every morning, and was sitting there when I got off the bus in the afternoon. My Sister and Brother don't have such fond memories of Sam, as if they raised their voice to me all bets were off on their ankles were in big trouble.

She was my dog, for sure. When I was around 6 I was playing in my front yard and a Great Dane decided that I'd be a tasty little treat. Sam saved me. That 11 pound Terrier took down that 100 and some pound Great Dane like it was a rag doll. With the exception of a scar on my side, I came out unscathed. To this day my Mom says I would have died that day if it weren't for Sam.

So as I grew up Sam was there through all my changes, turmoils, problems, and happy days. She listened to my secrets and licked away my tears.

By the time I reached high school Sam wasn't as agile as she used to be. I'd have to help her up on the bed at night, and down in the morning. She patiently waited for me on the front porch instead of the bus stop now, but she was always there, watching for me to come home.

When I was a senior in high school Sam really began to slow down. Shortly after my 18th birthday we noticed a tumor growing on her side. We took her to the vet, who informed us that she had cancer. The most humane thing to do would be to put her to sleep. She wasn't in pain yet, so we could think about it for awhile.

We took Sam home and I was an absolute basket case. This was my dog!

So a couple of days later I come home from school and Sam is not on the porch. I run into the house screaming for my dog. My Mom, with her tear streaked face just hugs me and tells me that Sam is at the vet.

It seems that morning after I went to school Sam couldn't get up and began to whimper. My Mom had found her in the laundry room, and she was bleeding.

It was time.

My Mom took her to the vet, and the vet had agreed to wait to put her to sleep until I got home from school in case I wanted to say goodbye. I drove there in silent disbelief, as I was sure she'd be ok once I got there.

The vet warned me that she was heavily medicated and had lost a lot of blood. We went into the room and Sam layed there motionless, and I almost thought they had already put her to sleep and were humoring me.

I bent down and kissed her head and petted her for the last time. As tears rolled down my cheeks she opened her eyes and licked them away for the last time. Her little tail did a feeble wag, and the vet put her out of her misery as my Mom and I held her gingerly.

And she was gone. We burried her under her favorite tree. The next few weeks are a blur, and I'm quite sure I cried more tears in those two weeks then the rest of my life put together.

Only a dog? Sam was my best friend, my sister. She taught me about responsibility and unconditional love and loyalty. She taught me that you always protect your own, no matter what the cost to you.

Sam wasn't only a dog, Ladybug after her wasn't only a dog, and I'm sure this new puppy that will probably bound into my life won't be only a dog either.

They are family.

No Parking on the Dance Floor

2006-02-16T13:13:00.000-06:00

So the lovely and talented Madonna had to have surgery for a hernia after her recent Grammy performance.

Getting old is a bitch, isn't it Madge or Edith or Gertrude or whatever the hell you are calling yourself now.

Madonna is one of the most annoying human beings on the planet. Now I didn't always feel this way. She first became famous when I was in 5th grade I think. Oh how I thought she was the shiznit.

I tied my hair up with rags. In junior high I saved and saved and bought some of those Madonna clothes from our local Merrygoround store. My Dad promptly threw them away the first time he saw me wear them.

I stayed with Madonna until around the whole infactuation with Marilyn Monroe thing. It was getting a bit much. Sure, it is good to change your image and she would look pretty ridiculous in ratted out hair and spandex now, but give me a freakin' break.

Actually, she would probably look less ridiculous in that then the damn leotard she wore at the Grammy's....

Now I still tolerated her to a point, but the whole cult Kabbalah thing and how she adopted Brittany Spears as her "little sister" (avoid and deny-that would be more like DAUGHTER) just pushed me over the edge.

Oh, and how she decided that we should all stop striving for material things.

*snort*

When she sells off all her houses and material things and gives them to charity, I'll think about it, ummmkay?

Have I ever told you how much I hate it when celebrities decide to tell me what is good for me or how I should act? I mean, Madonna has always been a media whore, but she full well admitted it back in the day. That's probably why I liked her so much. This new holier then though Madonna is just. too. much.

So even though it is just a bit Evile and wrong, I chuckled a bit when I read about her hernia after the Grammy performance.

Maybe if I tie a red string around my wrist and send the powers that be a bunch of money Karma won't come back and bite me in the ass for this one.

Suppressed V-Day Memories

2006-02-14T10:48:00.000-06:00

So last night I snuck into my brother's house to drop off Valentine's for my two nieces and for A & B, the twins that should be making an appearance any day now.

A & B are stuck with those names I think, as that is what they are called on the ultrasound for now. Sarah and Emma shall be their real names, but I think I'm going to call them A & B forever.

Anyway, what was I talking about? Oh yeah, so I broke into his house so that they would find their presents in the morning. On the table was a box all decorated up with hearts.

I don't know if you did this where you grew up, but we had a yearly contest on who could make the best Valentine's Day box. You went to school, and kids delivered their Valentines to your box. There was a small party, and you would open up all the cheesy Valentines and eat some pink cupcake that the room mother made.

I've always been competitive. Once in 2nd grade when we lost a softball game my hippie type Mother told me, "Well you are just playing to have fun, it's ok." I promptly corrected her and said, "NO I'm not, I'm playing to WIN."

I am my Father's child. Anyway, in 4th grade I decided I was going to win that damn competition. This was a stressful enough time for kids. I mean, you had to deliver these Valentines to other kids, and you had to make sure that you didn't give any embarrassing ones that said "Be Mine" or something like that to the cute boy.

But I had my mind set. I diligently worked on my Valentine's day box for a week. Snoopy was the theme, and I fashioned a shoebox into a Snoopy's dog house. I even got a small stuffed Snoopy dog and Woodstock, which I glued to the top. I cut out a little heart chain to go around the hugging Snoopy and Woodstock.

It was a fucking masterpiece I tell you. Brilliant. My Mom drove me to school that day as I was afraid it would get messed up on the bus.

I looked around at the other kid's boxes, assured of my win. It was in the bag.

Then she walked in. Her name was Sheri, and so help me God if I remembered her last name I would put it here so if she Googled herself she would find this entry.

Sheri's box was a jack-in-the-box. It was a working jack-in-the-box, made from scratch. You cranked the handle, and the little doll came out with his mouth open and you put the Valentine in there.

Fucking bitch. There is no way in hell she made that by herself. This was like 1980 or something, and back in the day the parental units made you make your own damn stuff.

There was no way she made that. No way in hell.

So Sheri got to be the Valentine's Day Princess. Sheri got the award.

Fucking Sheri. It still pisses me off to this day. I never even got a chance to beat her because the cheating bitch moved away after 4th grade.

My teacher gave me a dose of sugar to help the medicine go down though. As I got my runner-up prize, she told me, "I would have voted for yours because you made it yourself."

Take that fucking Sheri. The teacher liked mine the best.

God I need therapy....

Be Mine?

2006-02-14T10:17:00.000-06:00

Happy Valentine's Day everyone! I'm expecting my usual Valentine's Day Extravaganza tonight since I have to work.

I actually celebrated Valentine's Day this weekend with someone that might be special down the road. This is my first V-Day without The Mystery Man in a looooooong time.

I had quite forgotten just how hard they try when they haven't "gotten" you yet.

It's quite nice, actually. Maybe my Dad is right. I'm so sweet I've turned rotten.

I got an extra V-Day gift that I wasn't expecting. My counter went past 50,000! I didn't install it until I had my blog for about a year so it is way more then that, but it is nice to reach that point, even though I was a bad blogger and had to deal with personal junk for a couple of months.

So thank you for the unexpected V-Day gift, dear readers. I truly appreciate it!

Mushroom

2006-02-13T09:54:00.000-06:00

So I've tried really hard to be a 'shroom and be in the dark and all of that, but I just can't take it anymore.

I don't like talking politics here. I don't like talking about the common new items that float around the blog-o-sphere.

But I've had it.

It just really, really pisses me off that the Evile American Media Empire isn't standing up for free speech, which they scream, kick and cry over any other time.

I wanted to see those damn cartoons. I wanted to see why a bunch of extremists were willing to condemn a whole damn country because of what one private paper printed. I wanted to see why people were dying over some ink and paper.

None of the major papers in America printed them. They said "describing" them was good enough because they were so offensive.

Off to the Internet I go, because the Evile American Media Empire can no longer block out what they think is not good for us.

Before you think I am some right-winged nut job condemning the liberal media, think again. I'm really someone smack dab in the middle of the political spectrum, kind of a Clintonite. Bill that is, not Hillary.

They were bad. To the average person who doesn't know a lot about Islam they may think what is the big deal, but if you know anything about Islam you can see how they could offend so many.

But to cause the violence that is happening over in the middle east? To demand the head of the cartoonist? To condemn a whole country?

That is just crazy, for sure, and the act of extremists, not an entire religion. Even though they are offensive, I still think the Evile American Media Empire should have printed them.

I've seen things far more offensive things against the Christian and Jewish religion printed up in those same papers. I guess if you don't have a small group of bomb wielding individuals in your religion it is ok to offend you.

This is definitely not the only problem I have with the Evile American Media Empire. They have been a pain in my ass ever since I started working for an American Automobile company 14 years ago.

You see, the Evile American Media Empire doesn't like big American Corporations. They hate them in fact, and will stop at nothing to destroy them.

Here's a small example of what I'm talking about. About 6 months ago F-O-R-D recalled 20,000 cars for a high mileage non safety issue. It was something to do with a rattle in the underbody after 100,000 miles. Nothing that could affect the safety of the passengers, but could get annoying if it happened.

It was all over CNN, the Chicago Tribune, The New York Times, the 10 o'clock news... Anywhere you turned that damn F-O-R-D was recalling cars again! Not only were they RECALLING 20,000 CARS, but it was because something was terribly wrong with the underbody!!!

The same day, SAME DAY, Toyota announced they were recalling a million cars for the possibility that the brakes might fail. A MILLION CARS BECAUSE THE BRAKES MIGHT FAIL. Now I knew this because there is this site that is available to automobile manufacturer's Intranet that reports on issues with different vehicle concerns.

That is the only reason why I knew it. Because guess what dear readers? There wasn't a fucking mention of it anywhere in the Evile American Media Empire.

Not a fucking peep.

I searched the Internet looking for anything pertaining to this. I searched high and low and the only time I found anything was on some blogs. Nothing on any of the Evile American Media Empire's sites.

NOTHING.

Now why they hate us is beyond me. Liberals cry for Unionization. Liberals cry for the rights of workers. Yet companies like Toyota only have one Unionized plant, and that's just because it's in California.

Basically the American companies do what the Evile American Media Empire wants a company to do. They are unionized. They pay their people good and offer them great benefits.

All Toyota does is pay people less, give them less benefits, and take their money straight back to Japan.

The Evile American Media Empire supports this for some reason. If you look at things like warranty on cars there really is no difference between Toyota and the American made cars. None. There is no big spike showing how much better the quality is from foreign manufacturers.

But it's all about perception. The Evile American Media Empire makes people believe that American made cars are inferior because that is what they want you to believe.

How this rant got totally off subject is beyond me. I suppose I do have major issues when it comes to the Evile American Media Empire, especially since they continually assault my future with their biased reporting. I guess I have a reason to be Really! Pissed! Off!

As my Grandma always said, there is always that silver lining in the cloud. With the advent of the Internet and how easily information can be passed from person to person, the Evile American Empire can no longer report what they think is good for us, like good little neo-Nazi liberals.

They can no longer control what information gets out to us, what we see, or influence us to their way of thinking. Well hell, maybe I am condemning the liberal media, and I'm not even a neo-Nazi Republican. Now that's saying something, eh?

All hail the blog-o-sphere.

Now and Then

2006-02-13T09:02:00.000-06:00

About 10 years ago, before the Mothership got ran through the ringer by the PC police, things were handled a bit differently at work. Take a scenario like this:

You come into work, and your counter part on the other shift has totally messed things up, and just freakin' left it like that with no explanation. The conversation that would follow would have went something like this:

Employee #1: What the fuck is wrong with you? Do you enjoy having your head up your ass? You totally screwed me! Dickhead!

Employee #2: Oh sooooory if everyone can't be fucking perfect like you. We'd all looooooove to be that perfect, but you got a fucking patent on it or something.

Employee #1: Fuck you. You know you left me fucked up. God Damn couldn't you have at least emailed me what was going on?

Employee #2: Yeah, yeah, I suppose so. My kid was sick and I ran out of here. You playin' softball Sunday? I'll buy ya a beer.

Employee #1: Yep. A beer will help matters a little. Your kid ok?

So after yelling at each other everything would be settled over a frosty one. Aggression over, game over, back to work as usual.

Now once the PC Police get involved, things are much different. Yelling is a no-no that might get you fired. Even sounding perturbed might get you written up. Here is the same conversation, PC style:

Employee #1 (through gritted teeth): I had a really hard time starting up today.

Employee #2 (looking innocent): Really?

Employee #1: Yes, you left the system down and didn't tell anyone.

Employee #2: I didn't realize that.

Employee #1: Now there is no way in..... You couldn't have...... You..... *sighs* Could you please email me next time this happens?

Employee #2: If I realize it I will.

There is no beer on Sunday, because people are afraid to play softball now because you might utter a bad word when you are struck out and offend someone and since it is technically a company function you can still be disciplined for offending someone, even though you aren't at work.

There is no accountability for anything, so why would anyone admit when they fucked up? Even the bosses are afraid to say anything when you mess up, they just try and "coach" you. So forget trying to resolve any issues with someone that is the same level as you. They'll just deny, deny, deny.

You'll be burning that they won't admit it, they'll be burning that you pointed it out, and there is no resolution in site. It kind of sheds some light on the whole work-place violence phenom, now doesn't it?

I wonder how long it's been PC over at the Post Office?

From the Mailbag

2006-02-09T09:38:00.000-06:00

So every once in awhile people use that "Email Me" link over on the side of my page. Besides my Stat Counter, it is my best judge as to when a post really resignates with people.

Sometimes it is people just wanting more clarification on a post I wrote, praise for my blog, or sympathy when I get a bad review.

Most of the people that send me email are not really blog reading type people, and they come here from search engines. I get a kick out of the fact that maybe I turned some virgins on to blogs.

Here are some of the top questions from my E-Mailbag for your viewing pleasure:

I took a look at your before and after picture and you look totally different. How long ago did you lose all that weight?

It was about 13 or so years ago. I started losing somewhere around 19 and finished at about 21.

Did you get Gastric Bypass?

You really wouldn't believe how many times I have got that question since I posted that damn fat picture. No, no and NO! I don't think the gastric bypass surgery we all know and love was even around back then. Trust me I could rant about that surgery forever, but I'll save that for it's own post. So after I tell them No, no and NO! they usually come back with:

Well then how did you lose all that weight?

I consumed less calories my body burned. This is really the only way a human being can lose weight. Forget Atkins, South Beach, Three Day hot dog diet, it is a scientific fact. Now some of those diets may help you consume less calories then your body burns, but that is still what you are doing.

Back in the day when I was losing weight I counted calories and ate whatever gave me the most bang for my calorie buck. A good 70% of the time I'll get this question next:

So what do you eat in a normal day?

My body burns on average around 2100 calories a day. This is high for a woman, and it isn't because I was blessed with a high metabolism. If I was I never would have been a tank ass. It is because I incorporated exercise into my life, and I really think that is the key to why I've kept it off all these years.

Now I haven't been perfect for 13 or so years. I've had times where I gained as much as 20 pounds back, but when the old pants got tight my ass got back on that treadmill real quick like.

The Circle of Soul Mates confuse me because you just use initials for their names.

This is totally to protect the innocent. You can get a brief description of each of them Here.

I just started reading your blog and need to catch up. What are some of your favorite posts?

