since you didn't ask

eating oatmeal chocolate chip cookies
watching star trek
not reading my own blog at work 'cause they're cracking down on visits to obscene sites
submitting a list to McSweeney's after laughing mao at this one
feeling conflicted about two ten year-olds' capturing and de-tailing two scorpions
being told by my grandmother that she's been seeing a dentist
removing the oven door to get above cookies out
marveling at Jack Bauer's acting chops in the movie Mirrors- abyssmal
writing inane articles which include fake insurance reviews and strategies to slip kids broccoli
not crocheting
looking online for jobs that don't involve working or clothing
petting my kitty
getting drunk called by my step-father who's divorcing my mother to be reassured he's still my dad
having lazy sex that wasn't orgasmic, but was fun after realizing it could be loud since all children were invited to sleepovers at the same time for the first time ever
managing to share TMI™ after all
what do you know?


Another Reason Children Need Supervision

Actually, I'm not sure if this is a stunted man or a faintly mustachioed boy, but remind me to erase those singing samples off my cell phone that I sometimes make when I am bored and driving around so that I can know how much of a douche I sound like when I sing along with the radio.

Sadly, even he is better at it than me.

I had to ask my daughter to stop laughing so loud when others were sleeping last night. I really hated to do that. (It feels kinda mean to watch these, but I suppose this is what he wants given the fact that he has 59 videos posted over at the YouTubes.)


When We Were All a'Scared of H1N1, Along Came Another Splotchy Story Virus that Will Stop at Nothing to Destroy Us All or at Least Make us Squirm

"you give me fever
when you kiss me
fever when you hold me tight
In the morning
Fever all through the night"
- Peggy Lee

For those unfamiliar, here's a recap:
"Here's what I would like to do. I want to create a story that branches out in a variety of different, unexpected ways. I don't know how realistic it is, but that's what I'm aiming for. Hopefully, at least one thread of the story can make a decent number of hops before it dies out.

If you are one of the carriers of this story virus (i.e. you have been tagged and choose to contribute to it), you will have one responsibility, in addition to contributing your own piece of the story: you will have to tag at least one person that continues your story thread. So, say you tag five people. If four people decide to not participate, it's okay, as long as the fifth one does. And if all five participate, well that's five interesting threads the story spins off into.

Not a requirement, but something your readers would appreciate: to help people trace your own particular thread of the narrative, it will be helpful if you include links to the chapters preceding yours." -Splotches
There always has to be a start of a story, so here it is...

Whatever you do, DON'T FORGET THE LYRICS!

The ground crunched beneath my feet. Besides my noisy footsteps, I heard only the sound of the gentle crackling fire behind me. Its faint orange light lazily revealed my immediate surroundings. Beyond the glow, there was total blackness. I whistled. I took the small rock I had been carrying and whipped it away from me, expecting a thud, crack or plop -- but a soft yelp of a cry answered. (Splotchy)

"Crap! I forgot all about Monster," I realized. "I must be drunker than I thought," I spoke aloud to no one in particular, though an owl answered my drunken slur. Ever since my neighbors have been giving me grief for the way Monster chases their cats and poops in their lawn, I haven't felt comfortable staying in my house. I'm pretty sure my landlady is thinking about evicting me, so I've decided to lay low for a while.

To the surprise of no one... (Freida Bee)

I hereby and irrevocably, inconceivably, irresistibly, unspeakably, and unabashedly (ok, a little bashedly) tag these fine bloggers (and not-blogging goddess):

The Lass
Utah of the Savages
Amy Sedaris


Mash-Up Omni Potent Poobah-Style: Which is like God-Style, but Spelled Backwards, With a Few Minor Adjustments and Videotaped

Lest it be thought that I hate America, I've decided to take a briefly political detour.

What's happened, Mr. Good Hair?
It seems you're letting your hair bow to the interminable forces of terrorism aka "the weather."

The other Mr. Good Hair is throwing his fit, not getting what he wants?
Now, he's effectively set himself to be a winner either way it comes down... until November.
He. Won't. Have. A. Chance. In. Hell.

In other news...

