Bored With The Decor

www.expand2web.com/

The more I play around with my blog, the more I cringe.

I'm just plain old b-o-mothafuckin-r-e-d with my layout. While I love the user friendliness of Blogger, and how the Google family just keeps growing on me:

The Code

As Dexter was trained to the code on how to not get caught, I was also trained by a similar code. My father was a pro at keeping his drinking problems under control. He never missed work. Never missed any special engagement. Visited his aunt every single Wednesday, played the organ for the church and volunteered to take care of an elderly woman who had no family.

I Drink TOO Much!

http://cdn.mos.totalfilm.com/

I guess Daniel Radcliffe (Harry Potter) must have a drinking problem too. I just google searched "drinking problem" then clicked "images" and he shows up a lot. And I am probably the last to know this... And I call myself a Harry Potter fan! How dare I?

It's only normal that when you're on a vacation you have a few cocktails every night. Right? And this trip, really gives us a deep sensation of being on a vacation. Problem is we've been gone since Nov. 10. Today is my 3-month anniversary of cruising the Sea of Cortez, Mexico and daily toddies. It's hurting.

Just as last week I decided to stop and take a break - this week I've done the extreme opposite. I went 7 or 10 days and was doing great. Then a gang of old friends booked a condo in Cabo San Lucas for their annual binge drinking holiday and well... being but 2 days of sailing away we cruised our way to play with them. My liver is my hostage on this crazy amusement park ride of bar hopping and booze-croozing.

I can't wait for their vacation to end tomorrow so I can slap a band-aid on my liver and sign-up for Advil Detox.

Lemme Tellyou About My Hair

Source: www.worldproutassembly.org

I have a cow's lick. That expression is so gross! But the stupid cow licked me right where my part ends. So if my hair isn't set right, it actually looks like a bald spot.

Yes. I'm too sexy for my hair.

The day I actually wash my hair, it goes totally unnoticed to the untrained eye. I still see it (with the help of 2 mirrors placed just so, but I'm a trained professional in finding personal flaws).

But... living out here where we have to run the water maker for 8 hours to fill our water tank, which needs to be run on the generator for which we have to walk to a gas station to buy fuel - showers are a luxury! Don't even get me going on what it takes to heat up the water! So I wash my hair on average once or twice a week. It helps that I dive 2-4 times per week. And that the air is dry, otherwise I'd look like George Clooney in "Oh Brother" with his pomade. Yup, I'd be: The Daper Dan (Wo)Man!

The dirtier it gets the harder it is to handle and maintain the B-spot. But my hair clearly wants to separate where the part ends. As my last shower becomes more and more a thing of the past, the more it splits apart like the Red Sea.

Why am I telling you this?

I don't have a single iota of a clue. But its been bugging me all morning, and I guess I needed a stranger's shoulder to lean on. Hold me! I almost look like I'm balding on bad hair days!

Muwah!  ;)

Life Lesson One-Oh-One

If there's one thing this trip is doing to me, is that its making me realize just how utterly and depressingly fucked up and messed up I am as an individual.

I can't hide from myself. I can't hide my truths. I can't hide my weaknesses and I certainly can't hide my ugliness. It's like life is holding a magnifying mirror in my face, and is forcing me to keep my eyes open. Yelling "take a good look, this is you, this is who you've always been!" Now to figure out how to change, and make sure reality won't chime in and add "...and who you'll always be!"

The Perfect Storm!

This is an artist's rendering of what happened. Notice the clothes in the front window?

They say when you go South down the Baja it's downhill, but heading northbound is like going uphill. The current, the wind and mankind's basic natural instinct all take you towards the South and warmer climates!

Random Confessions

The Beach Cruiser: would be cooler if it was rare.