Oh lord I have hundreds of posts here. If I had to pick some of my favorites they would have to be:

When my friends and I got arrested for TP'ing someone's house

The Lemon post

My critique of a wedding proposal

Some of my Father's words of wisdom

Why I can't get no satisfaction

Sweetest Day IS a real holiday

My ugly duckling to swan transformation

My recap of a Halloween party

My rant on Bratz Dolls

The Ghost of Boyfriend's past series

Why I am permanently banned from Bingo

The most touching Christmas present ever

Well there's some of them. I could probably go on but I'm (and probably you) are getting bored.

Thanks a hell of a lot for giving away the fat girl pose secret. I'll never get another Internet date again!

This was sent in from Nikki, who doesn't have a blog and always comments in my email. She first came to this blog while searching for scary bratz dolls and has read it ever since. I so wish she would start her own blog......

The Proof is in the Pudding

2006-02-08T12:08:00.000-06:00

So a couple of weeks back my best friend R sent me a link to one of those high school reunion type sites. The "It" girl from high school had her own little page.

This It girl wasn't exactly nice, and we couldn't stand her in high school. She was beautiful, skinny, and very, very mean. Cheerleader, homecoming queen, and every other high school cliche you can think of for the most popular girl in school.

"She's fat now," I told R. By looking at her page you couldn't really tell, because every single photo of her was cut at the neck. Some included the random shoulder action, but for the most part it was all head shots.

"How the hell can you tell that? I mean, her face looks a little fuller, but not bad." R said.

Fat girl pose people. It's all about the fat girl pose.

Now I can talk about this as a real! live! former fat girl. I even posted my fat picture somewhere in the December Archives. It's kind of like how only homosexuals can say the F word (not my F word, their F word). It's allowed then and only then.

You see, when you have the dreaded double chin you either point your chin down or up when getting your picture taken. Pictures posted on the Net don't ever go below the shoulder area.

Now the one picture of her that had some shoulder action revealed no collar bone-another sure sign of a fat girl picture. I know this because the first time I saw my collar bone it was one of the most exciting moments in my life. A whole bunch of them had her posing with her hand under her chin, one of the best ways to disguise that pesky double chin.

I was proved right during our girl's night out last weekend (which went swimmingly well by the way).

We ran into her at the club. Even though I was expecting the weight gain, my jaw hit the proverbial floor along with my friends.

You are probably thinking that my friends and I are pretty insensitive and mean, and you'd probably be right in a way. I suppose it is never right to get some kind of satisfaction in seeing another knocked off their pedestal.

It may not be right, but if I'm going to be honest it is the truth. Seeing people like her kind of throw you back to those high school days, and mine weren't pretty.

Oh yeah I had a ton of friends and was pretty popular actually. I was also fat with glasses, which is never a pleasant situation for a 16 year old. It girl never picked on me personally, but I saw her rip other people to shreds on many occasions.

So you see this person that just seemed so perfect back then. This person that seemed to have everything you were lacking, and now she's a tank ass twice divorced woman with three kids from three different men.

I think you wouldn't be part of the human race if you didn't feel some sort of satisfaction over that.

Then something real surprising happened. I started to feel sorry for her.

Sorry for the girl that put soap and deodorant on the "not so clean" girl's desk in homeroom. Sorry for the girl that threw gum in the "shy girl's" hair on a daily basis. Sorry for the girl that had members of the football team kick "the nerdy guy" out of a party one time, and humiliated him beyond belief.

They say Karmas a bitch, but my God does her life suck. She stood before us a humbled and broken woman. In truth, how many of us can be held responsible for how we were when we were in high school? Our still developing personalities were really a reflection of how we were raised at that point. Really until you hit the 20's what you are and what you will become are two totally different people, especially if you are the type to grow as a person. At least that's my theory.

So it is always a little sad to see those that peaked in high school. About the only thing the It girl could talk about was high school. Remember when punctuated the beginning of every sentence, and if we started to talk about current things or even things after high school she steered the conversation back to that time.

It kind of makes you wonder if anyone ever told her she was smart, or funny, or nice. I'm betting on not, as those things wouldn't exactly pertain to her. She was probably only told that she was pretty or sexy or beautiful. Maybe those other descriptions would have fit if things in her life were less focused on looks and more on personality.

So what happens when the looks are gone? What is left for these people besides a bunch of memories and a bunch of people thinking you got exactly what you deserved?

It's just plain sad.

What the Hell?

2006-02-08T09:27:00.000-06:00

So I normally try and stay far, far away from any of the goings on of the rich and famous. Usually I find it rather boring.

Then on my damn Yahoo News page I see this link, and I just had to click it.

It seems Ms. Spears/Federline/Whatever has been photographed driving with her 4 month old son on her lap.

Her explanation? It's the aggressive Paparrazi's fault.

"I instinctively took measures to get my baby and me out of harm's way, but the paparazzi continued to stalk us," she said. "I love my child and would do anything to protect him."

I'm sure if any Mother was being chased or whatever by lunatics the first thing they would instinctively do is unbuckle their kid from the safety of their car seat and put them in their lap.

This breaks new ground in the stupid category, doesn't it?

Life's Not Fair

2006-02-06T06:38:00.000-06:00

I think that was one of my Mom's favorite sayings, and still is.

"But Moooooooom, everyone else in 7th grade is wearing make-up!" my 12 year old self said to her. "Life's not fair, now is it?" was her response.

"But Mooooooom, everyone else is staying in a hotel after the Poison concert in Wisconsin!" my 16 year old self said to her. "Life's not fair, get used to it," she said.

The dreaded "Life's Not Fair" speech always signaled End of Conversation. She was not going to explain it to you anymore. She was not going to humor you. She was not going to compromise with you. Done. Game over. You lose.

I've learned over my 35 years on this Earth that sometimes Life's Not Fair really sucks. Sometimes Life's Not Fair kicks you in the ass, and sometimes it benefits you.

One of the times I reaped the rewards of Life's Not Fair still bothers me. I was promptly reminded about it until the other day, when I saw my Life's Not Fair moment again for the first time in a long time.

She works with me, and is a bonafide Hard Worker. We'll just call her HW for short, k? Anyway, about seven years ago HW and I were up for the same job at work. She was about 10 years older then me and had way more seniority.

HW also had it rough in the life department. She had signed on to the whole marry Prince Charming at 18 and live happily ever after and in return got a Prince that was drunk all the time and didn't like to work. Even though he didn't really ever have a job once she started making real money she still had to hire a babysitter to watch their kids, because he was just to busy "looking" for a job to take care of them while she was at work.

He's a real winner, let me tell you. All these life stresses + the years of hard work on an assembly line really took their toll on her. I'd guess she was about 38 at the time, but she could have passed for my Grandmother. With thinning, mousy brown hair with streaks of grey and the body of someone who took care of everyone else but herself, she epitomized the phrase "Let herself go".

She was also very respected at work. HW worked her ass off. She did whatever she was told, and did it well. When I first started working there I remember wanting to have that kind of respect, as not many women there commanded that.

The job we were both up for was a real treat. You would get to go away for two months, off the line. It was working with prototypes, and people that got this job usually didn't return to the line.

Even then I knew a lot of women wouldn't be chosen. Work was still a big old boy's club back then, but I knew that they'd have to take at least one. There were 8 positions available, and I signed up even though I didn't think I had a chance in hell of getting it.

It came down to about 18 of us, and we had to interview for the position. HW and I were the only females on the list. We also were about neck and neck when in came to how many jobs we could do, and how much of the car we could build.

During lunch one of my co-workers told me I better start packing my bags. "Yeah, right," I told him. "She's got me on seniority. I'll never get it."

"Are you really that naive?" he asked me. "Come on kiddo, you got a great beat and can dance to it. If you were a nearing middle-aged man, who would you want to live next to in a hotel for 2 months?"

I guess that would be me because I got the job. How they pulled that one off in a unionized environment is still a mystery to me. I think they explained it as I had more education since I had graduated from college.

Now yes, education is important, but it didn't really seem to be a factor when it came to the other candidates. I knew some of the men around my age that applied and had college degrees and it didn't knock their opponents out of the competition.

It became very clear once the jobs were posted that several of the powers that be had underlying intentions with their selections. Many a middle-aged man came up to me at work to inform me that they had put their neck out for me. THEY had gotten me that job.

I'm sure they didn't like it when I didn't show them what they probably considered the proper form of gratitude. I guess sometimes Life's Not Fair, eh?

So I got off the line and never went back. Yes, I did go back to school and got another degree that got me my current job. Yes, I did work my ass off and had a great work history behind me.

But if I had never gotten that first break.....I don't know. It enabled me to show the powers that be that I really had a brain and that maybe I was more useful in other capacities then just hard labor.

HW never complained, even though it was blatantly unfair. I would have pitched a fit if I was her in that situation. You would have heard my screams all the way up to the head of the union if necessary.

But she never said a word. I think sometimes when people have had so many "Life's Not Fair" dealt to them that "Life's Not Fair" is just expected.

I really did feel bad when I first found out. I suppose I could have turned it down, but quite frankly I am just not that big of a person. The toll that kind of hard work takes on you had me looking out for #1, and if that makes me a bad person so be it. I don't know many humans on the face of the Earth that would have said, "You know what, I think I just got this because I'm a blonde with long legs. I think I'll just pass and continue to work my ass off until I'm a crippled old woman that has to pop Vicadin just to function."

So obviously even though I am not that big of a person this little episode in my life still causes twinges of guilt. HW recently signed up for an easier job on the afternoon shift and got it. I ran into her the other day at work, and it just brought it all back again.

I suppose it signals better times for women, considering she got it instead of some boss's girlfriend or some hot young thing that a boss was trying to make their girlfriend. HW has always been nice to me, and when I got the job she even congratulated me and said I deserved it.

So where am I going with all of this? I really wonder if Life is truly Not Fair. She could have complained. She could have raised 7 kinds of hell and probably got the job.

But she didn't.

Because she was used to Life's Not Fair.

I'm sorry Mom, but even though you are everything I ever hope to be in this world I am never buying into Life's Not Fair, and I never have.

Back in the day I just put my make-up on when I got to school, and that sleep over my friend had when I was 16? I was really partying it up in a hotel in Wisconsin after the Poison concert.

You Like Me! You Really Like Me!

2006-02-05T11:33:00.000-06:00

So, I've gotten quite a few emails telling me that the people that run I talk 2 Much did a pretty scathing review of my blog.

I read the entry with R, one of the few real life people that know about my blog. We got a real kick out of it. While we have our own theories about some of the people there, I'll keep them to myself as they didn't ask for a review of their review. Opinions are like assholes, and everybody has one.

Bottom line, dear readers trying to stroke my ego through email, you don't go swimming with sharks without expecting to get bit. I appreciate the TLC though. R about choked when she read the part about how I remind her of a hard beer-in-a-can woman.

Highly entertaining, as most of their site is. They give great advice on design, and I've found some blogs from there I really like. Some of them were tore apart pretty good too, but hey, they chose to swim with sharks too.

Check them out sometime, and only submit yourself for a review if you have a good dose of self-esteem and can take things with a grain of salt.

Ode to Gus

2006-02-04T10:40:00.000-06:00

One of my favorite Internet friends has done it again:

Yes, that one armed blogger Gus Openshaw has wrangled himself up another book deal under his stooges name Keith Thomson. If it is half as good as his first book, Pirates of Pensacola, we are talking an incredible read.

I can't wait for this book. I enjoyed his blog immensely while he was creating this colorful, humorous story, and I am waiting with anticipation to relive it again with a real, live book. Gus is always courteous and kind to his readers, with a wit and writing style that just knocks your socks off.

You can relive the first few entries over at The Whale Killing Journal, and pre-order your copy of the whole thing today. Like right now.

Maybe Gus's next blog will be about how to take an online blog and get two book deals out of the mix?

Girls Night Out

2006-02-04T09:13:00.000-06:00

So tonight the circle of soul mates, are having a girls night out.

We haven't done this in a really long time. Hopefully we won't have to lie again and say we graduated in 1995.

Anyway, it has been a difficult year for us soul mates as friends. For the first time in say 30 or some odd years we have actually had issues with our friendship.

It is damn hard to realize that after much time you might actually be growing apart.

Most of my friends I have made as adults think it is a little strange, being so close to so many people for so long. There are 9 of us, and we have been friends pretty much our whole lives. There are probably another 15 or so people in the extended circle that have been around almost that long.

We are lucky, indeed. A lot of people I know don't even have one friend from childhood, much less 8 best friends. It speaks to their character, that you could be friends with someone for that long. They do not back-stab, and they are always there when you need them.

So what could possibly start to cause friction between us?

There are 5 women in our little circle. My sister-in-law joined the circle last. She has two kids and two on the way any day now. R, my bestest friend since Kindergarten, doesn't have any kids. Her hubby and her don't really care if they have any. They don't believe in "playing God" and doing invetro and things like that, so if it don't happen naturally, it isn't going to happen.

M has a little girl and a little boy. I puffy heart their family so much. They remind me of how things were when I was little. Mom taking them to CCD. Dad coaching the soccer team. They are a complete nuclear family from way back when, and they love every minute of it.

H has no children, and wants them desperately. I feel so bad for her because even the site of a baby can practically bring her to tears. They've tried all the trying to conceive methods, and so far none of them have worked. This poor woman is like a science experiment and has gone through hell.

Then there is me, single, no kids. Things were so much easier before. I am pretty much free to do anything that I want, and the ones with kids could get Grandma or Daddy to watch the kids while we went out.

As life has gotten more hectic it isn't that easy anymore, and the desire to go out has decreased for those that have kids. They would rather do things involving their kids rather then getting away from them.

I don't have a problem with this, as I love kids. Other people's kids that is. R and H have different feelings on this. They don't have to deal with kids, so they don't want to deal with other people's kids.

So that was causing conflict. Then H started to feel like R must be judging her with all her trying to conceive efforts, which couldn't be further from the truth. When my sis-in-law became accidentally pregnant with twins, that was like the final nail in the coffin for H.

You see, my SIL was pretty distraught over the whole deal. Here she was, 37 with two older children and Whoops! pregnant with twins. We did our monthly Sunday breakfast together a few days after she found out, and she kind of lost it at the table about what the hell was she going to do?

H saw this as quite insensitive since she had been trying for the past 8 or so years to get pregnant and couldn't. She stormed out making my poor SIL feel really, really bad.

I can see H's point, I really can. I have never seen anyone want a child so bad in my life. H is also adopted, and she doesn't want to adopt. I think she just wants someone out there with her DNA that she knows. I dunno....

But to think that my SIL was venting to us about her situation and not caring about H's feelings was a big leap. SIL would never do that. Mix in the wild, uncontrollable hormones of the first trimester, a late in life pregnancy, and the fact that she just got her career off the ground and you are talking about one fucked up person.

So for the first time in our 30+ year relationship we turned into the She said this or she said that type behind your back talking shit. H didn't want anything to do with anyone but me. R understood everyone's situation, but H wouldn't listen because she thought R was judging her for "playing God".

M totally related to SIL, and I was just kind of stuck in the middle of all this crap. The poor husbands got thrown into the mix, when H's hubby took great offense to how upset we were all making his wife.

Then they promptly stopped talking to all of us. SIL and M hung out a lot. R and I were tortured over the little split and just wanted to fix it. H wouldn't return any of our calls or emails.

Until the other day, when an email landed in my inbox with three beautiful words.

I miss you. It also landed in everyone else's inbox.

So we are going out tonight. SIL is on bedrest, so we are going to take carry out over to her house first, have a group dinner around the bed, and then head out for some much needed debauchery.

