Wednesday, December 30, 2009

Keep Your Balls On Course and the Lizard Drained With "UroClub"

When my husband came home and told me about the new "Uroclub" I could barely believe my ears. Golfers can now drink all the beer they like while on the golf course because of this darling little invention. You can now whip out the old lizard and drain it right in front of everyone by using your handy little club that is no golf club at's a hollowed out, fake golf club that holds your pee. It even comes with this cute little towel you wrap around your waist to hide your 5 iron from everyone while you pee in the stick.

Men, what they won't think of to be able to whip out their dicks in public and take a piss! Won't everyone become curious when all these guys are standing there with a cute little blue hand towel draped down their crotch and their hands hidden beneath it and a golf stick coming out from underneath it? How do you see the hole? I guess you just feel around for it with your pee swollen pee pee and hope you don't drip down the side of the "Uroclub".

My husband says how the guys say "It's sanitary" (hubby is no golfer by the way). Give me a fricking break. How is hiding a fake golf club underneath a towel and peeing into a hole you cannot see, be sanitary? The damn hole on the thing looks pretty darn small to me. I guess the inventor got the size of the hole right, but most men I know could never pee into a one inch diameter hole without dripping the shit all over the towel, their pants, hands, shoes and the damn "Uroclub" I know my old man isn't going to bring the thing home and clean it out after every use.

I can hear the conversations now, "Howie, why are my geraniums dying?"

"Dear I've been emptying the "Uroclub" there."

"Howie, I told you the Ixora not geraniums. The Ixora are acid lovers and that shit coming out of you is probably like ancient hydrochloric stuff."

And why haven't women golfers been gifted with some little device like the "Urosquat". Crotchless panties (no yeast infections ladies) and a nifty little camp-like chair that folds out and you can pee in a camouflaged little bag situated in the center encased in padding. You can just sit there looking like you're waiting for your friend to take her shot, sip your beer and piss in the chair. Remove the little bag and pour it out on the grass as fertilizer. With all the acidic "man pee" around the women's stuff has got to neutralize it.

Ladies married to golfers....for $24.95 you can buy your old man the gift that will just keep giving back time after time. Think of how cool you'll be in his mind, giving him the ability to stand up and pee like a man anywhere, anytime. The guys can now have a true pissing contest and never have to reveal the true size of George the Gecko. Whoever fills the Uroclub up first, wins the bet....more beer and another chance to use the Uroclub.

Too bad my old man doesn't golf or I'd probably be sick enough to buy one for him. I need the car size model that won't stab your eyes out trying to fit the stick between your crotch and the steering wheel. A uroclub wouldn't be safe in closed situations. Maybe I can think of something and make some quick bucks. I don't know, perhaps the "Whizwheel or Peter's Container"...I'll have to think about it.

Monday, November 30, 2009

"Wings of Eagles" or "Replay of Hitler"

Last night around midnight I'm flipping through the channels (after watching "The Blood Book") checking to see if anything looked interesting before I went to sleep. I generally flip right on through the Christian channels, but last night one channel stopped me dead in my tracks. After watching a really bloody horror movie, I thought for one moment I had been transferred into an episode of the Twilight Zone and this wasn't really reality anymore.

This show or should I say infomercial, was on and here were these "men of the lord" (I use that term loosely) like Jerry Falwell and Pat Boone and a bunch of other Podunk sounding men pushing this program "Wings of Eagles". The program asks for people to hurry and call this number (1-800-434-2003) and donate money to send a Jew back home to Israel. For $350 you can send one Jew home, $700 will send a couple to Israel and at the bargain price of $1400 you can send a whole damn family of Jews back to Israel. I kid you not.

I was instantly glued to this program because I felt like I was listening to some shit Hitler would say, except in such a nice sounding voice laced with religion. These people kept saying "This program is a modern day fulfillment of biblical prophecy, We are reaching out and showing the Jews our love by sending them back to Israel, Get them out of the Soviet Union and other countries before genocide happens." Then a man comes on and says that this year for Christmas instead of giving presents to his kids, the whole family is going to pitch in and send a Jew back home. The clincher was "Hurry and call now before the gates close and no more can be sent home" and "We accept the following credit cards".

I felt like making a phone call to Israel and telling them to turn on channel 4 and close their damn gates now. Of course, you didn't know what these people were really saying, or where they were from, but a sweet (very sweet) man's voice told you what these people were suppose to be saying. Of course all were so thankful to be sent to Israel....or at least that's what "sweet man" told you they said.

Then I took a good look at these people...physically and mentally disabled people and senior citizens that looked like they had one foot on a banana peel, homeless people and god only knows where they were really from. Don't get me wrong, I don't have one thing against physically or mentally disabled people and the senior years are knocking on my door, but sweet Jesus, why in the hell would Israel allow a pilgrimage of people into their country to live, that will drain their financial and medical resources to death? I mean, isn't that damn country something like 30 miles long? And why in the hell are these evangelical preachers in the U.S. trying to send all these handicapped and old, homeless Jews to Israel in the first place? It's not their home.

The whole program to me was pure racism with a fresh coat of pearly lipstick applied, so you hopefully didn't notice the prejudice. It made me think that these are the people in our country crying out for "family values" and trying damn hard to take my freedoms away that people died to achieve. Do these people really know anything about humanitarian values, or what God and Jesus are supposed to be about? I think least not the God I believe in.

This whole show was disgusting and reminded me how easily we can walk back down the path of history. WWII should have taught the whole world a lesson, but it didn't. Of course the people on this show and those who think this is a good thing, would disagree with me, but I will never follow a belief system, or a group of people that so blatantly rejoice in creating fear, stealing money and believing in hatred under the cloak of God. Leave the fricking Jews alone. If they want to go back to Israel, they'll go on their own. Get a clue, if they're born in Sacramento and live in Montana, going to Israel is not "going home". Just because I've got German in me, doesn't mean I should be sent to Bavaria because it's my home. I thought the U.S. loved Israel because we're always kissing it's ass. So why in the hell would we send them a bunch of nonfunctioning members of society and clutter up their small country with needy cases?

The message to me was "Get rid of the Jews once and for all and send them to Israel. Hell, we want you gone so bad, we'll buy you the ticket". As I looked at that cross I kept imagining it twisting and turning quite easily into a swastika. Whoever these people are, they aren't godly and if they are, well, I think I'll just stick with my god. Wherever they're going doesn't seem like it will be filled with a lot of nice people anyway. Not my kind of place.

What I wouldn't give to have Jesus call the number and request a ticket. After all, he was a Jew. I'd love to hear him say "later white boy, you want me gone and out of your life, well say bye, bye. Don't worry about those boils, pustules and locust, it's just a little plague for your godless asses. Just be thankful I didn't turn your asses into a pillar of salt and flavor my margarita with you and then piss you out on the ground".

Saturday, November 21, 2009

Gobble, Gobble Mo Fo

As Thanksgiving approaches it makes me stop for a moment and think about all that I have to be thankful for. The year has been a dramatic one, but still, there is plenty for which I'm quite grateful. I have a pretty damn good life, despite the downs. Even when the downs feel like sewer sludge is flowing in my mouth, there is still much that is good. I have a home that I love (notice home not house), a terrific family and a few really close friends in my life. I'm still able to sit up and take nourishment and most of all, I've still got the ability to laugh, smile, be nice and say please and thank you. I try to treat all people like I myself want to be treated.

Which made me think of others I run across frequently in my daily dealings of life. There seems to be a vast array of people who tend to feel they have somehow earned the right to act and do anything they please. It's an "entitled " attitude that bogs my mind. These people are usually mean, nasty, don't say please or thank you and seem to feel everyone owes them something. It makes me wonder what are these people really thankful for, if anything at all. I can't help but wonder if deep down these people are really lonely and miserable, because with an "entitled" attitude you can't have a true relationship with people, or the world. People only listen because they've been bullied into it.