I've been lurking over at The Omnipotent Poohbah's place lately, and followed a few stray links as I am wont to do when I happen upon his wonderful Randomness Posts. Beware: NSFW (in that you won't get any work done. None).

I love them, particularly, because I first got addicted to blogging on MySpace and used to do a weekly, Rated G linky lovefest catered to others in my high school graduating class as we were preparing for our 20th reunion. Just like pot leads to crack, MySpace blogging led me here.

And, so in the name of American entitlement, I shall utilize his keen style, though less adeptly:

Randonmess: GOP Sex Style

We should be thanking Republicans for protecting us against gay marriage. I know I am.

They're so kinky. I may never understand them.

Their passion must be applauded, even if it seems a bit (or, a lot) misplaced.

Shame is their MO, and who can blame them when they've been shit on for all these past four months.

They're only trying to do for us what is in our best interests. We're just too immature to see that.

They are just more wise to the ways of the world, and are heeding The Lord's cries.

And, trying to protect us from ourselves!

Even the most innocent-seeming (uh) amongst us.

We must try to love all of God's creatures with equal enthusiasm.

If we act as caretakers of this earth, The Lord shall bless us with his bounty.

We must protect all children.

Except, of course, the big, horny, walrus ones.

No matter if we are right-leaning or left leaning.

It is up to us to teach our children about tolerance.

The world must not have hit its collective bottom. There's always 2012 when we come to our senses and realized how good we had it. Ooh baby.

So, here we are. Full circle.

No matter if it's Rob or Rick or both who's your babydaddy, there's always a way to make living right more palatable.


Strangers with Brandy

Has any one noticed that this blog has really been going downhill, fast? I mean really, it should be, "Has any one noticed that this blog has really been going downhill, quickly?" And, I don't really give a shit.

Just when I thought we were about to get Mr. Gooey Schlong off the front page, so you could all come on back and read my blog at work again (as if...), I go and put up another pic that might make you feel uncomfortable to have your boss come look over your shoulder. That is, of course, unless you're both into that sort of thing, in which case, now he's pressing his Mr. Happy up against your back and making your Pep Boys uniform all hot and bothered.

I know I'm no Amy Sedaris, and the shock value is much cuter when it's accompanied by a perky bod in a fat suit, or better yet, a merkin. But, buyer beware. I am not a college graduate. I earned the bold distinction of the highest D in the class, and on a grossly curved thingy ma bip, I know Jesus just hates me, and that's all there is to it. It must be because I've given him a sex change and coupled him with a white trash gal from Hooterville whose next diary entry will likely be from prison, where she's changed her mind and just wants a little dick.

The thing is, Amy Sedaris, who I have just decided to try and woo to me with my blog and I might have a chance because I love bunnies, arts and crafts made out of potatoes and was born on the same day as Simon Pegg. Just in case you're dense (and, by that, I mean recognize my triviality), that is not to say I was born on the same day alone. I was also born on the same day in the same year. When the world as we know it first got a taste of SP, it was simultaneously getting its first taste of me. I think Amy might be impressed. I really like ladies in fat suits and Reddi Whip. I'm listening to Me Take Pretty One Day in my iTunes while I make little froodles for the whole family that will be there when they open their fortune cookies. I think I'm going to steal David Sedaris's series of personal essays that act as autobiography style, and will have tell about the time me and Amy Sedaris fell in love when we were working together at Hooters. Then, when I'm a famous writer, she'll want to meet me. Plus, I'll offer her some brandy.

It's the best plan I've got.

Oh, and I'm just gonna take credit for finding this one that Lisa posted over there at the Face Book.

And, for Cormac...

Asian Girls for Love and Marriage

Does anyone think this is as hot as me? (Of course, that's a truely loaded question.) If not, I imagine the ads I have so fruitlessly allowed to invade my blog will never be of any consequence to anyone, but those who have recently googled:
chunie vagina
corduroy fetish
i am a horny housewife
hypnotic pink eyes gaze eyeshadow
come on over here boy, and bust up this here chiffarobe
suggestive lawn care slogans
stuck in a straight jacket
peace how hard can it be
www.women dance at midnight with underwear.
timmy turner's butt
sexy vegans
hall n oates tour 08
father i have sinned mp3
pictures jesus on tha cross
if you don’t have anything nice to say don’t say it at all meaning
carl wayne t shirt
don t believe one optimistic word
c'mere cupcake
forgive me father for i have sinned - dialogue
its close midnight and something evil
forgive me father for i have sinned prayer
its close to midnight and something evil is lurking
bee slogans
more properly
titties coddle
Poor saps. There are hardly any of those things here, but there are Asian Girls for Love and Marriage and a frottage pic from time to time.