I don't know if this is "fixed" or not, but it is sure on it's way to being repaired. When you have what we have shared over the years, you cannot throw it away over something like this. Hopefully we'll begin the healing process over some Chinese food, a few shots of tequila, and probably a whole bunch of tears.

It's Unnatural I Tell You

2006-02-02T08:55:00.000-06:00

I have a secret that I'm going to share with you, dear reader.

I think having babies is the most unnatural thing in the world.

Now I know you are sitting there either scratching your head or staring at these words in disbelief. Isn't giving birth supposed to be the most natural thing in the world? Isn't that part of our biological need?

Not to me. While most people coo and ahhh over pregnant women, they just plain creep.me.out.

I full well blame all of this on my my sister.

You see, when I was in 8th grade she decided to give birth to my oldest nephew. She was newly married, and living a couple of hours away from us. My parents sent me down to help, as she would be moving back to our home town once the baby was born.

I was actually really excited about all of this. Even though I was the last child born in our family in a really long time, and oh my God was I the baby, being an Aunt just seemed like the coolest thing in the world. Going to "help" just was the coolest thing ever.

So I went, and my sister and I got along for what was probably the first time in our lives. Probably the only time, too. Even then the site of her tummy moving on it's own made me a bit uneasy. It was way to out of the movie Aliens for me. I mean, here was this new life force, moving by itself, something that you can't control in your own body.....

After I was there a couple of weeks she decided to go into labor and guess what? Her new hubby was no where to be found. So my 13 year old ass got to go to the hospital.....

For whatever reason they didn't think it was strange for a 13 year old to be present while they did all that stuff they do before you have a baby. I'll never forget seeing that contraction monitor going through the roof every time she had a contraction. I'll never forget that nurse putting the monitor on my nephew's head and her arm disappearing up to her elbow.

It was the best birth control anyone could ever give a 13 year old girl. I swore I would never, ever have sex. Until a sexy army ranger came along that is.......

Anyway.....

So I was traumatized big time. Even without this experience I think the whole being pregnant stuff would creep.me.out. Yes, I can be a bit of a control freak, so having something that I have absolutely no control over for 9 months would just not suit me well.

When I went to the baby shower everyone was cooing and touching her stomach. I kept that stomach at a 3 feet distance from myself at all times.

Go ahead, kick me out of the women's club. I can't help it. I don't like babies either.

Ok, so now you are thinking I'm some freak of nature, right? I can't help it I tell ya....

Once they can hold their own head up and all that I'm cool. Before that though, they creep.me.out.

Y'all are gonna go away forever now, right? Are you pointing and laughing at the freak of nature woman that thinks pregnancy is unnatural and babies are creepy?

Google This, Biiatch

2006-02-01T13:40:00.000-06:00

I'm am always amazed by the number of sick bast-ids out there on the Internet. Some of the hits I get from Google truly seem like they come from way the fuck out in left field.

I suppose it is my fault for saying fuck so much. Put fuck together with any other word and you pretty much get a great big list of my search engine hits.

So if I talk about old men and rabbits in the same post, I'll get some sick fucker out there that types in old men fucking rabbits coming to my blog.

Oh well. There was huge activity out there for The Sexiest Man Alive.

Is it already time for that issue, or are people just looking for the sexiest man alive?

If I had to pick who the sexiest man alive is I really don't think I could choose just one. The UPS man from that link up there is definitely in the running, but here are my choices if the Gods allowed me to choose from the rich, spoiled, famous type people.

Sexy boy #1 is someone I didn't even know existed until my CSI addiction. George Eads is fiiiiine. Have I ever told you I have a thing about Texan men who smirk?

Just to prove the whole Texan accent smirky thing here is sexy boy #2:

Now I'm not all about Texan accents. Case in point, sexy man #3:

My God, doesn't he just look like he could teach you a thing or three? See, I'm international with my accents. Check out #4:

For those of you who don't know who this is, it is Dougray Scott, who in my book is the sexiest man ever. Ever I say. Ever After that is. From the movie. Ever After. See, I get all tongue/finger tied just thinking about him.

There is a part in that movie where Drew Barrymore, the lucky bitch, gets to say, "It's not fair, you know my weakness, but I don't know yours." He says, "Well I'd think that was obvious," and looks down with this sheepish-embarrassed type look.

I'll tell you this right now. If a man ever did something like that to me, my clothes would spontaneously combust on the spot. That movie is pure women porn.

Alright, I'll stop now. I could probably go on for days, but that's enough eye candy for now. Come to think of it, a post complaining about sick bast-ids is probably going to produce a bunch more sick bast-id searches. Women Porn. George Eads fucking rabbits.

Fuck.

Mary Fucking Poppins

2006-01-29T19:02:00.000-06:00

So......

Yeah, it's been awhile since I posted after I said I would be posting.

I've been busy being Mary Fucking Poppins. My brother's wife is pregnant with twins. She's in her 32nd week, and went into premature labor. They stopped the labor, thank God, but she was in the hospital for a week.

Considering my brother isn't the type of man to say 'see ya', he spent the entire week at the hospital with her, sleeping in a chair in her room.

The problem? They already have two girls, a thirteen and nine year old..

The other problem? Her family decided to go MIA during the week, leaving me, a full time job working nights, and two children with attitudes to watch.

Now, let's review for those who don't read regularily, shall we? Sis-in-law's family is like stuck in the 50's. Women shouldn't work if they have children, even if the kids are like 30. They might need their Mommy.

Yes, Mommy. They all still call their Mom Mommy, and all their children call them Mommy, except for the niece K, who seems to showing more and more of the kj4ever side every day.

Oh, and their husbands don't work either.

So she has two sisters who don't work who married two men who don't work. Mommy and Daddy are retired.

It is funny how all these people that don't work can't find the time to help out their poor sister who is stuck in the fucking hospital scared to death that she is going to have preemies.

People make me sick.

So between me and my niece and nephews from my sister we have been taking care of the brother's homestead, and it hasn't been easy. I'm sure I'll have much more to write about later, but I just wanted to check in and say I haven't abandonded the blog-o-sphere again.

My Own Personal Cocaine

2006-01-17T11:49:00.000-06:00

Ok, so I've never been a real big watcher of Television. While I puffy heart movies to death, TV just never really held my interest.

I mean, there are shows that if they are on I'll watch them because they are funny and/or interesting. I'm just so busy that I've never really got into watching most of the pop culture phenomenons that people rave about. I just saw "Friends" for the first time a little bit ago. It was cute.

Then it happened. I totally blame Spike TV for my new addiction.

CSI.

You see, Spike TV shows CSI two times a day. While I was off work at Christmas time I was bored and laying on the couch, channel surfing. I hit CSI just as it was starting.

I've become a full blown junkie since that fateful day. The advent of TIVO has allowed me to record every single episode that comes on my 300 and some odd channels that I have with satellite. Since I work afternoons I would miss most if not all of them, but my handy dandy TIVO makes sure there are at least two episodes waiting for me every day when I get off work.

I'm not a big fan of the whole cop show/shoot 'em up kind of shows. Don't really care for all the legal/doctor dramas out there either, and I never have. But CSI....

C.S.I. *sighs*

Not any old CSI mind you, but the Las Vegas version. My lovely TIVO was set to record any CSI's, and some imposter CSI's showed up with that creepy David Caruso and someone whom I usually love, Gary Sinise.

I had to stop that shit and just get my beloved Las Vegas CSI shows. Las Vegas is the Cocaine to the cheap imitations composed of crack that are New York and Miami.

I'm sure that crack might come in handy when the Coke runs out, but until it does I'm only snorting the good shit, thankyouverymuch.

At first two shows a day were fine at, my fix complete.

But like any Coke head worth their salt, I just couldn't get enough. I needed more. I wanted more. I HAD TO HAVE MORE.

So my brother causally mentions that he has season 1 on DVD.

23 episodes of coke-fueled fun. I can have as much as I want, when I want. No time schedules, no waiting. I can snort the Coke that is CSI whenever I want.

So I borrowed it, and thanks to the greatness that is Martin Luther King Jr. I had a long weekend. It would have been cut short as I had to work Saturday, but I still got my two days off since Monday was a holiday.

I even thought of sneaking the DVD's to work Saturday because I just couldn't wait to see where it all started.

Junkie, indeed.

I managed to control myself and actually go to work without my drug of choice, and returned home at about 4:00 am Sunday morning. This is when my two day bender with my own personal coke began.

I could just watch one of them before going to sleep, right? I had two days for my CSI debauchery, no need to over do it when I had just come off a 12 hour shift.

Fat fucking chance.

So I stayed up until about 10 am watching the first DVD with the first four shows. I debated putting in the second disk, but knew I had better get some sleep. I took a short nap, a couple of hours, and then proceeded to watch disk two.

In the mean time, people like C are calling because they know I'm off the next day. Like the coke head I have become I ignore friends and family just to get my fix.

My God am I going to get some awful search hits off this one. I apologize in advance to any of you real coke heads looking for information. Here's a bit of advice: That shit will kill you get help.

Anyway, so I'm ignoring friends and family, watching my new love CSI practically non-stop with short naps in between disks. Every time that Who song comes on at the beginning I want to jump on my couch with the three finger salute, and I fucking hate The Who.

Counting for commercials, which aren't present on the DVD thank God I figure I have about 18 hours of coke in a box. I had done snorted all my coke by 1 pm on Monday, first season complete.

I then proceeded to go to the video store and rent the first disk of #2.

I think I have a problem, and I full well plan on going out and buying all five seasons of CSI, and soon.

When those run out perhaps I'll give Miami or NY a try, but I doubt it. It would feel too much like cheating on my beloved Gil and Co.

My God I need help....

Team Jolie

2006-01-12T12:14:00.000-06:00

So Angelina Jolie is really pregnant with Brad Pitt's baby. Many people are split on this issue, saying Angelina is a home wrecking bitch that spoiled poor Jennifer Aniston's perfect marriage to our modern day golden boy.

I'm on team Jolie, if only for one reason. That bitch Jennifer needs to stay away from my man Vince.

I could really care less what celebrities do. I try real hard to not know what the hell is going on in the world of celebrity debauchery, but that is becoming increasingly hard when even the CNN crawl announces this drivel.

My sister, The Lemon, follows this shit like the gospel. I remember she wouldn't go to The Trump, a gambling boat here in the Chicago area, because he cheated on Ivana.

Whatever...

I find it hard to believe anyone is innocent in this situation, but Jolie turning up prego kind of surprised me. There was this one interview with her where she said something along the lines of she probably wouldn't have children naturally because of there being so many children with no homes in the world.

After much debate at work yesterday among the hens (and by hens I mean the MEN), I brought this point up. One of the few women I work with said, "But it's BRAD PITT. Who wouldn't have a kid with Brad Pitt!!!"

I wouldn't. I think he looks like a girlie boy. He's so little. In an art sense I can appreciate his perfectly chiseled body, but other then that I don't find him all that attractive.

Yes, go ahead and kick me out of the woman club. I think Brad Pitt looks like a real pussy, and I hate saying that word, but it's the only one I can think of to describe him.

A lot of these Hollywood men remind me of that. Look at Tom Cruise. I bet my 9 year old niece could kick the crap out of him on the playground without batting an eye. If I'm going to be with a man, my 9 year old niece better not be a threat.

I'm a tall girl, clocking in around 5'8 and 140 pounds. The man I am with better have a more threatening presence then my size 7 junior ass. I mean, if I were out with Brad Pitt and someone came up to us in a menacing way, I'd feel the need to say, "Stand back honey, I'll save you," because the menacing dude would probably be more scared of me then him.

Damn that was an awful run-on sentence. Anyway....

But if I were with Vince Vaughn........

Now I'm not the type to develop celebrity crushes, but God Damn is that man fine. I sure wouldn't feel the need to protect HIM. In fact, I highly doubt any threatening menacing type dudes would even approach someone like him.

I don't want to come off sounding like some wimpy female that needs a man to protect her. Keep in mind that I grew up with a brother that was 4 years older then me, and is around 6'5. I'm a tough chick.

But I make my own money, pay my own bills. If I'm going to be in a relationship he better bring something different to the table, and sheer size and strength is a great plus in my book.

Oh, and Vince isn't prettier then me. Oh, and I could wear heals without towering over him. Who wants to date a guy with better cheek bones then you? Who wants to date a guy that would look better dressed up then you?

Fuck that. Give me Vince any day. This is why I am on Team Jolie, because Jennifer has done went and stole my future hubby.

Love, Sweet Love

2006-01-11T11:32:00.000-06:00

There are just a few things out there that make me actually want to vomit. I usually do everything in my power not to throw up, from downing Pepto to promising God I'll be a very good girl if He just gets me through this random stomach problem.

The number one reason why I would actually want to herck all over my shoes happened last night. You see, I work in what could be described as it's own little city. When you have 3000+ people working together, you can get everything from a new TV to drugs, right at work.

You also can find love.

Now I've only been that stupid once, but he was so cute and a drummer in a band and really tall. Hell I didn't even know that we worked together when we first met, as it is hard to know all 3000 people. Thankfully it didn't turn into a bad experience like so many others have, but usually it goes terribly wrong.

Think about it. Most of these people work on an assembly line. They are STUCK next to each other all day, every day.

So you'll see a hook-up happen. It's easy to tell, because as I saw last night when I wanted to vomit on my Nikes they act like kids in high school again.

The happy new couple last night was walking out of the plant holding hands. Now I'm not talking about people in their early 20's. I'm talking about people in their mid to late 30's.

People where I work usually don't stay married long......

I've never been the hand holding PDA type. Not that I've never held someone's hand, or am opposed to holding someone's hand, but these people need to hold on to the other for dear life at any moment where each other's hand is free. They act as though they haven't seen each other in days but have been working right next to each other all day.

*Herck*

My foray into dating work people went a bit like this. Do not look at me, do not touch me, and for fuck's sake do not tell anyone we are together. The one thing that I have learned from working in an environment that has more men then women is that men put women to shame when it comes to gossip. I mean to shame.

I saw them at lunch that day, feeding each other, holding hands, looking all in love. It usually happens real quick like, one day they are visiting each other's jobs the next they are having vomit inducing public displays of affection.

I know what is going to happen next. They will stay this way for awhile, but it'll burn out quick. One will get tired of the hanging on, of the being around each other 24 hours a day. As the one tries to pull away the other will pull closer, causing fights that while amusing to an extent can be rather uncomfortable for their co-workers to witness.

Then they'll break up.

Then they'll have to look at each other for the next 20 or so years.

I know when I see The Rocker at work it can be a bit uncomfortable, and we were smart about the whole thing. We've pretty much remained friendly, but it's still like Oh G Damn when I see him sometimes.

Imagine if I had practically had sex with him in front of 3000 people and professed my undying love.

Then there will be the one trying to make the other jealous with some new PDA with a new person. Sometimes it works, leaving the new PDA person out in the cold. Sometimes it doesn't, but will cause a couple of good behind the bleachers type fights.

So I'll watch the ensuing drama, without having much choice in the matter. I'll try and control my gag reflex as I see them fall in and out of love. I'll try and not vomit when the big break up happens, the big make up, and the finding someone new.

I'll try, I promise, but vomiting would make me feel so much better, like when you've drank too much and you know it's coming but would be doing a lot better if you just went ahead and got it over with.

Yeah, something like that.

The DMV

2006-01-10T11:17:00.000-06:00

I changed my pic here at FFS. I had to get my driver's license renewed, and I was on a mission from God to get a good pic this time.

Not to shabby, eh?

So anyway, I got up early, bound and determined not to look like I had just left a three day crack binge like my last picture. It was so bad that when I would get carded people would ask, "Is that really you?"

Yes, it was bad, very bad.