Everyone has run into these types of people whether in the grocery store, or in their personal lives. It's frustrating when dealing with a person in a public place that displays this selfish stance. Sure, they usually get their way, because everyone just want them to go away. I see them everyday I work at the store. Sad, but it's generally some woman displaying this attitude. Once again, they show me the woman I don't want to grow up to be like. I like people, friends and relationships to well.

I hope that on this Thanksgiving day everyone, even the entitled, try to think of one thing they are truly thankful for. Despite all the bad economics affecting this country and bad politics of past and present, this is still a great country to reside in. I can't think of any other place I'd rather lay my head down at night. Thanksgiving to me isn't about the Pilgrims, because history polluted the true meaning in that story. It is about stopping for a moment and reflecting on life and all that is really good about it. It's about being nice, saying please and most of all saying thank you for all that has been given to you that makes your life a little bit brighter.

Gobble, goggle mo fo's and a happy Thanksgiving.

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Cockroach In The Car...OMG!

I thought I'd faint when I opened my car door last night and saw a cockroach! I thought about it for the rest of the night, planning my attack. I knew if I didn't get rid of it I'd never use the car ever again. I'd rather be pent up inside of it with a rabid bobcat, than be stuck inside of the death trap with a cockroach running wild and free. Just shoot my fricking brains out now! I'd walk before ever entering the vehicle again.

I lay there thinking about my plan, remembering the bug bombs my daughter had left at my house. They were probably two years old, but I didn't care...they had to work. No matter what I watched on T.V. or article I wrote, the cockroach was there, crawling through the deep recesses of my mind. I wondered if I'd have nightmares about it. If you can't figure it out by now, I absolutely detest cockroaches. I can watch the worse horror and gore movies on T.V. and eat a piece of rare steak, but one minuet cockroach will give me heart palpitations. They scare the shit out of me and I'm convinced they'll eat a person while they are alive. Notice I didn't put a picture of the little darlings on this post?

I grab the fogger cans and read the instruction twelve times to be sure I've got them down pat. I didn't want to miss one step if it meant the creature might live. The warning told me about putting the little fogger in a small space and that it could blow up or catch afire. Hell, I didn't care if my truck cab was small, or even if it blew to kingdom come.....this white butt wasn't sitting in that vehicle again, so it might as well blow the hell up.....right?

The little fogger fogged the car and I began to work outside. After about fifteen minutes I decide to look through the window and see if I could see anything. As if out of a horror movie, the damn roach crawls across the window I'm looking in, with a panicked look on his face. The little bastard was dying and probably putting an old gypsy cockroach curse on me with its last breath. I jumped back from the window, feeling slightly ill and happy at the same time. Though a glass separated us, I still felt as if the roach had touched my skin. Now it was on my mind more than ever.

Five hours later I open up the fogged death car and see the dead bastard laying on my passenger floor, not a tentacle moving. It sickened me but I swept it out with the six foot long broom. Then to my horror in the back floor I saw there was a friend. I'd had several of the creepy flesh eaters in my car! I could have killed myself if one would have decided to be my copilot while I'd been driving. I knew my husband had left my windows open and they'd decided to take up home.

I hurried and retrieved fogger number two. Quickly I opened it up and sat it where the first one was, allowing it to fog the car again. I had to be sure. My imagination had forty cockroaches smashing their bodies into any crack inside of my truck, waiting for me to shift in to fifth gear and then appear for revenge. Hours later I opened up the death tomb again and found nothing. I quickly closed it and figured I'd allow the fog to stay put till tomorrow. I need to be sure before I drive it again.

They say smoking kills, but in this instance it actually might have saved my life. If I hadn't of went to my car last night looking for smokes, I'd never had seen the cockroach and I'd kept driving around not knowing they were there. I could have been driving on the highway when they would have jumped out and attacked me by surprise. I would have either wrecked the car or jumped out of it, letting it crash. Whichever outcome, both would result in a wrecked car and my body being hurt either by flesh eating roaches, or road rash. Smoking saved a life last night and now I'm going to honor my addiction by smoking one in thankful gratitude.

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Ochlockonee's Deers and Squirrels - Friends of the Camper

Ochlockonee River State Park, located just outside Sopchoppy, Florida, is a definite gem in the state's park system. If you are a tent camper, sites 18 and 19 are a camper's dream come true. Nestled away in the pine forest and on their own little drive, campers will find these sites quite private and full of surprise visitors that are more than willing to share the campsite with you.

I've been a wildlife enthusiast my whole life and have often come in contact with "wild" animals that act tame. I've got a yard full of gray squirrels who think they are part of the family. They're as bad as my dogs, greeting me at the back door when I come home. I'd like to think they like me, but in truth I know it's because I'm the food wagon.

Night one at Ochlockonee brought Angela, the white-tailed deer into the campsite. She walked in and situated herself around the fire pit as if wanting to join in on the conversation. Smores was on the menu so naturally she was given an offering. To everyone's delight, Angela was quite pleased and gulped down what seemed like a pound of marshmallows. We figured she'd be dead of bloat in the morning. To our surprise, her friend Jessica joined in the fun. A bit more skittish than Angela, Jessica put on a brave face and joined us by the fire to eat marshmallows. Jessica and Angela made our evening complete.

The next day Dot came to visit (she had dots inside her ears) at breakfast. We could tell she was a southern girl and wanted some home cooking. Eventually she brought the others and off an on all day and the rest of stay the deers frequented our campsite. We were hand feeding them, even though we knew we shouldn't, you just couldn't resist. They all acted like pet dogs, greeting us when we came home. The deers ate good, consuming cheese grits, peanuts, crackers, red snapper, salad, sweet potatoes, corn and no camping trip would be complete without hotdogs.

We also had two gray squirrels that lived on opposite sides of the site about eight feet up in each tree. They were the fattest squirrels I'd ever seen in my life, with their bellies almost dragging on the ground. Each squirrel had to weight approximately 4 to 5 pounds. They were the most redneck squirrels you'd ever want to see with the fighting over who was going to get all the food. We named them Billy Bob and Bertha Bob Thornton. They were very friendly, crawling all over one person due to a sudden attraction to them. I'm not sure if the body odor was "Eau de Peanut", but something had those squirrels wanting to get up close and personal. The other little ones who tried to visit the site were quickly beat back by Billy Bob and Bertha Bob. They even tried to control Angela and her friends.

The white squirrels of Ochlockonee are infamous. Kept as pets and let into the wild by drunk partygoers leaving their cage open, they've lived at the park for 50 years. Of course one didn't show up until 15 minutes before we left. Whitie was quite beautiful with his black capped head and stripe down his back. A few years earlier they'd lived at site 18 but were no longer there. I figured Bertha Bob and Billy Bob had run them off. Not too many things could stand up against those too squirrels working together.

The stay reminded me of just how close to nature we could be if we tried. Thank goodness these animals are protected in a forest where hunting is not allowed, or they'd surely die. Their trust of humans is amazing. Whether it be for food, or just wanting to hang out, these deer and squirrels are quite trusting of mankind. It's was well worth the trip just to sit back and have nature calmly come to you. Spending a couple of hours hanging out by the fire drinking beer with a couple of deer, would change even the most hard hearted I'm sure. Looking into those eyes you see a certain innocence not found in the eyes of man.

Ochlockonee's animals I thank you for sharing yourselves with me and giving me an experience I'll remember for a lifetime.

Saturday, October 24, 2009

Jon and Kate....Give me a Fricking Break!

There is no way in hell these two people will ever work out any differences they have between them, with the news people constantly glaring at every move they make. How many couples could survive or even think about ironing out their differences with a T.V. camera stuck down your throat 24 -7? If keeping a working relationship together isn't hard enough in real life, try doing it with eight kids running around and someone reporting on everything you say, do or wear. Yep, they asked for it by becoming public figures, but enough all ready. Kate and Jon give me a fricking break!

I remember seeing her long before they got their show. Her skin was so bagged out from having those kids, she had enough to cover another person. It was a medical special and she got stretched and revamped to look normal again. I admit, it was interesting to see what plastic surgeons could do to a woman who was so stretched out. And Jon......well he struck me as a good, upright man who loved his wife, even if he probably got lost in the folds of skin. Heck, even Kate seemed nice at that time, even a bit humble.