1. Every time I glance at a digital clock and see repeated digits (11:11 - 1:11 - 2:22 - 3:33 and so on...) I quickly look away from the time, make a wish and make sure I don't look at the time again for at least a minute because I'm somehow convinced if I do look and it's still the same time, my wish won't come true.
2. I fold my underwear: lay them flat, fold up the bottom flap, then fold that row in three and store them in a stuff sack. I've been doing this since living on the road, and it seemed appropriate to maintain this crazy habit on the boat.
3. Sometimes as I'm walking down the dock I close my eyes, and challenge myself to walk 20 steps before opening my eyes, sometimes I cheat and take a quick glance and still congratulate myself for doing the full 20 steps.

The Fine Line Between WANT and NEED

I need to eat, but I want a ribeye steak. Or... is it that I NEED a ribeye steak so much that I now WANT to eat?

See the dilemma I face daily?

I need to exercise, yet I want to remain lazy. I need to get around town, so I want a Mini Cooper. Yum. A Mini Cooper. I need it so much, I want us to have a 2nd car!

Need VS Want. The never-ending battle. And the delusion I can easily create to convince myself the silly wanting is simply there because a need, well - needs fulfillment. Back to the need for exercise. It's healthy right? My heart and health depends on regular exercise. So in comes roller derby and scuba diving.

Both wonderful activities. Both requiring gear. Expensive gear. Updated gear.

The better the gear the better the experience? Most of my scuba gear was purchased used or at extreme store discounts. Other than my mask (thank you myopia and dang what's that other word for sight troubles? Uhm, seeing double caused by a weirdly shaped eyeball? See what I was saying yesterday about forgetting words???) What was I saying? Oh yeah, other than my overly priced prescription mask my diving gear was reasonably priced. Ditto on the derby gear. I bought the cheapest skates, spoiled myself with a wheel upgrade so I could skate both indoors and outdoors without having to change them.

I need to exercise so...

• I WANT a new dive computer that gives me water temperatures, digital safety stop info and of course a backlight so I can read it in the dark (I don't do night diving, but this last part seemed important)
• I WANT all leather skates so they can... (do what exactly that my current skates don't do?) nevertheless, I want better skates!
• I WANT new wheels on my bike (which I hardly ever ride at all because I've got myself convinced if I had less rugged threads I'd use it more on the roads)
• I WANT a fancy belt to hold small water bottles so when I skate outdoors and run (haha, ok I only go running about once a month) I don't need to carry a water bottle, thus making the experience more enjoyable, I need to stay hydrated right?

Need. Want. Want. Need. I want to need less. I need to want less. But then again... Dive computer. Cool fancy big bold wristwatch. Mmmm. Digital digits. Buttons. Controls. USB connection. I want more. More is more.

I know I won't buy one. I think. Yet, I'm constantly checking out online deals. Please, I beg you: feel free to check up on me to make sure I stay in check!

Half-Assed Weekender: The Takers Edition - Part 1

Haven't posted one of these in a long time. Flagging off bloggy buddy The Simple Dude as the initiator of these little half-assed weekend posts.

I've been working on getting my PADI Certification. The term "working" is not to use lightly... My ears are causing an issue since I have a definite congestion problem. After 3 attempts to correct the deviated and corrupt person that I am septum, I gave up on ever even being able to breathe freely from my nose. My mouth is open all the time, yeah I look like I should be the star of Dumb and Dumber. Oh well!

So... this diving thing. To get certified you have to complete a list of sometimes almost impossible and freakishly scary skills. Like removing your mask under water, putting it back on and clearing it, navigating under water, removing your BCD and putting it back on, and other greatly fun stuff. I breezed through ever skill. I grew up in a pool. I literally grew up in a pool! Water beckons me non stop.

It was decided to accomplish all 4 mandatory open water dives in one weekend. Two dives on each day. We had to walk through a 6' crushing wave with 80 lbs of equipment strapped to our backs. But I think I've talked about this before, I need to fast-forward... Long story short because of my ears I had to cancel day 2. Thankfully (for me) the group had to cancel the 2nd dive on day 2 because of a huge amount of jellyfish! Yay me! That put me 1 dive behind the group.

We re-scheduled for the next Tuesday. The group would get their final dive, I'd get my 3rd one in. This was April 12. My left ear has been blocked from that night until Friday night. My dive master wanted to get me done for my final dive as quick as possible. So we agreed to return yesterday (the 23rd).