I kinda wish I had a penis right now, but I really can't be certain in what way I mean that.

Coming Soon...

Ok, that picture makes me take back that penis statement until I soak my mind in bleach and fry it up with bacon.


Pro- Crass- Ti- Na- A- Shun is Making Me Wait

I'm a very busy woman, it seems.

For instance, just today, I read the Wikipedia entries of:
  • Kristi McNichol (for obvious reasons),
  • Jeffery Dahmer (to make sure I'm not doing what his mom did),
  • Mel Gibson (did you know he's bipolar?), and, of course,
  • Masturbation (hehe- there are dirty pictures).
I wonder if there is competition in getting one's own photo posted as the visual aid for this entry. In order to answer this intellectual question, I'll check in from time to time and keep you apprised as to whether or not the picture changes. Or perhaps, some of you out there in lala land have been looking at this page for some time and can fill me in (hehe, begs the innuendo I'm just too savvy to make- except in this parenthetical remark.)

Yesterday, I made $9.56 writing short articles re: such topics as:
  • Why I love my chicken house building book (don't want these to come up on a g-search),
  • 5 Ways to Look Not Older (this one garnered me a whole $5.50 for 550 words), and
  • Why you shouldn't feel not optimistic (you know the word) in today's job market.
Two others are pending re: taking control of that inebriating liquid and how to be not sick, not miserable, and smart to the ways of the world. I may have earned a whole $15 for pretending to be fake expert on such matters, if these other two come through. I'm on hold 'til my first five are rated. I'll let you know. I think cash in hand might classify me as a professional, and then I'll have to demand that we barter sexual favors to allow you to read this crap smut.

How'z about that Swine Flu...? **crickets**

I've got cotton in my ear and I'm ignoring you. Since I smell like garlic, be thankful.

While, yes, I can prove without a shadow of a doubt why if (xn) and (yn) are two Cauchy sequences in the real numbers, then the product (xnyn) are also Cauchy sequences, I cannot quite make my coffee a consistent strength with my french press.

I'm not going to pass my class barring a benevolent miracle that I don't think I'll get. When I find out definitively, I'll be sure to complain about it here, so you can wallow in my misery, as well.

(Since my secret's been revealed, that pic is courtesy of a g-image search of "procrastination." Incidentally, I set it as our family's computer screen background. They think I'm bad.... I just realized, all I need is a leaf blower.)


Kid Art For the Heart: Platypus the Noble Knight

Lisa, If you post a pic, I'll grant you a free froodle.


How hard is it...?

... to post?

I mean really.

Google image search some weird wording...

How'z about headlock?

Aw, yes.

This here's my father.

He may not be long on smarts, but his 'stache, mullet, and pucker are undefeated!

How hard is it?

I though you'd never ask!

Google image search... snap.

Ok, not excited about those. It's not uncommon for me to go on a Connections-style rampage, lasting for hours.

Let's try "Connections," hey?

No. No. Hey! Where'd they come from?

"How hard can this be?" you ask.

Why, thanks for considering it.

Let's try grrrr, and dainty, and see the contrast.

Poetry in motion.

Oh!!!! Grrrrr is awesome and dainty!


I wonder if she knows how hard it is?

Unfortunately, the hearts don't dance around as they do in the original.


Well, I'm tired, and I have a lot of last-minute learning to do for my final Saturday.

Will it be my last final ever? Good Lard, let's hope.

Else, there's gonna be a shit ton of complaining to do.

I've already got a buttload on the back burner (eehhh).

How hard can it be?

These ladies have no idea, I'm sure.

Coming soon: "Doctor, I'm not feeling so fresh. Do you have something dainty to fix it?"