Then the show came.....well, I always thought Kate was a controlling bitch! I hate bitchy women who consume their lives with ordering people around, especially the ones who love them the most. Any of the shows I watched, I always felt sorry for Jon. Yep, I'm a women, but that doesn't mean I side with women just because of that. There are a bunch of women who are wrong in the way they act and their men are right. Some women should not be allowed to keep the kids, just because they are called "mother". There are many times the man can do just as good of a job, or even better.

I was on Jon's side until he became a media feeding shark. I don't care if he started dating someone else. I can only assume being married to a bitch like Kate would make one want to date the German Shepard down the street. Anything would be better that living with her. But then he had to go and ruin it for himself by acting out like an idiot. I lost respect for him because of his stupid moves, not because of his love life. He should have just kept his mouth shut and allowed his bitch wife to just keep being herself. He didn't have to do or say one thing, her mouth and actions spoke for herself. Until he ruined it, I actually felt sorry for him.

Kate and Jon, please just go away and destroy your lives in private. Who really gives a shit anymore? You're old news and the public will soon move on. If Kate gets her own T.V. show, I can't imagine it will last for long. Who gives a crap what she says or can do. She's a bitch. I've never seen friends over to her house. Why.....because she's a bitch and people don't want to be around her. Get a clue woman, raise your kids and stay out of the spotlight.....try being nice. You might actually develop friendships. The kids are still young and you still might have a chance to raise them correctly. Hopefully you teach the girls how not to be like you......a controlling tyrant. They might grow up and actually be able to have good relationships with men.

Jon, you whining little baby.....just shut up! You've ruined it for yourself and you deserve it. If you weren't so stupid, the bitch would have done herself in. The public doesn't care anymore. You both earned a ton of money at the sake of your marriage and family. Be happy and just admit you both screwed things up. It's no longer about her or him, it should be about those eight kids who need parents, despite how much money flows through the house. Turn the cameras off and try to become parents again. Just because you don't live together or even like each other, you both can still be good parents and it takes more than money to accomplish that.

Now that I've had my rant.......Kate and ain't so great...go get a life!

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

Paralize My Lips Please...I'm White and I Want To Look Young

As well as having a typical white girl butt, I've also been blessed with white girl lips. My daughter says I have bird lips. I haven't figured out what species of bird, but I know it's not a Toucan. Possibly it's a chicken. Whatever in the hell bird my lips look like, it's got to be one that has a colorful beak because of my constant lipstick obsession.

I'm so old I can still remember when raciest people would make comments if someone had big lips, calling the person something I won't say here, since I despise the word. It wasn't vogue to have luscious lips. Chicken lips were all the rage. It was sociably acceptable to have lips like old cock-a-doodle-do. Don't get me wrong, because I always thought it was insane to judge a person by their lips.....unless perhaps they had crusty sores and froth dripping from them. I might make an exception then, especially if I was being accosted by them.

What in the hell happened to make women think that they needed to "plump up" their lips? I should rephrase that and say "white women". I personally think it was a black sex fairy that came to these women in their dreams and told them to do it because they'd look so good. Unfortunately, these white women didn't realize the fairy was playing some sick joke on them. And what really gets me is these "plumped up" women think they look good and oh so natural. Don't they have friends or loved ones that are close enough to tell them that they look like their lips were caught in the suction hole of a swimming pool for four hours?

If you study a pair of these used to be chicken lips, they no longer have any movement to them. The person can be expressing all sorts of emotions and the lips just stare back at you in this paralyzed and swollen state of pure ugliness. They remind me of what my lips look like just before I go into anaphylaxis shock after ingesting shellfish. Who in their right mind thinks this looks sexy, good or natural? Only some menopausal, white woman who is having trouble dealing with their age. Yes I can say this too because I'm a menopausal, white woman. The only difference is my seed pickers are going to stay looking just they way they are till the band plays Dixie at my funeral.

To add to the disaster, these woman also usually have a hairdo I Dream of Jeanie would be jealous of and their other facial parts are stretched from here to Bangladesh. Then to add the ribbons and bows to the entire package, they're dressed like a twenty year old. I know how these women think, they're thinking everyone is saying "Boy, that woman is hot. She must be twenty. Come on Rob, lets hit on her". In reality everyone is really saying, "Boy, that 50 year old woman looks ridiculous trying to look younger. Her face looks like something out of the movie Swarm. Rob, let's hit her in the throat with your ballpoint pen. I think she's about to go into anaphylaxis shock and will need to breathe out of her windpipe. Her lips are almost covering her nose".

I've walked the planet long enough to see fashion fads come and go and come again. This is one I hope goes and never returns. Unfortunately, for many of these women they will be forever haunted by what looks back at them from the mirror. Their faces and lips are now permanently paralyzed because of constantly searching for that fountain of youth in a scalpel or needle. Chicken lips will soon be all the rage again and there will be this group of women who are forever stuck looking like my Labrador retriever with his head stuck out my car window when I'm doing 65 down the road. At least his face goes back to normal when the car stops.

Sunday, October 11, 2009

Tumor Girl The Squirrel Lives!

Yes, you are probably wondering who the hell tumor girl is, aren't you? Well this is another squirrel story, though this isn't quite as dreadful as old "pop eye". As everyone probably knows already, my backyard and back porch are like a wildlife viewing area. All the varmints know when I arrive home and they congregate on the back porch waiting for me to give them food. If it wasn't bad enough to train my own dogs to train me, I've also trained the wildlife population around my house, both furred and feathered, to control me by feeding them on demand.

My girlfriend was over the other day and she was amazed. I'd just gotten home and she walked over. On the back porch I had several squirrels attached to the screen door, six or seven more waiting patiently for me by the sliding glass door, blue jays, doves and a rabbit. They all showed up within minutes of each other, waiting for their hand outs. Which makes me get off subject for a moment, but you would expect nothing less of me, if all those bastards can get along even if it's only at the dinner table, why in the hell can't we? Now back to my original ramblings.

Tumor girl, yes old tumor girl. I had this young female squirrel who started having this knot appear on her belly. At first I thought she'd been raped too young by the neighborhood tree gang, but then I knew it was something else. The knot grew out on the right side of her belly. Over about four weeks the thing had turned into the size of a tennis ball. The poor thing kept showing up to eat, but I was starting to see her bone structure. She looked so damn weak and this huge ball she was carrying around was definitely hindering her ability to walk or climb.

The last I'd seen of her was two weeks ago. She showed up and her poor little white belly was so stretched it had begun to turn purple. She ate her peanuts but I could see she visibly didn't feel well. I mean hell, it would be like having a basketball but bigger, injected into our ribcage. She was so bony looking. Then tumor girl didn't come back for almost a week and when she did, I felt horrible for her.

I figured whatever it was must have been like a cyst and had burst. There was this saggy skin where the huge ball had been and a large open hole. She was now really skinny but came to eat peanuts after all the other squirrels had left. I gave her extra, watching her chip away at the shell, quickly eating the meat inside. She must have eaten six before she'd had enough and left. I didn't think things still looked good for her. I couldn't believe she'd survived the cyst and then to survive the bursting of it. Post infection would now be her biggest enemy. I figured she'd now die because the big gaping hole would cause her to get an infection and die.

She showed back up yesterday, almost a week since I'd last seen her. Her hole was now closed and the spot was nearly healed. She looked as if she'd put on weight and was on the mend. I think I'll always have a special place in my heart for tumor girl and that's what she'll always be called. I don't believe the area will totally heal and she'll carry a scar, but what a tough little lady this squirrel was. I hope my daily handouts helped her through. It feels good knowing my human intervention can sometimes help nature thrive in my little piece of paradise. Tumor girl, you rock!

Saturday, October 3, 2009

Baby Raccoons Search For Mother

Yes, get prepared. I've got one more serious animal adventure on my mind......

