Yeah...

...that's what I'm saying.

• To global warming and its proponents. I don't give a rats ass if it was 76 here today. It's snowing in a 1/4 of the country. Just shut up.
  
  
• To bloggers that do Meme's. And HNT. Please stop. If you really think anyone cares about what your least favorite Christmas gift was, think again. They're passing time at work. If you have the need to expose your body parts, then I feel sorry for you. And so should anyone involved in your life.
  
  
• To those asking for prayers if you aren't, yourself, at the very least, spiritual. I find it intellectually repugnant when people do that. If I were to ask you for them, and you haven't offered one up in an eon, how am I to count on that?
  
  
• To those that tell me how to think. I know how to do that. Challenge what or how I'm thinking. I'll engage you with wit and wisdom, and if I'm wrong, I'll admit it. And if I challenge you, quit your damned whining that you don't like it.
  
  
• To researchers that say they have found this, that or the other super mojo thingy that has a potential to cure cancer. It has never happened, nor will it ever. Drug companies. Ain't never gonna happen.
  
  
• To those that think they are God's gift to the world. It's most likely the other way around. And my ass ain't talking about God.
  
  
• To those that think they have found the key to how things should work. Politicians, legislators, businessmen and bloggers. The world continues to evolve. You can't possibly have an answer.
  
  
• To those that never give the underdog a chance. Count your blessings you don't walk in their shoes. And fuck you that you don't.
  
  
• To those that never give a sincere thank you for an unexpected gift, and offer instead a hearty "kewl".
  
  
• To those that feign total control over their lives, when you know that they feel the same human emotions we all would being alone. And pass it off as being stronger.
  
  
• To those that correct a bloggers grammer. This ain't English class.
  
  
• To women that bitch about getting come-ons at a bar because they purposely decked out to get attention. Hold a private party.
  
  
• To tailgaters. If you run into my ass, I carry a 2 1/2', 1" round solid oak stick in my truck. It has busted a windshield or two. It's gonna work on your car before the policeman arrives.
  
  
• To the "players". You guys are shit. I've seen enough of you. And to the women that succumb to them? You deserve 'em.
  
  Enough for one night.
  
  

I'm All For Having A Healthy...

...self-esteem. Until you make it sacrosanct. Then I'm coming in for the kill. Which is why I've had a few drinks poured in my lap and a face-slap or two.

I don't mind if you think highly of yourself. It's natural and keeps your ass psychologically healthy. But when you start to throw it up as a dictum wherein nobody can get close to you, even in an indirect way, then I have a tendency to question you incessantly. Because I want to make sure you know what kind of barrier you are setting up. And it ain't pretty. I've heard or had three consistent things happen in my life when talking to people that have this persistent, overblown perception of themselves.

• "You're making me think too much." Ahh, yeah. That's the point. If you have set up these standards for yourself and think they are non-negotiable, then why would my questioning them make you think about them?
  
  
• "You are trying, in a pushy way, to tell me what to think." No I'm not. I'm trying to get you to think as a human being, not a robot. You've developed these rules to protect you from past experiences. From which you will not waiver. But when you come back with that line, it means I've gotten you to think that at least you could tolerate something other than complete compliance. True humanity requires spontaneity. In thought and deed.
  
  
• Drink in lap. Typical. No other recourse because they are so pissed that they knew they had no other defense other than to attack with a splash of scotch and water, or their beverage of choice. I've had them all.
  

A prig is a prig, whether it's in the religious sense or just in day-to-day living. Get over you're damned self. I can violate any intellectual construct you have set up if you've done so to set yourself up as superior to others. Try being humble for a change.

So...I Saw My First One Of These...

...in a window on the way home from work this evening. I wanted to shit my depends.

I'm not going to bore your asses with how when I was a kid we didn't put the tree up until Christmas Eve, after we walked home from school in the snow and then had to shovel coal into the furnace. We know that never happened. But I'm trying to think when this phenomenon got its momentum. I remember working late one night, which in my business was about 6 PM, and I got home and walked in the door and the whole house looked like Santa's workshop. The X and her sister had gone out and gotten a tree and decorations (our first Christmas in the house) and turned the place into Peppermint Forest. I had never in my skinny assed life seen anything like it. There wasn't an area, or doorknob, or piece of wood that didn't have something on it, whether it was a bow, ribbon or garnish of some kind. I wanted to walk out and come back in and hope it was a nightmare. It wasn't. I tolerated it, begrudgingly, for a few years, until my ass got tired of taking it down every year. Yeah, that job fell in my lap. Plus, I think it had something to do with the underwear she found under the tree one year that the local waitress gave all her best customers. It was men's, not her's, that she gave as a present for all of our attentive gazing at her braless ample boobs which led to ordering one more beer than we needed and added another dollar to the tip. I would periodically stop on the way home for a pint or two to pass the time before I went home to start dinner. I just flipped them under the tree, unwrapped. They were found Christmas day after the boys opened their hundred gifts. It didn't work out well. I think we we're divorced one or two years later, but I never had to take decorations down again. And I've never had them up again in any place I've lived. The X, from what I hear, doesn't do much either. I shoulda just stripped that first time and thrown my shorts under the tree while her sister was there. Coulda saved myself alot of work.

More On The Pussyfication...

...of America. They are trying to make the Citizenship test more stringent so that it is more meaningful to those trying to become citizens. Basically, they (the government) would like these would-be Americans to know some hard and cold facts about the country and how it works. All the libs are in an uproar. They'd rather keep it simple, as in naming this actress, than in answering why we have three branches of government.

I'm all for easy. I wish there was an easy way to clean my abode. I wish there was an easier way to work. I wish I could blink my eyes like Jeannie did and have my dinner cooked. It ain't so. If I want it done, my ass has to do it.

I went to a Liberal Arts college back in the late '70's. When an education meant something, but was starting to go downhill. I took an English Lit course that required us to read 20 novels. The first one was Tess Of The D'Urbervilles. Now, the key to this class was, obviously, reading the novels. Then at the end we had to write a paper on the novel that interested us the most, why it did and break it down creatively. This was my first semester at the place, and I wasn't much into reading, but I found this novel fascinating. Trying to cram 60-100 pages a night into the program was kinda tough, especially while trying to swill a tenth of the number of beers. But I stuck with it and in the end made an A, with an brief fuss from the faculty about how creative my paper was. I can't remember what novel I wrote about, but I must say it was funny as hell back then, which I guess is what got it's attention.

Since this was my last chance to prove to myself that I wasn't as stupid as people had always made me out to be, I wanted that A, and I would do nothing less than the best I could to get it. No matter how hard it was. It carried me well through the rest of my academic tenure. Dean's list every semester. And folk's, back then, that wasn't easy.