"Now, honey, I'm pretty sure just one more reference to hardness, firmness, a stiff state seems harmless, but I assure you, it would be very much out of line. Now, take off your dress and show me yer pretties."


sin título

This push-pull
Binds me,
Like a vice,
To your
Loose moral fibers.

There is no security,
In that
Though I hold tightly,
When you unravel,
I am crushed

And again,
I ask not
For you to
Give to me
Your hand,
Or a pull,
But rather,
Not a push.

My ambivalence
Tells me not
To walk a way,
Any way,
But to remain
Where I,
Not wanted,
See myself
On the floor
In pieces
We'd both
As soon ignore.


Who Says Beggars Can't be Choosers?

For certain, it wasn't me.

Take this post, for instance. I started writing two pithy items yesterday, one I'd even sorta, kinda thought inspired, only to have them both fizzle out at the end. I'm so choosy, I'd rather not finish them, than finish them lamely. Ya see the theme? (Can you tell me what it is, if you do?)

Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, it's Mother's Day. Woot! I'm working my usual 12-hour Sunday shift and especially for Mother's Day, I forgot my food for the entire day. Bah Humbug! I did, however, feel justified in ordering Chinese food for delivery, something I'd never done. Nothing to look at here.

Would I say I'm depressed? Maybe. I walked twice this past week and can say that as I was doing my rounds, I was feelin' my own ass, and it felt pretty good- except I couldn't help but think it doesn't feel the same as when someone else grabs it.

I'm rather fed up with my own complaints about how I'm not getting any from Mr. Bee- who I've confused the hell out of by telling him I'm gay. The thing is, things are not different now than they were before that though. It's all the same: this post as my last (or, at least, the one before that), my sex life as before. You know, everything. Lord knows, it will be like this forever and ever, amen.

Look busy; Jesus is coming!

(The privileged few of you who are my FB friends know how lame it is that I just re-used my status-update from yesterday- which was really just a bumpersticker Mr. Bee and I discuss from time to time.) Wa waaa waaaaaaah.

Mr. Bee and I watched one of the funniest movies I've ever seen, Waitress. I know you've seen it and loved it long before I ever did, but can we get back to what I think, here? I mean, really?

Earl is the most brilliantly written character I've seen in a long time. How someone so awful could be so endearing (in a loathesome kinda, pitiful-she-should-murder-him-kinda-way) is beyond me. 5 second review. Rent it! Watch it! Adrienne Shelley is now my knees, and everywhere I go, I take her with me. I know there will be at least one, perhaps more, Flo Joe episodes featuring scenarios from Waitress for me to take credit for.

Oh my, I just took an hour-long wikipedia sidetrack.

I guess I'll just go back to watching cute kid videos until I vomit from laughing like a moron.

(h/t to His Omnipotency for the above pic.)

Coming Soon-

I Hope that Was Spaghetti, The Western

And, in June-

The Self Improvement Series:

7 Days to Perfect Bacon
25 Ways to to Tell Your Mother-in-Law You Hate Her with a Smile on Your Face
How to Please The Lord in 30 Minutes a Day or Less
Want to Find Your Soulmate in a Box of Triscuits? Let Me Tell You How!
Travel Mississippi on $2 a Day
God's Way in Hard Economic Times: How to Forsake Satan on a Budget
You Can Ease Your Way into The Lord's Favor... with Mashed Potaoes
All You Need to be Happy is The Bible and a Dime!
Bigger Boobs are Within Your Grasp

Florence Joe hollers, "Go ahead an' use mah vibrator batteries for you's video games, then. 'Jes put 'em back 'fore ah needs 'em here in 'bout thirty minutes."


Night of the Zomdeis, Indeed

If my RA professor had not canceled the last two days of class, and if I had any idea whether or not I will graduate in a week and a half(which is dependent on my passing RA), I would be saying, "Woot!" and the like about tomorrow's being the last day of classes ever. As it is, it's a "meh, ok, let's study or we're all screwed" kind of a day.

Artwork by SnuggleCat, and I haven't even taught him the "If a Zomdei Had a Hammer" song yet.

