This story takes place in Texas. I'm sure things are much different in NYC, but you have to remember, we are just a bunch of horse-riding, hay-munching, tractor-owning rednecks, right??
Sister #2. We are still not really talking after our last fight (see arguement under Bartholomew, the closeted thong boy page 2). But she knows I love her and she knows we will talk soon. I will be biting my tongue just because she's pregnant and is extra sensitive, but I still don't know who she has become.
The sister who now supports the war, who attends Republican, black tie affairs, and who is not in the least compassionate for the misfortunes of others...
...used to be the sister who would kiss strangers on the street. the sister who used to drink with me until the bartender drove us home. the sister who worked for Greenpeace and voted in the 2000 election for Nadar. She and I used to get so stupid that she would make me nearly pee my pants laughing. (the ultimate test of true humor... it's a family thing.)
She just plainly has become less fun. I think it's because we are moms. The more children she had the less fun she has become. I only have one kid, so I guess I'm just 1/3 less fun. She's working on #3 so she's about to become... no fun.
Sister #2 and I used to go out in my pre-Zoe days. She had only one child at the time. He was about 2. She and her husband moved to Houston after living in other cities for about 5 years. So I missed her. I missed hanging with her and laughing about things no one else would find funny.
I was still fairly happily married then. Working and making major money. She was a stay home mom. Busy, but not as much. So once in a while we'd go out. When you're married, it's just not as much fun to go to a nightclub. I mean, it's fun to drink and dance, but it's kind of annoying to get hit on all night. You're married. You don't have any interest.
So once in a while we'd go to La Bare.
Ahhhhhh, La Bare. The female version of a sports bar. Male strippers. Booze. Scenery. Debauchery.
I found it very relaxing. Cute guys. Alcohol. Women acting up and screaming. It was hilarious. Most of all, it was a place we could laugh, have fun, act a fool and not get hit on by someone whose main intentions were to see the inside of our panties.
Neither one of us are the cheating kind. That's just lame. But male strippers... well they don't count. They don't want to fuck you. They just want to part you from your money. It's fun to flirt with them. We both had disposable income. We didn't go to La Bare very often, so it was all good.
Now I know that not all male strip bars are created equal. I've seen Real Sex back in the day. Dry humping, juicy french kisses, sweaty bodies slithering all over you, hands all over your naughties. In comparison to some, La Bare is fairly tame. Once in a while you'd get some poor bachelorette pulled up on stage for a gimicky lap dance routine. A big boobed women stuffing bills in her cleavage just to have a face diver pull it out. That was about it.
And in comparison to female strip bars.... well very different. I've seen those lap dances - pretty intimate. My male co-worker also tells me of the blowjobs in the dark and not so dark corners. He says there IS sex in the Champagne Room... for the right price.
But Sis #2 and I weren't looking for anything like that. We didn't buy lap dances. If I have a sweaty half-nekkid dude with a dick that close to my face, I want to be able to do something with it. Regardless, rumour had it that most of those guys were gay anyway....
Mostly we just wanted to escape from the Under 3 crowd and have a few drinks. Ve vant to be left alone to sneak a few cigarettes, booze and flirt a bit.
We both had our favorites. I can't say that these guys were homely or anything. Looking back now, I wish I had saved some of that cash to kill off a few car payments, but we sure did have fun.
The guy I liked had the most incredible head shot. His stage name was Rogue. Nice body, great looking. It was hard to talk to him though with a straight face with that name. I noticed that the few times I went there he had the same little speedo outfit & the same lame Wild Wild West dance routine. (I actually visited once after a few years... same speedo, same routine... I found it quite sad.)
Well Sis #2's guy... hmmm.... well he was interesting. Tall, nice build, white dude, but dark and quiet. Let's just say he could have been a good instructor in the sexercise videos. His routine involved a great amount of leather, and a few chains.
Sis #2 and I went up to talk to him later. He had a little speedo that was very filled out. Extremely filled out. Curiously filled out. I'd estimate at about 12 inches at least. My sister actually went so far as to check it out.
She said it was 100% beef.
Well, they do say things are bigger in Texas.
-----------------------------
On to some not so horrifying tales. *warning* for those of you grossed out by little kid tales, move on.
Zoe's dad "picky" her up from school yesterday. I was pleasantly surprised when she was fed and bathed when I came home.
I asked if Daddy had washed her hair. She said, "Yes, Daddy washy my hair, my legs, my face, my chincap, and my armpins."
I don't know. I like Troglodyte's secret spot story. So, I think I'll continue to call them chincap and armpins.
and yet another... then on to sleep
Zoe gave me a little surprise this morning. Major pee on my quilt. Niceeeee. So I knew that after work, I'd have a little extra laundry to finish up. We made a quick stop at a fast food joint on the way home. Fish & Chicken. Quick and painless.
I was driving home and she asked for her soda. check
french fries
check
chicken
check
more soda
check
doggie holes
wha????
"Doggie holes!!!"
"Doggie holes? Zoe what's that?"
"Doggie holes!!!" Major big time toddler frustration
this went on a few more rounds.
Then she said, "The BROWN food!" Extremely insistent. Like I was an alien.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
She meant her HUSHPUPPIES.
ok, well I found it really funny.
*night all* (or y'all.... after all, I am in Texas)
When you are a single mom, the internet becomes your friend. You can only watch Barney so many times before you lose your mind. I am not the partying sort. I go out sometimes, but mostly I like to hang out with my daughter. She's fun and sweet. I don't want her at the babysitter every weekend. So I started chatting on the internet after she'd go to bed. I had done it a bit before, but that was way before I had my daughter.
Well, when I first came back chatting on the internet a year ago, I started talking to this beautiful man in Austin. He was good looking in a non-glam way. A camping sort. He was intrigued by the fact that I had gone three years without sex. He was sexual without being a big pervert. He liked my writing style. He said it was conversational, but poetic and rhythmic. I told him that I was just not at all inspired. I hadn’t written in years, about seven, which was exactly the same length of my doomed marriage.
So this guy started giving me assignments. Like a professor. Here was one of the first.
"Describe yourself from head to toe, not by appearance but by touch."
I just stumbled upon this old poem...my first back. Sorry to post another poem, but it's a slow mental day and was interesting to read back on it now that I have somewhat of a sex life again.
-------------------------------------
Untitled
she that does not touch
these touches to the world but not herself
everywhere she goes, no one sees her
invisible, silent, strong, sexy, lovely, sex
her eyes hold her secrets well
as they have seen long before their time
as they know what no other knows will know will ever know
the past and the past and past ancient
no other can fathom what she feels how she feels what she knows
what man has stroked of this dark dark hair
long into the night of sex and sex
they want to see to see the flash of eyes those eyes these eyes
to see the sex to see the secret of her longing her giving her spell
to touch lips to flesh to breasts to touch feel of this mouth
in and so full so giving so knowing and wanting
these lips desire all and every and all and more desire
to ache to rock of this mouth this tongue this kiss this kiss
and more lovingly these breasts hold oh cherished oh daughter
gentle touch to kiss to feel to stroke as much
to ache this must ache this ache so deep so warm
to feel this warmth this wet this warm to touch so wet
knowingly, wantonly this pain's ache
so deep so deep only one only one to seek
these secrets to hide so hidden so hide these secrets
she hides
she hides
she knows
------------------------------------
ok, that's too fucking much for me.
Back to reading yet another Compliance Status Report .... yipee
Damn
I typed something here. Fucking touchy laptop. Went to delete something, but I accidently deleted my entire post. That's the 2nd time that's happened. Wishing for an undo button.
On the news tonight:
1. Animal ranger dragged a 9 foot alligator out of this neighborhood behind his truck. He then got out and shot it. Fucking sadistic asshole.
2. 5 year old was raped in daycare. Her parents immediately brought her to the hospital. Rape confirmed. Deputies pick up male teacher for questioning. They finish and drop him off... right near the 5 year old's house. Nice. No wonder no one trusts cops. That's the kind of interrogation you wish they'd beat the shit out of the suspect!
3. 73 year old woman was in right lane on street. 18 wheeler is in the left lane. 18 wheeler goes to make a right turn from left lane and creams right into the woman's car. 80,000 pounds of concrete (like highway dividers) falls onto woman's Geo Prism, crushing it. She escapes with minor cuts & bruises. 73 year old woman is a Catholic nun. Holy crap!
No wonder I stopped watching the news. It rips my fucking heart out every night. Laci Peterson, POW found dead, teenager plowed over by car.... and on and on.... it just makes me sad as hell.
There was a four year period when I didn't watch any tv. After college, eating a baked sweet potato. Turned on news where they were describing what Jeffrey Dahmer did to his victims.
Four years... no tv, no sweet potatoes. Equally repulsed.
----------------------
Ok, no Dr. Egypt yesterday at the airport. I didn't want to wait around for him to call so I took Zoe to this downtown festival. It was hot as hell, but it made the lemonade all the more good.
Got her dressed up. She looked adorable. I said, "Zoe, you sure are cute." She said, "Yes, I ARE!" I didn't have the heart to correct her grammar. Ok, that's a story only a mother would appreciate.
----------------------
Dr. E called today. (Finally, fucktard!) He drove a Uhaul up with his stuff. Was going to fly back. Bought a round trip ticket because it was cheap. But since he didn't use the ticket going up, they automatically cancelled his ticket... without calling or anything. (*wondering if they did this because he is muslim... hmmm... renting a uhaul... one way ticket.... nahhhh*)
He was on call today. They were going to charge him 1100 dollars to fly from Newark to Houston. Called me as soon as he got to his house. Now why he couldn't have called me earlier, I don't fucking know. He's just quirky like that. I could handle PhilC's suggestion with Dr. E. I need space, but I like some together. I am a quirkytogether. Whatever... the dude is a bit off.