Approximately four years ago I was driving down our long, mostly lonesome and still wild, beach road when I came across a family of raccoons. There were three young coons, probably only a few months old and one mother. The problem was, they were all dead on the highway, lying in a tidy little group as if they'd committed suicide together. I knew this wasn't what happened because I know raccoons. The family sticks together, much like fifty percent of human families do. Mother coons are terrific in their mothering skills and faithfulness to their children. They're fierce fighters and will protect their children against a bobcat.

I could only imagine the scene in my coon isn't listening to mom and runs out into the road in front of the car. Mom runs out to grab the little shit. Mother and baby get killed. The other two babies wanting to find their family, go out into the road to check on them. They won't leave their mother, even if she's dead. They're too young and the family who rips open peoples trash cans together, stays together. It's only natural everyone in the brood was killed. It was a scene that will stick with me forever.

Today my hubby is driving down the same road and in about the same place mother coon is dead on the side of the road and unfortunately, the buzzards have already arrived. There are three young babies running in their little group back and forth across the road, looking scared and lost. There's nothing they can do but run around by their mother. My hubby is as sick minded and just as much an animal lover as me...his mind figured out the scenario just like I would have.

I could only imagine their horror, one probably screwed up and wasn't watching the road and mom got killed trying to protect him. Now they're young and alone and mom's dead on the side of the road. Then it must be horrible seeing the garbage crew come in and start digesting mom before your eyes and you're too young to totally understand enemies and how nature works. And you damn well don't realize these weird metal objects going down the road will run your ass over.

Which once again brings me back to people who don't believe animals have souls, feelings, reasoning abilities or feelings of loyalty and love. When scenes like this are being witnessed by people every day, scenes of animals showing true devotion and the ability to reason a situation out. As far as I'm concerned, they have the same feelings toward their children as most of us do and they grieve when a love one is hurt or injured. Heck, the other day a girlfriend of mine actually fed a wild gopher tortoise some lettuce, that just came wandering by. The damn thing ate right from her hands several mouthfulls and then took off back on his trek to god only knows where. He actually noticed a truck coming down the road and tried to get out of its way. I was always told they were "stupid" animals. The tortoise didn't seem too stupid to me.

If we could talk to the animals I wonder if they'd even give us the time of day.....we damn well wouldn't want to hear what most of them would have to say to us.

Thursday, October 1, 2009

Devotion of a Dog

And on a more serious note.....

I'm a sucker for an animal story. Whether it's sad, happy or inspirational, a tale about an animal will get my attention every time. Tell me a good dog story and my ear is really turned in your direction. You see, I think dogs are one of the smartest creatures walking the earth. Why, you may say? Well, they've totally figured mankind out and what it takes to have us under their spell. They can work us to the point we wait on them, cook for them, house them, entertain them, buy them friends, clothes, beds, pedicures, hairstylists, give them vacations and a wealth of other things, but best of all, we absolutely love being under their thumbs. Pretty damn smart if you ask me.

Now I come to another fascinating dog story of how they return their thanks by giving us an undivided loyalty that we will never find in another human, including our mother. There was a car accident and a family of five was involved. The car flipped numerous times and everyone inside of the vehicle was alive but injured badly. The damage was so bad everyone figured the family pet, a rottweiler, had perished in the crash. The dog could not be found in either the wreckage or the surrounding woods. After several weeks it was assumed the poor dog had been fatally wounded in the crash and had taken itself to the woods to die. The hospitalized family could do no more than grieve the loss of their family friend.

In the meantime, a lady who rescues stray pets, was driving down the crash road and came upon an emaciated rottweiler standing on the side of the road, looking lost and frightened. She pulled over and to her surprise the dog comes to her. The lady could instantly see the dog belonged to someone just from her demeanor. Getting out of the car she goes to the side of the road where the dog had been standing and sees this little pile of papers, a shoe and other personal belongings neatly together.

She suddenly remembers the horrible crash that had happened there weeks before. In the pile she finds a weathered tablet of paper with the owners insurance information on it. The lady is instantly sure this is the family dog that nobody ever found. Here the dog waited, the last known place of his family and having experienced first hand the terrible trauma of that night. The dog had neatly gathered his family's personal effects and stacked them all together in a neat little pile....patiently waiting for them to come back and get him.

The lady got in touch with the owners who were overjoyed by the find. Unfortunately, while they were hospitalized they lost their home and now are living in an apartment that does not allow pets. The lady who rescued the dear dog has agreed to house him until the family can move to a place where he can finally come home.

And some people think dogs are stupid and don't feel or think things out. Just a bunch of dumb asses if you ask me. Obviously this dog was driven by something emotionally deeper than his next meal. Could it be a love so deep that we as humans will never understand because we aren't capable of loving in such as way? I don't know, but I do know one thing....dogs rock and they're some of the most brilliant people I know. Their friendship is mine with no strings attached.

As an Indian creation story goes......when God made the earth he decided to place man in charge of it. He split the ground, leaving all the other animals on one side and man standing on the other, alone. As the earth split and a great divide began to form between the two sides, dog jumped across and stood by man's side...and that's where he still stands today.

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Mr. Manatee appearing with Oscar and Roy

I must admit that I've seen and done many things in this life of mine, but my daughter is bringing me into a whole new world of "icky". I must admit her new hospital job is only confirming everything I've always known all these years about men.....they love to show off the family jewel kit. Unfortunately, it seems like it's the middle aged men with goat balls that really like to show their package. I mean doesn't every young woman want to gaze upon 50 and 60 year old dicks and balls? Men, I just love them. No matter how old they get they've still got the ego to think they've got the greatest looking pole and sinkers anyone could ever want.

I've been laughing weekly since her hospital job started. My husband, well I think he's slightly embarrassed to hear these stories from his daughter, but secretly he's thinking he's holding a great looking package too-- despite the effects of gravity. Her latest experience involved a middle aged man with lymphoma of the dick. I thought I knew about stuff, but I'd never considered lymphoma in the dick. Personally, I think men created this disease for themselves.

In she walks and there's this dude that's hung like a manatee and of course he's airing the salty dog out. From the description of things, the manatee would probably be jealous. Job duty of the day: massage the manatee dick to get the circulation going and reduce the swelling. I know I'm not the fastest squirrel up the tree, but I figured this was a hopeless treatment least if man's physiology works like it used to. Massaging manatee dick will increase circulation and will also increase the swelling, thus causing fluid to be excreted through the orifices of that region of the body. Result: treatment failed and will need to be repeated three times per day for the rest of the fucker's life.

I can't imagine this guy will ever want to leave the hospital or the care of his certain P.T.A. He must have good insurance to get this treatment in the first place, so he might be able to ride out a few more months. I know my old man and if he was getting a daily massage of the grand old master manatee, he'd set up permanent residence inside of the hospital. He'd cause swelling just to get the physical therapy massage.

Which brings me to another subject, I had no idea Physical Therapists worked your manatee back into fighting form. I figured they just moved muscles and bones on your arms, legs and back. I didn't realize they had to doctor on the man's main muscle....and no I'm not talking about his heart. The manatee muscle and his oyster buddies Oscar and Roy. I don't know, but this sure brought the meaning of "icky" to a whole new level. I must say one thing...prostitutes in the hood are probably bringing in more money working on lymphatic dicks than a college graduate does. At least they know they can get a hospital job one day if they need it. They'll have experience.

Oh well, I thought I'd share that little tid bit of information. Makes one want to run right out and get a P.T.A. degree doesn't it? Which reminds me....manatee, Oscar and Roy's initials are MOR, which is exactly what the patient is yelling during the massage..."mor, mor, mor"......

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Cave Master Scores by Default..........Death by Heart attack

I love squirrels and anyone that knows me knows this fact. I have squirrel ornaments in every size, style and fashion adorning both the inside and outside of my house. I even have a loyal following of the real, live thing meandering throughout my yard. Some days I might have six and then the next all their cousin for Arkansas arrive and the feeding area will encompass 20. They all know me and know I'm good for food and peanuts.