But. BUT. BUT... My ears. Oh my ears. I was ok swimming around in 15' of water. But as we swam deeper and deeper towards 30' all was no longer okey-dokey. I could not equalize my stupid left ear!

Shit, this is no longer a half-assed post. Oh well!

I signal to the dive master and we swim back to the surface. On the way up she indicates to to a 3 minute safety stop. This is not a mandatory skill, but since she knows I'll be diving off the boat, she decided it was necessary to impose it. I failed the 3 minute stop...

On the surface she indicates she cannot certify me because of that blasted stop. I suggest we go back down and try it again. "Your nose is bleeding, you tore some capillary tissues. You can't go back down, you could cause more damage." Fcuk. The fukkity fcuk! I have to go again! But before doing so I have to see a doctor.

And the worst thing is that THIS was not the purpose of my post. I WANTED to write about yesterday afternoon and our boat diving excursion (which I went for the excursion, but couldn't do the dive - of course) but I'm cutting off now. This post is long enough.

TO BE CONTINUED!

The Challenge of Organized Women's Sports

www.cowshell.com

DISCLAIMER: I am a very open and cool person. I am. I truly am.

When I start getting involved in any team, oops, make that a woman's team of any sort, the hardest challenge I face is knowing if each new woman I meet is straight or lesbian.

Why is this important? If you know anything about me, you probably understand immediately why it has any importance. But let's say you've never actually met me (which pretty much sums up 99.9% of my readers) or that this is your first time here (hey, thanks for stopping by!). One of my motivations for joining any league is networking and making new friends.

And I don't give a rat's ass what you eat for pleasure. But... some do, and my over-friendliness can be off putting for some of my new "friends". I am always wondering "does she think I'm hitting on her?" or "hmmm... does she want me to hit on her?" See my challenge?

Now meet my new sport: roller derby.

Chicks who are badass is the most common denominator in this sport. And, yes, I will be doing a sexual orientation profiling: this is also pretty common among my les-be-friends. You know what I'm saying? Well, ok, not ALL lesbians are badass in-your-face-hard-core-slamming-other-peeps-to-the-ground type. You should meet my Montreal friend. Total opposite. But that's besides the point.

Last practice we all went out for taco Tuesday. Tacos: making Tuesdays 100% better around the universe! Disclaimer: I am not being paid by Taco Corp to make this claim. It's just my straight up belief.

Booby came along, because he's that kind of guy. Always open for fun, and girls drinking $2 Margaritas dressed in hot Derby clothes? Oh yeah... He'd be insulted if I didn't invite him. But at one point, one of the girls pointed at him and said "Who's THAT guy?" and one of my peeps said "Oh, that's Marr's husband!" (We all call ourselves by our derby names btw).

Oooof. I need to breath now (sorry, I've been totally struggling with breathing as a side effect from scuba diving this week-end). Where was I... Oh yeah, SO then the girl who asked who Booby was looked at me and something clicked. I saw her registering "Oooohhh, so she WASN'T hitting on me, she was just being friendly!" And I knew she was in the same place as I was.

I wish I had some kind of beeper telling me who eats what. It would avoid a lot of potential embarrassment. Ya know what I'm saying? I don't need to know so I can avoid you... I need to know because I just need to know! And although *I prefer sausage to taco, I do like my share of tacos (carne asada, that is!)

* if you've never seen 50 First Dates: watch it now, or you'll never understand this comment.

A New Milestone

www.zazzle.com

I turned 45 this month.

If you've been reading me lately you already know this mid-life crisis I'm going through is driving me insane. 45. Forty. Five. Google 45 and then hit the "images" option. It's a bunch of guns. Subliminally telling me what I need to do?

My nieces texted me with good wishes reminding me of how rockin cool I was. They're so sweet. Probably doing what their moms, my sisters, were forcing them to do.