So quit this shit about we have to make it easy so people don't have to work so hard to acheive a goal. Isn't that the point?

Country Women...

...that we would love to have. If you haven't ever gotten a woody just looking at Reba's lips, then you are gay. And if Gretchen don't make ya wanna just rub one off, then go bake some muffins. Martina? Grab a towel. Actually, it's just Reba for me. Damn she's hot.

A Year Ago Today...

...I had a lovely woman in my apartment. We laughed and talked for hours. It wasn't meant to be, as it turns out. It wasn't from a lack of trying on my part, that's for sure. Things are different these days, it seems. Women seem to be looking for things that I no longer have to give. It is what it is. But damned if I didn't enjoy that time.

I Was Pondering Yesterday...

...what makes blissful love go so terribly wrong. The X and I used to have such good times together. Comedy clubs, dinners, friends and beach trips. Then it just disintegrated.

In a matter of a few weeks. Or maybe it had been going on for years and I wasn't aware of it. I was attentive. Always there. But after her Mom died she just went south. After seeing the boys yesterday, I look for similarities in our personalities. It's funny what you see. I haven't talked to her in over a year, so it's almost as if I've forgotten what she's like. I hear the voice, know the nuances. But it's almost as if she's left the planet. I don't like that. I need that connection with her. She's the Mother of my kids. I have to stay connected to that. I don't know where she goes. Not in the physical sense, but mentally. How did I become a non-entity? I need her in so many ways, mostly because we have genes walking around out there, and we have to make sure they do well. I guess it is what it is. Just DAMN.

Damned...

...if I didn't bust my toe on the couch again. The thing is sideways. Fuck it. Who needs feet.
That somabitch hurts.

I Have To Agree...

...with the dickster.

This is one sexy women, in the beddable sense. I wouldn't want to talk recipes with her, or anything else, for that matter. Plato and I have standards. Lots of speculation if the mammaries are real. From my experience, they are. Real ones hang. Fake one's don't. I've seen one pair. I won't go into it. It's something that should be experienced. But this so called cooking expert has some calves that are bigger than her whole body. Freaky like. You wouldn't think so, cause she looks kinda thin. Watching the Food Network she saunters from a Corvette and holy fucking god there's these appendages attached to her legs that look like cruise missiles. Just damn!!! I'd be worried about my thorax. Hell, I'd be worried Bobo would never see the light of day again. But I'm there, if she ever calls for my rack recipe. Rack of what, I'm not sure, but it will involve meat. Mostly her's.

I Have No Greater Thanks...

...to offer than the opportunity I had to spend a few hours with the sons today. I, and their Mammaw, spent two hours laughing, reminiscing and spewing profanity at all sorts of subjects. My heart swells with joy when I get to be around them. These are the fruits of my loins. From a time I remember as if it were yesterday, and yet seems so long ago. They are men now, for all intents and purposes. Gently sliding into the adult world. I still view them when they lay gently in their cribs, as I would go check on them and make sure they were comfortable and safe from harm. I can't do that anymore, but it doesn't mean that part of me is no longer viable. It comes with the territory. They are my responsibility, in an extended sense. I talk to them now as if they are good friends, knowing full well that they carry within both the good and bad genes I've been given. They are both funny and reflective, thoughtfull and outrageous. They are my sons. I often contemplate what they would have been like if they weren't the product of a divorce. I'll never know. They are what they are now because their parents never got ugly. Love you guys more than you will ever know. And thanks for taking the time to come see us.

So, My Giblets...

...I hpoe yrou day hsa ben fullof tanks and dressings. Olive bean givng prayers to da lord for al of may buntiful booty, speclly the grapes, of witch I have had a penny. Hippie Tanksgibbing.

And tanks fur the brest meet.

So I Get Back From The...

...clinic and the power is out. As perturbed as I was, I relished the silence.

I got out an old Sydney Harris book and read. Damn that guy could write. He was a right-winger, in a way, but not so much that it would make conservatives want to puke. But what I relished was the quiet. No lights, no sounds, no distractions. Just me and my surroundings. It was nice. I need to do more of that. But, I also started thinking about things, past and present, and that is NOT good. It's always a trade-off.

So In A Nor'Easter...

...I drove to the clinic this morning for the blood draw. It never ceases to amaze me. There's alot of sick and ailing people in the world. And some not doing so well. I'm fascinated as I walk down the long hallways and try to wrap my head around what they might be going through. Cancer prognosis coming up? Chemo today? Blood draw that reveals some weird ass disease?

You see them in wheelchairs, carrying oxygen, other kinds of bags that who knows what are pumping things into their veins. I had the opportunity to meet Tasha this morning, after an hour and-a-half wait. For a blood letting. Tasha was a nice woman. See didn't appear to like me looking into her eyes as she stuck the needle in my very protruding vein. Yeah, I have good veins. Easy to find and pierce. She asked if I was sure I wanted to watch. Always have. You be extracting my tomato juice that keeps my ventricles contracting, my ass is watching. I told her so. She laughed. For a long time. We got along splendidly. Funny how they're gonna go do some mysterious tests on my blood and determine my future. And inform me by mail. I love it. I think if it comes back badly I should get to use the stamp again to tell them to fuck off. It is, after all, 37 cents. That could be a share of some chemo.

I'm Calling For Some Congressional...

...and cultural reform. If you've been in the spotlight for ten years, you are OUT. NO more OJ, no more Seinfeld, no more Gates, no more Rather. None of them. After ten years you are not allowed to be mentioned on or in any medium. You are relegated to the dungeon of commonality. No soup for you. No windows. No gloves. No Kenneth. Gone. Make it a law.

DAMMIT, you did it again. What am I going to do with your ass? Sometimes I forget to delete it. Deal with it.

Please God, Make This Guy...

...go away. It won't happen, because my prayers don't work on my own damned ass. But this Osama Obama chump can't be running for preznit. That would be like making a second grader the principal. That shit don't happen. Wait, my child. You have plenty of time to reap the rewards of your massive ego. But, hopefully, it will be your downfall.

Why do you keep clicking here? I ran out of shit to say.

So, There Was Another Request...

...for the faithful to offer up some ethereal mojo, which I am always glad to do, without some sort of renumeration, I might add. What? My mojo don't come cheap, and it's been honed.

What gladdens me about these situations is that regular, and REALLY profane, individuals turn to their equally as profane readers to turn things over to a deity that they really must have some doubt about, to change the course of how things might turn out. And the renegades always come through.

It's always been my contention that a "regular" person is much closer to God than a pious one. Having had some experience in this matter, I can verify it. We used to call it "garage keys". If you know what they are, you get good mojo. If not, you go to the back rung of the prayer rope.