Coming soon:

More Words I Will Regret
Sex and Bear Claws, a Sweet Mix
Florence Joe Joins the Hooters Bowling Team
Please Touch My Nipple, Kind Sir
I Cleaned My Bathroom and Will Now Not Leave (It)
Dear Diary, Where Am I?
What's That Squishy Stuff and How Can I Acquire More?
If I Get a Job, I'm Gonna Have to Work, I Think
What Ever Happened to All That Bacon?
Simon Says, "Thank You, Mother; May I Have Another?"
10,001 of the Many Uses Of Marshmallows
Rock a Bye Baby, Who the Hell Put You in a Treetop?
Is That a Granola Bar in Your Pocket, or Are You Just Hippy to See Me?

Seriously, though. I had a dream I was dancing in a lesbian bar, so the video it is...


What a Feelin: You Can Dance Right Through Your Life

See the one in the black shirt? Yeah, the pretty one in the back row. No, not the one with the half-shirt! The one with the dark hair. Yes. Yes. The one with the green shorts.

I'm that one.

And, I fit in with this crowd like gangbangers, er gangbusters. Sometimes, when we go get our bikini waxes, I wonder why they won't let me wear one too? I don't think they think I'm as pretty as they are.

Well, I'll show them.

Tonight, after their pillowfight, I'm going to sneak into their room, dressed like one of them and infiltrate their clique. I'm tired of bunking with Jerry the Photographer while they have all the fun. I'm going to find out what they really think of me.

And then, when they're sleeping, I'm going to cut the sleeves and the necks off all their pretty shirts and see how they like it. That'll show them!

But, that is not all. Oh no, that is not all. Then, I'm going to try on each and every one of their legwarmers, and then...

I'm gonna dance on through the night!



It's Close to Midnight and Something Evil's Lurking in the Underwear Drawer

Some people read classics. Some read contemporary women's fiction. Some read Scientific American. Some people even waste their energy reading pseudo-pithy blogs. Some read The Sun or The Enquirer or TV Guide. Some stay glued to The Weather Channel and yet still others stalk a police scanner. Others of us have the List of Craigs.

While, yes, it is pitiful and shameful, is it not like perusing a Victoria's Secret catalog? "Who are these people and why do they think normal people wear that?" It's just more like, "Who are these people and why are they showing their hoochies to a bunch o' ne'erdowells like me?" I usually can't afford to spend $90 on a cape and matching undies, but do you find it necessary to tell me that looking at them and considering buying them will be dangerous to my self-esteem and eventual heart health- not to mention, "Baby needs a new pair of shoes!" No? "Then, back off!" she hissed with hands clutched and spit flying.

If I were to place an ad for other married womens who want to leave their husbands and run away to the Bahamas in my backyard with me, and someone is dumb enough to answer, then do not she and I deserve our lame cooincidental fate?

Since The Craigslist Killer already has a fiance, I think I may have to be more careful than others were before re: what I'm imaginarily seeking. I have a few ideas of what sorts of ads may be more suitable for me to place.

Wanted: Craigslist Thriller!

Wanton PYT seeks The Lady in my Life who Wanna be Startin' Somethin'. If you crushed on Billie Jean and have decided to love your Human Nature rather than Beat It, Baby Be Mine! Back off all you Bi-Curiouses, The Girl is Mine!

(Sweet knockers are a plus.)
Wanted: Craigslist Spiller!

If you see a glass half-full of milk, do you seek to eliminate all doubt by drinking that shit down, only later to find yourself asking for more, lying to the waitress with your fake crying over a wee bit of spilt milk in order to get a free refill, and now label yourself: resourceful?

Do you often ask yourself why you are compulsively honest, even to the point of answering questions with questions in order to avoid speaking the truth in an effort to spare your few friends' feelings, and then write about them under a pseudonym and now label yourself: a blogger?

Late-thirties, overweight, shackin' up, poor, mother of four who is in recovery and questioning her sexuality seeks fellow spiller for cheap dates, meh sex, and a general sense of distraction.

(Any gender will do, however, the overtly ugly and ridiculously handsome need not apply.)
Wanted: Craigslist Griller!

Do you own a grill, a rotisserie spit, a hibachi, and a camping stove? Do you love to make fires and relish the smell of charcoal and burning meat? Do you growl when your spatula gets touched, but refuse to wash a single dinner dish?