Zoe's dad "picky her up" today. I worked late & then went over to see Dr. E.
He made up for not calling
-------------------------
I got in a fight with Bartholomew the Thong Boy the other day. That fight led to a fight with Sister #2.
With all of Zoe's dad's faults, mostly I feel sorry for him. He has no support system here, he doesn't get to see Zoe that often, and rarely sees his other children. He's poor & functionally illiterate. His job has some upward mobility, but slowly. I am fairly sure he suffers from depression now, but is too macho man macho to seek help.
I was telling Bart about Z's dad's 3 flat tire situation. Ex barely had enough to cover his daycare payment or foods n such, much less 3 slashed tires. I said I felt bad for him. That his life basically sucks and that's why I think he acts a butt so much.
Bart was like, I have no compassion for him. He's a loser.
Well, I ...
kind
of
went
off
on
him.
"ok, Bart, Fuck Off!"
"No, Big time fuck off!"
I know my ex isn't a prize catch, but I know that if he had a better environment growing up and more of a support system now, his circumstances most likely would be different.
Bart's parents paid for his ivy league education. He has a good job and lives with mommy and daddy in a major cushy part of town.
My ex went to two years of jr. college on a scholarship. He knocked up his high school sweetheart and dropped out. A few years later he did it again. Never went back to school. Has been working steadily since. Over 20 years and making $12 an hour.
Now I know he has made some fucked up choices. He has repeated his mistakes over and over. It's his own fault.
But, I don't think any of us can judge someone else. I've made some majorly bad decisions in my life. There's no room for me to throw stones in any direction.
And Bart sure has no room to talk. Well he can't talk with his mom's tit in his mouth!!!!
So then...
fuck
I repeat my Bart conversation with Sister #2. She (pregnant) agrees with Bart. I'm like shit! I'm the one that my ex cheated on and continues to financially fuck with on occasion. If I can forgive and show the dude some compassion, they need to let it go.
She says that my ex should pay and pay and pay for his mistakes for the rest of his life. I'm like.... he IS PAYING. He has a miserable life. He blew his marriage. He lost the respect of his friends and family. He doesn't get to see his children/family very often. Those are the things in my life that make it worthwhile.
So how is he not paying?
This bitching coming from Sis #2 who voted for Nadar! I finally had enough and told her "I don't know who you are anymore." and hung up. Yeah, I know, I suck. She's pregnant so she's basically lost all rational thought and has absolutely no control over her emotions. Our next conversation will surely be "yeah, sis #2, whatever you say."
Well Bart & my sis then had some conversation about me.
I really then went off on him. I told him to stay the fuck out of my life and stay away from my family. I know he "cares" about me, but don't be such a freaking drama queen.
I don't want to get back together with my ex. I don't love him. I am in love with someone else. I make $15,000+ more a year than my ex does, so if I'm broke, it's on me and my lame checkbook balancing skills. It's my shit to deal with.
So Bart, if you are reading this... for the umteenth time.... FUCK OFF you thong wearing, judgemental prick self, panda-loving, boyish momma's boy!
---------------------------
ok, rant over.....
I surely hate doing that. But they just irritated me to beyond and back.
---------------------------
I have about zero energy left to write a fun story for tonight, so I'll leave you with .....
well hell, I can't even think of a thing.
except for maybe another link to my Zoe *heh* I ARE CUTE!
heh, yet another nauseating momma braggin
Ok, I'm still itchy. Maybe because it's only been like 10 minutes since that last post. Ha Ha
There was a time where I had to go to a bunch of baby showers. Like one every weekend for months.
I'm a member of a supper club. My older sister's friends, but she invited my husband and me to join. Every other month, 13 couples get together and have a pot luck of sorts. The 2 hosting couples provide booze & the main course. They tell you what to bring, e.g. dessert, side dish, etc.
Some are fancy, but most are fun. Halloween, cajun, 4th of July. We had a survivor night (wild game, nauseating with meat) and a white trash night (fried catfish & dressing up like Shania Twain rejects).
After the hawaiian night, it turns out that 8 of the 13 couples got pregnant. Looking back the invite said "Let's all get laid." Guess we did.
----------------------------
One of the baby showers I went to was non supper club related. Mookie's [my ex's jackass friend] wife's sister/cousin/something. Zulata [Mook's wife] invited me. I knew these people sort of, but not well enough to really be invited to her shower.
I dress Zoe up (she looked adorable as usual), we go buy a gift on the run, and we show up.
Now Zulata's people have huge parties. This was co-ed and her mom cooked hottubs of food. All mexican food, and this huge huge cake. The guys are all out back drinking beer. The women are inside playing fucking stupid games.
For you dudes who have never seen the inside of a baby shower here is what we did:
1. Put a clothespin between your knees. Waddle over to this cup, aim & try to get it in.
2. Take a roll of toilet paper and "guesstimate" how much you would need to wrap it around the pregnant person. I always go long.
3. scooping cotton balls into this dish while blindfolded.
ok, you get the picture. they are fucking stupid and I don't even WANT to know the origins. I'd rather drink a glass of wine, open presents and get the hell out.
It wasn't until after that I realized Zoe had this freakish fever. I suck.
Anyway, all the women that were there were speaking Spanish. I took 3 years in college and know a few choice phrases/cursewords, but am no where near fluent.
There were a handful of people that were using sign language. I actually learned the alphabet in Kindergarden and still remember it. I said a few things to them (I'm sure they were thinking I was a total dork).
The guys weren't talking to me. Most Macho of the Macho Mexican Machos they were.
So it was me and Zoe. The only person speaking in English on occasion was Zulata.
So later they were explaining some rules of yet another dumb fucking game and Zulata's sister, skipped over me. I said something and she looked at me like I was psycho.
She laughed and said that she thought I was deaf.
----------------------------
OldLady makes me want to call my mom. Cooking, gardening.... potato salad. My mom always cooked for us. Meat, potatoes and veggies. She'd always cut up celery and carrots and make ranch dressing from scratch. We ate these before dinner so we wouldn't munch on crap food.
Things my mom used to cook that sound good right now:
potato salad with sourcream AND mayo (heart attack city)
doughnuts from scratch. cake doughnuts rolled in plain sugar
________ casserole. But of course, made with ingredients and that standard cream of mushroom soup.
Roast beef - always tender. Good enough to eat without gravy
Homemade German chocolate cake. I don't like frosting, but she used to always make this for my sister's birthday.
Apple dip (I make for Zoe) - 8oz cream cheese, 1/2 cup brown sugar and 1 tablespoon of vanilla.
I'm a so-so cook. I have a slow cooker, but the last one I used I cracked the lid on it somehow all into my stew. Followed the recipe and everything. Yet another thing I suck at.
----------------------------
Someone phoned my house at 2am last night. I have no idea who it was because it said BLOCKED CALL. It should have said BOOTY CALL because no fucking body should be calling my house at that hour. I didn't even hear it. Sheesh. Even if I wanted to get laid, I wouldn't because I'd sleep through the call.
-----------------------------
I'm bored as hell. I think I'm going to yahoo and check out some nasty porn rooms. I'm long overdue for a trip to the darkside.
I still don't think I could ever use a dildo. There's something about them that freaks me out. Maybe it comes from an incident in 8th grade. My best friend Oatmeal and I were scrounging up some change to go buy Dairy Queen. We went looking in her mom's drawer and found this big old vibrator. I had never seen one before, much less known someone who had one.
I think I'm scarred for life.
I guess that's enough for now. It's 2am and I still suck.
I'm itchy. No, I didn't bleach myself out in the shower again, but I'm all itchy from being outside with the under 3 crowd.
I babysat for my older sister tonight while they got ready and had a little party for a few friends. We played in their backyard, which is like an extremely expensive wild-yet-not-wild jungle.
We were all getting bit up by these fucking Texas mosquitos. I hate em.
So we sprayed down with bug spray. I took a shower tonight, but I'm still itchy, and I have like 8 bug bites on my legs. Oh, that's sexy. Just in time for Dr. E's arrival. [That dork has not called me to tell me when he's arriving at the freaking airport. I think I might make him take a cab. Ok, you know I won't. Because I still suck. Every journal entry makes me think that should have been the title. "Why I still suck."]
It's a super slow night. VIP with Pamelamytitsarestillfrigginhuge Anderson is on tv, and has been for almost and hour and I didn't notice. Too busy catching up on my journal reading.
Zoe's having nightmares or something. She is crying out in her sleep. It breaks my heart, but is normal for her age to have them.
This afternoon she came in the kitchen while I was cleaning up. All she had on were her little Gap panties with the heart on the cooch and her little pink cowboy boots. She said, "Look Mommy!" and did a perfect split. It was adorable, but all I could think about was her future as an exotic dancer.
Ok, so it wasn't VIP. Even worse. A show called She Spies.
*feverishly trying to erase images of Zoe on this show!*
I'm feeling quite uninspired. So many stories. I start a few, but then lose my will to write them. Not writers block exactly, just uninspired.
I'm also really sore from working out and wishing Dr. Egypt was around here to work the soreness out. Ok, yeah, oh yeah, I'm wanting for sex.
So instead of one of my pervert or shit stories, I'm just going to tell a little story about what we did last Christmas. It's nice to think about Christmas now that the temperatures are nearing 90 (yeah, I said 90)
After my fucked up career at Texas Tech, I went to a small Catholic college in San Antonio for a few years. At the time it was run by this President named Lou. There were rumors that Lou had ties to the mob. Italian, slick dresser, greyish black hair, very charismatic. He was from NY or Jersey. I don't remember.