Of course, being the intelligent theologians we are, we have to recognize that some poor fuckers don't get their prayers answered, and that pisses my ass off, because if you're astute enough to know what garage keys are, you deserve to be sustained by your supplications.


UPDATE: Just a question. If you had to go to a church or synagogue or mosque to offer these prayers for your irreverent friends, would you? It's easy to do it sitting a desk. Just curious.

Gonna Be A Short Week...

...posting. But just a few tidbits that are rummaging around in the ole noggin.

What's with the people that wear shorts when it's 45 fucking degrees? Or 35. Hell, they do it when it's snowing. It's usually men. They trying to prove they have big balls? I'm all for machismo, but dammit man, put some levi's on. You're setting a really bad example for those of us that wrap ourselves in bear skin rugs and scarfs when it falls below 60. I would try it, but I'd have to wear leggings. I think that would be worse than Iran with nukes.

If you're a female anchor, and you have been generously endowed, wear a jacket. They usually do here where I live. But there is one local hottie that will occasionally wear just a pullover. Not a good idea. We all know how the undergarments are made nowadays. And you don't want any nipple action distracting you when you're trying to concentrate on bus wrecks and the like. But you also don't want to see what looks like a piece of cardboard protruding from a women's blouse. If ya have to cover the nip, just wear the jacket.

Speaking of which, quit fucking smiling at my ass all the time when you're telling me that the weather is gonna suck dick the next few days. If it's gonna be bad you should be flogging yourself with a rope, or threatening to kill yourself with a 9mm. Don't look at me with your pearly whites flashing on the screen and tell me I have to drive in the rain. You should kamikaze yourself on the doppler radar.

Alot Of You Frequently...

...ask for prayers for this, that or the other. So, before we begin, we can't beg the question.

In order to implore the deity, one must believe in such. And not the ephemeral type we usually conjure up. God either exists, and has done so forever, or not. If you have a problem with that, then move on.

C. S. Lewis penned a book, entitled "The Causal Efficacy Of Prayer". The gist of it is this. If God is omniscient and omnipotent, then what's the point in praying. If those attributes are part of the deity's nature, then what would be the point in praying. God's will be done, as we say. If God knows and sees all, seems unlikely we'd be able to change things by offering up some supplications.

So when we ask others to pray for something, or when we do it ourselves, we are asking the deity to alter the way things are, generally for our benefit. We encounter this type of situation on a daily basis. We often ask others for favors or to influence situations in our lives. And, generally, we are greated with "Let me think about it."

Should it be otherwise with God? When you pray, you are asking the maker of the world to change the plan. Not so simple, is it?

If You've Never...

...seen this movie, I recommend you do so, post haste. It was a sleeper. I'm going to give it to the boys over Thanksgiving. If, and when, you watch it, you'll know why.

You Can...

...if you so wish, go here instead. Thanks to the big bro.

What?? You didn't believe me?

Do Not...

...Do Not. If Moses comes through your door with slates in hand and implores you to leap into the burning bush. If Jesus comes a walking off the lake water that sits outside of your deck and impales himself on your bathroom mirror. If Buddha wants to nuzzle in your belly button. DO NOT talk to a narcissistic person at 6 in the morning. Just DAMN. What's with you people? You are aware that there are other people inhabiting the planet, yes? And the earth's orbit doesn't always include you? I'm going to bed. Hopefully when I wake up you'll be gone. Oh, and read this book, and Steppenwolf as well.

Friday Night Lights...

...well, not really. More like Friday night lights out. It is what it is.

• I can think of nothing more obsolete in this day and age than a watch. We have clocks on VCR's and DVD's. Computers have them. Cell phones do also. Our vehicles as well. I haven't worn one in more than five years and I never miss it. If you choose to move out to the nether regions of Oregon or live in the boonies somewhere, you're likely not to need one anyways, because you've chosen to live there so as not to be encumbered by time and the trappings of modern life.
  
  
• They, being the FDA, have approved some sort of breast implant thingy. I guess it's not supposed to kill your ass if it starts to leak or something. Why women would do this still confounds me. You have what you have. Not all men are about the titty-meat. But what continually confuses me is that you will, at some point in time, get hit with this line. "Quit starring at my new 36 D's". Hell, I thought that was the whole point.
  
  
• I stopped at the market on the way home tonight to get my cheap ass boxed Merlot so I could calm the beast within. It wasn't crowded for a Friday night, so I walked swiftly, as always, in an effort to get in and out, so a panic attack wouldn't render me incapacitated in the frozen food section and some poor stranger find me suckling on a Jimmy Dean steak biscuit with poop pouring into my socks. While sprinting, I noticed no less than ten people on their cell phones, soliciting some sort of advice about a recipe or looking to hook up with friends. I can only surmise, mind you, but why else does one feel the need to jabber while engaging in such a banal activity.
  
  
• OK, where was I? Had to take a break and cut my hair. I do it myself now. When I lived in my previous city I had a great barber. I'd get it cut every month, he knew what to do and I'd leave looking sculpted. When I moved here I would travel back and forth to see the folks and would just schedule an appointment on the weekend with Robert and all was good. Then during some lull I had to get it cut here. Not a good idea. Some Korean lady got a hold of me and after about five minutes of watching my locks get sheared like a ewe, she pipes "You have tough hair to cut." No shit Mai Ling. After that I kept trying to wear it the same way but it didn't work. So, on a trip to the Mom's homestead I made an appointment with Robert and told him to take a #4 and chop it off. He looked at me like I was bat shit crazy. He tried his best to make it look right, but it wasn't what I wanted. So when I got home that Sunday, I pulled out the clippers and whacked it off. Brad Pitt style. Worn it that way ever since. Was going to grow it out again, but today I just said fuck it and weedeated it again. It's just so much easier. Ya get your ass out of the shower and rub the water off and you're good to go. Now, if I could only get the Pitt good looks. Do they sell something like that at Target?
  
  
• I live near a big Mall. And I mean near. Like three minutes near. I've been there a few times. But as always, it's just to run in to a store to get something lickity-split and get the hell out. Like every six months or so. They light a Christmas tree every year. They are doing it this Saturday. Five days BEFORE Thanksgiving. The older I get the less I can deal with holidays. I don't like getting gifts, number one, because there really isn't anything I need. If I do, I'll buy it. And I have no idea what to get others in the family. The kids are easy. MONEY. No brainer. But the brothers and such, I have no idea. I usually try to come up with a unique gift idea, but it would suit me if we just culled the whole gift thing and just did it for the kids. And the TV station sponsoring the lighting is playing it up to the hilt. Celebs and shit. Damn. I hate this time of year.
  