Now I know that most people do not like their driver's license photo. It isn't like you are visiting Glamour Shots when you go to get it taken, but still. My last picture came out of a panic when a friend informed me that if you license expires for too long they make you take the written test again in Indiana.

Fuck, I know I'd fail. When they ask what yellow means do you think they have an answer that says, "Go like hell it's fixin' to turn red?"

So after a night of debauchery I got up a bit late. The DMV was closing in like a half hour, so I put my hair in a ponytail and drove like a woman possessed to the DMV.

It wasn't until they handed me my license that I realized I still had eye make-up on one eye, and a bit under my eye, and a bit to the side of my eye.

Just one eye mind you, the other was perfectly fresh. You couldn't really tell if I had been beaten up or just forgot to do the other eye.

Terrible I tell you, terrible. The DMV Nazi informed me that they only retake pictures if it's blurry. I begged. I pleaded.

Denied.

So I've thought about losing my license over the last three years. The only problem with that is it's a total pain in the ass to get a new one and prove who you are. I never rousted up the energy to do it, so I had my Crack Addict Picture for the last three years.

Perhaps I don't look a lot younger then my age at all. Perhaps I've just been carded all these years because The Fates were bored and wanted to see me groan and squirm everytime someone asked for an I.D.

I better get carded now that I have said goodbye to the Crack Addict. Damn you fate, I swear I better....

Do you have a Perfect Life?

2006-01-10T10:38:00.000-06:00

Of course you're not, silly. No one is.

I read a blog while surfing BE, and in a nutshell it was a rant about how all people in the blog-o-sphere act like they are perfect and write like they have perfect little lives.

Unfortunately I clicked the 30 second counter as soon as it ran down because I didn't particularity care for what he was saying, so I don't have a link. It did make me think afterwards though.

While this may have a bit of merit, I try to maintain a balance of the good and bad. I've bemoaned my fate and celebrated it here. I tend to be more of a positive person, so I decided to list all my faults, right here in the open, so that I will not be one of those bloggers with a perfect little life.

I say "dude" all the time. No, really dude, I really say dude all the time.

I make fun of stupid people. Not like mentally challenged people, but people that should know enough not to be so stupid.

I hold a grudge like nobody's business.

I'm a social smoker, formally a fully addicted smoker.

I pull the tags off my pillows and mattresses.

I have an extremely hard time committing in a relationship.

If I feel that someone has done something to lose my trust or loyalty, I have absolutely no problem cutting them out of my life and never thinking of them again. (I know, that's baaaad.)

I'm very anal about my teeth. If I eat, I must brush and floss, no matter where I am. If I am out drinking, my teeth will feel periodically nasty and I will go brush my teeth. It is rather annoying to the people I know, and I am so sick that I always carry travel sized tooth paste and floss and a tooth brush with me everywhere I go.

I have incredibly fresh breath though, and have never had a cavity. I'll have to tell you all about how my teeth fetish came about, but that is a post in itself.

Oh yeah, back to the faults....

If I get a mositoe bite, I must scratch it until it bleeds.

I only give my cats bottled water. I don't know if that qualifies as a fault, but my brother thinks it means I am fucked in the head. I guess being fucked in the head is a fault, eh?

When I get sick I am the biggest baby in the world. I want someone to take care of me NOW dammit, and act like a total brat. I am sure it is hard for some of you long time readers to imagine, but if you try real hard you just might be able to picture it.

I'm a purse snob. If it don't say Coach or Gucci, I'm not having it.

Pot luck dinners creep me out if I don't know all the people because they might be like nasty people with dirty kitchens and germs all over the place. If there are kids there with their dirty little hands and snotty little noses digging in, forget it. I'm not eating.

Oh yeah, and I'm a bit of a germ-a-phob.

I don't act my age. At. All. Not even close.

I'm a bad blogger that disappears for a month and then returns like nothing happened.

I have a very low tolerance for bad little children that do not listen. A lot of times these children are considered "cute" by their parental units, but usually they are just "brats".

I'm sure there are many more things wrong with me, but hey, this is a start. Just in case anyone thought I was perfect.

*snort*

Back to the Grindstone

2006-01-09T13:35:00.000-06:00

So after having two weeks off for the holiday it is back to work for me today.

I like working afternoons, really I do, but these last two weeks have really shown me what I miss out on while the day walker people are home at night.

You have to have a certain personality to work afternoons. Most people I know hate it. When I worked days I had to speed like I was on the final lap of the Indy 500 to make it on time. Getting up at 4 in the morning just doesn't suit me.

Now going to sleep at 4 in the morning fits like a glove, but these last two weeks were hella-fun (G Damned South Park get out of my head). Not just because I didn't have to go to work, but because it didn't have to be a Saturday or a Sunday before I could actually see people that I don't work with.

But I'm going back to the vampire shift. Today. Sucks Ass.

Baby + Baby

2006-01-08T19:37:00.000-06:00

They say when you die and go to hell, which let's face it, is a good possibility for me, you spend the rest of eternity in a place that brings the most fear, pain, suffering, and anguish that you can think of.

I visited my personal hell today.

It was my sister-in-law's baby shower.

Yup, my brother has knocked her up again. Not only did he knock her up, but he had to pay twice for the same ride.

You guessed it, twins.

See, I told you a lot has happened while I was on blogging hiatus.

Now I am not a total heartless bitch. I'm excited. I love all my nieces and nephews to death, and really enjoy spoiling the shit out of them.

This also clears up another problem in my life. Since I'm 35 and have no children, the odds are really against me ever having one. This is not an accident people.

Anyway, if you do the math, factor in that most people in my family almost make it to a hundred unless there's a freak accident, and realize that since I was a later in life baby and the current nieces and nephews aren't all that much younger then me, who the hell is left to take care of me when I'm old?

I mean really, the niece that lives with me is only like 15 years younger then me. If I'm 95 I don't want some old 80 year old taking care of me for fuck's sake!

But these two......That's a whole 35 year difference as my SIL is about to pop any day. I could have a spry 60 year old taking care of me when I'm in my 90's.

Oh these kids are going to be spoiled. Anyway, where the fuck was I? Oh yeah, HELL.

Who came up with the idea of having baby and/or wedding showers? For as long as I can remember I have hated them. It is just not right to put that much Estrogen in one room.

Why can't they be like Christmas? You know, everyone could come in the middle of the night and leave a present around like a baby tree or something.

For any of you men reading, you just don't realize how truly horrid these things are. They herd a bunch of women into a room who are dressed up like they are going to church on Easter Sunday.

There are no men there. Why do we have to primp and look good? We should be able to wear sweat pants with holes in them. Why go through all the pains of looking your best when no men are going to see you, FFS?

How bad the next part is depends on how much money was spent on the shower. Now my SIL's was pretty decent as it was catered, but sometimes you are in big trouble and have the dreaded pot luck food that was cooked God only knows where and has more calories then a super sized meal from Mickey D's.

So you eat and listen to such intellectually stimulating conversation about how Jr. just can't seem to be potty trained or how the Mr. is working long hours and neglecting them so much. This is usually sprinkled in with comments like "Why aren't you married," and "Hang in their Honey, you'll find him."

*Herk* Then I can be as happy as all of them, right? Ummm, no thanks.

So once you get through the meal and intellectually stimulating conversation they start in on the worst part.

Baby Shower Games not to be confused with it's cousin, Wedding Shower Games.

This is the absolute worst part. You play the stupidest games you can think of like "How Many Pink Q-tips are in the jar" or "Pin the baby on the Mommy" or "Baby Bingo".

Does anyone enjoy this? Huh? Am I some kind of mutant female that thinks all of this is just...is just... Stupid? Boring? Pointless?

So you win some prize from the dollar store. Well, most do. I usually get like a "we feel sorry for the poor single girl that knows not of these things" prize because I always lose.

Why can't they just give everyone their G Damned $1.00 candle with the hot glued beads on it and get it over with already? I'm usually ready to scratch my eyes out after we have eaten, so cutting to the chase instead of this kind of inhumane torture would be welcomed by me and all other mutant females missing the shower gene.

So then the Mommy-to-be opens her presents, which takes fucking forever because all the supermoms have a flippin' contest to see who can wrap the best and use the most tape. Then Mommy-to-be has to hold up every single present and wait while everyone goes "Oooooooooooo Aaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh."

You could definitely see the difference in me and most of the women at the shower when she held up what looked to me like a mini toilet brush and I said "Is that a toilet brush" and people laughed and were like "No siiiilly it's to clean bottles."

Then you run like hell, or at least I do. It isn't considered rude to leave once the presents are opened, so that is when I make my get-a-way, running like my life depends on it. For all I know they sacrifice small animals after the gifts are opened.

God I fucking hate showers. I'm just not cut out for that stuff. I don't belong, I don't understand them, and I usually make certain I have to work on those days and send a gift.

I really am thinking that most women have got to hate these things. I mean really, who could enjoy this shit? You have to be fucked in the head to like this stuff. Women need to ban together and put a stop to this demented freakin' practice, don't you think? A Baby Tree is looking better and better.

Grounded at 35

2006-01-07T16:29:00.000-06:00

So I'm grounded for two weeks. Before I go any farther I should probably add that I am 35 years old and was grounded by a 19 year old.

Now it's not a total grounding, mind you, but I'm grounded from a person.

Which would be C, who just got back from his long-distance booty call himself.

2006 isn't exactly starting off all that well. I did my stupid long distance booty call, and I was having some house issues.

Issues like my door had this big space underneath it. C promised to install a new one when he got back. Now I like to think of myself as a real independent type chick. I pay my own bills. Hell, I change the oil in my truck.

There is just something about household repairs and spiders/snakes that make me long momentarily for the 1950's. Momentarily, mind you, and then I call people like my friend C to come take care of it.

So C comes over and it turns out that the floor has ummm rotted a bit because water got under the door. He starts to go under the house in my crawl space only to find out that my sump pump has stopped working and there is about a foot of water down there because I don't ever look down there because of the aforementioned spider/snake issues I have.

Fuck. This whole time we were watching a bunch of South Park reruns, and the phrase "You've been Ef'd in the A" was said in one of them.

So for the rest of the day I kept hearing about how I'd been Ef'd in the A. C decides to just replace the door, and come back the next day and pump out the crawl and fix the floor.

That is until my cat Oliver decides to do a swan dive down the trap door and into the crawl space.

So my 45 pound cat is screaming, I'm about to cry, and C being the good guy that he is goes in after the cat. Oliver doesn't exactly appreciate men, so he won't go to him, causing C to wade around the crawl until he could catch him.

C got Ef'd in the A.

Since he's already covered in gunky water and what we think might possibly be cat pee he goes ahead and fixes the floor also. So I have a bright shiny new door, no fear of falling though my ceramic tile foyer, and one traumatized cat that smells like ass.

Being the Prince that he is C refuses any kind of money from me and makes plans to come back the next day to pump out the crawl and put in a new sump pump.

I just can't have this, so I tell him I'm taking him out at least.

The 19 year old niece hears this and responds with an exuberant "HELL NO." You see, C and I tend to get into a bit of trouble when we are together. Last week when we went out the niece called at like 11 to see when I was coming home. "We're paying the tab now," I told her. We did too. The only problem was we started another one and I didn't turn up at home until about 3.

Hey, we were both having issues and worried about our respective ex's/booty calls. C didn't drink that much because he was driving, and I really didn't drink a lot, but we still seem to have a real hard time coming home when we are together.

So niece decides we need a babysitter because of the evil influence we seem to have on each other. After this day we both had she said we could probably use a driver, and that she'll drive us to where we want to go and she'll come pick us up when we want to come home.

Niece was about to get Ef'd in the A. She so should have known better then to give us free reign with alcohol.

Now I'm not a big drinker. I've never been especially good at it, and I don't think C is either. C was confused about his ex and his new booty call, had to go into a nasty, water filled crawl space, and worked his ass off all day.

We were bound to be bad, even if we weren't psychic soul mates from a parallel universe that cause each other to do Very. Bad. Things.

So we go to Hooters for all you can eat wings, get some pitchers of beer, and even buy the niece dinner since she has been so kind to drive us. We see C's sis-in-law, one of my best friends, and she bitches about us both being off work this week and she has to work. Pay attention now, because we will get back to this part, unfortunately.

Then we decide we want to go out. She drops us off at a local pub, one of those non-meat market types where you can just relax and hang out.

"Want a Jager Bomb?" he asks me.

You see, here is where it all goes terribly awry.

Let me just say this. Whoever invented Jager Bombs is the Anti-Christ. Fuck terrorists, the U.S. of A. needed to go after this sadistic bastard that decided an energy drink mixed with hard liquor was a good idea.

I mean for fuck's sake, drunks can be the most annoying people in the world. Now you have a hopped up wide awake drunk.

Evil I tell you, pure evil.

This is the point where I should have said, "You know last week you almost missed your flight because we stayed out until it was time for you to go to the airport, and I worried my niece because I didn't come home until very late." Then he should say, "You know what Kel, you're right. We'll just have a few beers and have a good time."

Instead I said "OK!"

They just go down so easy and don't taste like alcohol. I puffy heart Red Bull too, so it is just a bad combo.

I have no idea how many I had. I have no idea how many he had. Something got totally fucked up along the way though and he paid the tab when at 2:30 the owner was telling us we had to leave.

C got Ef'd in the A again.

So we call the niece, and she's already on her way thankfully. "I may be 19, but I know bars don't stay open that late," she says, sounding rather annoyed.

We then proceed to go to C's house and sit in his truck in his driveway and listen to Dave Matthews for 4 hours.

I would expand upon that part a little more, but once we talked the niece into listening to music for awhile the rest gets a bit fuzzy.

So we sang and laughed and talked. Poor niece was drifting in and out of sleep from her seat in the back. Why the hell we stayed in a Truck in the middle of winter in Chicago is beyond me. Seemed like a good idea at the time?

Around what I would guess to be 6:00 we decide we would be such sweethearts if we took C's sis-in-law breakfast since she has to work. Things start to come in a bit clearer at this point as I'm assuming my blood alcohol level finally started going down.

"NO!" comes the verdict from the niece.

"Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaasssssssssseeeeeeeeeeee," we say in unison.

"I'm sober now," C says.

"No you're not!!" screams the niece. "FINE I'll drive you," she says and off we go!

I could go into the horrible experience we had at McDonald's, the way C did a flying leap in between his brother and sis-in-law while they were still sleeping, the way we accidentally woke up his niece, the lecture we got about how even though it was a nice gesture it wasn't all that smart, and how we ate the McDonald's before the sis-in-law got to the table.

But we don't want to go into that, as this post is already hella-long (thank you South Park).

Basically we are in trouble yet again. The Niece has grounded us from each other for two weeks. She can laugh about it now, as can his brother and poor SIL.

The problem is he paid. The poor guy got Ef'd in the A over and over that day. I guess when we are done being grounded we are going to have to do it again.

This time we'll be more responsible though. We will act like adults. We'll just go out and have a good time and come home.

Yeah, and hell could also freeze over. I have to do something for him though, and I told him if he don't let me I'll start calling him like a girl who has just been laid properly for the first time.

It is a good thing we'll never reproduce. The mixture of our DNA would be quite a scary concept indeed.

The Space Between

2006-01-03T07:48:00.000-06:00

We are over. We know this. We can handle doing the friends with benefits thing. I mean really, we know how different we are. It would be so much easier if we didn't have so much fun together.

The space between
The tears we cry is the laughter that keeps us coming back for more
The space between
The wicked lies we tell to keep us safe from the pain

My God I freakin' hate it when people quote shit in their blogs, especially when it is about lovey-dovey relationship crap.

Please excuse me while I vomit all over my own this blows post.