When I went to school there it was really small. Lou was a marketing genius. He pretty much put the school on the map in San Antonio by trading scholarships for advertising. It was everywhere. Billboards, newspapers, radio & tv... the name was out and the enrollment was growing.
[12:00am - we interrupt this little story for sleeptalking by Zoe.... she holds her hands out like a little book and says, "Thats, thats... can't see it. Chris pulled my hair. Where is my milk?" Except she has this little Texas twang and says "hay-err" and "may-elk."]
we resume...
I only went to that college for two years. I transferred out when I followed Psycho Mike to Austin when he got a baseball scholarship. A few years later, my mother went to Lou's school. She got a masters degree in education. (4.0...yay Mom)
Last Christmas Zoe and I went back to visit the campus. It had changed so much. New dorms, new apartments, library. Huge athletic complex (Spurs train there in the offseason). Many changes from big money changes.
The spring that is the beginning of the famed San Antonio River/Riverwalk is located on this campus. Every Christmas they light up the entire route of the river and all the trees and buildings on campus. I really wanted Zoe to see it. It's beautiful and amazing.
She and I walked around one night after eating at Earl Abels. Yum. Homemade pie. Zoe was so excited. It was brisk and cool. As cool as Chrismas in Texas gets. Being on campus was a bit meloncholy for me. I was so young. So much had happened to me since I had been there.
But being there with her at Christmas was quiet and magical. She was amazed with all the lights. Christmas is just somehow different when you are a parent. It completely stops being anything about you and all about expressing the season to your child. She's so young and this was the first year she sort of understood that the holidays were special. You feel the weight and responsibility of making sure that Christmas IS magic to them. My parents always did. Mom used to use different wrapping paper and handwriting for Santa's gifts. She took a bite out of the cookies we left out and drank half of the milk. Even with seven kids, we never once caught her stashing gifts or filling stockings. It's your duty. If you celebrate Christmas, you're a crappy parent if you can't understand this. The whole tooth fairy, Easter bunny thing.
For about a month I told her we were going to Momo G's house (my parents) for Jesus' birthday party. She lined up and re-lined up and re-re-ligned up all the wise men, donkeys and other characters on our nativity scene. A few days before we were to leave, Zoe talked with my mom on the phone. I don't know what mom said, but Zoe said "We go to your house for Momo's birthday." For those days it was either Santa's birthday or Momo's birthday. Not quite, but not bad for 3 years old.
We had a great time at Momo's. The first day we arrived, my parents asked me to join them at Lou's campus. The had built this huge retirement center for retired nuns. We drove in and joined the party my parent's church had set up. My mom's choir was singing carols & my dad did his annual dress up like Santa gig. He's the best Santa I had ever seen. He came up to Zoe and she clung to my leg big time. He gave her a Christmas teddy bear. He actually starts growing out his beard around Thanksgiving every year. It's finally all white instead of salt and pepper, so this year he didn't wear his fake Santa beard... a little sparce, but very Santa-ish nonetheless.
Well those nuns loved my Zoe. She danced around and spun. "Look, Mommy, I a bal-er-ria." They all wanted to touch her like she was magic. I think we talked to them all. There had to be at least 50 of them. Some couldn't speak or their hands shook, but Zoe wasn't afraid. A bunch had Irish accents. The were all shriveled and cute, and so in love with Zoe.
We also visited one of my parents friends from church. She lived in the retirement home as well. I think she had a stroke and was completely bedridden. She acted like she knew who we were even though I had never seen her before. She was in a great deal of pain and you could tell she had been doped up. I held her hand and talked to her about Christmas. I later found out she passed away soon after.
The next day I told Zoe that Santa Clause was going to come visit her and bring her some presents.
She said, "Christmas Pa Pa?" (my dad's nickname) and then in all seriousness, "Christmas Pa Pa wears a red dress."
Um, yeah
Gotta love the holidays.
Oh yeah, and only 3 more days until Dr. Egypt returns. I'm getting him at the airport. Yipee!
I needed a break, but an all women’s church retreat?
My dad is a deacon in the Catholic Church. He and my mother decided I needed some spiritual re-washing (go figure, I’m a heathen) so they are sending me on this four-day, all women’s retreat. I’m looking forward to the break, but I don’t know if I am going to be able to handle all those religious types.
I haven’t been a regular church goer for years now, and I haven’t been on a retreat in over 20. I like to have sex outside of marriage, I don’t read the bible or attend church, I believe in birth control and I don’t think it’s my place to tell women not to abort when they want to [edit - although I think getting pregnant when you don't want to be is fucking stupid .... use birth control for God's sake!]. Basically, I’m not the typical deacon’s daughter.
All I remember about retreats is that we never seemed to get enough sleep. This time, well fuck them, I’m going to sleep.
I haven’t been able to sleep-in for over three years now. The latest, maybe, is like 9am. So if they expect me to see them for breakfast, well they can think again. My body needs rest more than it does a bible reading.
Lara (she doesn’t like that name, so I am taking suggestions) suggested that I wear my SLUTS FOR JESUS button. I am very tempted.
Sluts for Jesus
deb
deacon's daughter
I'm going to hell... it's documented
Zoe and I watched
1. Star Search
2. The Bachelor
3. Extreme Makeover
In the spirit of LD I even voted online for Star Search Contestants. I purposely voted for the worst ones. Arsenio seems as if he's been too close to the crack pipe lately, and those judges, well they just suck ass!
The Bachelor. Can you say golddiggers? Those girls are frightening and that bachelor dude just gives me the shimmies. He's so weird and boring. Is he creepy or what? It's completely addictive. It sucks that I like it. It makes me hate myself.
and Extreme Makeover. How horrifying is this? Makeovers by plastic surgery. Frankensteinish. Gruesome. I want in.
Next week I'm going to hell by myself. Zoe can watch Charlotte's Web for the 80th time.
Maybe if I'm lucky I can catch Change of Heart or Judge Maybleen to complete my circle of evil.
I don't know what is wrong with me but I can't sleep.
Maybe it's because it's FUCKING 80 DEGREES in my apartment. It's cooler outside than it is in here, but jeez, it's only April and I've been sleeping with my air conditioner on for two months now.
There's nothing worse than waking up and having your shirt be all stuck to you because you are sweating like a pig
EXCEPT
Waking up and having your shirt be all stuck to you because you are sweating like a pig AND having your 3 year old's sweaty little head on your forearm.
This is extra fun when you realize that your 3 year old has peed in her diaper, but the extra absorbency advertised on TV cannot hold 3 liters of PISS. At least she was laying on one of her blankies and it didn't get all over the bed. That's always fun...washing linens at 6am.
So much for co-sleeping.
Actually I don't mind Zoe sleeping with me. She kicks and talks and rolls all over (along with the occasional pee in the bed thing), but she's only going to be little once. Sooner than I want, she'll be cutting her hair all freaky, telling me to shut up or fuck off, and wanting to be as far away from me as possible.
just
like
I
did
I miss my mom now. Now that I have her job, I realize I owe her way more than I can ever give. I wish for all the posters that have/had shitty parents that they could have lived with us. My parents were awesome. I was the most unruly teenager. I can't believe my parents didn't kick me out. But...they didn't.
A houseful of us. 7 kids (all 2 years apart), no pets, but we all had our friends over all the time. Our house was the one to play in. 5 bedrooms and a playroom. I don't know how my parents coped. (they never let us sleep with them that's how)
Seven little Zoe's running around. I'd have an ulcer before they all reached puberty.
Well, my air conditioning is kicking in. Y'all (yes, I say y'all, I live in Texas) come visit if you are sick of the cold. We could trade places. I hate the heat. You can only take off so many clothes...
So I'm going to try for sleep.
Fuck it...I'm going to try to kickbox tomorrow morning even on 4 hours of sleep.
night y'all
Will somebody please fucking tell me how not to be a complete bitch to my ex husband?
He phoned at 6:45 am this morning. He's supposed to pick up Zoe from school so I can work late and he can drop them the check for the daycare (which is due by today). It's not that hard.
But he told me that he can't do it because he has three flat tires on his car. Not one, but three. He thinks this psycho chick did it. If she did, I'm sure he pissed her off. I know this man. He fights dirty.
All this, I could care less about. I only care about is that he didn't spend any time with our daughter all weekend, and he told her on the phone last night that he was going to get her today from school. I had to tell her this morning that Mommy would be picking her up because Daddy's car was not working. But my little stubborn mini-me she thinks he's going to get her, no matter what I tell her. "My Daddy said so."
She talks about him all the time to her teachers. They tell me. She says "Daddy picky me up."
Last Thursday I had even packed her overnight bag as he was going to keep her. Then he got his tooth pulled. She cried when I got there because she said she was supposed to go to Daddy's. We hung out at my older sister's as a distraction.
We brought her overnight bag again Friday. Same thing. Tooth pain. We surprised him on Saturday. Beer cans. Guess he had to numb the pain.
Now, the flat tires.
I told him I was sorry about his car (especially since I know he doesn't have a dime to repair them), but from now on to please not tell her he is going to get her. He's got too much fucking drama in his life and all this shit always happens to him.
I hate that she will eventually find out that the majority of the time her dad is a lying jerk. (like I did)
He hung up on me.
I think I'm going to a counselor or something to learn how to deal with this dramatically impaired man. He's hopeless.
------------------------------
Ok, so I didn't go to the gym last night. Zoe was beyond cranky and I was really tired.
So, in honor of *dizzy's * suggestion, Zoe and I did some old school Jane Fonda. It was lots of dancing so Zoe was digging it. It's actually a pretty good workout and low-impact, so it was a good start back. But DAMN, 80's hair and leg warmers. I was having flashbacks.