I also love dogs. Presently three reside within my three bedroom ranch style house. One is the cave master....a pitbull who is the sissiest dog you've ever met. He'd kill you with kisses before he'd attack. His bark sounds bad but he'd much rather curl up in your lap and go to sleep. I also have two labs. The male is a great dog and could care less about the outdoor critters. The female needs to be on ritalyn and has approximately four rat kills under her belt. Both would never touch a squirrel. They know they are something of a pet to me.

Now the cave master....well he's addicted to the damn squirrels. I think they look like they're having so much fun he wants to play along with them. He's obsessed! Everyday all the squirrels line up at my backdoor for peanuts. There might be 10 different ones who come back four or five times for the hand outs. They climb on the screen and look at the cavemaster just inches from his face. He just watches in fascination, anticipating their arrival everyday.

One squirrel started showing up a couple of weeks ago with this big black ping pong ball sized lump next to her eye. She seemed ok, taking peanuts, but the black lump kept growing, starting to overtake her eye. Sunday she seemed a bit weak when she showed up for the peanut and the lump was huge. I had named her Popeye. Sick but that's the way I am.

Yesterday the cave master is let outside to go to their pen but he sees a squirrel and runs towards the side of the house into the flowerbed. I have some flower pots stacked up there and I see he's not attacking anything but has something cornered. I'm thinking it's a baby rabbit or squirrel...something that can't run fast enough. I call him off and I walk over to what he was looking at. Well, it was Popeye and she was on her last leg. Her eye was now totally taken over by the big black blob as was almost the whole side of her head. She stood up and stretched her arms out at me and then sat down and had a heart attack and died.

It was a weird experience and the little arm stretching thing I could have done without. I mean I didn't need all the drama from the dying squirrel. I figured when the cave master had cornered her she was so weak she just had a heart attack from fear. Hell, she didn't know he just wanted to be up close and personal. She was infested with fibromatosis virus. I thought it was a parasite but its not. Warbles are something else. This is a pox disease that infects many mammals, including us. Like the small pox or chicken. The dog earned a kill due to giving the poor thing a heart attack. No, I'm not for my dogs killing other animals. The female lab just can't help herself if a rat gets into the dog pen. Squirrels drink from their pool all of the time and they all just look at them.

She had an informal funeral by being placed inside of a plastic Winn Dixie bag and placed inside of the trash can in garage. She'll end up at the city landfill tomorrow. Another squirrel was walking by moments after she died and he looked over at her and made sure he walked a good distance around her. It was like he was even saying, "ick, she looks really bad and I wouldn't touch her with a stick".

Anyone interested in the virus, click on the link from the University of Florida by clicking on the title. Pretty interesting stuff, at least to a weird person like me.

Sunday, September 13, 2009

New Beginnings and Oliver

She's gone. My daughter has finally exited our home and headed off to new horizons. She left at 18 to head to college but the last few years brought her to her childhood room to roost several times. This being the longest at eight months.

She set out years ago to reach her educational goal and though life threw her curve balls quite a few times....goddamn if she didn't make it. Of course with some help from mom and dad along the way. Hey, I can't help tooting my own horn because I'm proud of my daughter and her strength and determination to succeed. Just because she's twenty five doesn't mean mom and dad can't be an intelligent source for information about life and a good source for cash.

Through lost love, money, strife, timing belts, blown engines, catalytic converters x 2, belts, gas, sleep, living room carpet, rising food, health products, dog care, electricity, cleaning products bills, Ms. Menopause, feeling beaten down from work, over worked husband, disappointments and disillusionment's from ones close to my heart and all the usual crap that happens in my life....damn if I didn't make it out alive. Though it was touch and go for a few moments there.

I am proud of my daughter as she heads towards the career and new job she's worked so hard to achieve. I will miss our nightly chats about everything from screwed up men to screwed up friendships. I will miss our laughing till we cried over something the dogs did or we make them do. Screwing with the dogs has always been a favorite thing my daughter and I share. There are many things we share, the best of all is love and friendship. I am so damn fortunate to have her in my life. She gets me and loves me for who I am and she's also not hesitant in telling me when I'm screwed in the head. That's what you got to love about daughters. They can tell you what a shit head you are and somehow they'll never offend you or make you feel bad because they somehow know the right way to approach you. I guess because they are genetically a part of you.

I cried tonight to see my little girl drive off in her rental car heading into a new beginning of her life. I know everything is now on the right and is only going to get better for both of us. The strife we've been having through life having a shit attack on both our heads, is now going to go away. You see I'd been kidding her for weeks that when she gets to Orlando she's going to meet some short dude named Oliver and he's going to steal her heart. My kid has a thing for short guys and she's pretty tall at 5'9''. She also had just dumped a jerk and was swearing off men and mending a hurt heart and pride. She kept saying "sure mom, I'm going to meet Oliver" sarcastically. The whole thing has become a daily joke for weeks. Something only her and I are in on.

She calls me from Orlando when she arrives at her girlfriends house and tells me something that was so spiritually saying it's going to be ok. Her girlfriends basset hound is named Oliver and I guess he and my kid hit it off right away. Sounds twilight zonish to me......two minutes in Orlando and she's already met an Oliver she's fallen in love with. Sent shivers up me, while the two of us laughed our ass off.

I can't help but wonder was it the picture of my mother at 17 where she and my daughter look so much alike, that I placed in a plastic bag and made Felisha take with her for protection. You see my mother and Felisha had a very strong connection and love. I prayed for my mother to watch over her and protect her. Call me crazy but I think Oliver was the sign saying, " don't worry kid, I've got the damn kid in my sights and all will be fine". Whatever it was, I felt suddenly better and knew the kid was going to be alright. I also knew it was a sign I was going to be alright too. I just say thanks.

Thursday, September 3, 2009

Not Fit For Human Consumption

Menopause....a battle of wills I'm determined to win! I'm not Catholic but I do have a saint I truly believe in and wouldn't go into battle without.....St. Johns Wort. I am a worshiper of old St. John and the miracle that he can perform on a half crazed woman. It's truly like manna from the gods when I pop that clear little capsule filled with some green chopped up grassy looking stuff. I feel like the blind person when they cried "once I was blind but now I can see". I'm only crying out "once I was insane and now I'm ready for the human population".

Hormones are a funny thing and you'd think after years of donating enough blood to the sewer systems of the world to start my own blood bank, I'd be over this mess. Not. It's almost like an exorcism and when the demon finally begins to loose the battle and leave the body, they become worse and put up a horrific fight. This is what middle aged old lady getting out of the breeding arena hormones feel like. It's like you are going crazy but you're not. You're not crazy because you know you are going crazy. Sounds crazy I know but that's what it's like.

Lately I've not been fit for human consumption, even my own. Hell, I even can't stand to be around myself and would leave if I could. How in the hell my family has stood me I don't know. I think I scare the shit out of them so they just bow and smile and pray like hell they aren't on my hit list. I guess hormones are good for one thing--people will think twice before fucking with you while you're under the influence. There are always those who will try their luck though. My house has learned to just bow and smile. It's safer for them and me if they remain in the humble position. Even the dogs are suddenly starting to act like Caesar Milan had trained them. It's funny how a crazed woman can get things to obey her, unlike when she's in her natural nice and charming state. Did I mention I'm normally and naturally nice and charming....and I always have my lipstick on.

I need to do research but I feel that when I'm losing my mind with the hormones and feel like Godzilla with rabies, I've got too much testosterone flowing through me. I can't help but wonder is this why men are so damn difficult at times....too much testosterone. If that's what it feels like being a man, hell, I don't ever want to be one. I'll keep working on my blood bank any day.

I must admit it's a horrible feeling and I'm thankful that large doses of St. John and his worts seem to bring me back down to earth. I never desired to take to the air so being forced into a time continuum of craziness is horrid. I wonder how many women out there are acting crazy, grouchy and insane due to their hormones and they don't realize it. They are just so used to being crazy that they continue to accept the condition. Not me, bring me back to my normal state of insanity any day. At least when I'm in a normal state of confusion I'm usually in a good mood, laugh, dance, try to sing and have a knack to irritate everyone. Give me irritation through good mood any day over irritation due to fear for their lives.