I want your meat!

(Have Dutch Oven, will travel.)
Wanted: Craigslist Biller!

Are you a normal person wondering wtf you're doing here, justifying it as killing time at work? Can you do the math and bring home the bacon? Do you love piña coladas and have half a brain? Do you wish your life weren't so boring and sometimes desire a companion in your wallowing who will leave you alone most of the time?

We'll probably never meet, because you probably won't call and this ad is only being posted on my kewl blog (not), but just know the love we could have had would have blown our argyle socks off.

Le sigh, etc.


A Little Off Kilter

If you can even read my blog again, rather than just look at the dirty pictures now that I've crossed that irrevocable line (unless I remove them), you may or still may not notice a new little evil which has worked it's way into this little dirty crevice of the blogomosphere. Ads.

I knew they were a good idea for Fluff Po and I couldn't be more thrilled with the ones which magically appeared. Don't let Big Brother know I'm onto him rather than into him, however. In the spirit of some sort or another tradition, I am having an interest in becoming fully self-supporting... wait, the rest is declining all outside contributions. So really, that crap doesn't apply, because I may even do a pay pal thingy ma jig one day.

Sure, Mr. Bee and I struggle financially, but not as much as has been the case in the past. It's not like we have cable, but clearly we have the interwebs. We're rolling in it. It may be poo, but we're rolling in it none-the-less.

Every weekend lately I find myself perusing Craigslist, and while it only takes about thirty seconds to go through all the ads for other married women who want to leave their husbands and run away to the Bahamas in my backyard with me, I always manage to make my way to the roommates, rooms for rent and dead end job sections.

You see, while yesterday was the first time in many years I felt the need to let Mr. Bee know that I wanted to pull over the car and have him get out (less than a mile away from the truck his work lets him use, gas and toll fees included, 24-7) if he could not treat me with respect, it was the first time he asserted his name on the title ownership trumped mine- despite my student loans paying the last several months' car payments. Not good.

I already know that if anyone is going to move out of our lovely house with out the other, it will be me. He already called dibs on buying the house.

Now, I'd never claim to not be petty.

That one just stands on its own.

The thing I want to do, besides shoot myself in the foot, is to know personally that at any given moment, the choice to stay or go is mine. I've noticed when I have the external resources to do so, I at least feel as though I am treated better. But still, for some reason, or rather because I know myself all too well, I choose to do things like pay the family's rent for 6 months in advance rather than open a bank account and save the money there. There is increased security for me in that, on the one hand, but a vulnerability in having little other than my paltry weekend blogging security guard position income besides for several months at a time. But, at least it's not going to be able to be blown on each and every little thing we think we can't do without first. I imagine others have more self discipline and still others have credit cards, but that's just where I'm at.

Anyways, since there is a .00035% chance I'll graduate this semester, I am preparing to beat off (hehe) all the big paying employers who want me to tell them a fancier way to write 2 +2 = 4 (for instance: -(i²) + 2! + eº= 4), and with that is coming the desire to get a little place in the city, use busses, walk much more, and get me a girlfiend (rather than a girlfriend, apparently).

It is true that I will be writing the very same thing here in 5 years (when I'm taking Real Analysis for the 13th time), I know. But, I am just so well-prepared that I am choosing to write a post today that I can use then.

So, now I have justified my use of ads, my desire for money, and I know that sets me apart from every one else. Not. Also, I can hardly wait to see what type of ads self-generate here. As I expressed above, ads on FluffPo for wedding frivolities and sexless marriage remedies get me almost as hot as my new file cabinet, so I can hardly wait to see what sort of ads suit my blog.

My guesses are ads for: therapy, Bedazzlers, handcuffs, cake decorating kits, McCalls sewing patterns, and, in particular, those creepy monkey dolls that look like babies.

Now, I just have to figure out how I'm going to spend the $2.00.
After I applied a thin layer,
I examined it closely.
I had been wanting one just like it for so long.
I think everyone else has had one,
But me.

Pleased and ready,
I imagined all the things I would do with it.
I thought of all the things I would put in it.

Sure, I've used them plenty of times,
But this was the first time
I could call this one my very own.

My new file cabinet.