I woke up early because Zoe was talking in her sleep (haha I had actually typed Zoe was talking in my sleep - guess that's true too). "MY red chair!" She's got this thing about colored chairs. She will only sit in the brown chairs at school, and if there is a yellow chair at a restaurant, that's the one she wants.
So, instead of going back to my half-assed sleep, I got up and kickboxed. I felt pretty creaky, but it felt fucking great!
Keep bringing on the motivation!
*sigh*
(that one is for Lord God - hahaha)
My older sister had the most insane bachelorette party.
My sister is just the coolest. She's smart, gorgeous and a fun person. She's a lawyer (yeah, ha ha), but is now a stay home mom to two kids. Great mom, great wife. I’m braggin, but I love that chick. Last year she won $64,000 on Who Wants to be a Millionaire. They are already doing pretty well, so the money was, as she’d say, extrey. Obviously, she’s known me my whole life, but since we were military brats, there aren’t that many people in the world who have. I know she helped form me as much as my parents did. She’s my (s)hero.
Basically, she's the kind of person you want to fucking hate, but you can't because she's so awesome.
Anyway, here's the itinerary for the co-ed (yes, co-ed) bachelorette party:
1. Day of beauty at salon (for the sisters & Maid of Honor)
2. Dinner at chi-chi upscale restaurant
3. Mini bus picks us up and takes up to multiple clubs
4. Mini bus takes all drunken attendees home, no DWee’s for us
At the time I was living in Austin. My older sister (Sis #1) flew my younger sister (Sis #2) and me in for the party.
Pre-party clandestine planning - Her maid of honor and I decide that it's not a party without "party" favors. So my younger sister and I did a little power shopping beforehand.
Thank God the airport wasn’t at high alert, because sis #2 and I had to carryon the party favors. The x-ray guy screening the bags looked at us, and I knew he wanted to be wherever we were.
Contents:
5 bottles of champagne
Leather riding crop
Miscellaneous spiked leather accessories
Porn, lots and lots of it
G-strings and pasties
Feather boa
Requisite penis / condom bridal veil
Oils, K-Y, various gels and jellies
Ball gag, paddle & handcuffs
And the piece de la resistance – Mr. Wiggly.
Mr. Wiggly was a 15 inch dildo. The uber dildo. If Superman was a dildo, he’d be Mr. Wiggly. *insert various dildo references here* Flesh-colored, rubber, lifelike (veins and all), but the key was that it was voice activated, hence the nickname. Various party cam pictures throughout the night show us all (guys included) singing into Mr. Wiggly.
So Sis #2 and I arrive safely, party favors hidden from Sis #1. We conspire with Maid of Honor. She brings the most gorgeous French wrapping paper over, and we wrapped our party favors and hers (she mostly has penis-shaped objects & lots of condoms) in all these different types of wrapping paper.
Day of the party…
We go to the salon and get all beautified. We look like the white Supremes or something.
Sis #1 has this long, straight Barbarella hair going on. She’s wearing a tiny black dress… it looks like a tennis dress… slutty and innocent at the same time.
Sis #2 gets the curly, Roman goddess look. She’s wearing the tiniest of mini-skirts and a halter top… she looked slutty, but in a classy way!
Me, well I get the B-52’s beehive… a swirly hurricane of a hairdo. It’s glittery, and I’m looking sexy in the coolest, sleekest suit I owned… me, watch out; I was just going for slutty.
We were completely devastating. Prepared to break anyone that should get in our way.
We get to the restaurant. It’s in the most expensive part of town. The kind of place where people whisper and notice what designer you are wearing. Always in the social pages. We are seated in a private room, just off the main dining area. The table is set up for 25.
We tell Sis #1 that we are going to show the guests where to park so that they don’t get towed. We then clandestinely pass out our party favors to the guests as they arrive. “Make sure you tell Sis #1 this gift is from you.”
Everyone is there. They start bringing wine and appetizers and more wine. All the gifts are stacked on a table behind Sis #1. The din starts getting a bit louder. Even more wine, more volume. Maid of Honor says we should open the gifts whilst we wait for our food.
The first gift. Sis #1 asks who it is from.
George: patent attorney, resident brainiac, class valedictorian, Ivy League grad. He’s also mostly serious and fairly shy. I’ve always liked him. He was my sister’s Phone-a-Friend with Reege. (He answered correctly.) I’d pick him to be mine too. He meekly raised his hand, “That’s from me.”
Sis #1 starts to open – it’s a small box. “Oh, oh, oh, OHHHHH.” Her face… priceless. “Oh my.”
It was a DOUCHE. And not even a name brand – it was from Walgreen’s.
Well, needless to say, the volume got quite loud. Passing around porn, chains, holding up the g-strings, the autographed poster of Ron Jeremy. Cyril, the assistant DA, and Sherry, the stuffy accountant, singing into Mr. Wiggly. The other patrons were starting to notice. I smack a waiter on his ass with the riding crop. I think he enjoyed it a bit too much.
Our bill was over $2,000.
By the time the mini bus arrived we were pretty snockered. We must have visited every trendy nightclub on the strip. The last thing I coherently remember is drinking with Sis #2. She had a blue margarita. And yes, it comes up blue too. I shuffle her into the mini bus to chill out. She passes out. With her skirt at her waist. How do we know this? Well, we think the bus driver took some party pics of Sis #2 in flagrante delicto showing lacy red panties. These were found months later when Sis #1 went about developing.
Most of the party favors were ceremoniously recycled at Sis #2’s bachelorette party the next year. Although, I never quite found out what became of Mr. Wiggly, but I don’t want him back.
*he magically disappeared*
*no ransom requested*
I have been doing everything BUT working out lately.
Someone please send me some motivation!!
I must exercise, I need to exercise, I'm a diabetic and I shouldn't go a day without it. But I find myself coming home and seeing all the things I need to do. Laundry, cooking, getting Zoe fed, bathed and ready for bed.
I am feeling the stress of the single working mom. I am sucking so hard.
Why can't they put exercise equipment on the park-n-ride buses? I'd pay extra to ride those buses. It can't be any less safe then having to stand for an hour and a half riding home. By the time you got home, you'd already have your workout done!
I am going to go to the gym tonight. No matter what. Even if it means Zoe will go to bed at 10pm, I am going to fucking GO!
*whine, whimper* I still feel like I suck!
Why I am single...
Just the fucking facts ma'am
November 2001 - Day before Thanksgiving
Got off work early
Picked up Zoe early from school (she's almost two at this time)
On our way home
Stopped by the apartment mailboxes
Checked the mail (which.... I NEVER did, he used to get it)
Got a letter from the Attorney General's office for my husband
Child support division
He has 3 kids in NY ... this type of letter is not unusual
I never opened his mail
Except
EXCEPT THIS LETTER IS FROM THE ATTY GENERAL IN...
TEXAS
WHAT THE FUCK??? TEXAS???
Yep. Texas.
Request for child support
For the next 21 years
A $50,000+ adulterous mistake
This is how I found out that my husband had cheated on me
I started calculating
Whoever this bitch is
Slept with my husband when I was 8 1/2 months pregnant
Oh, that's cool
My two year old had a one year old sister
Stupid cunt
He doesn't have any money
He's has no ambition
He's mean too
For two years he knew about this
He knocked up the cleaning lady at his office
Oh jeez, the cleaning lady
She's homely and barely speaks English
(I guess she sucked his dick?)
(I guess she didn't mind sex from a man who will spend 30 minutes warming up his car on a cold day, but won't spend 5 minutes kissing his wife)
(ask Dr. Egypt if I'm frigid *wink wink*)
The lightbulb came on
NO WONDER HE'S TREATED ME LIKE SHIT FOR THE PAST TWO YEARS
Guilt
Guilt
Guilt
Guilty
Fucking asshole
I was angry
But not so much because he cheated on me
But because he fucked up our lives
He cheated Zoe
out of a normal "family"
I took Zoe to my sisters
Sent her off to play with her cousins
I called the babymama
Just to make sure it wasn't a mistake
"Jess, Oh, jew must be da wifeeee."
Jeah
I yam
Turns out he said we were having problems
News to me
He told her we didn't have any kids
No, because our kid was still in the womb
And then
And then
I cursed so much, I nearly blacked out
My sister said it was quite impressive
The whole fucking cunt/whore/bitch/slut, sleeping with a married man, fuck you and your kid, you're going to hell thing
You are fucking going to hell you stupid ass CUNT!
And then
It was over
the call
and my marriage
all
because
he
couldn't
keep
his
prick
in
his
fucking
pants
And that's it.
Tip from the Debster
Don't try to bleach out your shower while you are bathing.
Hahaha
My apartment has the "luxurious oversized oval garden" bathtubs. An oversized scummy mold garden is more like it. No matter how much you wipe it down, the tub sits weird and the water just seeps into the caulk. Thus, in this humid ass city, you get mold. Mold, all the time. It's just funky.
So I get this brilliant idea to bleach it all out. Sounds good, except I thought I'd multi-task and spray it down while I was taking a shower. (I felt like Kramer, scrubbing vegetables in the shower).
Well, three hours later, my hands still stink of the bleach. I now have a very clean tub, but I am convinced that I've got bleach all over my body. I'm itchy. I can't sleep, and my alarm is going to go off at 5am. Yuck!
Zoe at all her Easter candy in about three minutes. Sugar high all day, that child. Passed out. She loved the Easter Bunny letter and the book I bought her the most. We've already read it about 6 times. We skipped church. The first Easter mass I've ever missed. I just didn't feel like fucking with my hair.** I suck so bad.