I'm putting all the blame of this abomination on Dave Matthews and out of control hormones. He needs to stop writing songs about my life and get his own fucking life.

The space between
Your heart and mind
Is the space we'll fill with time

We fought over the remote because you wanted to watch CNN and I was watching South Park. You told me I need to know what's going on in the world. I told you that I know what's going on in the world, thankyouverymuch, which is why I need to laugh and watch South Park.

The space between
What's wrong and right
Is where you'll find me hiding
Waiting for you

I should move on. You should move on. We never should have done what we did. Neither one of us has the ability to compromise what needs to be compromised to make this work. The ability to hang out and enjoy "benefits" without the feelings is something else we just don't have.

The space between
The bullets in our fire fight
Is where I'll be hiding waiting for you
The rain that falls
Splashed in your heart
Ran like sadness down the window into your room

I wanted to come to you on Saturday, but you wanted me to come on Friday. You wanted me to leave on Monday, but I had things to do and needed to be back home Sunday. We actually compromised, and I came on Friday and left on Sunday.

But it wasn't enough for you. You full well expected me to stay until Monday, because men like you are just used to getting what you want. You've always gotten what you wanted, until me.

Look at us spinning out in the madness of a rollercoaster
You know you went off like the devil in the church
In the middle of a crowded room
All we can do my love
Is hope we don't take this ship down

I just don't care about $200 dinners or $500 Campaign. I don't care about fancy parties filled with important people. Just being with you would have been enough for me, and in your world paved in gold you can't seem to wrap your brain around that.

You could not buy that extra day.

You will never be able to buy me, and the part that stings is you can't comprehend that. You keep trying.

You cannot quit me so quickly
Is no hope in you for me
No corner you could squeeze me
But I've got all the time for you love

You sent me this part of Dave's song a long time ago, remember? When you first moved?

So I didn't quit you so quickly. I did go on a hiatus for about a year, but never really quit you. What you failed to realize was it wasn't that I had no hope in you, but you had no hope in me.

We're strange allies
With warring hearts
What a wild eyed beast you be

And I need to quit you. I know this now. I knew when you cruely shut me out last Sunday afternoon, when you realized I was really going to leave. I knew when you called me to apologize. You said you couldn't bare to see me walk away yet again, and just wanted more. Why can't you see that it is your actions that make me walk away, time and time again?

These fickle fuddled words confuse me
Like will it rain today
We waste the hours with talking talking
These twisted games we're playing

It's really just a big, complicated game, isn't it? You are all about winning this game, and I'm just about surviving it.

To survive, I must quit this game now. I don't think we can be friends for awhile, even friends without benefits, because it isn't healthy for you or for me. Yes, it breaks my heart, but I am used to that as I left little shattered pieces of it every time I left you.

Was it a mistake? This weekend?

If it got me to this point, no, no it wasn't, even if it feels like the worst thing that has ever happened to me.

The space between
The space between

At least I didn't break out Grey Street. Will you forgive me for this post if I promise to return you to your regularily scheduled crazy ass blonde chick tomorrow?

*Late Addition*
After writing this I noticed it fell into the new Blogging 4 Books competition and I entered it. Check out B4B here.

Big in 2005

2006-01-02T07:58:00.000-06:00

That was the name of the show I watched while the Mystery Man slept the sleep of a deeply satisfied man (Thank you God), and I decided I'd have my own Big in 2005 post.

Granted, I've sucked ass as a blogger in 2005. 2004 saw daily posts from me, but 2005 just kicked me in my proverbial ass personally.

Not much of an excuse, but 12 hour working days, one very sick Father, countless speeding trips to Mississippi to see said Father, and a sister that turned our whole family upside down causing me to get anther roommate, my 19 year old niece, was a big part of the reason why I didn't blog nearly as much as I did in the past.

But now, dear readers who are left, my Dad is much better (thank you God again), work has calmed down, and life with the niece and nephew is just peachy.

I still had some Big in 2005 moments here at FFS. Between search engines and the people who faithfully read my blog even when there was nothing new to read, FFS had some posts that got quite a bit of attention.

My Wanted: post from February about what I want in a boyfriend got a lot of attention, especially from Search Engines. I received three email proposals from this post. Not to shabby, eh?

The Echo Bastards post received quite a bit of attention as did the Angry Xer's vs. Delusional Boomers and it's compliment post 50 is the new 30.

Damn those Boomers can search, the Echos and the Babies. Most Baby Boomers sought these posts, especially the 50 is the new 30. 50 is the new 30 my 35 year old ass. I now feel justified in ripping on the "Me" Generation, as they proved again how everything is about THEM.

God don't get me started on that crap again. I've gotten my fill of hate mail over that, thankyouverymuch.

Rock it like a porn star received it's fair share of search engine hits, but I'm assuming the people searching for Porn Star, or pulling porn star hair came back from it a bit disappointed.

Oh, and while we are on the subject, any of you searching for kids doing certain things, get your sick fucking asses off my blog. I have no clue how searching for that (which I'm not going to say as it might pop up even more in the engines) brings you to my blog, but get the fuck out of here you sick, perverted ass.

Oh, and you people searching for Slut Bratz Dolls or naked Bratz Dolls or Bratz Dolls having sex, please get therapy, and soon.

Project Greenlight, one of my guilty pleasures, saw tons of hits from search engines and linky love alike. My buddy Gus's book got a ton of search and linky love. There is great news for 2006, as he has another deal in the works for the Gus Openshaw Blog to become a book, and soon. I'll keep you posted, because I'm sure it will be every bit as good as The Pirates of Pensacola.

I think Mr. Gus needs to start a blog about getting your damn blogs made into books, because he sure has the market covered, the lucky bastard. I still love him though.

There are a bunch more posts that had lots 'o linky love, but I'm just tired right now. I could say that I'll continue this post later, but I know I won't. I just needed something mindless to blog today as I just got back from my trip, God was kind, and I had a GREAT time. Whether is was the enormous mistake that I fear is yet to be seen, but I'll take it as it comes for now.

2006 is looking like it's going to be much better then 2005, indeed.

Me Vs. God/Fate Whatever

2005-12-30T12:17:00.000-06:00

So I went out with my good friend C Wednesday night. We had one major thing in common for New Year's Eve, and that thing was we are both going on long distance booty calls.

His booty call was with some chick he just met while visiting with a friend and his wife, and he is going to fly to the East coast to be with her for the weekend. He informed me he was in much need of some lovin', which is hard ot believe considering the man is a really tall Italian boy who is quite easy on the eyes.

I think it has more to do with the fact of the ex on and off again girlfriend that hangs around our parts, and the safest bet is a thousand or so miles away. That, and the booty call chick seems pretty cool and has traveled a lot. I know that intrigues him.

My booty call is a bit more dangerous. My booty call is going to be with The Mystery Man.

I realize this is probably a huge mistake. Enormous mistake.

Anyway, as we lament to each other over a few Jager Bombs and a couple (or more) Miller Lites about the fact that we both gotta travel to each end of the freakin' coast of our great nation just to get laid.

How sad indeed.

Now I have a valid excuse. I have a very low sexual partner number, so having sex with him won't add to it. Almost any chick can have sex just about anytime she wants, right?

That, and I'm real fucking picky about who is allowed to touch me.

And to be quite honest, in a TMI kind of way, I just need to have sex. It's been awhile....................

So while he's driving me home he informs me that it would be his luck that she'll be on her period or something.

Bastard.

I knew it when he said it. I knew the fucker was going to jinx me.

All men who are squeamish about any female junk are free to jump ship now. I promise not to go into to much detail, but I'm givin' you an out.

So today I start packing to leave for the weekend. I know I felt it yesterday, that icky, I'm kind of tired and my back kind of hurts. If I just ignored it, maybe it would go away. I mean really, that is a whole seven days away, and when I start is more dependable then a Swiss fucking watch.

Fucking fate.

You see, I do believe in Destiny and Divine Intervention and all that jazz. I do think we have free will, but Fate/God/Whatever you believe in will bitch smack your ass when you go to far off your path.

So the bitch known as Fate is trying to stop me from going off my path.

I decide the fastest way to avoid this disaster is to talk to God directly.

I promise Him it'll be just this one time. Mystery Man and I have talked about this. We are not going to start anything back up. We know we are wrong for each other.

But we both need to get laid. I mean really God, you are the one that put all these damn hormones in us to begin with, right? Isn't this much better then picking up some random stranger?

Huh? Huh?

So as I sit here typing I'm thinking my pleading with God has not done a damn bit off good. It hasn't happened yet, but it's going to, and soon.

I'll be there by 8. It's almost one now. If I can just by some miracle of GOD (yeah, you, I'm talking about you) hold out until say 11 ish, I shall feel much better.

Actually if I could hold out until Sunday afternoon would be even better, but hey, beggars can't be choosers, ya know?

So if Fate decides to bitch smack my ass, I'm going to kill C when we both return. Not that it's his fault or anything, but all that pent up frustration needs to go somewhere.

That, or I'll make the jinxer have sex with me. Ha! That'll teach 'em all...

I'm sure that Fate would think this is a much bigger mistake then Mystery Man, because I adore the hell out of this man and it would suck if I wrecked it.

So I got me a little bit of a playing card. Hopefully fate doesn't know that I'm bluffing.

Pray to your Diety for me. 8 hours and counting...

Oh, and have a great New Years. I won't be back until Sunday night/Monday morning. May you all have wonderful sex this weekend, and hopefully you think the same for me.

Eharmony Mind Control

2005-12-28T08:08:00.000-06:00

So yesterday I told you how I would post the five multiple questions that I can send to these people at Eharmony.

All ten people that requested communication answer my five non-descript multiple choice questions almost identical.

My Questions are:

How often do you lose your temper?

A. Practically never
B. Once in awhile
C. On occasion during a week
D. Probably once a day on average

By some wild coincidence not one of ten people lose their temper!! If I answered that it would probably D, but I work in IT now and deal with idjits on a daily basis, FFS!

Next Q:

If you went out to eat with a friend, which would you prefer?

A. A nice 4-star restaurant
B. A basic Steakhouse
C. An undiscovered hideaway
D. A hole in the wall with great food

Miraculously they all chose to write in the answer with sometime of to the affect that it depends on who they are with. Fuck depending on who you are with. Give me a hole in the wall with great food any day.

Next Q:

Which of the following things would you rather have lots of?

A. Respect
B. Fame
C. Money
D. Power

Another write in deal where they all said "Love". Altogether now...Awwwwwwwww!

Next Q:

Your idea of adventure is:

A. Whitewater Rafting
B. Karaoke singing
C. Trying a different route to work
D. Ordering a dish you've never tried before

We have a bunch of whitewater rafters in our midst. If ever there was a write in question, this is it folks.

Last Q:

Which of the following scenarios would make you more nervous?

A: Making a presentation to 500 people
B. A long car ride with someone you just met
C. Talking about your deepest fears with your lover
D. Meeting with the president of the company you work for

I sincerely hope none of them meet the president of their company. To me, that would be/was the easiest, as I've done all of these things and didn't find any of them particularity nerve racking.

Personality matching my ass.

So after you send these things and they send them to you there is a list of Must Haves/Can't Stands that you send each other.

There is one thing about this that really kinda of freaked my shit out.

One of the Can't stands that seems to be on all their lists is: Poor Hygiene...... I can't stand someone who is not clean.

What the fuck kind of women have they been dating? I mean, you have a billion things to chose from, and they think this is a necessity to say?

This starts to worry me, because I sure as hell did not pick that one because I thought for sure that Good Hygiene would be an unspoken Must have, alright? I mean in the can't stand category there are lots of good things like people that hold grudges or bad tempers or materialistic or mean spirited or no cheaters. All of these and they choose Poor Hygiene?

Am I doomed to date the smelly kid from seventh grade that made your eyes water, or what?

Eharmony sucks ass. If you ask me, it is a bunch of people telling a bunch of other people exactly what they think they want to hear.

It's just like I said yesterday, it's like going to a bar and meeting some loser with lines without the free drink.

At least you get free alcohol in scenario #2, and I loves me some free alcohol.

Granted, since this was a gift it wasn't something I thought of trying to begin with, and not something that I really would take all that seriously. Perhaps I'm being to hard on these guys who are "Ready to find the love of their lives", but hell I'm hard on the real life ones, why not the Internet ones?

Worst Birthday Present Ever

2005-12-27T08:11:00.000-06:00

So one of my "friends" decided that a really great Birthday present for me would be a three month subscription to Eharmony.

Yes, as in on-line dating site Eharmony.

"Uhhh, thanks?" was about all my flabbergasted self could spit out.

It turns out she has met the love of her life there, and wants to spread the wealth. Kind of like those people who when they are first in love they decide everyone needs to be in love too.

But E-freakin'-harmony?

For me?

Ok, ok, I'll admit to being in the middle of what some would call a dry spell. I call it more of a self-imposed exile from meeting idjits.

I've been dating, but haven't exactly found any men of quality. In the past a lot of my boyfriends started out as friends. I just don't have that whole romantic notion that Prince Charming is going to sweep me off my feet. In fact, if they are overly romantic at first the red and blue alarm lights over my head begin to flash and wail immediately.

So I'm a tough sell. So what? Being without a second half doesn't bother me in the least bit, but it sure as hell seems to bother other people. They can't wrap their brains around the fact that I am perfectly content when I do not have a significant other.

This is not to say that I don't like have another significant other, but that I'd rather be alone then date some moron with a hand full of pick-up lines and a bottle of wine.

Needless to say, this gift didn't exactly thrill me. I know it came from a good thought, but the present went horribly awry.

"It really works," she tells me. "They match you up by your profile. You take a series of tests to determine your personality and how it matches up with others."

Even though I pretty much think this is a joke, I decide to check it out, considering it is free and all. I'll probably get a good laugh out of it. The start page booms "Ready to Find the Love of Your Life? Eharmony!" It then goes on to show a bunch of Real! Live! People! who have found love, happiness, and the answer to world peace on Eharmony!

It kind of freaks me out because the couples all look like brother and sister.

So I take the personality test, hoping the love of my life isn't my brother. You can put pictures up, but I decide against it because this is supposed to be all about finding someone with your interests, right? I begin getting people in the "My Matches" portion of the site.

So what now? I can begin communication with any of these people by sending out five pre-written questions for them to answer. I read over some of the people in My Matches.

I debate with myself on if I should start communication with some of the people that seem interesting. This is all a joke, right? Hell, it couldn't hurt if I found the love of my life, as long as it's not my brother.

So I send the five pre-written questions out to a couple of people, just to see what happens next.

The next day I get a couple of emails saying "This match has decided to close communication with you. The reason? No picture in profile.

Personality matching my ass.

My friend calls me up and asks how it is going. "Umm, not real well. They keep closing me because I don't have a picture up."

"Oh you really need to put your picture up. I mean, part of any relationship is attraction, and they just want to see if they would be physically attracted to you before they put an investment into you."

Yeah, right.

So I start to think about this whole picture thing. Now I do have some old fat pictures. Wouldn't it be a hoot if I put up this picture,

but when we met I looked like this:

Jesus X, I can't believe I just put an old fat picture of myself on the Internet. Still, it sure as hell would weed out the really, really superficial people, eh?

So I tell my friend that I am thinking of putting up an old fat picture. "Noooooo don't do thaaaaat!" she says. "How would you like it if someone did that to you?"

Actually, I think it'd be really funny, but perhaps that is just my sick sense of humor.

So she talks me out of putting up my old fat picture, even if it would make for some good ass bloggin'.

At this point, it has been 5 days and no one has tried to communicate with me. My personality must suck.

Then, a Christmas miracle happens. I put my pic up before Christmas, and instantly little miracles saying "Match requests communication" appears in my email.