  
• Isn't it always the case that when you are close to having paid off a vehicle it starts to fuck up? I have three payments left on the F-150. I've never kept a vehicle this long, and except for one hiccup, it's been reliable as hell. I've kept up with the maintenance as scheduled and when I climb in it I always feel like she'll do her thing. Hell, I even have three nails in the tires and I haven't had to change them yet. But I do need some new rubber. So the other day, the turn indicators quit working when I tilt the steering column down. I can use them when I keep the column up, which at least keeps my ass out of danger. But this will be an expensive fix. But doesn't it just suck ass when you think you might have an extra $400 bucks in your pocket a month because you don't have a car payment and it ends up going to just that thing. There's some bad demons out there.
  
  
• People are out there beating, slugging and killing people for the new PS3. WTF. Your ass gets shot because you have a game thingy? Somebody put one up on E-Bay and I think the last bid was over $100,000. I need a new planet to live on.
  
  

The Stella Awards...

...are named after the lady that spilled hot MacDonald's coffee on her own damned ass and somehow managed to successfully sue them. Here are this years winners...

5th Place (tie)

Kathleen Robertson of Austin, Texas, was awarded $80,000. by a jury of
her peers after breaking her ankle tripping over a toddler who was
running inside a furniture store. The owners of the store were
understandably surprised at the verdict, considering the misbehaving
little toddler was Ms. Robertson's son.

5th Place (tie)

19-year-old Carl Truman of Los Angeles won $74,000 and medical
expenses when his neighbor ran over his hand with a Honda Accord. Mr.
Truman apparently didn't notice there was someone at the wheel of the
car when he was trying to steal his neighbor's hubcaps.

5th Place (tie)

Terrence Dickson of Bristol, Pennsylvania, was leaving a house he had
just finished robbing by way of the garage. He was not able to get the
garage door to go up since the automatic door opener was
malfunctioning. He couldn't re-enter the house because the door
connecting the house and garage locked when he pulled it shut. The
family was on vacation, and Mr. Dickson found himself locked in the
garage for eight days. He subsisted on a case of Pepsi he found, and a
large bag of dry dog food. He sued the homeowner's insurance claiming
the situation caused him undue mental anguish. The jury agreed, to the
tune of $500,000. In my opinion this is so outrageous that it should
have been 2nd Place!

4th Place

Jerry Williams of Little Rock, Arkansas, was awarded $14,500. and
medical expenses after being bitten on the buttocks by his next door
neighbor's beagle. The beagle was on a chain in its owner's fenced
yard. The award was less than sought because the jury felt the dog
might have been just a little provoked at the time by Mr. Williams who
had climbed over the fence into the yard and was shooting it
repeatedly with a pellet gun.

3rd Place

A Philadelphia restaurant was ordered to pay Amber Carson of
Lancaster, Pennsylvania, $113,500. after she slipped on a soft drink
and broke her coccyx (tailbone). The beverage was on the floor because
Ms. Carson had thrown it at her boyfriend 30 seconds earlier during an
argument.

2ndPlace

Kara Walton of Claymont, Delaware, successfully sued the owner of a
night club in a neighboring city when she fell from the bathroom
window to
the floor and knocked out her two front teeth. This occurred while Ms.
Walton was trying to sneak through the window in the ladies room to
avoid paying the $3.50 cover charge . She was awarded $12,000 and
dental expenses

1st Place

This year's runaway winner was Mrs. Merv Grazinski of Oklahoma City,
Oklahoma. Mrs. Grazinski purchased a brand new 32-foot Winnebago motor
home. On her first trip home, (from an OU football game), having
driven onto the freeway, she set the cruise control at 70 mph and
calmly left the driver's seat to go into the back & make herself a
sandwich. Not surprisingly, the RV left the freeway, crashed and
overturned. Mrs.Grazinski sued Winnebago for not advising her in the
owner's manual that she couldn't actually do this. The jury awarded
her $1,750,000. plus a new motor home. The company actually changed
their manuals on the basis of this suit, just in case there were any
other complete morons around.

OK...Explain This To Me...

...when you try to reach out as a friend, and nothing more than that, and you get beat down because you asked said person about their kids, and they reply that it's all you ever talk about, what does one do? Ya, I have a bad memory. So send me to the gallows. But at least I was concerned about something that gives life meaning. So what if it was repetitive? At least I asked about something other than a body part.

Can Dogs Smell Cancer...

...is debatable. I witnessed it last night. No one else did. My brothers dog is a young golden, very friendly. Likes to be rubbed and stroked. But at one point, which no one else really picked up on, she put her snoot right in my crotch and just kept sniffing. I shooed her away, but I knew what she was nasalizing. Funny how that works. So a forewarning. If you have a dog that starts sniffing on some part of your body, don't slack it off as just dog kinda shit. There may be something to it. This is my Public Service Announcement for the month.

I'm About As Good At Science...

...as I am at math. Which basically means I suck at both of them. You ask me to add more than two numbers together or tell you the periodic element of oxygen and you might as well be looking at a four-eyed monkey trying to figure out a Rubic's cube.

But I try not to be totally ignorant of either. I have my flash cards for addition and subtraction, which I go through every night before I go to bed. And I smell my armpits to make sure I don't keep myself awake at night.

I am aware of the scientific evidence that says what attracts people to one another are pheromones. Smells. Seems kinda odd to me that an odor we exude would get your ass laid, but hey, I'm all for garlic and shit. Of course, I'm sure it must go to a deeper scientific level, because my farts have never attracted anything but a yard dog looking for the spoiled meat it smelt.

But it makes me curious as to how people get hooked up on the interweb. They talk, they like, they get involved. But how do they know the smelly stuff is gonna work? If they finally decide to meet, what happens? They sniff around for a bit to see if it's gonna work? I have a cologne that I bought that is actually named "Pheralure". It's supposed to override your natural pheromones and make you overly attractive to the opposite sex. I haven't spritzed in on much, but when I do, the only results I've seen is that my right hand starts shaking uncontrollably and starts doing that chewing thing that hands do when you place your thumb under your forefinger and it starts acting like it's talking. That concerns me, on many levels.

So it rests on my bathroom counter. I would try and spray it on my puter screen when talking to a hot babe, but I'm not sure that would work.

So, my question is, if you get somewhat involved with someone over the digital medium, what happens if the smell ain't no good when you meet?

Just a thought. Most of which are just totally idiotic when I think about it.

I Had The Pleasure...

...of breaking bread with a Marine tonight. He's back from his second tour in Iraq.

Just so happens he's my nephew. And I was able to hug him. How good is that?

I Dialed A Number...

...and got the following recording:

"I am not available right now, but thank you for caring enough to call. I am making some changes in my life. Please leave a message after the beep. If I do not return your call, you are one of the changes."

I Didn't Write This...