At bedtime, I dressed Zoe in the clothes she is going to wear to school tomorrow because we have to leave at 6 freaking am. Thanks to my short short-tempered boss, I have to get to work early to MS Spellcheck a report and make 12 copies for an 8:30 am meeting. For this, I have to get up at the crack of ass, drag my kid to school at 6, and fight major traffic. Assholes. Breathe... *thinks of unemployment* ...ok, I can do this.
Sometimes I feel like a slave. Dr. Egypt is gone, so I have no distractions. Cleaning, cooking, laundry (always laundry). Fuck, I even cleaned the nasty hamster cage. Happy Easter Baby Jack, you fucking rat! It's 11pm and this is the first time I've put my feet up all day. My apartment still looks crappy. I want a wife!
My parents are paying for me to go to a all-women's church retreat at the beginning of May. My mom is going to come for four days to watch Zoe. I'm mostly looking forward to it just to get a full nights sleep. This should be interesting. I haven't had a vacation in 5 years. No sex for 3 years, no vaca for 5... If it wasn't for Dr. Egypt, I would be feeling completely deprived of anything delicious.
Overall, we had a nice weekend. As usual, it was too much, too much, too many things to do. Monday always comes way too soon. I always feel like crying. I want to like my job more, but I don't. I played the lottery. I wish I'd win.
I'm tired, but at least my tub is sparkling.
*it's a good fucking thing*
-------------------
** backstory - I cut my hair 10 months ago. Didn't like it, so I grew it out. Got tired of looking all shitty, no style, so two weeks ago I got another cut at some no name mall salon - $20. Couldn't even tell the difference. Four days later got a wild idea to go get it cut again. Went to my regular salon, but my guy was busy. New guy cut it - $65. I looked like the Brady mom. Weird shaggy flip. I couldn't even fix it a bit. Called and went back. My guy fixed it for free, but I tipped him $15. It was already pretty short, so there wasn't much left to do with it. He cut it major short. Said I have a pretty face so I can pull it off.
Everyone BUT me likes it. So, got three haircuts in a week, spent way too much money, and now I have hair that looks like the HEATMEISER when I wake up. It's a pain in the ass. Someone Paypal me enough to buy a good wig.....please?
-------------------
Whew. 2am. Babysat the 3 under the age of 3 again. Trying to get a few moments to myself to wind down. Proactive infomercials. Now's the time to miss cable.
Dr. Egypt called. I missed the call. Darn the luck. He forgot his cellphone and is just now getting to me. He left 3 days ago. Typical absent minded double PhD. Non descript voicemail. He didn't even say his normal "Hi Honey." The beginning of the end? *sigh* I still don't know if this is all in my head, but we'll have to see how it plays out.
Bartholomew called. His timing was bad. I was a bit stressed... He's upset that I put our thong conversation under internet dating horror stories. *note to file* He wasn't a horror story. I stand corrected. He was fun & cool. But the thong thing *yikes* that is still horrible no matter who is wearing the thong. Smoochies.
My baby sister is in town. Tennis tournament. She rocks. We're hoping that she can find a job here. She's a college grad with a degree in American Studies. (no comment from the English major here) One of the smartest, good looking girls I know. Come to think of it, all 3 of my sisters are the smartest good looking girls I know. It will be cool if she can find a job because we might move in together. Would be nice to move out of my current one bedroom hamster cage. She cooks too.
I think my ex is doing drugs or gambling again. I hadn't heard from him in two days & he was going to repay me some money I loaned him. Big winner, borrowing from a single mom. He wasn't answering his phone so I surprised him & dropped by his apartment. He looked like crap. His apartment smelled horrible and there were beer cans all over. He said he didn't have any money. I don't understand how someone who never has any money has a 62 inch tv and a stack of DVDs. Oh yeah, I forgot, that stuff "fell off a truck." That's the answer.
I reminded him that it's his turn to pay the daycare for the week. He said he'd give it to me on Monday. I asked him if he had bought the E-A-S-T-E-R B-U-N-N-Y stuff like I had asked him to last week. He hadn't. Grrrrrrrrrr. He said he'd bring it by later to my sisters where I was babysitting. He came through, but it was the puniest basket I've ever seen. It has 3 pieces of candy in it. Oh well, I put a bunch of bunny related stuff in Zoe's little lazy boy chair. My mom (Momo G) actually got the Easter bunny to send Zoe a letter. I propped it up on the chair for her. My mom is the greatest. I hope my daughter feels that way about me someday too.
I'm looking forward to spending the entire day in our jammies tomorrow. We are going to cook breakfast together, paint our eggs and eat Easter candy.
Being a mom sure is fun sometimes.
*Happy Easter!*
Zoe's dad was supposed to keep her overnight tonight, but he had a tooth pulled, so I'm now stuck at home. I had a glass of red wine, just one, but I am feeling rather random. I'm sure this entry will reflect that.
My legs are so swollen. I don't know what's up with that, but it sucks because Dr. Egypt *sigh* has gone to PA for two weeks. Dammit. I need some free medical advice. I'm hoping my kidneys aren't failing.
Zoe is the most beautiful child on the face of the planet. I'll be brave and post my braggin website, so you can see how cute she is.
Proud Mom
She is most beautiful when she is asleep, but she is also the craziest sleeper, just like her father.
Right after we got married, we were sleeping and it was chillingly cold in our shitty little garage apartment. I slipped my arms under the covers and he said (in his sleep) "Get your cold ass arms off me." Here are a few other things he said:
"The FBI is in the window." I'm thinking America's most wanted. *cool*
"Your mother wears army boots."
"Don't fry those eggs on the hood of my car."
So far Zoe hasn't been as dramatic. I've only heard, "My biscuit, my biscuit," or "Mine! Mine!" Guess she is having problems with sharing at school.
But the child also must be touching me at all times. We share a king size bed and there is about 4 feet of space on her side of the bed. No matter where I go, I usually end up on the edge of the bed. Her feet or hands on me at all times. One day I hope to be able to afford a two bedroom.
---------------------
Lame, but true, miscellaneous facts about me. I guess I've never really done this part, so I thought I'd share, especially since I've already blogged major intimate details of my sex life...
1. I'm one of 7 kids. Good catholic family. My dad is a deacon so if *knock on wood* my mom were to die, my dad could become a priest. A priest with 7 kids and 9 grandkids.
2. I am an Air Force brat. We've only lived in the US, but each kid was born in a different city. I was born at Westpoint, NY.
3. I've been separated from my husband for a year now. We were married for nearly 7 years. I'm not divorced because I want to stay on his medical insurance. (That is the ONLY reason. Otherwise I would have hit the divorce attorney ASAP.) My insurance plan at work is expensive and crappy. He doesn't pay any extra for me (he pays Zoe's) so it works for us.
4. I'm a diabetic. Yipee. I started on insulin when I got pregnant. 3 years later & I'm still shooting up. Methinks the drama in my life is mostly caused by my messed up blood sugar levels. 700 shots a year for 3 years now. I can't understand how anyone can be a junkie. It's horrible. But at least I don't have AIDS or cancer or something, so I'm pretty grateful for that.
5. I have a degree in English writing. I don't think I'm a very good writer, but I bluff my way through it. I have freakishly weird stories, so I have to write about them. Otherwise I might go insane.
6. I've had a series of lame jobs since I graduated (1991). I've done marketing, pr, technical writing and human resources. I don't know where I'm headed, but I am glad not to be on the unemployment line. We're thinking of franchising the slavercise if we can. I kickbox. I could put the beatdown on someone.
7. I'm 5'10 or 5'11. I haven't measured in a while, but I'm usually the tallest woman around. It's good to be tall I think.
8. My sister, now a stay home mom, was on Who Wants to be a Millionaire. With Regis. She won 64K. They paved their driveway. Two lawyers.... they were rich already. The rest is gravy.
9. I've been babysitting forever. I still do quite often. I could change a diaper at age 5. Why I'm not a teacher, I don't know.
That's enough sharing for now. I get diarreah (can't spell it) of the mouth sometimes.
---------------------------
Someone is reading these. I just went over 600? *yikes* hope I haven't scared you all too much.
Future stories to write (I agree with oldlady - write it down before you forget):
My husband knocked up the cleaning lady
My friend Oatmeal shit in the box of love letters
The frightening birth of my child and how bad that sucked
Scary encounters with Psycho Mike
Surrounded by lesbians at work
My inlaws, more tales of married to the mob
Daily run-ins with my ex
My aunts haunted house
My other aunt is born again and fucking crazy
Dating Dallas Cowboys (Debby does Dallas)
Doughnuts and beer
Engineers and the TPS reports
and many, many more internet dating horror stories
So if you have any requests... send me a note, ok?
Must
force
myself
to
go
to
sleep
three
year
olds
wake
up
at
the
crack
of
ass
*night youngins*
If your are eating…you may want to finish first.
I flunked out of school my first semester. Texas Tech… big time redneck country in the middle of no f*ckingwhere. A dry town except for Frat Row. We actually had tumbleweeds on Main Street for Christ’s sake. How could I, major urban punk rock chick (yeah, semi-shaved head and all), survive in such a backward town? Not surprising I had a 1.25 GPA after that first dope-filled, drunk-ass semester.
Because of...Ibis.
Yes, her name was Ibis. (Rhymes with Fib – is). She was the wildest, weirdest girl I have ever known. A mass of curly jet black hair. She was not afraid of anything or anyone. She was so damn fun.
At the time I met her we were living in the same dorm. I had a roommate (who I can’t remember much about her except she grew up on a pig farm). She was nice, but way too mothering for me. She was a sophomore so she had to advise me about everything, even trying to screen my dates for me. Finally, I hung a noose around her favorite teddy bear, pinned a suicide note to him saying she had driven him to his death, and strung him up. I hung up posters of Sid Vicious, Jesus, and decorated in all black. Didn't help that I barfed in the sink one drunken night either. She moved by the end of that second week.