Now I know I'm not a supermodel or anything, but I am a fairly attractive 35 year old woman that still gets carded. I actually look more like 35 in my fat pic and that was a long, long time ago. It makes me wonder what other people look like in their pics that this crappy Christmas card pic brings up so much interest.

I plan on doing a couple of posts on the whole Eharmony junk, as it has been a rather amusing experience this week. The only problem is it is kind of like going to a bar, hearing a bunch of lines, but not getting the free drink.

So in other words is kind of sucks ass, but is funny as hell. Tomorrow I'm going to post my five random multiple choice questions and how miraculously all ten guys answered them exactly the same!

This is great holiday fun!

Me Too!!!!!!!

2005-12-26T07:14:00.000-06:00

There are an awful lot of people that annoy the fuck out of me.

Take your "I Looked the Best I'm Ever Going To Look in High School So I Still Have Big Hair And Wear Jordache Jeans" people. They annoy the fuck out of me.

Take your "I'm Better Then You" people. They spend vast amounts of time and money to try and seem better then you, when it actuality they really feel insecure. They annoy the fuck out of me.

Take your "You Owe Me" people. Everybody owes them something, why oh why is the world so cruel to them, God forbid they try and help their situation. They annoy the fuck out of me.

This leads into the "Finger Pointer" people that sometimes cross breeds with the "You Owe Me" people. Nothing, I repeat nothing is every their fault. They never have solutions, just reasons why it is not their fault. They annoy the fuck out of me.

What am I getting at here besides the fact that a lot of people annoy the fuck out of me? I'm getting to the Mother of All People That Annoy The FUCK Out of Me. The "Me Too!!!!" people.

This weekend we had the yearly party for the Original Party People (my parents for you new readers). They had just got into town, and we were having a grand old time until I realized that someone had invited the Idiot From Hell.

"Me Too!!!!" to the max she is. I can hardly contain my blood pressure when I am around her.

It doesn't matter what the subject is. Be it politics, movies, child rearing, or philosophical questions, she will see what the majority of the people say, or what the person she is talking to will say, and interject with "Me Too!!!!"

She has no opinion but what is told to her. She's a freakin' parrot. If you God forbid ask her to back anything up, she can't.

Which of course, I always do. This may make me seem like a bitch, which of course, I am.

The conversation got heated as people started discussing President Bush and the Dems vs. Repubs. Someone said something about abortions would probably become illegal, and she was all, "Oh yes, I think that too!"

Someone else started lamenting about the whole gun control issue. Red states and blue states then became the topic of discussion. "Pretty soon women will be getting backroom abortions because of the South! Those people are just stupid!" she said.

Back the fuck up.

I think a statement like that deserves an explanation don't you all (or y'all for you Southerners)? Especially considering she was at a party being given for people from Mississippi

So I go into attack trained killer mode and go right for the jugular.

"Why would you say that?" I ask. Blank stare. You can actually hear the wind flowing through her ears.

"What do you mean?" she asks. People start to get a bit uncomfortable, as they are intelligent enough to know that I am out for the kill.

"What about partial birth? Do you think that's ok?? And why is it the South's fault, the state right next to us voted Bush and they are not in the South"

"Well I don't know how many states were from the south..."

"Then why the hell would you say something like that, at a party given for people that live in Mississippi for Christ's sake!"

At this point, my Mom gave me the "leave the poor stupid people alone" look and I backed off.

Parrot, parrot, parrot. No true thoughts of her own. God that annoys the fuck out of me.

I may be being harsh, and believe me, there are a lot of things that I couldn't form an intelligent opinion on, but I don't just parrot things I've heard about it. I shut the fuck up and listen.

These people do it to be accepted. To be included. It's the all the cool kids are doing it mentality. That annoyed the fuck out of me when I was a cool kid, and it annoys the fuck out of me now that I'm a cool adult.

Ghosts of Presents Past Part II

2005-12-26T05:27:00.000-06:00

When I first started working in a manufacturing environment, I had quite a shock to my 19 year old self.

That can't even begin to describe the culture shock. It was like going to another planet to work.

You see, and I'm sure any big place with thousands of employees are like this, it was like it's own little city. You could get anything there, from crack to a brand new TV, freshly fallen off the truck.

They had their own set of rules, too. Even though it was 1990, the whole sexual harassment stuff really wasn't something that was talked about. It was nothing for someone to come up to you and tell you just how fucked up they thought it was that you were taking away a job that some man could have to support his family.

I signed on for part time help, something to supplement my income while I was in school. In two days time I made way more then working 40 hours at my other job, and had major medical insurance. I figured this would be great, as I could concentrate more on school.

That is, until the first day I walked down that assembly l-i-n-e.

Seniority was high at the time, and women didn't start working there until the mid to late 70's. Even then, there weren't a whole lot of them that could hold day shift. As a part time employee, I was assigned to days, as seniority didn't hold any bearing on us.

So let's recap, shall we? The few women that held dayshift were pushing 40 or older. Most of the men that worked there were also that age, and didn't exactly appreciate women that worked there.

So my naive 19 year old ass walked down that line the first day just thinking I was just going to work.

Nu-uh. It was like walking nekkid through an all male prison. Men who had been there a long time and hadn't seen a woman in decades.

Oh, no one knew all the hooting and hollering bothered me. I held my head up and walked down that line like I belonged there, dammit. Secretly I just wanted to run and hide and find my Mommy, and I have called my Mom Mommy since the appropriate age, which is about 4.

The first couple of weeks were pretty tough. The work was hard, like I didn't know that kind of work existed. It didn't help that a lot of the bigger bosses decided they liked my 19 year old ass and pretty blatantly told me that good little girls don't have to work that hard if they do certain things.

I didn't do certain things, so I got even harder work.

This actually was a good thing, because slowly but surely the men in my section began to have respect for me. I did the hardest job on the line, a job that made grown men leave at lunch time and never go back. A job that made grown men actually cry.

I.Would.Not.Quit.

I.Would.Not.Cry.

Well, I cried, quite a bit actually, but not until I was in the safety of my car and far away from any assembly people.

I also would not allow myself to be treated like a piece of meat. On day three one of my lovely co-workers decided to grab my ass. I'm not sure how many stitches he got upside his head, but that big motor that shot the steering column did some major damage. I had learned a long time ago that a whole bunch of the time a blonde can go "Oooopss!" and get away with anything, even cracking the skull of a fucking perverted ass with a huge steel tool.

No one ever tried to touch me again.

The hooting and hollering had also subsided, as when one of the guys would yell out a particularity nasty comment I would simply walk up to them and ask them why they would say that. Most of these people were actually half-way decent men, who were quite embarrassed when called on their behavior.

Another rather disturbing fact was a lot of the women that were there didn't appreciate the fact that a 19 year old was getting a lot of their attention. There was no winning their respect, and they looked at me with contempt most days.

I did win the respect of most of the men, but there was one that I just couldn't stand, and the feeling was mutual.

He was my relief person. He gave me two breaks a day, and was a grouchy son-of-a-bitch. No matter what time I came back from break he claimed I was late. He also felt the need to tell me how that work was no women's work, and I really didn't belong there.

The other guys started getting on him about it, and he did lighten up a bit. I still couldn't stand him. He was just such a miserable person. Archie Bunker had nuttin' on this man.

One day when they were predicting a heavy early morning snow I came to work early. It had to be 4 in the morning when I got to work, and we started at 6. Grouchy son-of-a-bitch was already there, drinking coffee from the nastiest cup I've ever seen and eating cereal.

"I see you were worried about being late too, eh?" I asked him. "I worry about being late everyday. I get here at 3 most days," he said, turning back to his cereal.

3?? 3am?? This man was nucking futs.

Usually I didn't try to have a conversation with this man, but the deeply stained coffee cup he was using was bugging the piss out of me. I'm a bit of a germ-a-phob, and the thought of drinking out of a cup that looked like that just grossed me out.

"Look here girlie, this here cup was a gift, one of the best gifts I've ever been given. A man who had started here back in the 20's gave it to me when he retired, because he said I was the hardest working son-of-a-bitch he had ever seen, and that with people like me this place would be here forever, and his retirement would be safe. He never washed it, so neither do I."

With that he dumped the remaining coffee on the ground, rinsed it out in the water fountain, and moved to another table that was free of 19 year old blondes that were taking away jobs from a deserving man. Never mind the fact that he had been there almost 40 years, and if he retired a deserving man could have his job.

Fucker. Oh how he pissed me off....

So that day at lunch I loudly complained about the Grouchy son-of-a-bitch. "Why doesn't he retire?? Does he not have a life? Why in the hell would he get here at 3 in the morning every fucking day?"

One of the guys sitting at the table told me of Grouchy son-of-a-bitch's situation. "Oh, he's always been a miserable asshole, but he's gotten worse since his wife passed on. About the time he was going to retire his wife got cancer and died in just a couple of month's time. She was his world, and I reckon he can't stand being at home without her. He's in bed by 7 most nights, which I guess just makes life bearable for him."

Yes, I felt like a real.fucking.bitch.

I saw him in a whole new light now. Now I could see that he walked with a limp and how bad his hands were banged up from working on that line all those years. I saw a broken man who popped tylenol like candy just to stand the pain, but that pain was nothing compared to the emotional pain he felt at home.

I made an effort to actually talk to him like a human now, and he actually responded in a positive way. Oh, he was still a Grouchy son-of-a-bitch, but he seemed to at least tolerate me now. He'd even tell me about what he did with his grandchildren that weekend and even brought me some vegetables from his garden a couple of times.

Feeling like a taste-tester was needed, I cut up some tomatoes first and fed them to my co-workers to be sure they weren't laced with poison. After the first few times, I decided he wasn't trying to bump me off.

So for the next couple of years we went on quietly tolerating each other. I learned bunches of jobs, and was one of the first women who became a utility-someone with no set job that covers for the people on vacation or who are out sick.

Eventually the physical pain became worse then the emotional pain, and he just couldn't keep up anymore. He had to be around 65, and if that work killed my now 21 year old ass I can just image how bad it hurt a 65 year old ass. Oh, he could have gotten a way easier job with his seniority, but his pride would never allow that.

His last day of work is what we call the walk around day. Usually people come to work in their Sunday best with there families and say good-bye to everyone. We had a cake for lunchtime, and passed around the hat to fill his card with money.

He came in dressed like any other day, but had his daughter, son, and grandchildren with him. He actually acted human too.

At lunch time we all ate cake and related some funny stories to his family. He slowly pulled himself up from the table. Sitting still made his aches and pains intensify, and by now he had a real hard time moving when he sat for a long time.

He walked over to his cabinet that had his reproduction, cereal, and that nasty ass cup. He grabbed the cup, and slowly walked back to the table. While standing at the front of the table he recounted that story he told me a couple of years ago, and set that germ fest of a cup in front of me.

"You are the hardest working son-of-a-bitch I have ever seen, and with people like you here my retirement will be safe forever. Get off this line kid, you are smart and could do more good in other ways here. You don't want to end up like me."

Now you must realize that in my three years of service there I had never cried in that plant. Ever. Not even the time when my fingers got stuck in a motor and I broke 22 bones in my hand.

I didn't cry then either, as I knew this would make him uncomfortable and possibly make him cry too. I must admit that my big brown eyes did fill with tears, but I held them back, out of respect for this broken old man who had worked so hard for so long.

His funeral was a few years later, and it didn't have the best turnout. I went to pay my respects to a man who showed contempt for me most of the time I had known him, but redeemed himself in the end.

"My Father really liked you," his daughter told me. "He would be really pleased that you came today. He talked about you all the time. 'You should see this new girl we got at work' he'd say. 'She works harder then 5 men'."

I thanked her and walked to the casket. As I knelt down to pray, I thought about why this man came into my life. Possibly to show me you can't judge a book by it's cover. Maybe it was to show me that sometimes people are miserable because their own lives are so incredibly painful, and you just never knew about it.

What I did know was that my life was better for having this Grumpy son-of-a-bitch in my life.

That cup still sits on my desk, and yes I drink my coffee out of it. Now mind you I didn't wash it, but I did rinse the hell out of it with boiling water.

This new generation I tell you...I can just hear him saying it.

Every once in awhile some new person will ask about it. I retell the story in more politically correct terms, as things have changed quite a bit in 16 years. When they make a face at the disgusting looking cup I'll tell them to show some respect. I am the future, after all.

Me Vs. The Cats From Hell

2005-12-20T10:34:00.000-06:00

Oh, they look sweet and innocent. View exhibt A:

I hate fucking cats, and due to my kind, sweet nature I've ended up with two of them. While they may look all sweet and innocent, once the Christmas Tree goes up they turn into psychopaths. View exhibit B:

They are really vicious fucking tree killers, these cats o'mine. Last year they killed a perfectly innocent 8' tall pre-lit tree. By the time Christmas came it looked like something that was swirling around in the movie Twister. Only 1/4 of the lights worked, and I almost had to get stitches from the glass ornament I stepped on in the freakin' bathroom of all place.

I tried the whole water bottle trick. Martini, or crystal meth cat as she is known, is so fast that as soon as she saw that damn water bottle she is out of there. You would need a super soaker to even get a drop of water on her. But when the bottle wasn't around, forget it. In the tree she went until she saw the spray bottle.

Oliver was a different story. He is shall we say a little overweight. View exhibit C:

He decided that getting wet wasn't nearly as bad as running, so he just learned to like it. He'd even turn his head so that I'd get both sides.

I hate fucking cats.

So being the computer savvy person that I am I turned to the Internet this year on how to make my cats not think the Christmas tree is a jungle gym.

Most searches came up with the same results.

You.Are.Fucked.

Some people with cats offered up advice. "Put a fence around your tree." These are cats, FFS! It would have to be a damn cage around the tree to keep them out. Another helpful soul told me to spray it with lemon juice, as the cats hate the smell.

Oliver just decided that the tree must be food and began eating it.

I hate fucking cats.

Every day I would come home to a new catastrophy. One day there wasn't a single ornament on the tree. Another day Martini seemed to be committing Kitty Cat suicide and was half way strung up, meowing her head off. Then the really fun days were when the whole entire tree was just laying in the floor.

This year I swore I wasn't going to even have a tree. No fucking way was I going though that shiiat again.

Then my Mom, who sold Christmas trees from our garden center for years offered up some advice. "Get a real tree. A Balsam. Those are pretty tough, and would probably prick the hell out of them if they tried to climb it."

This actually made sense, in a if they love climbing a fake tree they'll really hate a real tree kind of way.

Wha?

Ok, so it didn't make sense, but it still kind of did. Considering how much I love decorating, I just had to have a tree, so off I went to find an environmental tree store that replaces every tree sold with two.

This was fucking war God Dammit. I wanted my Christmas Tree.

So I went out and bought all new ornaments. Plastic like ornaments that wouldn't leave gapping wounds on my feet when stepped on. I bought twinkle lights that maybe wouldn't cause as much attention as the chasers that were on my dearly departed Pre-lit Christmas Tree.

Guess what?

It fucking worked.

Oh, Martini tried her ass off at first. The needles must have been really scratchy, because everytime she tried to enter the bottom of the tree she shoot out of there like a bat out of hell. Oliver tried maybe once, then decided Fuck This and just pretened to be in the tree by laying on the tree skirt.

Ha! I had won.

Then, much to my dismay, another problem arose. I think they thought if that bitch is bringing in shit we can't climb, we'll make her replace the water every freakin' hour.

Yes, they drink almost every drop of water the second I fill it up.

It is hell on a litter box I tell ya.

It also really pisses me off, because usually unless I give them bottled water they go on like a kitty water strike and walk around with little signs talking about cruelty to animals.

I hate fucking cats.