Women, worship the wort because it works. Before you know it you'll be your old usually irritating self again. Your family won't listen to you, nor will the dogs. Everyone will regain their usual "fuck with you" attitude and you'll be just fine with it. You'll pull out your lipstick and put on a fresh coat and just sit back and smile. You might not be happy with it but it's better than going to jail on manslaughter charges, which was where I was heading. I can read the headlines now "Woman Pleads Insanity Due to Being Under the Influence of Hormones". Sad but it would be true.

To all who know me, it's safe to return to the interior of my world. I'm ok now or as ok as I'll ever be. Don't expect a miracle to have happened. I'm still the same person I was....irritating and silly and bound to have a sick joke or two in my pocket but I won't kill you. The gods and Ms. Menopause only know how long my rehabilitation process will last but the signs will be there when I start to go insane again. Look for the hairy growth forming on my face and ears, fangs developing and saliva dripping down my chin and the dagger should be a dead give away that it's no longer safe to enter the zone........and my lipstick will be smeared. If you're smart-hit me with a dart of worts and I'll be find in 48 hours.

Excuse me while I lay down and worship St. John and all his worts.

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

War...The Silent Killer

Yesterday I found out that a friend and past co-worker committed suicide because he no longer could handle the nightly nightmares of his experience fighting in someone else's war. This was a gentle man, as well as a gentleman and I could never imagine him killing. Evidently the forced killing and sights he was forced to endure was the final killer in the war he continued to endure in his soul and mind for the past thirty years. It was a sad end to a man who offered so much to this society, his family, friends and world. War had claimed another victim.

It was comfort tinged with sadness to know he spoke of my husband many times before his demise, speaking of what a good man, friend and talented man he was. It broke my heart knowing this because he was a man, his pride probably didn't allow him to express these nightmares and terrors he had to another man. Men live with this thing called pride and ego and to let go of one ounce of it in front of another man can be suicide to your manly self esteem. Men are raised to be tough and not show their emotions because it is a sign of weakness. We have raised them to believe that they are less if they show they feel, care and are down right scared of a situation.

How he died saddened me even more and made me try to imagine the nightmares this man must have had. Setting yourself on fire and burning up in the backyard is unimaginable to me and probably to most. God only knows what this man's dreams were filled with. Vietnam was a worthless war of wasted lives filled with much more terror than this war we are forced to endure now. The Vietnamese were ruthless fighters and they had the jungle as their protection. Every man I ever knew who fought in that war could never talk about what they experienced and almost all were screwed up in some way or the other. Victims of war as I see it. Our country's attempt to force another people into submission to our ways, like most of our wars are about.

I hate war and I hate the fact the United States feels it has to force everyone to be democratic or believe in Jesus. We are truly the bully on the block for the other nations of the world. We don't care how many young men's lives we screw up or take to try to accomplish this fact. We don't care that almost everyone in the world hates us and sees us for what we are. Sure, we might come on the promise of rescuing you from terrorists but the price you pay will be high. You better turn your shawls in for a crown of thorns Jesus supposedly wore or there will retribution. Your cities, people and way of life will be forever changed once we step foot on your land and it's not always for the better.

I guess some people are cut out for the brutality and senselessness of war but I'm sure most are not. Personally, I think we should put the leaders of the countries who disagree with each other into a pit and let them fight it out. Gone are the days when the leader rode the lead horse and led his men into war. Now our leaders hide behind an oak desk and play with men and women's lives as if they were playing Monopoly. I can't even imagine what our new set of live casualties will be like when they return to this impoverished country they call home. There will be no jobs, health care or anyone who probably even gives a shit about their minds condition.

I'm so sad about this man, Bill. Bill, I hope your passed loved ones and G.I.'s you saw perish in the war, were there to help guide you towards a better life on the other side. I pray you have now found the peace that this country so ruthlessly ripped from you. You will be missed and you did touch the lives of others around you as I'm sure you will have the chance to do again. I never once realized the torment you were going through; you hid it well. Not like so many people who are ravaged by life's simplest tragedies that are common place to everyone's lives. You never whined, moaned or made others feel bad because of what you were personally going through. You handled it as they say "like a man". You may have felt weak but you were stronger than most people I know.

I guess the wars will continue and this country I love so dearly will continue to try to make everyone on the Earth like us. If we aren't fighting for money it's for religion, so I assume the brutality will live on. We've been fighting over who has the correct God for centuries and with all the bloodshed throughout those years we've learned nothing. I'm going to laugh if in the end we find out that the maker of this beautiful planet earth is nobody we thought it would be....Jesus isn't the one opening up the door when we knock. Imagine how many people are going to be shocked.

Give peace a chance......

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

Daughter's Pride

Next week my daughter will be 25. Time passes oh so quickly and before you know it they're trading their bedrooms at home for one in their own home. She will always be my little girl it's just that that little girl has now developed into having a woman's body. I've sat on the sidelines enjoying her dreams and trying hard to never impose my dreams onto her life. I had a mother who was determined to do that with me so I know how ego busting that can be. It's exciting seeing that at last she's finally accomplished a goal and dream that's taken her years.

My daughter passed her medical boards and is now a licensed Physical Therapy Assistant. In a beach town where I hear so many parents moaning about how their kids have turned to drugs, are pregnant or basically have thrown their young lives away already, I stand proud knowing my daughter made it. She proves that dysfunctional parents can actually raise a child that is good, productive and will be a fine asset to this society that is so screwed up. She will be a giver to society, not a taker and for this I am proud.

To me she proves that anyone who has a goal and wants it bad enough, can do it. She came from a home of poorer people who couldn't afford to pay for college, both parents have always had to work their butts off, cheap vacations were always on the list and "spoiled" meant something in the refrigerator went bad. Still, she plowed through all those obstacles and came out on the other end a winner. Though our house might not have been filled with an overflowing cash supply, it has always overflowed with love and knowing that everyone in it stood behind everyone else and people actually listened and cared about your life. Personally, I think this is number one when it comes to raising a child. It's not money, vacations, new clothes or giving them everything they want that builds character--it's those rough times where everyone is weathering the storm together that builds true character. If you're a spoiled adult, expect your child to be just as spoiled.

My daughter has faults like everyone else walking this big old planet but what's good about her outshines all of that. She is my hero. She is a woman I look up to and strive to be more like. I have no doubt she will be a fantastic PTA, wife and above all a mother. She already is a fantastic daughter and friend. I'm so proud for her that at last all of her hard work and financial burden has paid off. I'm even prouder because nobody gave it to her, she worked her tan little fanny off for this.

I've always said that when the day comes and I lay my head on the pillow for that eternal rest, I won't be remembered for doing anything noteworthy...except for maybe my daughter. I'm nobody special but to my daughter I'm a hero and someone to be looked up to. It's sorta scary to have that role to live up to but with her it's easy. I know she will remember me with love and she will also know how greatly she was loved. Hell, I'd fight the devil and all his partners to rescue my child. I look at her and I can see me in so many ways, except she's refined everything to be so much better.

And may my epitaph read "Joyce, she was a shitty house cleaner, started many projects and never finished them, dreamed large and produced small, was addicted to fried chicken and Pepsi, had a warped sense of humor, was a loner, thought everything was about her, smoked too many cigarettes and needed to lose some weight but......she was the mother of Felisha and for that all is forgiven."

I love you baby and mother is so damn proud of her little peanut!

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

Deadliest Catch Caught Me

It's been quite some time since I can honestly say a television show has me waiting for it to air each week. Those damn crabbers on The Deadliest Catch have really got me hooked on their show. I can't wait for every Monday to come so I can finally watch a new episode. Though I have to admit I watch the reruns over and over again I'm so hooked. Hell, I can't even eat the damn things.

If you wonder why the price of these crabs are so high, just watch the show and you'll see why. I think I'm also drawn to the show because it's like a soap opera with male characters. Instead of being a "chick flick" its a "dick flick"...and I like it! These burly crab dudes have this middle aged lady hooked. It's quite interesting watching a bunch of "manly men" working a "manly job" and just being themselves.