...and it's floating around alot of places, but it is soooo appropriate. For me anyways. Hat's off to the author.

Recently, I was diagnosed with A. A. A. D. D.
(Age Activated Attention Deficit Disorder.)

This is how it manifests:

I decide to water my garden.

As I turn on the hose in the driveway, I look
over at my car and decide it needs washing.

As I start toward the garage, I notice mail on the porch
table that I brought up from the mail box earlier.

I decide to go through the mail before I wash the car.

I lay my car keys on the table, put the junk mail in the
garbage can under the table, and notice that the can is full.

So, I decide to put the bills back on the
table and take out the garbage first.

But then I think, since I'm going to be near the mailbox when
I take out the garbage anyway, I may as well pay the bills first.

I take my check book off the table, and
see that there is only one check left.

My extra checks are in my desk in the study, so I go inside the
house to my desk where I find the can of Coke I'd been drinking.

I'm going to look for my checks, but first I need to push
the Coke aside so that I don't accidentally knock it over.

The Coke is getting warm, and I decide to
put it in the refrigerator to keep it cold.

As I head toward the kitchen with the Coke, a vase of flowers
on the counter catches my eye ... they need water.

I put the Coke on the counter and discover my reading
glasses that I've been searching for all morning.

I decide I better put them back on my desk,
but first I'm going to water the flowers.

I set the glasses back down on the counter, fill a
container with water and suddenly spot the TV
remote. Someone left it on the kitchen table.

I realize that tonight when we go to watch TV, I'll be
looking for the remote, but I won't remember that it's
on the kitchen table, so I decide to put it back in the
den where it belongs, but first I'll water the flowers.

I pour some water in the flowers, but
quite a bit of it spills on the floor.

So, I set the remote back on the table,
get some towels and wipe up the spill.

Then, I head down the hall trying to
remember what I was planning to do.

At the end of the day:

- The car isn't washed,
- The bills aren't paid,
- There is a warm can of Coke sitting on the counter,
- The flowers don't have enough water,
- There is still only one check in my check book,
- I can't find the remote,
- I can't find my glasses,
- And I don't remember what I did with the car keys.

Then, when I try to figure out why nothing got done today, I'm really
baffled because I know I was busy all damn day, and I'm really tired.

I realize this is a serious problem, and I'll try to
get some help for it, but first I'll check my e-mail.

Do me a favor. Forward this message to everyone you know,
because I don't remember who the hell I've sent it to.

Just Some Thoughts...

...after along day.

• Don't try to juggle three IM's at one time. I can't do it. I tried tonight and somehow pulled it off, and they were all with friends, so I wasn't gonna bury myself with a shovel, but if you know me, and you want to talk, you have my number. Call me. I'll feel safer, if only because there are some things that I hold close, and wouldn't want to give anything away, and if you've ever done it, you know how you think you're typing in the right box and your ass ain't. Since these were friends it wouldn't have been that big of a deal, but it always lends itself to some scary moments.
  
  
• I hate it when I start hearing things around the holidays that it's all about food. Hey, motherfucker, I don't eat much, and food ain't high on my list. Don't send my ass some basket full of tripes that I wouldn't even feed to my spiders, much less the roaches that I didn't even know had taken up residence in my abode. I want expensive electronic stuff. Or sex toys I can raffle at the Christmas Eve midnight mass.
  
  
• Some asshats seem to think that they are better than air and take advantage of women. And, NO, I won't let this one go. For no reason other than the fact that I have fought this my whole life. They are women and you have no right other than to respect them. If you can't, then asshole, go to skid row and find a scab infected junkie. That's what you deserve.
  
  
• I have a PSA test coming up on the day before Thanksgiving. I hate this shit. Not the test. That's just an easy blood draw. I can watch those all day. I have veins for days so it's always about a thirty second procedure for me. I just hate getting the result. When you see that letter in your mailbox your heart goes right out your fucking shoes. Sometimes you get the result fairly quickly, sometimes not. I normally get them in about a week. My usual procedure is to put the letter on the table, go change, brush my teeth (so I get my three-a-day in) and get a glass of wine. Then I have to ponder what my options are. If it's bad, my ass is screwed, if it hasn't gone up too much, I'm good. It's one of the worst things you can go through. And in my case I open it all by myself. No support. Just me. I take the knife I have to open mail and peal that thing as slowly as I can, knowing that my life could be slipping out of that envelope just as quickly as I popped out of my Mom's belly. And then I'll stare at it for a few minutes. Not reluctantly, because I'm not scared of the outcome. I've been doing this for five years. I'm used to that. What bothers me about it? You'll have to ask. And I will gladly reply. It's called PSA anxiety. And it sucks. And I will do it again next Wednesday. And I will then go travel to see my sons and my Mom, and make the best of the holiday. And if you are healthy then I suggest you do likewise. If you have issues with other people and you want to fuck up their day, then stay home. I know I wouldn't want you around. You have NO idea how lucky you are.
  
  

There Are Some Things...

...you may come to recognize about yourself but you shouldn't share with other people. For example, I would never tell anyone that I was lactose intolerant because they might get to thinking that I didn't like titties.

No Picture On This One...

...but I do want to rant about something that every once in awhile raises it's head in this medium and it pisses me off to no end.

I understand how the internet works. My first computer cost $3500 back in 1993, and I was the first on the block to get AOL, and thoroughly enjoyed instant messaging when it came out. But I could see back then, and experienced, what happens when you get involved with people over this medium. We can be just as swayed, wooed, cajoled and deceived as easily as we can be in the non-digital world. And there are people out there that are just as capable of playing on your emotions had they met you in a bar as they if they show up in your IM list.

As humans, we long for companionship, both male and female. In an ever increasing hectic workplace, we find it easier to come home and log on and find our friends. But, when you can't see the eyes, can't see the gestures, can't see the feign of the head that let's you know the person is lying, it's tough to know whom to trust.

Men are especially devilish with this. They lie, cheat and steal, but not durable goods. The prey on the very souls of women that want nothing more than to know that they are lovable. And when the gig is up, they've left with their egos inflated and a heap of flesh puking her guts out because she was duped again.

Normally I'm pretty understanding of this type of behavior. I know how it works. If you're an adult you pretty much know the deal. But this time it just pissed me off royally. Some people are just tough as nails. They won't tolerate any bullshit and they'll tell your ass that in a heartbeat. And they keep themselves guarded. They've been there, they know how it affects them, and they don't want to go back to that place where their psyche's go haywire and they start to doubt themselves. But every so often someone sneaks in and they take advantage of said person. Maybe their guard is down, maybe that little area in their head is vulnerable where no one ever told them they were truly loved. And BAM, these asshats hit and start talking all sorts of shit that will never happen unless there's some sort of nekkidness involved. And by then it's too damned late.