So they may have won one of the battles, but it seems as if I'm going to win the war. Yes, I do have to put every ornament that is two feet from the bottom of the tree back on, and yes I have to put water in the damn tree stand a million times a day, and yes I have to scoop the damn litter box on the hour, but I have my Tree FFS!

Up on deck for tomorrow: Ghost of Presents Past II: Electric Boogalo.

The Ghost of Presents Past Part I

2005-12-19T08:57:00.000-06:00

So last year at this time I wrote about my The Ghost of Boyfriends Past, and this year I decided to do The Ghost of Presents Past.

Not any ordinary presents, mind you, but the ones that stick out in my mind. The ones that were more then just a trip to the mall, the ones that blew me away.

The very first blew me away present, and probably still the most exciting present I ever received was a Honda Kick-n-Go. It looked like this:

Isn't it beautiful?? You just have no idea how much I wanted this scooter. It had a pedal on the back, which you used in a kicking action to propel you faster and faster. Yes, it was a death trap waiting to happen, which is why they stopped making them I think, but kids don't worry about death traps. All I knew was it was the coolest thing my five year old eyes had ever witnessed.

This was my Red Rider BB Gun.

You see, it was made by Honda, and I grew up in a very American Made friendly household. It was 1976, and the imports were just starting to effect the American car industry. My Father saw anything by the foreign industry a threat to our way of life.

Anytime it was mentioned my Father would mumble on about cheap labor and non-union workforces. My brother and I just had to have one! As Christmas grew closer, my Father's diatribes on the Evil that was Honda grew. We had all but given up on having one of these Satan's spawn scooters.

When it was time to go to Santa I didn't ask for a Honda Kick-n-Go. I probably asked for something lame like an Eazy Bake Oven. Visiting Santa had become a traumatic enough experience due to the fact that it always got me in BIG trouble, and you can read about that here and here.

My parental units asked why I didn't ask for the Kick-n-Go that was my heart's desire. I explain that I didn't want to hurt my Dad's way of life, or something like that.

So my fifth Christmas on this Earth just didn't have the joy it once had like when I was four. I probably still get some cool stuff, because even if my parents were the non-spoiling kind Christmas was a special occasion that looked like a toy store blew up in our living room.

This was one of the years when my Dad pulled a double shift, so he was to tired to wake us up. He could never, ever wait until morning, so after "Santa" had visited he would put on his work boots, run through the house with jingle bells, ditch them, and come wake us up shouting "Santa was here, Santa was here!" Very few Christmas present were ever opened after 3 in the morning in our household, much to the dismay of my poor, tired Mother.

So this particular year my brother and I woke at the crack of dawn and my parents were still asleep. We decided to take a peak downstairs to see the Christmas presents in all their glory. Shaking a few before the parents woke up wouldn't hurt, right?

We crept downstairs, and low and behold their were two Kick-n-Go's in the middle of all the presents. Mine was yellow with a big green bow, and my brother's was Red with a big white bow.

I nearly pissed myself I was so excited. Now taking into account that today is my birthday and I'm 35 years old, not since has anything in this life ever given me such a rush, such a charge of excitment as that moment.

We couldn't move for a few minutes, couldn't breathe. It was just unbelievable. We had the crown jewel of Christmas presents that any kid would ever, ever want standing in our living room FFS!

Now we could have went and woke our parents up. We could have waited patiently for them to wake up.

But we didn't.

We threw on boots, maybe a glove, and a couple of scarves and took those puppy's outside to give them a test ride. In the Chicagoland area. In the mountain sized piles of snow that had already stacked up that year.

Our parents were not please when they finally rolled out of bed and realized they were missing two kids and two death trap from hell scooters.

By the time they had found them my brother had already crashed on his and had a decent sized scrape on his arm. I had flipped on mine and put a sizable gash in the side of my head near my eye, the scar barely visible now after 35 years.

Maybe it was the cold, maybe it was the excitment of getting the scooters, but neither of us felt any pain. My Mom rambled on about how dangerous they were, and my Dad just said they weren't exactly made for winter, that we'd be fine once the snow and ice melted.

We were also grounded from them that day for taking them out before our parents were awake. You gotta just love tough love, eh? My parents had the biggest hearts for being such heartless bastards.

I would have slept standing up on that thing that night if I wasn't grounded from it for a week.

As an adult I realize how hard it was for my Dad to purchase that product. He's really huge on principles and morals and all that junk, so for him to go against everything he believed in to make his kid's Christmas is just an amazing act of love. You really wish that you could realize things like that when you were a kid, because all I knew was Santa must have wild mind-reading powers, and my Dad was mean because he grounded me from it.

But I know it now.

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

2005-12-13T10:47:00.000-06:00

It's that time of year again. Time for the holiday cards to go out to the masses. Here's the pic going on it.

I don't get the deal with people having a fit over "Happy Holidays" or "Merry Christmas". The Christians are all in an uproar about taking the Christ out of Christmas, blah, blah, fuckin' blah.

I got into a debate with a fellow co-worker over this very subject the other day. He was complaining about clerks being told to say "Happy Holidays" instead of "Merry Christmas".

He said that people are there Christmas shopping, and so the stores should not make the clerks say Happy Holidays.

I'm guessing Jewish or Atheist or Buddist or anyone else of a different religion do not shop from the day after Thanksgiving until December 26th.

I was about to really get into it with him, but decided against it. It is no fun fighting a battle with an unarmed man.

On an unrelated note, aren't my kitties cute?

Happy Halloween

2005-10-31T10:11:00.000-06:00

Here I am in all my Fembot glory. The big Halloween bash was this weekend, and as soon as I fully recover I'll tell ya all about it!

The really good news? No police were involved! Holy shit, we may be growing up!

Halloween! Yeah!

2005-10-18T09:03:00.000-05:00

Oh yes, it is that time of year again. Halloween!!!!!!!!!!!! We are crazy fools when it comes to Halloween, the circle of soul mates and I.

Ok, so I'm trying to just act like I've been blogging all along. I know I haven't been around much, and I've been having a great time. Yes, some tears were involved, and I'll talk about too in the coming days, but I do believe I'M BACK, k?

Anyway.....

Halloween!! Anyone who is new to For Fuck's Sake must definitely read about my former Halloween adventures before reading about my current ones. Last year we were Fairies and had a hell of a time convincing my best friends husband to be a garden gnome. We won of course, and Halloween was just as much fun as usual, even though we almost went to jail.

This year's costumes haven't been quite as challenging. We've decided to go with an Austin Power's theme. R and I are being F-embots. We debated over being the f-embots in the silver little hot pants with the little bras, but decided against it. To cold, to skimpy. So here's our costume we decided on:

Purty cool, eh? Ok, so maybe those outfits are purty cold and purty skimpy, but they are a bit better then the silver ones.

The big bash is almost planned. I would say there are close to 100 people that come to this annual Halloween party. I really wish I could post pics from it, but most of the circle of soul mates are creeped out by the whole Internet thing, and think I am a nut job for ever putting a pic of myself on the net.

Here's a recent one to show what a nut job I am:

Don't I look happy? That was at my BFF R's surprise 35th birthday party last weekend.

35??? 35??? Holy shit I'm going to be 35 this year.

I just got carded whilst trying to buy a lottery ticket, so I don't think I'll worry just yet. But 35? How the hell is that possible? By the way, Powerball is like a billion dollars now. I'm going to win.

What the hell was I talking about? Oh yeah, Halloween.

I do believe I've gotten a bit rusty at this whole blogging thing, but don't worry...I'll get it back!

Adventures in Feminine Hygiene Products

2005-08-14T10:13:00.000-05:00

So you are making a quick trip to the store to pick up a box of feminine hygiene products. You are in a hurry, so you just run in the store, grab the box, and proceed to the cash register.

On your way to the cash register you bump into someone, and as your luck would have it, it's your boss. Oh, and the aforementioned box of feminine hygiene products hits him square in the stomach.

So what do you do? Stand there in awkward silence, mumble a greeting, run away and die in a hole somewhere?

I chose option #2. I shook the box at him and said, "You better be real freakin' nice to me next week!"

That is all.

Huh?

2005-08-01T08:15:00.000-05:00

I haven't posted since June 20th?? OMG, it sure doesn't feel that long....

You see, I have been out and about getting in some much needed fun. I went rock climbing. I rode some roller coasters. I touched the ocean and hiked in the mountains. I wrote some on my script, and I visited some exotic animals.

And yes, I shall post again soon...Cross my heart...

Huh?

2005-06-20T12:43:00.000-05:00

You start to wonder about your blog when one of the links that refers to you is entitled "College Fuck Fest".

I heart Tivo

2005-06-19T22:24:00.000-05:00

Tivo has saved my reputation as a with-it, happenin', cool type chick.

Ok, maybe not, but it really has helped me get in step with the pop culture type things that are going on in our world.

For most of the late nineties, I didn't ever watch television because I threw it over my balcony around the age of 22. Long story.

Anyway, I did end up getting another TV because I missed watching movies. So I got the TV, but had no cable or satellite or antenna. Basically it was me, my TV, and the handy dandy VCR. I could not get a TV station in to save my life.

This went on until September 11th. THE September 11th. The feeling of being cut off from the rest of the world with their instant access to 24 hour news channels got me to break down and get DirecTV.

I could almost keep up with people and their pop culture talk now. I was no longer a freak of nature who didn't know why people were laughing about Ross's foray into the self-tanning world. Hell, I didn't really even know what Ross they were talking about. I thought it was the Electrian named Ross at work, and trust me, I really got some opened mouth shocked people staring at me when I asked if that's who they were talking about.

Yeah, I was useless at the watercooler at work. It's a good thing I knew how to fix all their puters or they probably wouldn't have liked me very much.

So I now had all these channels and shows and programs. Being a closet nerd, I spent most of my TV time watching Animal Planet, The Learning Channel, and The Discovery Channel.

This was not helping matters in my pop-cultured-challenged world. So I took a the mother of all crash courses in pop-culture-The E! Channel.

You could find out anything there about pop culture. The E! True Hollywood stories showed me how the celebs crashed and burned. The Fabulous Life of....showed me that these people have way to much fucking money.

As a writer I guess it is kind of important to know what is happening in pop-culture, but it really, really bores the holy hell out of me. I don't care who is doing who, don't really care for reality TV, and found that most of the shows on prime time TV were about lawyers, forensics, or cops.

*Yawns*

So I really wasn't getting a whole lot for my 40 and some odd dollars I was dishing out for satellite. Yeah, I still watched the news channels and my beloved educational channels, but I found the others were a bit lacking.

Then I got Tivo.

Tivo is the best invention of this new millennium. Ok, so it wasn't technically made in this century, but that's when I got it so there.

I heart Tivo. I mean, I really, really heart Tivo. It finds things for me. I can punch in keywords or director and actor's names and it just shows me everything on them that I can watch! It is wonderful!

My life is very busy. I was missing out on a lot of good shit just for the simple fact that I worked nights. Not all TV shows were spin offs from Law and Order and CSI. There were others that I found, that I really liked a lot.

Shows like Medium, Intervention, and my beloved Project Greenlight. I actually found out that I kind of dig Friends and Will and Grace. My Tivo made sure I never missed an episode. I could record both Jay Leno and David Letterman, watch the monologue, and delete them if the guests sucked (hello Paris Hilton! Good bye Paris Hilton!)

So I ask the question....What's on your Tivo wish lists? What season passes do you have?

Rather Disturbing Indeed

2005-06-14T12:18:00.000-05:00

I read this article over at CNN Money today.

After trying to avoid anything written about the infamous (and I do mean infamous, not famous) MJ, I finally clicked on like the only link that was wasn't about him. Ok, maybe there were a couple more, but this one perked my interest as it declared to have the "Top Five Most Dangerous Kid Careers."

Funny, it didn't have the entertainment industry in it, and with all the hoopla over MJ, I would think that might be #1.

But I digress...What I found rather disturbing about this article was it proclaimed mowing yards as one of the most dangerous jobs for a kid.

What the fuck? How many other jobs can a kid get?

Here it comes...I feel it, and I really don't want to say it, but it's going to come out of my fingers anyway.

WHEN I WAS A KID....Fuck I'm old...

When I was a kid mowing yards was my main source of income. In fact, by age 10 I owned my own lawnmowers, and weed whackers. My brother was my partner, and we had two kids that worked for us.

I figured out that I probably raked in about $150 a week as a ten year old. $150 of profit mind you, as my Dad painstakingly showed us economic reality by requiring us to purchase our lemons and sugar and cups for our first lemonade stand. He threw the water in for free though...What a guy!

$150 was quite a bit of money for a 10 year old, and it really was a lot of money in what 1981, '82? In the winter the money slowed down a bit, but we still made pretty good money as global warming hadn't changed the snowfall in Chicago yet and people were always willing to pay more for snow shoveling then mowing.

So I was a pretty rich little kid, and my parents decided we needed to learn how to save money, so most of it went into the bank, whether we wanted it to or not. As a result, I bought my first new car 6 months before I had a drivers license, and I paid cash for it. Hey, Ford was running a special. It killed to have it sitting in the driveway, but I saved a buck or two getting it early.

I just wanted to let anyone else who read that article know that I mowed yards and survived to tell the tale. I also learned the value of earning money, saving money, and being responsible. If you are willing to put your child's life in danger, I would highly recommend this occupation for children.

Now probably a lot of people will take these dangers seriously, so maybe these types of people should let their kids into the entertainment industry. Look how good MJ, The Culkins, and Lindsey Lohan have turned out.

At least you'll know they'll never go to jail.

Oppps. Did I say that out loud?

My Blog Birthday

2005-06-13T08:51:00.000-05:00

So today is my blog birthday. I've been writing here for a year today.

Wow, a year sure goes by awful fast...

I started writing a blog again because I needed a creative outlet. Work was complete hell, and I was probably putting in around 80 hours a week at the time.

Then I started discovering other blogs that I really loved. Most of them are over to the left in the daily reads section. I was pleasantly surprised to find these wonderful blogs, and they all in their own way sparked some type of creativity in me. This is why I've kept them in a separate section from my other links, just because they are special to me in their own way.

I also "met" some of these bloggers, and have "talked" to some of them a lot outside of the blog and comment world. Without this blog I never would have started talking to Poppy, Annie, and Gus. For this I am truly grateful, as they are all wonderful people!

I've really seemed to put myself in a state of reflection on my life so far, as I've examined many aspects of my life through this medium. I've told you all about my body issues from childhood, my ghosts of boyfriends past, and my bestest friends ever.

I even told you when I got arrested and also when I was almost arrested.

Yes, I've shared a lot of myself in this last year. You all have really stepped up to the plate and shared right back. I know I've had a lot going on lately and having been blogging like I used to, but believe me, I am way to fucked up to not have a whole lot more stories to tell.

So stay tuned, and thank you so much for staying tuned all this time...

7th Layer of Hell

2005-06-09T13:03:00.000-05:00

So I found myself in the 7th layer of hell today. In other words, I was in a high school parking lot on the last day of high school.

My "little" nephew, who is 6'1, 190 lbs, and 17 years old called me because his truck had died and needed me to come pick him up.

So there I was, in the parking lot with all these graduating seniors and three years worth of kids who were just happy to be the hell out of school.

It amazes me how much things change, but how they stay the same. I could easily pick out the weird kids, the popular kids, the smart kids, and the stoner kids. A whole bunch of them were smiling, and a whole bunch of them were crying and holding on to each other for dear life.

I remember my last day of high school like it was yesterday. It was the same scene in the parking lot, except that the cool kids had big hair, the weird kids had mohawks, and the stoners wore MegaDeath shirts. That to this day was the longest day of my life.