I've got to give it to them though--they honestly have a very dangerous job. I'm also impressed because these guys are anywhere from their late teens to fifties and they're slinging those pots around like a feather, weathering 100 mph winds with waves and I don't see one throwing up. I'd be in the bathroom spitting out an intestine before we made it out of port. I've got to give it to the crabber dudes.

I find myself relishing the last show of the season and it's also kind of sad. I'll miss my crab boys and watching them bicker like women and nag like women and gossip like women but doing it all in such a damn manly way. I love this show and I can't wait to see them freezing their asses off when the king crabs run through the Bering Sea once again.

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

Is Michael Dead or Alive?

When I read about the fuss that was happening because "OK" magazine out of Britain printed the picture of Michael Jackson dead or on life support, I couldn't wait to get to the supermarket and see the picture. I guess I probably could have found the picture on the internet if I'd wanted to look for it but I didn't. Still, I'll admit I couldn't wait to see what it looked like.

First thing Monday morning when I was in the supermarket I went to the "smut magazine" section (as my husband calls them) and searched for OK magazine. There he was...pasted on the front cover of the magazine. I'll admit I was a bit disappointed, only because I'm sick like that. For some reason he didn't look anything like I expected him to look. He looked alive. Yeah his eyes were closed but the man looked just like he did when he was alive.

I'm not sure what that says about the guy but I guess I expected to see some sort of sign the dude was dead. Then I got to thinking...if he looked that way dead, well, he must have looked dead while he was alive. I wasn't sure at that point that he really wasn't...I mean dead but still alive.

In the picture he almost looked like some freakish vampire that would open his eyes up at I stared at the paper and spit some type of killer funk on me. I mean his eye makeup was absolutely perfect for a guy who was just dead. It was almost like he'd had all his body parts glued on and his makeup done before deciding to O.D. I'm not really sure if the dude isn't some type of supernatural being from beyond the grave.

As I kept looking at him seeming to almost smile in the picture from beyond the grave, I wondered if he'd sold his soul to the devil and wasn't really gone at all. I thought about the Twilight Zone and all those people who had done so with terrible results. It seems Michael would have a different fate though. I couldn't believe all the hoopla that was taking place on T.V. this morning concerning his funeral. It was almost like Jesus had died. Thousands upon thousands of people are followers of this guy as if in some strange religious cult and the news paid ridiculous homage to this far as this old lady is concerned.

Maybe I'm just getting old and boring but I'd rather had heard something important that really might affect my life today. I mean the guy did have talent but I'm not sure he was deserving of being the main source of news for weeks. I guess that's how desperate our country and world has become that we'd take some freakish, suspected child molester who can dance and sing and turn him into a national hero. What will it be next..."Michael Jackson Holiday". If it's a paid vacation day I guess I'll take it.

I wonder if when he now sings "Man in the Mirror" can he still see himself? Just saying........

Sunday, July 5, 2009

Dance Your Ass Off.....Or Not

I keep seeing previews of that new show "Dance Your Ass Off" for the past few weeks. In my channel surfing I haven't run across that show until tonight. Basically it's a show where fat people who are anywhere from 50 to over 100 pounds overweight want to lose weight and they'll do it by dancing and watching what they eat. The basic exercise plan seems to be dancing. It's kinda like "Dancing with the Stars Binging on Twinkies".

Basically, these poor fat fuckers get all dressed up in Lycra body suits that look like they've been designed by Liberachie. If not him, some transvestite had to be in the design process somewhere. These outfits are horrible for a fat person to wear and I'm a fat person so I know. 250 pound women have stretch midriff tops in canary yellow with streamers flying off them. I mean lets draw attention to the fat stomach.

Topping it off are the panel of judges. Give me a break! If a 250 pound woman can do two splits within a minute of each other, well, that bitch deserves a goddamn 10 if you ask me. I don't weigh 250 pounds and the last split I did was 25 years ago when I slipped on some soap in the bathtub. These people need to be given points for being willing to humiliate themselves in these horribly gaudy costumes they're forced to wear. Everyone I saw dance was doing a better job than the average skinny ass white person I know and I should know because I'm white. In fact come to think of it, most overweight people I know can move.

Personally, I'm glad to see more shows that show the average person walking the streets of American.....overweight but that can still shake a leg and don't give a damn and will wear costumes made for a person that's a size 5. Hell, just because a person is overweight doesn't mean that they don't have rhythm, don't like to dance and can't have fun. I'm so sick of shows that showcase these anorexic bitches with blond hair that look like their lips sucked on a hornets nest and lemon juice was squirted in their eyes. Who in the hell looks like that? You know if you see these type of people in real life you can't help but stare at them in disbelief. The fat people blend in because they're in the majority...OK, maybe the really, really fat people stick out.

This dance my ass off got me to thinking of the exercise plans that worked for me in the past--a past long, long ago. I hate planned exercising like walking, biking, jogging, weight lifting, yoga, Pilate's and I especially hate gyms. So it seems I hate all types of exercising, which is probably correct. All my weight loss regimes had dance included in them. I literally would "dance my ass off". Having your basic white girl flat ass, it wasn't too hard. It was my exercise plan and it worked quite well. I would dance for about an hour every day and the weight fell off. Of course this dancing was in the privacy of my home when I was alone but me and the dogs danced. I did so well I danced my flat white ass into an anorexic state.

Those days are well behind me and now my body looks like it's preserving itself for a nuclear winter. The show made me think about it though--I've stopped dancing of late. Somewhere 10 pounds have creeped upon my meatier white girl booty and I think it's because I've stopped my private dance sessions. I'm thinking about putting on my shiny bathing suit and wrapping some scarves around my waist and plugging in my Donna Summer CD. I've got some purple lipstick and black eyeliner too. Perhaps tomorrow me and the dogs will have a date to dance our asses off...or finally convince my husband I've lost my mind if he happens to walk in on us. I don't know, what do you think?

Monday, June 29, 2009

Alli - The Shit Your Pants Diet Plan

It cracks me up to think of the extremes some people will go through just to lose weight. This new Alli diet program really has me scratching my head. I wonder about all the women who are taking it (most of them in their 20s & 30s) and about the true intelligence of our government in allowing this product to be sold over the counter as a dietary aid. Just reading the package would steer me clear of the pun on words intended.

“You may feel an urgent need to go to the bathroom. Until you have a sense of any treatment effects, it’s probably a smart idea to wear dark pants, and bring a change of clothes with you to work.”
“You may not usually get gassy, but it’s a possibility when you take alli. The bathroom is really the best place to go when that happens

When I was in my 20s and 30s, worrying about shitting my pants or cutting a fart that would end in me feeling like a chocolate Easter bunny just melted in my drawers, was the last thing I wanted to do. If this was happening in my life, I stayed home. Jesus could have come to town and I'd been home sitting on the toilet, praying for it to end. Being a child of the 70s, if we wanted to shit our brains out to lose weight, we took a laxative and at a 16th of the cost! We also took speed, a real diet pill. You weren't hungry and you burned off 40,000 calories a day by moving at the speed of light. You also had the cleanest house on the block. Poof...the weight went away and you didn't have to buy a new wardrobe of drawers to wear because your old ones had poop stains in them, or because the diet plan calls for dark pants and you only own shorts or light colored ones.
My daughters friends tried Alli and their reports made me laugh till I thought I'd naturally shit my pants. Each one said they'd be standing in a check-out line and poop would suddenly start pouring down their legs. Farting became a nightmarish thing, because 99% of the time it meant you were going to have some more poop running down your legs. And sex...well that's a running subject all to its own. Who in the hell pays $50 to puposely have their poop pour down their legs in public and without a moments warning? Not women of the 70s, that's for sure.
And why in the hell would any government agency think that a product that makes a person shit their brains out like an organ grinder monkey dances for coins, would be good for you? So you're losing fat by pooping it out...I bet you'll also see your large intestine peeking its tubular head out and saying hello before long, along with its buddy Mr. Colon. Why would anybody want to go on a diet like this anyway? Most people I know who want to lose weight aren't going to be able to stick to a strictly lettuce diet anyway. I guess we could join a support group for women shitting and farting their weight away in one sitting.
And there is the key to the whole Alli diet. It basically intimidates you into eating right. It's like the Godfather of Shit comes to you and makes you a true offer you can't refuse and if you're in a shit lot of trouble. You will only eat lettuce and you will like it, otherwise, have a shit explosion in public. I know I'm getting old and crazy, but it still seems to me taking speed would be so much better than shitting all the time. Just think of the clean homes this country would be full of...