But I also made a decision to stop freaking out about my age. And my wrinkles. And my droopy cheeks. And my knobby knees. That's it. Total acceptance of my pain in my bones when I wake up. And the fact that by 9 pm I'm struggling to stay awake. And the fact that when teenagers talk I just want to scream "STOP MUMBLING!!!!" then re-collect myself before adding "AND PULL UP YOUR PANTS!!!".

Yes. I am going to be zen about this mid-life thing. So totally zen when I'm jumping over obstacles in my roller skates hoping that if I fall I won't come crashing down land on my already sore butt. Totally zen as I'm strapping myself into the regulators and vest and oxy tanks... Very zen when I'm praying the sail boat doesn't tip over.

Zen. Welcome to my life as I patiently check off every item on my bucket list.

p.s. Do you realize some people don't even know what that thing is up there?

When The Heck Did THAT Happen???

It has happened. Don't know when exactly but I know it's happened. Kind of like watching Robert Redford, do you remember when the switch occurred where he went from one of the most handsome man on the face of the earth to be a grizzly old guy with a leather face? When did THAT happen?

It's happened to me. Not that I was once the most handsome man on the face of the earth, because well, I'm not a man, and let's face it - I've never been extremely handsome (can we even say "handsome" for women?).  But what I do know is I've switched from being asked for my ID when I order drinks to:

• being called Ma'am from younger chicks;
• having people not flinch when I tell them my age (trust me, my entire life people have not believed me when I told them how old I was always thinking I was YEARS younger);
• having all over body pain after working for 17 straight hours at the IndieFest.

OK, so I get bonus points for the roller derby, and the scuba diving... and I do happen to be in pretty good shape, but still.  

I     AM    OLD.

And it breaks my heart.

In other news: can I tell you a secret? Get closer, I need to whisper this... Ssshhhhh! Don't tell anyone but, I secretly wish mermaids really existed. I do. I honestly do. There, it's out. And if mermaids existed, I'd be their spokesperson. I'd create a sister Greenpeace league for the protection of mermaids. I would speak their language and represent them outside the water. And my desire to get PADI certification? You got me. I want to explore the seas and see for myself if there is some kind of hybrid existence living underwater.

I hope mermaids aren't ageists. If so, they would most likely fire me as their rep and hire a younger and fresher spokesperson. That would suck. Maybe I would need to create an age sensitivity awareness program. I couldn't bear being fired from my beloved mermaids.

I'm Either Delirious From Cold Meds, Or In Early Stages of Alzeimer's, or Maybe I'm Just Begging for Attention

www.gapinvoid.com

I'm hoping you're not thinking "All of the above". Wait, I'm hoping I'm not thinking all of the above. Of course you all know I'm still as unemployed as the rock from which I just crawled under. But I am involved with the San Diego IndieFest, as a volunteer. My volunteer title is 'Queen of something' as you see, I don't care much for titles, I know I'm a queen and it's all that matters. That and the festival is tomorrow. And today is setup day.

Setup days are always one of my favorites in festivals. It's exciting. Everything is being delivered. You get to watch the stages rise up, and the light bridges over them. It's exhilarating. All this is happening right now as I'm clicking away on my keyboard backing up every 3 character to correct a weird typo (I actually wrote homping 3 times before I got it right, shut-up Freud). I am being rocked away in my boat in the backlashes of the Japanese tsunami.

I watched images of these ferocious waves on TV and then went online to see more of them.

Chilling.

I'm currently too delusional to be fun and fearless. It's so bad in my head I actually googled "early signs of Alzheimer's" and checked off all 10 signs. Checked them off in a negative "yup, that's me" way. My delusions almost cost us a sponsorship I managed to finagle at the last minute from a local restaurant giving us $1,000 in meals for the artists.

And it (silly delusion) totally botched up my recent sale on eBay. Thank god for the option to cancel a sale after it's been paid. Sigh, bye-bye easy $300!

Going back to bed now, good night and please tell Mother Earth to calm the fuck down!

Fun & Fearless Female

Years ago I'd occasionally pick up a copy of a pretty cheesy magazine: Cosmopolitan. The surveys were fun ditto on the tips on how to please your man... But I would also love to read a series of profiles they labeled Fun Fearless Female. I'd read with envy the lives of such fantastic women remembering when I had dreams of building a career such as those featured in this raunchy magazine.