This applies to blogs, personal dating sites, MySpace, any of them. There are people out there that could care less about you AS A PERSON. And don't think they are easily spotted. You could have been talking to them for years. But guys, be on the up-and-up. I've been thinking about this all day and my meager brain is tired. But if you are someone that does this type of thing, FUCK YOU.

I Used To Think The Reason I Didn't...

...go to biker rally's was because I didn't have a hog. After seeing some of these I now realize I don't have the appropriate wardrobe.

If Men Wrote Cosmopolitan...

...it might read like this. Hats off to the badgirl...

Q: My husband wants to experience three-in-a-bed-sex with me and my sister.

A: Your husband is clearly devoted to you. He cannot get enough of you, so he goes for the next best thing your sister. Far from being an issue, this will bring all of the family together. Why not get some cousins involved?
If you are still apprehensive, then let him go with your relatives, buy him a nice, expensive present, and cook him a nice meal and don't mention this aspect of his behaviour.

Q: My husband continually asks me to perform oral sex with him.

A : Do it. Sperm is not only great tasting, but has only 10 calories a spoonful. It is nutritious and helps you to keep your figure and gives a great glow to the skin. Interestingly, a man knows this. His offer to you to perform oral sex with him is totally selfless. Oral sex is extremely painful for a man. This shows he loves you. Best thing to do is to thank him, buy him a nice, expensive present, and cook him a nice meal.

Q: My husband has too many nights out with the boys.

A: This is perfectly natural behaviour - and it should be encouraged. The man is a hunter and he needs to prove his prowess with other men. Far from being pleasurable, a night out with the boys is a stressful affair, and to get back to you is a relief for your partner. Just look back at how emotional and happy the man is when he returns to his stable home. Best thing to do is to buy him a nice, expensive present, and cook him a nice meal and don't mention this aspect of his behaviour.

Q: My husband doesn't know where my clitoris is.

A: Your clitoris is of no concern to your husband. If you must mess with it do it in your own time. To help with the family budget you may wish to video tape yourself while doing this, and to sell it at flea markets. To ease your selfish guilt, buy your man a nice expensive present, and cook him a delicious meal.

Q: My husband is uninterested in foreplay.

A: Foreplay to a man is very hurtful. What it means is that you do not love your man as much as you should - he has to work a lot to get you in the mood. Abandon all wishes in this area, and make it up to him by buying a nice expensive present, and cooking a nice meal.


Q: My husband has never given me an orgasm.

A: The female orgasm is a myth. It is fostered by militant, man-hating feminists and is a danger to the family unit. Don't mention it again to him and show your love to him by buying a nice expensive present and don't forget to cook him a delicious meal.

Q: How do I know if I'm ready for sex ?

A: Ask your boyfriend. He'll know when the time is right. When it comes to love and sex, men are much more responsible, since they're not confused emotionally as women. It's a proven fact.

Q: Should I have sex on the first date ?

A: YES. Before if possible.

Q: What exactly happens during the act of sex ?

A: Again, this is entirely up to the man. The important thing to remember is that you must do whatever he tells you without question. Sometimes, however, he may ask you to do certain things that may at first seem strange to you.
Do them anyway.

Q: How long should the sex act last ?

A: There is no average time, but anything over two minutes is good. Anything under that and you may be rushing your man. After your man has finished making love, he'll have a natural desire to leave you suddenly, and go out with his friends to play golf. Or perhaps another activity, such as going out with his friends to the bar for the purpose of consuming large amounts of alcohol and sharing a few personal thoughts with his buddies. Don't feel left out-while he's gone you can busy yourself by doing his laundry, cleaning his apartment, or perhaps even going out to buy him an expensive gift. He'll come back when he's ready.

Q: What is "afterplay?"

A: After a man has finished making love, he needs to replenish his manly energy. "Afterplay" is simply a list of important activities for you to do after the lovemaking. This includes lighting his cigarette, making him a sandwich or pizza, bringing him a few beers, or leaving him alone to sleep while you go out and buy him an expensive gift.

Q: Does the size of the penis matter ?

A: Yes. Although many women believe that quality, not quantity, is important, studies show this is simply not true. The average erect male penis measures about 3 inches. Anything longer than that is extremely rare and, if by some chance your lover's sexual organ is 4 inches or over, you should go down on your knees and thank you lucky stars and do everything possible to please him, such as doing his laundry, cleaning his apartment and buying him an expensive gift

Why In The Hell...

...would someone spend their time persuing this women and then completely dummy up and go sleep with someone else, especially if they know that she isn't gonna tolerate that shit and if there's any chance she's gonna find out(which there is, knowing her) then you don't want to even consider such a boneheaded move.

But damned if he didn't. And this is the kinda stuff that makes women learly of getting involved with men and gives us all a bad reputation. So to all those dickheads out there that insist on fucking it up for the rest of us, go perform an orchieotomy on yourselves. Because you obviously don't have any balls to begin with.

I Always Hate It...

...when I have to disagree with
this lady.

Because I like the babster. But chivalry has never been dead. Perhaps it's never existed in some men, but for some, it's embedded in their structure. I always open doors for women, always let them go in front of me in the market, pick up things they drop. I could go on, but the point is that chivalry isn't something that happens when a woman is seen on crutches and men go out of their way to open a door. It's part of a man's nature. The guy that opens the door for a woman that's disabled could just as likely be one that would beat the hell out of her when she gets home. Don't rely on the things that are obvious. It's the subtle things that make a man.

This Young Marine...

...was awarded the highest honor in the military today. The President honored him, posthumously, with the Medal Of Honor. If you are not aware of what this means, then you suck as an American.

His unit was attacked at a checkpoint by insurgents and when they threw a live grenade into the fray, he took off his helmet, covered the grenade with it, and lost his life, but saved those of his unit. He was honored today at the opening of the new Marine museum. His parents were there. I can't imagine what that would be like, other than being so very proud and yet so very, very sad.

If you'd like to learn more about it, buy this book. And next time you wake up feeling outta sorts, or your love life ain't what it could be, or you're having family troubles, or ya just feel like bitching, think of this young man. I'm sure he'd have been able to make your problems go away. Semper Fi, Cpl. Dunham. Your sacrifice was great, but your heart was even greater.

I Was Sorry To Hear...

of the death of Ed Bradley. I always liked him. I haven't watched 60 minutes in years, but he seemed like a forthright guy. And he personified integrity and class, but with a little bit of an edge. When I was in college I always bought the same pen he was using in his interviews. What does that say about me. He's interviewing Castro and I'm looking at his pen? No wonder I'm so fucked up. Get me a cookie.

I'm Thinking Of Moving...

...to poetry. Here's a ditty I'm experimenting with.