Friday, June 26, 2009

The Country Should Miss Michael Jackson

The death of Michael Jackson got me to thinking. This guy was three months younger than I and had been a part of my life in some way since 6th grade. I remember dancing in the gym changing room to "Stop the Love You Save May Be Your Own". Everybody loved the Jackson Five. Even my parents would sit down and watch their show every week. It was a family affair. Of course, most of the girls I knew thought Jermaine was cuter.

The Jackson family is definitely blessed with talent that is for sure. Nobody black, white, green or purple will more than likely dispute this fact. Michael was gifted beyond what most ordinary people can probably even conceive. He also had a knack for least most of his life. I'm sure everyone can name some singer they think is the greatest on earth, but I can only think of two in my lifetime that worked the industry in their favor and also won the and white. Elvis and Michael Jackson.

Both became quite rich off their careers and each was talented beyond the norm and the public loved them. Each man had an almost obsessive fan base that loved them normal, drunk, stoned or just plain weird. Each man lived a life that drastically changed over the years and it wasn't for the better. Michael whether disease ridden or not, didn't look anything like the Michael we loved in 6th grade when he died. He looked like some monster I watch in my weekly horror movies. Definitely not a man I'd leave my young child, husband, grandparents or pets around.

The majority of the United States pulled together through these Michael Jackson years, agreeing on something at last.....the dude was pretty fucked up looking, he acted pretty fucked up, his relationships with little boys seemed pretty fucked up and only a stoned person would believe they could live in a perpetual fairy tale, thus the name "Never never land"...he was fucked up!

Still, we as nation laughed together over these "white to whiter" years of Michael. Blacks, Whites, Hispanics, Asians and every nationality alike could laugh at the joke together. Children would show up at your door at Halloween sporting a rotted off Michael Jackson nose. He gave us something to enjoy together...a good laugh at someone else. No matter how righteous we try to make everyone think we are, we all love to laugh at someone else and their screwed up state and know everyone else is in on the joke too. We could do this with Michael Jackson--the nation was one. He did something the Democrats and Republicans have been trying to do for decades. I thought he was a freak but Michael you get my vote for being able to do this. Hell, he brought the North and the South together at last!

Regardless of his decaying face and life, the man could dance and sing. His song writing and choreography skills were amazing. I will miss him and the wait to hear his next song and to see if he ever straightened his life back out. I always was rooting for him, even if I was laughing my ass off with everyone else and thought he should definitely stay away from small boys. He will be missed and and a little laughter will be snubbed out of our world. I will also be left wondering...didn't he realize he was starting to look like a freak years ago and what in the hell was up with that nose?

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

It's All About isn't?

As the time clock of my life slowly ticks away, I've found myself to be re-evaluating the things in life that are the most important to me. Happiness is a big one. No longer do I dream of making huge bunches of cash, though it would be nice and I no longer dream of being someone famous. After all, I'm famous enough to me and that's all that is important.

Happiness comes in many different forms and to everyone it means something different. The past week of my life has further reinforced the fact that there are many people who seem to be content to wallow away their lives in a perpetual funk! When they enter a room it's like the black plague has infested the area. If you aren't careful, you'll be slimed with their funk and brought into their world of unhappiness. Try to remain happy and you'll watch them sink even deeper into their funk world to the point of anger.

I've heard it said that "It's all about me". Well it should be, shouldn't it? Should we all not live our lives with us being the number one important factor in it? Try to make everyone else happy and you'll find you're the number one unhappy person on the block. Some people just don't want to be happy and are content to move from one funk moment to another. I've actually seen some people get angry at me because I was happy. I always say it's a good thing I've got a warped sense of humor or I might just get angry myself at these times. Fortunately, there are some cases when this big mouth is able to hold her tongue.

Whatever the future moments of my life bring me, I just want to be happy and surrounded by people who are at least trying to do the same. I don't have to question whether I'm loved or not, because I know I am. I just wish there was some magic potion I could spray in the air and all these sour people would once again achieve some type of happiness. Think of how much better they would feel, the people in their lives would feel and how better this big place we call our world would be. Unfortunately, it falls back to that old saying "be thankful for what you have because it could be worse". My life could be a hell of a lot worse than it is, but still my main goal is to remain a happy person. Humor and happiness is my valium for dealing with life in general.
Thank the gods in charge that at this point I still haven't lost the ability to laugh at myself or the dreaded happenings in my life. I wish this were true for many but it's not.

At this point I plan on continuing on my route of self indulged happiness and will also probably continue to irritate a few. I figure if you don't like my attitude at work......go through another line and if you don't like my attitude in my everyday life.....don't come around me. I put lead weights on my fishing line to keep it in the water. I don't need anyone trying to put them on my ankles and pulling me down to drown in their shit infested waters. After all, this southern girl wears lipstick and floaties and the devil himself won't smear my smile with shit water.........and how was your day?

Thursday, January 29, 2009

Dixie On My Mind

For weeks now the snowbirds have once again invaded the area with their slow driving skills and bitching and moaning. After years of not knowing whether I'm going to go the speed limit or 15 mph under, I've grown used to it. Not really, but I'm dealing with it. I've learned to plan my trip to work at least ten minutes earlier during this season, because of their horrible driving skills. Yes, I know us Floridians probably can't do mountains very well, but give me a dang straight line and I can run the heck out of it. You'd think after fifty years of driving experience, these people would do a bit better.

Now work, that's another subject all together. If I hear one more New Yorker tell me how great the place is and this place sucks, I'm going to go all southern on their ass. Every day lately I have to hear a person proudly proclaim they're from New York and how cheap everything is there. Why did you know that in New York a gallon of milk is still $1.50? Why you can buy any food product in that state for at least half as much as here. Did you know you can get apples that are fresher and real cheap up there? Did you also know that apples are not a Florida crop, I mean we are a citrus state. Personally, I think these people are taking too many meds, but that's my opinion.

I'm checking this lady out and for ten minutes I have to hear about how Florida sucks, in her thick New Yorker accent. Personally, give me a southern accent any day. Even when we are pissed, insulting you, or just being plain bad, it somehow sounds so much more palatable said with a southern twang entangled in the insult. After this lady has thoroughly insulted where I live, I believe she can see that bobcat look in my eyes and tries to back out. She proceeds to tell me they own another home here and come down six months every year. Frankly, she hates it here because everything is so expensive, but she does like the weather. Where is the red tide when you need it?

At this point I'm pinning my lipsticked lips together to keep from telling her to go back and some other choice words. I mean, if everything is so darn good in New York, the weather must be pretty good too. It seems to fit her and most of the whining New York personalities I've met lately, cold, frosty and pushy.

So far that's the only state that has seemed to feel compelled to repeatedly throw insults. Everyone else I've met from other northern states have been really nice. I'm not saying that everyone from New York is an ass, but so far they're the only state proud enough to announce it. I mean if life was so darn good there, stay.

I have a friend who has grown up and lived in Florida most of her life, but there's something about New York that she loves. I haven't been able to figure it out, but to each their own. Inexpensive was one thing she didn't say it was. Cigarettes are three times higher than here, as is everything else. In fact in New York, you can't even get someone to bag your groceries. If you don't pack them yourself, you won't be taking them out of the store. I'm sorry but the leg shackles of dixie are holding me in place. Now someone go get me some lipstick, a fried chicken wing and a beer and remember, y'all come back now!