Recently to fight the fear of sailing and the over tilting of the boat I've adapted a new mantra: I'm a fun and fearless female.

As soon as my heart starts to cringe I immediately repeat my new mantra over and over hoping it'll have a soothing effect. Either that or I'll simply brainwash myself into self-improvement.

I'm a fun and fearless female.

The other day I picked up my packet of birth control pills. I stared at the little day stickers asking Booby what day it was. That kinda shit happens when you're unemployed, you never really know what day of the week it is. "Tuesday, why?" Uh oh. "Nothing, just wondering..." I swallowed 2 pills. Monday we had some little pillow fun, if you know what I mean. Wink-wink-nodge-nodge "Bow-chica-wow-woooow" Tuesday I was ovulating. Sometimes we just know these things as I'm sure you'll appreciate the lack of detail sharing. Sooooo, pillow play, ovulating and a skipped pill.

I'm a fun and fearless female.

Twitter has a cool feature where you know how your followers group you. And when you appear under a new list you can go and see what category you fall into. One follower labeled me "Most likely not a zombie" How nice of him. I thought it was so cool, I used it to label my resume on the online hosting thingy. I'm sure my future employer is looking for a candidate who is most likely not a zombie. I mean, who in their right mind would want to hire a zombie? Right?

I'm a fuckin' fun and fearless fuckin' female!

p.s. Expecting an update on the roller derby shit? Coming, dear peeps, coming...  ツ

That's Concrete To Me

Growing up, I assumed everything around me had always been there, and would always remain there. I simply didn't question anything.

1. The city's confusing interchanges: always existed. 
2. The stinky lake we swam in: always been there, always smelled bad.
3. My mom, my dad, my sisters: forever and ever.

I believed every single word uttered by the nuns. Mary was a saint and holy virgin. Joseph accepted, as I did, she had received a gift from God, and from that gift came Jesus. Joseph didn't accuse her of sleeping around, why would I? Adam was bored, god created Eve to entertain him. Amazing.

I'm far from being a religious person, but believing is easy and natural. And when I watch a movie or read a book, I fall under the same comfort of going with the story and allowing it to come true to life. This is probably why I struggle with horror movies.

When my dad died I came face to face with the knowledge he wasn't going to be there forever and ever. But being the naive person that I am, I allowed him to call me in my dreams. The phone would ring and as usual I was greeted with "C'est ton pèèèèère!" (with a strong emphasis on the accented e). Even if I answered "hi dad" he felt the need to establish decorum and introduce himself. This always made me smile, so it was only natural he'd introduce himself in my dreams as well.

Along my beliefs, of course, there is life after death. Again, remembering what the nuns taught me, when I die there will be a big party in the sky with all the people who love(d) me and will welcome me with their angelic wings surrounded by fluffy cottony clouds à-la Philadelphia Cream Cheese.

Although I know those messed up interchanges haven't always existed, and knowing most of them are about to crumble (Montreal is on the verge of some messy traffic situations) and the lake I swam in was once clean enough to drink from, there is still a part of me that hangs on to their permanence. And that's ok.

Because if I lose these views, then other things will crumble as well. And dealing with major losses would become overwhelming. My dad was one of the nicest, sweetest person I knew. To think he is forever and ever gone from my existence is unbearable.

With everything being fake, superficial, fluttering and temporary - it's comforting to surround ourselves with (illusions) of solidity. Sometimes you just need solid concrete ground to walk on as buildings topple and fall over.

p.s. This is the very 1st writing prompt from Studio 30+: CONCRETE. I couldn't resist the urge...

Denial: It's The New Black

www.learnwordlist.com

This was written initially for the Studio 30+ Magazine. But I wrote something else for it instead. And I decided the timing was appropriate to post it here. For some reason... Hmm. Take it any way you want, but here goes:

Denial is my best friend.