Ibis and I shared a love for the drink. We partied and had enormous fun. (fuck the Art History class, we’re going to New Mexico to see boys). We had to move in together.
Ibis’s roommate was a ZTA. Typical sorority chick, fell right out of the handbook. Plaid, plaid…vomiting pink plaid. She accused Ibis of stealing. Called Ibis a spic. We hated her. She had to go.
One night Ibis and I hooked up with our other best friend, Sara. Sara was a non-typical sorority babe, dating a frat boy, but this frat boy was also the frat drug dealer… Yippee for us!
So we got high. A lot. Every day. For free. We’d smoke, then eat, then smoke some more so we could eat some more. What the hell else is there to do in a town filled with shit kickers?
One night we were at IHOP. About 3am on a school night. High as all hell. A bit drunk too. And we were walking back to the dorm, full of dope, full of martinis, and full of …. pancakes. Ibis spots the Zeta cow’s car. Prissy little red BMW.
I see this evil look cross Ibis’s face. Next thing I know Ibis is copping a squat on the hood of the car. Unbelievable… She drops trou and takes this massive shit on the hood. Huge, huge, HUGE, like a man dump or something. Sara and I are laughing so hard. I’m on the ground and I can’t stop laughing. Sara pees her pants. Ibis is still dropping scuds on the hood. Finished, she takes a leaf and wipes her ass. Here sits this huge dumperooski and she’s looking at it like she should get a blue ribbon or something. She picks up a stick, and dips it in the crap. She spells the word BITCH on the front windshield. By this time, I am laughing so hard I’m about to puke.
The next day ZTA cow is mulling about. Whining and crying that someone put some HORSE shit on her car. Horse shit.
*Ibis*
Sadly, turns out Ibis really was a thief. At the end of term, I called my dad and said I didn’t want to finish at Tech. He said I’d have to come home anyway because I had spent my next semester’s tuition already. Ibis. Fucking Ibis got my ATM code and withdrew $950 from my account. Her mom paid me back (poor woman worked 2 jobs), but Ibis, well Ibis ended up in the Army.
*Shudders at the thought of Ibis with a gun*
I have never eaten at IHOP since.
Ok, this was just too too fucking funny:
www.channel4.com/life/microsites/G/gayometer/
I've never seen it before, but took it and here is what it said:
Debutaunt is 16% GAY
You're a walking, talking girlie girl! Grab your designer handbag and head for the hills.
----------------------------------
Bartholomew aka thongs are gayboy took it. Here is what followed:
deb_u_taunt2002: did you take it?
Bartholomew: 43% gay.
Bartholomew: It told me that I was a happy, well-adjusted hetero male. The Channel 4 Gay-O-Meter has calculated that Bungholio [that's the name he used] is 43 percent gay!
Bartholomew: I'm a well adjusted hetero male. SO THERE
deb_u_taunt2002: by nature of using the name Bungholio, that adds a 15% to your gayness
*Bungholio*
-----------------------
I took it and marked MALE instead of female & answered as I would. It showed that I was 63% GAY. I asked what that meant, and *dizzy* said that my male self is gay.
Does this mean that I like dicks only 20% more than Bartholomew/Bungholio?? Hmmmmm.
Bwahhhhhaaaahhhaaa
*gotta love those****
Ok,
I get this email from my ex. He's functionally illiterate, so please overlook that.
The sentiments were there, and I nearly fell for it, buttttttttt....
---------------------------
hi,i never told you i was sorry about rena [THE OTHER WOMAN] and i really am sorry was the worst mistake i ever made i lost my family and the women i love wish we never moved here we got along so good in austin and everthing went down hill after we moved here.i really am SORRY from the bottom of my heart and i do have i will always love you and i do miss yous more than you ever will know i still love you and i always will. do not give up on me
---------------------------
I was kind of sad. Sad that my marriage was over...that he fucked it up so much and didn't realize it. Didn't realize it until now, that it was his fault. [BTW - There is no way NO WAY in hell I'd ever think to get back together with him.]
This sadness lasted for a while, but then he kept sending back messages.
I don't want to post them all because there were like 8 or so, but here's how he ended it:
---------------------------
maybe you could get a man if you lost all that fat [ACTUALLY, I'M NOT FAT] you have.you may need to try crack [I'VE NEVER SMOKED CRACK] because all those diets are not working.now have no more time to argue with you will just worry about zoe.also my life is not hardley sad.by the way pay the other bills.i need my money for crack
---------------------------
*and yet again, happily single*
I promise to write about the other woman thing soon. Just too long of a story to put down while I'm at work!
Well Dr. Egypt called to say he was too tired and had too many unstable patients to go to the Rockets game, but he still wanted me to see him. This I didn't mind so much. I couldn't figure out what I would wear to the game anyway.
I show up at his house and he's laughing. Turns out the tickets were for the previous night.
We had a nice time. Watched some tv. Slow danced in his living room...we made up for the hamster night.
He actually wanted to go somewhere, so we hit my favorite Tex Mex. Ah, the food of the gods.
Nice evening. A little wistful. The subject of moving brought up several times. He is so sad about missing me he said. He says he will really try to see me/keep in touch. I told him that I just would like to hear from him once in a while, even if it is to tell me he's too busy to talk.
Then *dread* the drive home. My ex calls my cellphone 4 times in 3 minutes. It's not even 10pm yet. I finally call back to tell him that my *girl* friend and I went to the movies because she got the dates mixed up on the basketball tickets.
*remember the married to the mob thing* Well, my ex said that he knew there wasn't a game tonight. He just wanted to see if I'd lie to him about it.
Dirtbag.
Happily single *yipee*
This really should be titled:
Thongs on guys are just way the f*ck GAY, but it sort of relates to my online life.
One of my former *ahem* internet dates is still a friend of mine. We talk a lot. But sometimes... well sometimes when you are simply friends things should just go unsaid.
Here is part of the conversation with *Bartholomew (I told him I was going to write about it. He picked the name*:
--------------
Bartholomew: Can I tell you a secret?
deb_u_taunt2002: sure
Bartholomew: Just friend-to-friend.
deb_u_taunt2002: yeah
Bartholomew: I'm wearing a thong.
Bartholomew: *giggle*
deb_u_taunt2002: that
deb_u_taunt2002: is
deb_u_taunt2002: too
deb_u_taunt2002: much
deb_u_taunt2002: information!
deb_u_taunt2002: wayyyyy tmi
Bartholomew: I saw them in Target yesterday. They make thongs for men. I decided to buy one for the hell of it.
Bartholomew: It feels weird.
Bartholomew: But kinda sexy.
deb_u_taunt2002: noooooo
deb_u_taunt2002: dont' go there
deb_u_taunt2002: you are turning into a girl!
Bartholomew: Oh no, baby. This is in order to score with chicks.
--------------
ok, here is where I comment on this conversation.
THONGS ON DUDES ARE JUST NOT SEXY. NEITHER ARE TIGHTY WHITIES, SPEEDOS OR BIKINI UNDERWEAR - EVEN IF YOU COULD CRACK A WALNUT WITH YOUR ASS or IF YOU LOOK LIKE BRAD PITT. NAKED BOOTIE, BOXERS OR BOXER BRIEFS ONLY.
--------------
deb_u_taunt2002: that's just a little too gay dude
Bartholomew: Seriously? You think it's gay?
Bartholomew: FUCK
Bartholomew: I want to go more masculine.
deb_u_taunt2002: it's GAYYYY
deb_u_taunt2002: WAY GAY
Bartholomew: Damn.
Bartholomew: But I gotta say...
deb_u_taunt2002: NOOO
Bartholomew: It feels kinda sexy.
deb_u_taunt2002: IT'S TOO GAY
Bartholomew: It makes me want to touch my myself, I'm the too-sexy.
deb_u_taunt2002: GUYS AREN'T SUPPOSED TO HAVE ANYTHING UP THEIR BUTTS!
Bartholomew: IT'S THE TOO SEXY!!!!
Bartholomew: IT'S THE TOO SEXY!!!!
deb_u_taunt2002: IT'S TOOO GAYYYYYY
deb_u_taunt2002: Just don't ever admit to it
deb_u_taunt2002: and don't ever get in a wreck
deb_u_taunt2002: cause they would get you at the hospital and go MAN, THIS GUY IS WAY GAY!
--------------
yet another editorial comment:
THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH BEING GAY/LOOKING GAY IF YOU ARE REALLY..... GAY. MY VERY BEST FRIEND IS GAY. BUT IF YOU ARE TRYING TO BE MACHO AND PICK UP CHICKS, RUNNING AROUND WITH FLOSS UP YOUR ASS ISN'T THE WAY TO DO IT. Y'ALL HAVE TOO MANY BITS DOWN THERE TO HAVE A STRING UP YOUR BUTT. I MEAN DAMN, WOULDN'T YOUR BALLS FALL OUT?
I LIKE THONGS. I SOMETIMES WEAR THEM MYSELF. THONGS CAN BE SEXY ON THE RIGHT WOMEN, BUT IF UNLESS YOU ARE A DUDE WITH A BOYFRIEND THAT WILL APPRECIATE YOUR ASS CHEEKS, THONGS SHOULD STAY ON THE FEMALE FORM ONLY. NO EXCEPTIONS TO THIS RULE.
--------------
This internet stuff gets weirder and weirder. But you just have to love it? I'd be stuck reading nothing but mercury contamination reports otherwise.