I could so use a piece of nookie

To take the place of my milk and cookie

A gentle guide into my lair

And lay her down as she is bare

To gently lick about her nethers

As if they were a broken feather

As she succumbs into submission

I bring her forth to female fission

As she lay gasping for her breath

I think of myself as some Macbeth

As we pondered what had transpired

I did lay close and just admired

The wondrous beauty of her breasts

And so I drifted into peaceful rest

When I awoke I was amazed

And could not conceal that I was fazed

Before me lay a small round dough

That was in fact my oreo

It Seems Alot...

...of young people are opting to get their tats removed. As one young intellectually prolific woman stated, she should have used "better judgment" when she got it. Ahh, my young flower, we could always use better judgment in most things we do.

If you're going to get a tattoo, make sure it means something. Don't get some fucking cat paws on your thigh. The pic is the tat I have. I got it after my Dad died. Kinda odd for someone that is so full of hate. It's the Alpha/Omega, derived from this man.

And before I had it done I did my research and found out that if I ever wanted it removed, which I wouldn't, you should get it done in tones of blacks and gray. Easier for the skin cells to absorb the laser light. But these dummies choosing to get them removed are paying upwards of $1000 to get a $90 tattoo removed. I did it because of my proclivity towards the theological, in hopes that it would keep my Dad's spirit alive in my heart. I have to look at it everyday when I get out of the shower. It's good. My Dad wouldn't have liked cat paws. Better judgment. You bet, sugar tits. Start thinking with your brain and not the other things.

So The Election Is Over...

...and good riddance. I'm somewhat concerned about having a botox enhanced, plastically altered person as Speaker.

I hope that if Bush and Cheney are taken out she isn't in surgery getting a titty-tuck. I'd hate to see silicone stains on her suit when she takes office. Does one of those stain pens work on that shit? And I think that I heard today that the national turnout was around 31%. I'd hardly call that a referendum for change. It means that about 2/3 of the Americans give a shit about politics. Because they recognize it for what it has become. A glorified dingleberry on the butt of our country.

I Am Once Again Befuckled...

...by the seriousness people ascribe to their blogs. To threaten to take it down because you're having a bad day or you received other than complimentary comments is ludicrous.

If you're having a fucking bad day, then just say so. Go find a friend and talk about it. But to go through all the theatrics of "you're all on notice and I'll shut it down" is just juvenile. You close a blog because you don't feel like writing anymore, or you have an ailing parent or child that will take up more of your time than you can give to blogging. Or it's just tiresome. Blogging isn't like being a writer for a national paper. Their livelihood depends on their producing stuff that is read by millions of people. If Maureen Dowd decided to step aside, you would hear about it. If you take your blog down, you won't.

Why not concentrate on the important things in life and try to enjoy them. I had an 18 minute conversation with son #1 tonight. In those minutes we talked about his future, how he got sooooo old, his workout routine (in which he was surprised that I knew what a Smith machine was), and our schedules for the holidays. I wouldn't trade that for the world. And I would take this blog down tomorrow if it meant I was never able to talk to either of my sons. But I wouldn't take it down because I received some disparaging comments and they pissed me off. Some skins are not as thick as they appear.

This medium is an avenue to express yourself as you see fit. But it is public. So some people won't always kiss your ass. But even if you have 500 hits a day, it's still just 500. There are billions of people in the world that could give a rats ass about what you do. Keep it, your ego and all else in perspective.

It Appears This Lovely Lady...

...showed her true colors last night at the CMA awards when she stood up in the life boat of nominees for best female something-or-other and dun went and beat down the underling with the only paddle on board. Typical. Why do people watch this shit to start with. The outcome is inevitable. Some ego will get its ass in a wad because some other ego won something that other said ego thought they should have one. It's just silly ass bullshit, in my opinion, which is why I don't watch it nor listen to it anymore. And then the aftermath is even funnier. I hate to say this, but it reflects more on societies asses than it does on theirs. If you subscribe to it, then you are as much to blame as the outcome. Lock yourself in your home and be gentle. Not much will happen.

Just Giving The Synapses...

...a break. And the co-worker that I rely on is out of town this week, so I have a full platter. But I did come across this. I haven't seen an Oprah show in years, if ever. Nor do I care to. But being the sleuth I am I have heard about the rumors of her sexual orientation. Makes no matter to me, nor should it to you. But if you look at the bottom-right photo she's starring at that va-jay-jay like Bane will be tonight at that prime rib. If I were a male talk show host and had some guy on that lost 75 lbs., I don't think I'd be honing in on his man-meat as if it were a bratwurst that I was getting ready to devour and chase with a Heineken.

I Used To Work Out...

...but I don't anymore. I drink. I was surfing through the channels today and came across some women that were jumping up and down like some horny ass dogs. I would never be able to have sex with them. I would fear for my life. A swift kick to the thorax kinda thing.

But it got me to thinking if women, or men for that matter, actually participate in that shit. In your own home would you jump around like a jackass? With your kids watching, while telling them it's for their own good. Cause what's good for mommy is good for them.

I would run to my pony and ride like the wind. Might not get anywhere, cause it's on springs. But dammit, Mom's crazy. Save the children. Contribute.

Went For My Usual...

...Saturday morning grocery run yesterday. There was a strapping gentleman in front of me in the checkout line. Probably 6'2", 220 lbs. In his workout stuff. In his BIG cart were two gallons of milk. That was it. Two gallons of milk. This was at 7:30 in the morning. I'd been up since 3:30 slurping wine, so you can imagine what was going through my mind when I saw this dipshit. As he approached the lady at the cash thingy I asked him if he needed any help getting the milk out of the cart. I don't think he liked me asking, from the look I got. The lady that was checking him out laughed. He didn't like that either. I guess some people don't have a sense of humor early in the morning.

Having Spent The Better Part Of My Life...

...working in a field that required my skinny ass to awake at 3:30 in the morning, I haven't been able to shake that habit, so I continue with it to this day. I'm not a happy person when I wake up, in the sense that I'm wondering what the hell I'm doing up at that hour when I don't HAVE to be at work until 9:00. And if my ass ain't happy, then you won't be either, and I don't want to watch happy people on TV. Which is why I never watch any of those early morning shows like GMA. Nobody is that happy in the morning.

So about ten years ago I got hooked on Imus In The Morning on MSNBC. It's sophomoric and Imus rants on and on about the same goddamn shit everyday, but for the most part it's watchable. But over the past year or so it's started to make me wanna go give myself a latte enema. When they first started their ranch for kids with cancer I contributed. Hell, I have cancer so it seemed like a good thing to do. But then they started this greening the cleaning thing where they developed some products that are supposed to be non-toxic and all organic.