A therapist tried and tried to get me to quit on it. But you never drop a best friend. Denial has gotten me through some really tough times. And yes, denial may have put me through the worst of those times, but it still dragged me out when I thought all I had left to do was drown.

Oddly enough I started writing this post when Eddie B Kuhl started what appears to be a series. She calls it "Sometimes". I'm not as creative as Edie and call it straight out for what it is, I mean, a cat is a cat right?

How can denial be good?

When I look at a mountain of dirty dishes, I use denial as an ally to attack this mountain. I love a bubble bath, so for me doing the dishes is like a teeny tiny bubble bath exclusively for my hands.

I know flossing may be a burden, and I am most likely one of the rare people (other than dental hygienists and sociopaths) who floss daily. I actually love flossing. Or I should change that to I love the benefits of flossing. When I run my tongue against my teeth its like having a miniature silk factory working for me, those teeth are so silky smooth! When I brush my teeth at night with the flossing I allow myself to pretend my mouth is at the Spa. A Spa for mouthes...  Who doesn't LOVE a Spa?

Paying bills? Now this is FUN. I pretend I'm some hot sexy secretary in an office and I control everything. Who gets paid when and how... Every bill I open up I sit there playing a little character in my head as I write out the check, add a little something-something on the note section, giggle and make sure all the correct account info is also written down. This secretary knows her boss may punish her for doing something incorrectly and she's all about pleasing her boss. (I know, this part sounds sick, but it's my game, MY game, and it works!)

When I craved going to foreign countries but didn't have the means to pay for it, I'd sit behind this building in our city. It looked like a castle from some old country. Behind it there was this canal with locks they kept in it's original state. I'd sit there. Close my eyes for a few minutes and picked a country, any country, like say Germany and allow my brain to focus on sounds that could convince me I was there, and also imagine smells and when I'd open my eyes I was there! Totally Oktoberfesting on the sights! And what had it cost me? Nothing. Did I crash afterward? No, not at all, I knew I was doing what Edie calls "sometimes" and it gave me moments of escape.

It's not like I'm using denial to avoid my responsibilities. I use it as a tool to give me strength when I  come face to face with them. I mean, if I were to let my bills pile up until the bank comes in to take my possessions as I pretend they are movers helping me move into a nicer home it would be different. Or if I looked away from the sink and pretend flies weren't buzzing around as you grab a dirty plate and shake off the green fuzzy mushroom that's growing on it and use it (the plate not the fuzzy mushroom). Then what have you got? A bad case of salmonella and a swollen face.

Sadly enough my ex-therapist never agreed with the benefits of denial. I guess you can say she denied everything I tried to tell her in order to convince her of these numerous benefits. I fired her. As a therapist I mean. My happiness bubble may rely on something as weak as all these multiple illusions I create in my little world, but every time my bubble pops I throw myself in my dirty dishes where the bubbles are endless.

How about you? Do you ever use denial as a tool to face the world and conquer it? Or do you agree with the therapist and think all forms of denial are destructive?


p.s. The Minute Man's Wife has given me award and I've been tagged by Chrissy at I Shoulda Been a Stripper. Two delightful blogs by the way... I will get to these soon. I promise!

Damned if You Do, Damned if You Do (Because You Said No)

www.iconator.com

In a turmoil

After years of running non stop with a crazy racing schedule, never staying put in the same city for very long (spending 2 consecutive nights in the same hotel became sheer luxury) I was now well overdue for normalcy.

I crave boredom. I crave a mundane life where I come home bitching about what Suzy dared say at the water cooler. I crave staying put in the same city for long enough to build friendships.

Friendships. I struggle to even remember what 2 girls chat about while sipping a cup of coffee. Do people still do that? Hook up for a cup of java?

See how out of the loop I am? And now I was hoping I could do that. Feed my cravings of normalcy. Take the trash out. Wash dishes. Get parking tickets and contest them in court. You know, regular stuff. The stuff most people complain about and end up hating: I want or need!

I crave it. I know, it's weird, but it just is! When you live on the road for years hopping from hotel to hotel, never knowing what city or state you're in when you wake up in the middle of the night as you bump into walls looking for the toilet: you crave NOR-fucking-MAL!