I
will
not
write
in
my
journal
when
I
am
sleep
deprived
or
way
way
hungover
*sharpens pencil to write this 100 times*
interesting (or not) things that happened to me today:
Was over an hour late picking up Zoe from her dad's. Was busy writing previous vomit-inducing journal entry. Didn't catch that much flack over being late. Someone call Guiness World Book of Records.
Killed hangover with intake of Mexican food. Thank God for Mexican food and small favors.
Spilled 1/2 pound raw cashews at Whole Foods Market. Bag got snagged when Zoe was loading it on the belt & they poured out all over. She looked so sad, but I laughed instead. Told her it was ok because she was trying to be a good helper and it was an accident. I'm trying to teach her about accidents and on-purpose. She's been apologizing for both circumstances. "I sorry Mommy."
Played at the playground with Zoe for nearly two hours. Swings. Sweet.
Watched Bend it Like Beckham at Lara's house. Cute movie. Met her parents. They are adorable. I was very tense at Zoe acting up, (no nap) but then it got better when we were outside and Zoe was doing sumersaults and singing Baa Baa Blacksheep. Made me miss my mom seeing Lara with hers.
Later on I babysat 3 kids under the age of 3. The 3 year olds (Zoe and her cousin) were playing outside with bubbles and had a bubble fight. They pulled off all the cushions and turned the couch into a trampoline. Were singing the alphabet song in different styles in the tub together. I taught them this.... opera style (clutch chest, sing and shake head), rap style (yeah, boyyyyeee), oscar the grouch style (growling), etc. The 6 month old woke up only once. I snuggled her and sang. Huge burp. sheesh. Back to sleep in under 3 minutes. I still have the touch. She smelled precious.
I made $80 in 4 hours. My sister just rocks! Buys my groceries for two weeks.
I watched cable tv at their house. Addicting. I'm glad I cut that shit off when my ex moved out.
Dr. Egypt called me. *sigh* He has his boss' Rockets tickets for tomorrow night and asked me to go with. Excellent Seats! My ex agreed to watch Zoe tomorrow night in exchange for doing his laundry here. That's two times in one weekend that my ex has agreed to watch her.
*Whoops, it's been several minutes of no typing. Sorry, I fainted at that last statement.*
must
force
myself
to
sleep
as
insomnia
is
not
in
my
vocabulary
morning
comes
too
early
with
the
three
year
old
crowd
*night* and all is well
*warning... extremely hungover and sleep deprived right now. You may want to skip over this entry, just as I wish I were someone else right now*
**So shit, grammar phreaks, please ignore spelling/grammar on this one. and whoever let me drink this much last night is seriously going to hell**
Ok, I'm sad.
Not depressed. I'll get over it, eventually we all do I know, but still just really sad. The end is near for Dr. Egypt and me. We both know it. We just don't want to face it.
Or, most likely, I just don't want to face it. Truth. That's it. I know myself.
He has an extremely fulfilling/stressed life. Career, children (no, no wife... divorced... sheesh, thought you knew me by now) Lots of things going on to prepare for his move and new job. He's beyond busy, and rarely can make plans.
Oh yeah, dating a doctor is so glamorous. Not! I adore him, but between him being on call, Zoe, work.... well, we don't get to see each other that often. I know thoughts of me must certainly cross his mind, but between ventricles, studying and uhauls they have to be fleeting.
So, when it's over between us. That just gives him more time and more energy to focus. Focus on other things. Not *pity sob for myself* me.
Me. Well, my career is not a career. It's a paycheck. It's food, rent, clothes, and dental for my child. I'm fucked without it, but it's not even close to being fulfilling. We (me and my asst. editor/internet exploring cohort, Lara) force ourselves to have fun, otherwise I'd not be surprised to find someone had died at their desk and no one discovered them for weeks.
And I have Zoe, but as most single parents know, sometimes you just want to skip the mealus interruptus and the poopus-diaperus. You want to watch non-disney-barney-bobbuilder-sesamestreet-tv. You want to have *whispers* S-E-X. You need to have another (not co-worker) grownup around you sometimes to keep your sanity and revive your spirits. To fill you up a bit, as you have a child to take care of, and you need to have the energy, strength, and neverending patience to do it.
So, I think of him. A lot. Quite often. And I look forward to seeing him. I'm a grouch without him. And I fucking hate it.
Why do I hate it? Because now, after no attention/affection for three years, I'm so fucking greedy. I'm selfish. He's ruined me for other men. Great sex, charming man, lots of fun.
But that's .... it. And now, well now, that's really it.
From day one he said he never wanted to get married. Nothing serious. Just someone cool to be with... Like Jackie O and that Maurice diamond guy at the end ... a "companion."
Which has been perfect for me. Since my husband and I separated, I have had multiple marriage proposals [just got rid of one, not looking for another], and multiple bootie call proposals [um, no], but I've been looking for something in between. Someone to hang out with and have sex with (exclusively, cause otherwise...well that's just too gross sleeping with a manwhore). A friends with benefits kind of thing, but with someone that cares more deeply about you. And shows it.
Which...is...what...we...have. (Or, er now, had. Past tense. I need to start thinking about it in past tense.)
Because
Dr. Egypt is moving. To Pennsylvania. Or now, after last night, he may just go back to EGYPT!
Christ, Egypt. Fucking Egypt. Multiple usages of the fword. EGYPT!
I went over to his house last night. On three margaritas. *cue forboding music* And yet another line of mistakes in my long long line of, well fuck, you know mistakes.
I could handle PA. I was even getting used to the idea of him leaving. He said he'd call, email, still come visit once a month or so. Even that would be more of a social life than I had before. But EGYPT?
He's not burns. I won't visit (although that would be hellacool). He doesn't want a wife, so that's out (for me too). And it's too expensive to phone eachother, much less fly to see me.
So I find myself crushed. I hate myself for loving him so much. For thinking about him and getting my feelings hurt.
Hungover. Crushed. Sleep deprivation bordering on dangerous. I cried. I fucking cried last night.
He passed the hell out on me (as seriously sleep deprived doctors tend to do), and I took a shower at 3:30am and bawled my head off. We didn't even have sex. It was not the first time, but for some reason, this time it hurt my feelings. It felt like a sign. A sign of things that are soon to come.
Now, obviously, I'm kind of a drama queen. But I don't cry that often. And God forbid, never in front of a man!
Anyway, brain still not focusing, I am rambling and late picking up Zoe *whoops.* Must still have tequila in me.
So when he left this morning. I cried again. Very hard. That is until I logged in to choke this out and read a few of my Private Messages. Thanks for breaking me out of the crying jag.
And now, well, I'm still way hungover. Shell shocked. Self loathing (partially for drinking but mostly for loving.) And unfortunately, due to the aforementioned PMs, now am having frightening visuals of threesomes with Dick Cheney? Which is now making this hangover extremely nauseating.
But as said in an earlier posting, was just getting back to you.
I'm just sad. But now, well now I'm not quite as sad.
Because...
I'm headed off to get Zoe. Maybe to the Zoo to see Zoe's Zebras (yes, I told her they were hers).
*perks up*
Phone sex. I just don’t get it.
The internet is a perfect breeding ground for fetishes, freaks, pervs, and cross-dressing, golden shower-loving CEOs. People that normally would be a bit more discreet and conservative let themselves go all out online. I mean ALL out.
My friend “T-bone,” (long story) the golf pro, had never seen Yahoo chats before. (My “usual” haunt was in a Yahoo 30’s room where I have a few reg online friends from the US and overseas.) Well T-bone came over one night and I led him to (mwah ha ha haaaaaa) The Darkside.
We went to the “user created” chat rooms on Yahoo. The first room we landed in was DICK SIZE JUDGING. I’m laughing my ass off as his eyes nearly bug out of his head. Next we jumped to GIRLS WITH DOGS AND HORSES. We were verbally attacked when we asked if horse cum tastes as bitter as man cum, but I digress. We skipped around a bit to:
SELF SUCK ROOM (I say if you can do it, more power to ya)
BLACK MEN 4 SEXY WHITE WOMEN
HOME ALONE AND VERY HORNY
WOMEN WITH BUSHY PUSSIES (this room scared the shit out of me)
U SHOW AND I’LL TELL, and finally ended up in
I WANNA SEE GUYS JERKOFF AND CUM
We decided to play a bit in this room. I was using one of my alternative screennames (chokin_iknowdahineylickmaneuver), and even though the picture on that profile is of a hugely fat naked man, I was still immediately bombarded with multiple requests for me to view webcams. T-bone was incredulous. He was used to MSN chats where you get kicked for saying wanker. Tame stuff.
So I turn on a cam from screenname 8inchesforu. Subtle. Well, he was more like a 4 incher and was just goin' at himself. Poke, poke, poke. I’m yawning, but T-bone nearly had a stroke. His face turned three shades of purple.
Anyway, we peeked at a few more cams. Ewwwww, mostly wrinkled up old man dicks, but then we landed on some Playgirl material type guy…younghotstudforeplay. Why a gorgeous guy like this is wankin’ on cam, I have no clue. He had a great body, good looking face, all his hair and…*yikes* a HUGE Mr. Wiggly. I mean HUGE… Eiffel Tower HUGE.
We were still laughing and went to go eat the pizza that just arrived. About an hour later we go in to my office and youngstud was still going at it. Still after an HOUR. Holy shit! T-bone and I watched and laughed for about five more minutes and then, the guy finally unloads. Sheesh. A splooge shower. Volcanic. All over his cam, his chest, on his face. Everywhere. I’m sure his keyboard is still sticky. Blank – Cam immediately shuts off.
It was gross, but impressive nonetheless.