Now let me say this. This is not an indictment of the Imus'. They do splendid work and I support it. It's just the bullshit things we care about in society nowadays. Super white teeth, fake tits, six-pack abs, extraordinary kids that never get a chance to be kids, extended care facilities that take care of aged parents because we don't want to do it. Hell, my Grandma had dentures, which I saw in a glass every night before I went to bed. I bet Grandpa was a happy man, but he died before I was born, so I never got to ask him.

This whole organic thing is bullshit. I'm not even sure what it means. They claim it's all natural. Some of the most toxic substances in the world are found in their natural state. So the manufacturers of them have to do something to alter the toxic state. Same thing applies to the fruits and veggies that they prominently display as organic in the market. Hell, I don't care if it's had some pesticides or some other thing sprayed on it in the field. I can wash it off. As long as it don't attack my colon and make it want to crawl out of my navel I'm fine with it. The Imus' want you to not have any toxic cleaning products in your home because it's bad for kids health. Asthma and stuff you know. I have been in a house with two kids, which happen to be my own, and I was the major cleaner. And back then I used what worked. The eldest never had asthma, the younger one did. BAD. But it ran in our families. Which go back a long way, before they had the additives they had when my sons were born. So when my uncle had asthma, I doubt they had even invented the additives they put in cleaning products. Chances are, knowing my Grandma like I did, she just cleaned with soapy water. That's what I remember. My point. Get off this nouveau thing of trying to keep my ass alive and making money off of people you scare. I just sprayed undiluted bleach in my toilet because the monkey got out of it's cage and shit all over the damned place. I do not fear for my life at the moment. Other than that thing that seems to be coming out of my navel.

Will Anyone Else Be As Relieved As I Will...

...when this damned election is over. The rhetoric and sniping is disgusting, in my book. But I don't have a book, so just get it over with. I don't think any of the people running really have a clue as to what it's like to live in America as a middle-class individual.

No one has a plan on how to get out of that debacle in Iraq. Hell, three days into this month and there are already 12 dead soldiers and marines. If the dumocrats win, we get a sixty-some year old woman as Speaker Of The House, that looks more like she's in her late 40's thanks to deep pockets, botox and plastic. We have gay representatives and preachers dropping outta the trees as fast as a moonshine induced midnight raccoon hunt. More promises of this, that and the other. And if you've been around as long as I have, you know they won't be able to deliver on any of them. Because they'll bicker on once they get sworn in. So let's get this damned thing over with. Enough of this mockery of what a democracy is supposed to be, and what the people that want to represent it are turning it into.

Friday Funny...

...never piss off a woman!

A wife came home just in time to find her husband in bed with another woman.

With super-human strength borne of fury, she dragged him down the stairs, out the back door, and into the tool shed in the back yard and put his penis in a vice. She then secured it tightly and removed the handle. Next she picked up a hacksaw.
The husband was terrified, and screamed, Stop!
Stop! You’re not going to cut it off, are you?”

The wife, with a gleam of revenge in her eye, put the saw in her husband’s hand and said, Nope.
I’m going to set the shed on fire. You do whatever you want!!!

Some Of These...

...are pretty damned funny. Have a read.

You Wanna Get Really...

...pissed about something? Go read this. Just Damn...

I Don't Believe I've Ever Posted About This...

...and it's unlikely I ever will again. It seems that the use of illegal substances has permeated the cricket community.

Until you realize that sport in this day and age is entertainment, then this issue will never go away. I don't give a rats ass if Barry Bonds hits 1100 home runs. If a running back in the NFL amasses 4500 yards in a season, I don't care. If Tiger was on some sort of "thing" would I still watch him? Of course. This isn't church we're doing here. Our society is such now that we expect nothing less than the spectacular, and these guys have figured out how to do it. You don't want to watch a game between the Colts and Patriots with a final of 14-7. A baseball game with a final of 2-1 is unacceptable. A cricket game, well hell, I have no idea what it is, other than they throw a ball with a skip and you hit it with a cleaning utensil. But we NEED the excitement. It permeates our personal lives. We need "exciting" sex. They have all sorts of stuff for that now. Go out to eat, we need exciting food. Life is too short for anything less than exciting. I'm gonna go start my exciting dinner. Boiling water and spaghetti sauce. I ROCK!!

Have You Noticed How Some...

...people that have blogs are just about the most self-righteous assholes that have ever sat upon the porcelain throne? All the crap they spew they expect readers to accept without reservation. But as soon as you challenge them, either in your own blog or via their comments, e-mail or IM, they get their panties in a wad and go all ditzy on your ass. Makes me think their personal lives are the same way. It's their way or the highway. No need to try any form of compromise. Their views on life are staunch and shan't be budged. That's why I keep them at arm's length. They aren't worth the time of day.

If You're Not A Parent...

...then it's hard to explain talking to your kids. Had a great chat with #2 this morning. And this is not a person that likes phone calls. Just his nature. It is what it is. Best thing I've ever done was bring those two into the world. Nuff said...

UPDATE: I get a call from #1 and he's all excited about the 24 CD's I gave him. Hooked him like a five pound bass. Despite a terrible sore throat which renders me speechless, for the second time today, life is good. Love you guys.

Have You Ever Talked To Someone...

...and gotten along swimmingly. You can make each other laugh and talk about anything. And you wonder what that person looks like? Then you wake up one morning and there's a pic waiting for you in your inbox. And when you open it your mind freezes up and you become awestruck. You see a face that is almost angelic and eyes that pierce your soul to the point that you feel as if they know everything there is to know about you. I couldn't finish my coffee. I put myself in timeout and went and stood in the corner for five minutes.

If You Are Not Aware Of...

...nor have never heard of SAD, then do so. It's an anacronym for Social Anxiety Disorder. And I have it big time. I used to take meds for it, but they screw you up. It works like this.

Every morning when I get ready to head out the door I get a panic attack. Because I have to deal with people. The very same species that I walk the planet with. Not so much one-on-one, but more than one, or get me confined, and my brain goes absolutely haywire. I've been like this my whole life. The owner of the company came in the breakroom today as I was washing my hands and said he missed me at the company party last Thursday at some local place. I had to tell him I don't do party's anymore because I'm a recluse. He laughed because he knows my sense of humor, and thought I was kidding, because he's seen me at company party's years ago. Hell, I feel uncomfortable with myself in the bathroom. If I drink excessive amounts of alcohol then I'm fine. Self medication, ya know. I like people, I really do. But they did something to me way back when. If I get any comments about weakness on this, I will hunt you down and kill you. I would give anything not to be this way, but it is what it is. And it gets worse with age. I used to be able to go out and engage in anything. Now a trip to the Target or the store requires tremendous amounts of courage. And a snip of vino.