The clocked ticked slowly all day as I couldn't wait to get the hell out of that place. I really didn't fit any of the circles-I did have big hair, but most of the popular kids annoyed the shit out of me. I was a brain, but definitely not a geek. MegaDeath wasn't my fav band in the world, but I did appreciate some Aerosmith or Metallica, and let's face it-I was and am pretty fucking weird, minus the mohawk...

This equation equaled the fact that I had a lot of acquaintances. I wouldn't call them friends, as most of them I never saw after we walked down the isle to get our diplomas. I did have a fairly large amount of these acquaintances that would call me to go to this party or that party, see what I was doing that night, or just want to hang out.

The circle of soul mates were my bestest friends then, as they are now, and R and I were the only two left in high school. Prolly why I couldn't wait to get the hell out of there, as high school wasn't a big horrendous experience, I just wanted to move the hell on.

So as R and I stepped into the parking lot that day for the last time, we had many people come running up to us, crying, giving hugs, swearing we'd always be friends. R and I didn't cry, because we knew we would see those people again that meant the most to us, and I have stayed in touch with those people, even 16 (holy shit!!! 16 years???) later.

Those kids that were crying-I didn't understand why. I mean, we were FREE! We were gone from that place, gone from teachers telling us what to do, how to act, what to wear. I knew college would be a much freer (is that a word?) environment, and I couldn't wait to get there.

As I got behind the wheel of my 1985 & 1/2 Escort piece of shit, I looked over at R. "Let's blow this popsicle stand!" as we tore out of there as fast as a 1985 1/2 Escort piece of shit will go. Hey, it was 1989 after all...

The funny thing is, as I sat in the parking lot of this other school, 16 years later, I really understood the whole deal much more then I did then. When I graduated, I just wanted to move on, get going, get out of there. Now as I look at the kids crying and hugging I realize they are maybe a little sad, a little scared that their safe world is coming to an end and that they are entering a new and possibly scary time in their life.

If I were to graduate today, I probably still wouldn't be one of those kids crying and holding on for dear life. I would probably still be trying to get away as soon as I can, thrusting myself forward into the next stage of life.

Any shrinks out there? I quite sure this means I'm fucked up or sumfin...

Life just kicks ya in the ass...

2005-06-07T09:42:00.000-05:00

So I had all these plans for my blog...I was going to put a little pic up of Gus's book, and I really wanted to join in on RDD's book club discussion on it. I also had a couple of good posts screaming to come out of me...

Then my Dad got sick. He's battled pancreantitis (sp?) for a couple of years now, and he had went awhile without an attack. A couple of weeks ago he had one of the worst ones he's ever had, and the pain was so great he actually had a "stress heart attack." Don't ask me, I have no clue what that means except that there is nothing technically blocked or anything, but he still had a heart attack.

So I've spent the last couple of weeks worrying and driving back and forth 600 miles, which has left little time for anything else.

I've been very fortunate in my lifetime. The people in my family just live to be like 99 or 100 and die in their sleep. I've never been around sickness before. No one in my family has ever had cancer or any life threatening illness besides diabetes. I think my Grandma is the only person I can think of that died before 90 of physical problems (I did have an Aunt that died in her 40's because of a drunk driver), and she was a very naughty diabetic that didn't exactly take care of herself.

So besides being my Dad, who has always been so strong, I've just never had to deal with hospitals and sickness and the like. It has been a very tough and emotional pill to swallow, which was not helped by the fact that all of it was going on so far away while life continued where I live.

He's home now and out of the woods. He's going to Mayo clinic FINALLY, and hopefully they will be able to find out more of why the attacks are getting worse and worse with his pancreas.

So once I get off this damn emotional roller coaster I've been on and get my land leggs back, I've got some stuff in store for my little piece of blogdom here. June 13th is my year anniversary, and I have something special planned!

The neighborhood eyesore

2005-05-23T10:31:00.000-05:00

Our neighborhood eyesore (eyesoar? eh, fuck it) isn't the normal eye sore. It isn't someone who leaves abandoned cars in their front yard. It isn't someone who does mow their yard. It isn't even some weird cat lady that has decorated her house in Cambell's soup labels.

Our neighborhood eye sore shows up around the first nice day of the year and ends when it becomes jacket weather.

Yes, our neighborhood eye sore is a 350 pound man who thinks he is just sooooooooo sexy.

He wears these little short-shorts which were probably popular when he was a teenager-I'm guessing the 70's, since he is around 50 years old now. Of course these atrocious shorts are not adorned with any other piece of clothing.

He also retired last year, and works in his yard constantly. He gives off that dirty old man vibe-like he is staring at your breasts the entire time you talk to him.

This man really thinks he's hot, even with his beer belly that pretty much covers the entire front of his 70's short shorts. I just looked outside and I believe I'm going to be blind for a couple of minutes, as he was bending over putting some elaborate flag decoration up in his yard.

God, please get me through this summer...

Road trip!

2005-05-02T12:01:00.000-05:00

So this weekend was our annual road trip with my cousin, the professional poker player.

The cirlce of soul mates and I took off for jolly old Tunica MS to get the royal treatment, have fun, drink, party, gamble, eat, and just about any other decadent thing that we could do.

It's a good thing that we didn't go to Vegas this year, because as you know, what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. What happens in Tunica is written about in my blog for all to hear....

It never ceases to amaze me how some people live their lives. I say this because my cousin is treated real, real well by these casino establishments, because of the amount of money he gambles. Hell, it isn't his money. He gets investors and he gambles their money.

I don't know about you, but at my school "professional gambler" was not on the list during career day...

So we stayed in a couple of rooms that were bigger then my house. We had facials and steams and pedicures and facials and manicures and massages. All for free. They sent up big baskets of fruit and wine and cheese and pretty much anything our little hearts desired-for free.

Why do they give rich people all the free shit? That is REALLY what I would like to know. I'm not a real materialistic person, but damn could I get used to living like that...

We had a wonderful time, didn't get in any trouble which either means it's the seventh sign, or we are growing up. I prefer to think it is the seventh sign!

Attention Freaky Linky Lovers

2005-04-20T13:39:00.000-05:00

Just a quick note...I have gotten several requests to be added to my blog roll. I haven't forgotten about you all, and it should be updated in the next couple of days...

That is all.

Rock it like a Porn Star

2005-04-20T11:06:00.000-05:00

This post is about something near and dear to me. It has always been there for me when I was feeling down, when I was feeling not quite good enough.

My hair.

You see, I have always had good hair. Well, at the risk of sounding arrogant, good doesn't quite cut it. I have great hair.

It is thick, with a natural wave, which means I can have straight or curly hair without harsh styling products, which equals no split ends.

I'm very anal about my hair. I get it cut every 4 weeks so that I do not get the aforementioned split ends. I also get highlights added so that it doesn't look ho blonde. To add more good to the already great, my hair grows like a freakin' weed, sometimes up to two inches a month.

I was voted best hair my senior year for my Julia Robert's Pretty Woman hair. I had the Brenda, the Rachel, Pamela Anderson hair, and hair that looked like Brittany's when she was all wrapped up in that snake and shocked the shit out of everyone. All without extensions or a horrible amount of work. I have some good hair, oh yes I do.

Since it grows so fast I can change up my style often and not really care. Right now my hair is kind of Nicole Ritchie-esk I suppose, a couple of inches down my back, layered, and fluffy.

Where is all of this going you may ask? Let me tell ya...

So I was eating lunch with the union boys at work the other day, and this young'in came up and asked if he could talk to me a minute. I'd guestamate him at about 22 years old? After much nervousness he asked me out. Awww, it was so cute.

Not wanting to tear down his self esteem, I kindly told him I never date people from work. The guys all gave me a ribbing about it. I told them I didn't understand why only these young guys keep asking me out.

So one asshole, and I do mean asshole, said, "Well, you do look really young yourself. Maybe you could get a more age appropriate style for your hair and people wouldn't think you are still in your 20's."

Age appropriate? WTF?? "I mean, you're going to be 35 this year, right?" he continued.

I'm 34, thank you very much.

Now I know a big reason why he said this is because he wanted to get under my skin (which unfortunately worked), because he is that kind of person.

But it also got me thinking...

I always swore I would never be one of those women stuck in a decade or one that tried to look way younger then they really are. I don't wear belly shirts even though I could get away with it. I don't wear little catholic girl outfits unless it is St. Patrick's Day.

Am I getting caught up in the I'm gonna look young no matter how ridiculous it looks merry-go-round? Maybe this is the first step in the downward spiral that is wearing mini skirts after 60.

Naw...I'm gonna rock my hair like a porn star until my face catches up with my age...

What is age appropriate for the early (ok, ok, almost mid) 30's? Short? June Cleaver? I nice boring bob?

Fuck that...

Damn Distractions....

2005-04-12T11:48:00.000-05:00

So it's been like really nice here. Like really, really nice. This weekend it was upwards into the high 70's....

My favorite thing in the world is about to bloom. My Bradford Pear tree. It only happens for a little bit, and I cherish every second it is in bloom because of it's beauty.

I remember a couple of years ago when I decided I was going to finally finish my degree, I was taking 16 credit hours along with what most of you know is a rather hectic work schedule. I had also always had a 4.0 in college, and my anal retentive self couldn't bear to screw it up at the end.

So I definitely had my work cut out for me. I was away from my house at a minimum of 18 hours a day, 6 days a week. Sunday I didn't have school, but if I didn't work I would pretty much do homework or sleep all freaking day because I was so exhausted.

I came home from school one night, got out of my truck, and was walking up the path to my house. I dropped my keys, and as I was searching for them I noticed little petals all over the ground. I looked up and my beautiful Bradford Pear tree was covered in leaves. The blooms were gone, and I had missed it.

So I sat down on my sidewalk in the middle of all those leaves and cried. I cried not only for missing my favorite tree in all it's glory, but for what I could only imagine I had missed besides that in the last year.

My Bradford Pear tree is about ready to bloom-and I won't miss it this time...

Where in the World is kj?

2005-04-02T15:53:00.000-06:00

So yeah, I suck. I can admit it, and being able to admit a problem is the first step in solving it or whatever, right?

So what exactly has been keeping me from this little blog of mine and all you readers that I dearly love (or like, some of you I just like, sorry)?

Life. I hate when that happens. It always seems like when it rains, it pours. Work went completely cRaZy. You long time readers know that I write my posts while on lunch at work and then post them when I get home. Lunch? Eating? Hell, I barely had time to breathe while at work. All I've had time wise at work is the amount of time it takes to snarf down my Yuppy Meals on Wheels.

I must confess that I have had time for other things, like reading a book by a fellow blogger. Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful. It will make you laugh your ass off. Great story, and it really appealed to me because I could visually see the action that was taking place while reading. I heart books like that...

More on that book later, as it certainly deserves it's own post. Also, I've found myself addicted to my TIVO now that I actually know how to work it. I can record junk from the History channel and Animal Planet and all that jazz. Yes, I am a sucky TV watcher. I hate all things reality except for my beloved Project Greenlight, which I am totally addicted to also.

I'm really diggin' that show Medium too. I like spooky-freaky things though, thanks to my tree-huggin' new age-y type parents.

Oh, and one more thing before I go out and enjoy this wonderful weekend, which I DON'T have to work: I promise ya Duckie that next week I'll explain the whole my grandpa thinks Gen X is the next greatest generation thing. Sorry, that one fell in the cracks.

Enjoy your weekends everyone! Don't do anything I wouldn't do, which pretty much means you can do almost anything!

http://piratesofpensacola.com/

I'm alive..I swear

2005-03-24T14:34:00.000-06:00

I'm not abandoning ship folks. Life or something like it has reared it's ugly head, and I've been quite busy. I've gotten quite a few emails asking if I'm ok, and everything is fine. It is just daily mundane things getting in the way of my blogging, as the spring time is a very busy time for me at work and personally.

I've decided starting next week I'm going to try and do at least 2 posts during the week, and one on the weekend. Thank you to all of you that were worried about me, and to all of you that have stuck around this crazy ass blog waiting for my return. I truly appreciate it.

Shamrock my Ass...

2005-03-18T04:38:00.000-06:00

Ok, so it really was a shamrock on my ass.

Besides being a rather popular Irish holiday, St. Patrick's Day holds something else for me.

Every year for the last couple of years, I get bombarded with calls asking me if I have my shamrock silk panties on.

Yes, you read that right. I had about 5 messages on my cell phone, and spoke personally to about 4 more about the status of my panties. Lord only knows how many of these messages are on my home phone, as I decided to blog for you, my dear readers, instead of checking it.

I'm sure you are all probably wondering why the hell all these people are interested in my panties, right?

Here we go. So for work I do a lot of community service type stuff. Part of this is being in some of the parades in Chi-town and the like.

I'm pretty sure the more clever of you can see where this is heading.

St Pat's is a big deal in Chi-town. Huge parade (actually two), they die the Chicago river green, and we all get drunk. Good times.

So a couple of years ago I was getting ready for the annual St. Pat's parade, the main one that goes downtown, not the cool real St. Pat's parade on the south side. Anyway, my niece was going with me, and she talked me into wearing my lil Irish Catholic girl skirt, as she had one to and wanted to wear it.

What did I wear under it? Ok, everybody all together now. SHAMROCK PANTIES!!

So we jump on the train to head to where our float is. A group of mid-twenty-ish guys were already drinking their fair share of green beer, and they shouted, "Look! Cheerleaders! Cool!!!" I just gave them my best cool blonde stare and said, "We are Irish Catholic Girls, you putz." "Look Irish Catholic Girls! Cool!" I should have known then just what kind of day I was in for.

We get to the float, and the parade is about to start. They needed people to pass out these nice little chocolate bars wrapped in our company logo, and my niece and I were nominated. "You are in better shape then us," one of the guys explained.

What the fuck did that matter? The parade isn't that long. I soon learned that it mattered a lot, seeing how we were one of the first people in the parade.

You see, when you aren't behind any of the bands or performers, it goes really, really fast. They also don't allow you to throw candy, so you have to actually hand it to people. Chicago's finest were lining the streets to be sure of this, and I really didn't think my work would appreciate it if I was arrested, especially since the parade is televised.

Yes, televised. I'm sure you can really see where this is going now, eh?

So I'm trying to hand out candy to people and keep up with our float that seems like it is going about 100 miles an hour. I heard one of the guys yelling my name, and it sounded really far away. It was really far away, the float that is. I began to run to try and catch up.

My niece was also hauling ass on the other side, all the while people screaming at us for candy. Fuck the candy, the parade was rounding the last stretch, and we'd be left behind if we didn't jump on the float.

So we are running, and as we pass the judging stand, a nice little Chi-town breeze (i.e. tornado like gust) lifted up the back of my skirt.

No biggie right? A few people might have seen my cute little shamrock panties, but with the excitement of the parade and everything that was going on most people wouldn't have noticed. We got to our float just in time to truck down Michigan Ave.

Oh to be wrong on so many levels sucks really bad. As we were settling in to have our first green beer, my cell phone rang. It was The Mystery Man. "Nice shamrocks sweetie!"

What the hell? He was in California. I looked around to see if maybe he had come to Chi-town to surprise me. No, that didn't make sense as he'd never do something so public. "What are you talking about??" I asked him.

"I was watching the parade on W-G-N. The camera man has good taste. He had the camera on you while you were running by, and kind of got a nice shot of your ass as your skirt blew up."

No fucking way. But yes, way.

My handy dandy cell phone rang a couple of other times, one time was just my brother laughing hysterically.

In fact, my best friend's hubby actually taped the fucking thing, and he has edited the tape of me running with the whole skirt blowing up to "Chariots of Fire."

At least I wasn't wearing my shamrock thong....Boy am I glad I work out...It could have been a lot worse I suppose. :)