But the fetish stuff. I just don’t get it. I’m boring I guess. The regular sex stuff is just so much damn fun, that I don’t feel the need to cross the line. Requests most frequently asked for: toe-sucking, cross dressing, dom or sub***, golden showers, etc. Most often the requests aren’t exactly fetishes, but they want to roll play, threesome, are married men looking to fuck [my most hated chats], younger man/older women, or the standard blowjobcomeinyourmouth scenarios.
Now, I’m not the squirmy type (you can tell if you’ve read my journal), but sheesh, can’t a girl get to know you a little better before she’s into your up close and personals?
I will admit that I have tried phone sex before. Their requests not mine. A few [read like, three] times. On their end…well, I guess they were happy about it. My end… well, it’s all I can do to repress uncontrollable, gut wrenching laughter. I'm sure this makes me "insensitive" to their “needs,” but I just can’t get into it… at ALL. I just think of some heavy breathing pervert all lotioned up, towel next to him. Barf.
“Baby, tell me how much you want to suck my big, hard…” It just goes downhill from there. It’s like bad porn.
One time (and this was the time that I said never again) I couldn’t stop giggling. I’d start to say something, and then couldn’t finish because I was laughing so hard. I mean, he had me on a speakerphone. A SPEAKERPHONE.
He was saying the cheesiest things. “Oh, Baby, can you feel my balls slapping against your luscious sweet ass?” How the fuck do you reply to that?
Finally, he said “Well if you aren’t going to help me out, shut the fuck up so I can jerk off.” I couldn’t take it anymore. I laughed so hard I nearly peed my pants. I hung up.
I’m a sexually liberated 35 year old woman, but the internet scares the holy hell out of me. God help the innocents.
***this guy told me he was a sub. I asked him what he taught. He was like, “what?” I said what subject does he like to teach. Substitute teacher. MCFLY!!! Hahahaha Sub = submissive. I do go by Deb, but it’s NOT Deb the dominatrix.
Italians.
Gotta love them. Gorgeous, dark, mysterious. Mmmmmm
This one. Well this one was from Italy. His accent was as beautiful as he was.
6'2, dark hair, green eyes, muscular build. *licks lips here*
A bit of a cradle robbing on my part. He was 25. Young, but he fell exactly within my 10 year rule.
(Don't date anyone that is more than 10 years younger or 10 years older.)
We chatted online and on the phone for about three weeks. Then, one night, no Zoe at home, I invited him over to watch a movie. Jerry Maguire for like the 200th time for me. About halfway through I find out he's an excellent kisser. Amazing.
He was all over me. (Guess he liked older, very sexual women... go figure) "You are verrry verrrry sexeeeeyyyyy" He tells me. Methinks it has more to do with the fact that I very much resemble Monica Lewinsky. Lewinsky, my full lips... they all think it. You're thinkin' it.
Anyway, by this time I'm near dying because, after all, it had been three years since I had sex. Seriously. Three years. I was pregnant the last time my ex-husband and I had sex. [a whole other journal entry unto itself]
Well, one thing led to another with this beautiful Italian....
But then *gasp* here came a major dealbreaker. He couldn't keep Mr. Wiggly up with the condom on *big time bells going off in my head*
I don't trust anyone that can't have sex with a condom on. I know it's not nearly as fun, but to me it means they don't ALWAYS use one. Where there's a will, there's a way. Always use one. I am, after all, a safety girl. I guess I should have gotten a clue when he looked bewildered that I wasn't on the pill. Duh, when you never have sex, there's no need to pump yourself full of extra hormones.
Well, I decided, to try to be a little more helpful. Experience kicks in. Work it, work it, work it. We were still working at it a bit, but then... he kept having to go to the restroom. I didn't notice his tiny bladder before, but when you are trying to have sex, and the guy gets up like two or three and now four times to pee you start to wonder.
How do you say in Italian??
"Honey, I think you need to have a prostate exam."
(an aside, in case you all should ever need it)
according to my translation website:
Miele, li penso necessiti avere un exam della prostata
His English left something to be desired, and I'm sure I've been in more awkward situations in my lifetime, but at this point I couldn't think of any of them. This was dreadful.
So he turns to me with the most serious look on his face, "How do you say it????" he struggled for the words, "Um, blow job??"
Now, I'm hardly the kind of girl that ever shudders at that request, but tonight, well tonight wasn't going to be his lucky night. I had worked it enough.
"Sorry sport. Maybe some other time. It's late."
I watch from the doorway as he drives off in his brand new Lexus.
Italians. Millions of them and I get a limp Mr. Wiggly.
Yet another night. Flying solo.
*whistles*
I’m loved
Dr. Egypt. He called last night. What are you doing? I've been thinking about you for days. I want to see you. I desperately miss you. I’m coming over.
I was half put off because I had be pondering my “what ifs” about him all day. No call. I hit the gym. He’s not calling. I make dinner and vacuum. Why isn’t he calling? I give Zoë a bath. My phone is silent. Even the f*cking credit card companies didn’t call. I watch Star Search. I suck.
Then...he...called.
I tidy up the kitchen a bit and take a long, long, hot shower. Zoë’s passed the hell out. A little perfume and there’s a knock at my door. We sit at my dining room table and talk. For two hours we talk and laugh like it’s been forever since we’ve seen each other. It’s only been since last Friday, but I have wanted to see him for days. I have wanted him for days. He’s going to spend the night, but has to be at work early. Very early. I grind some coffee and set the coffeemaker to automatic brew at 4:45 a.m.
I’m in the kitchen and he is looking at me. I’m all jammied up. “Honey, I’m really going to miss you.” Point blank, he says it. Wistful, he sounds wistful. Wistful, but I hear this love in his voice.
“I don’t want you to miss me,” I tell him. “It sounds too much like goodbye. I want you to come visit. I want to visit you too.” Again, this kiss. It makes me forget who I am. There is nothing else but this moment.
Well, this moment and…
the f*cking hamster. It’s going mad on the wheel. Possessed. Insane. We laugh and kiss through it.
This love. May be short-lived but is long deserved.
To me phone calls = love
Why? I don't know and I don't know if I am the only one. I hate it. When I come home and I don't have any messages. It's one of the saddest thing about me. This semi-self doubt. But most often I think it is more boredom than low self esteem.
Lately I have only been getting calls from my credit card company. This is soooo not love for me though. They only love my money. Monday, I had 24 new phone calls from them. Only one message. I'm something like 80 days past due. Credit card hell. When they call, these are a few of my tactics to avoid discussing my past due balance:
1. I pretend I'm the sitter and say "She's not here. She won't be home until after 10pm."
2. One time I screamed, "I'm in the middle of changing a shitty diaper. F*ck off!!!" hang up.
3. Or I let Zoe answer the phone and talk three year old to them. Exasperated, they hang up. Only to call back an hour later.
4. I tell them to stop calling or I will file for bankruptcy and they won't get a f*cking dime from me. Hang up and don't answer again.
This goes from 8:00 am to 8:45 pm seven days a week. I wish I had some extra cash to pay them, but it may be another month.
But then there is Egypt.
Dr. Egypt is weirding me out. He says he's going to call, then I hear nothing from him. He's a busy busy busy guy. I know this. I've known this. On call nearly all the time and often has emergency heart surgeries at the last minute. He's on the run. They take advantage of his kindness, his experience. American doctors ignore their pagers. He says they are lazy, spoiled.
But it only takes a few minutes to phone someone. He's got a cell phone. He says he's going to call. To come over. He misses me. But then I hear nothing. My mind does overtime and imagines every terrible scenario.
... He's seeing someone else (I'm sure he's not).
... He's trying to "wean" me, because he knows I adore him and he's leaving soon.
... He's trying to "wean" himself, because I know he adores me and he's leaving soon.
... He's tired of me. More likely, he's tired of the drive and this awful traffic.
On and on this goes. Usually I hit the tai bo tape & do some kickboxing to make it stop. Must...kick...higher.
Then a day or two later he calls. When he does call, he's adorable. Sweet. Even loving. I know he's in the mood to see me. But I live about 40 minutes away. He says driving is a chore. This, well this, makes me feel like crap. It is horrible because it's sweet and magical when we are together. Like an old married couple. I adore him.
I know he loves me. He doesn't say it alot, but he's let it slip a few times. I even kidded him about it once. He says things like "I love f*cking you." "I love your body." "I love any bed that has you in it." "I love you, but I hate it that you live so far away." I told him it freaks me out when he says these things because I keep thinking he's about to say he loves me. He says everything else BUT the L bomb.
He said, "Honey, If I didn't love you, I wouldn't ache to see you." He then gave me a playful hug and one of his patented amazing kisses. This kiss made me forget who I was.
Too bad these kisses can't make me forget the damn phone thing. I can't figure it out, so I try not to. For this, I play by "The Rules." I don't call him. I can't. I keep busy with Zoe. I work. I work out. Anything. I just can't bring myself to dial.
Phone = love
I don't want to even admit that to myself.
Ok, Um, I'm not getting this....
Why on earth are the Americans bombing journalists. I know most of them suck, and they can be assholes, but this is beyond blatent.
I'm not very political. And you wont see many of these postings addressing the war, but journalists?
I've even watched that reporter on Al-Jazeera. He was 34. A newlywed. He had a 2 month old.
Our country is a nation of bullies. F*ck Saddam. We aren't much better when we kill babies, entire families, and blow up innocent people's homes and businesses. The headcount is now nearing 1,000 civilians. Hello people. It's only been a few weeks.
I'm totally disgusted today.
Here is a message posted on my local radio station KPFT's website. It says about how I feel.
"An Alternate View of 'Collateral' Damage
In our government's zeal to alleg