Evidently 50% of the people in my relationship seek the opposite.

50% of the people in my marriage want to go south. Spend a month in Mexico. Maybe more. Maybe less. Maybe just head out as soon as possible and see where the breeze takes us. Oh what the heck, take a year meandering around. A YEAR??? More uncertainties leading me to further isolation...

Let's face it. The only good thing I've got going for me right now is that other 50% of the people in my relationship.

Jobs? None.
Friends? None.
Home? None (other than the boat I live on)

But I've got him. And if he goes south then I lose him. And the boat I'm living on.

I am so lost. And confused. And a total utter mess. And totally ignoring all rules of grammar by starting all these sentences with a conjunction. Remember that way old TV commercial that aired during kids programming trying to educate the peeps? That funky little tune "conjunction junction oooh, what's your function?" And now I'm aging myself. And I did it again, started a sentence with a conjunction? Can't you see I'm a mess?


I already told him I needed to stay put. Crying and hikkuping I explained how I needed balance and stability. This is a fork in my road. People need to follow their heart, do what they think is right for them. I've sensed this fork coming, and I've been a mess because of it.

Immaturity Is My Middle Name

Disclaimer: Laura from Fetch My Flying Monkeys started this trend. And although Immaturity is my middle name, I have a 2nd middle name and it's Follower. What monkey see, monkey do. And these ransom notes are fun! Not as much fun as Jiffy Pop Popcorn, but pretty friggin close.

Ever wonder where our true beauty lies? They (who the fuck are "they" anyways?) say it lies within. My cyber friend, who should be forever enshrined at the Humor Museum (there is such a thing you know) has shared with me her beautiful innards, which I am now sharing with you. And this is what I found:

When an alien makes a threat, it is best to not laugh. Laughing at alien's world domination threats is the last thing you want. Trust me, they can do stuff we've only dreamed of or seen in cheesy B movies with cardboard red and blue glasses. You know what I'm talking about...

Laser eyes? Eeeeks! Will they cut through clothes? Will they break skin? Cut my body in half? What do laser eyes do? If Mini-Me sees THESE lasers will he hump them? "Mini-Me, stop humping the lllay-zzzer!" OK alien monster, I'm already feeling my fingers go numb and I know your lasers will turn me into a zombie. WHAT DO YOU WANT?

You want me to take you to my leader? Which leader is that? What do they mean when they say that? Who the fuck is our leader anyways? Go see Laura, she's kinda my leader as I stated above, I'm just following anyways. Go, leave me alone! Help meeeee I don't want to be turned into a zombiiiiiiieeeeeeeee!

Of course the alien wants to kiss me. Take a number alien dude! Look at those lips all puckered up... OK alien, I'll kiss you but that's where I draw the line. Nothing beyond that not even 1st base. You can't breed through me. I'm not doing it, I'm not. No means no!

****

Back to serious matters. Sorry about yesterday. Sometimes I kick myself for stuff that should stay in the past. Bipolar you say? PMS maybe? I'll get over it. Thanks Minute Man's Wife, you are wonderful.

****

This morning I woke up to yet another email from the "ghost". Apparently I am a wonderful soul. He obviously doesn't read my blog.

****
This is what you get when you become my friend by the way. Have any pics you want to send me? Some scans? MRI's? Ultrasounds you need me to see and analyze?

****

Ever notice all the new self proclaimed Doctors?  Dr Phil. Dr Drew. Dr Laura. In a time when everybody is self-diagnosing their diseases it's only fitting everybody should call themselves Doctor. I only wish I'd thought of it before they did. My hands are already full copying a favorite blogger of mine...

Half-Ass Weekend Post

Simple Dude in a Complex World started this trend...

This is another edition of a half-assed weekend post. The Simple Dude started this, and I'm such a follower!

As a kid, I loved opening presents. A lot. When we were due for a new package of Q-tips I'd rush in to the job and pretend it was a gift. It didn't matter if it was clear cellophane, as I'd hold it in my hands I'd shake it and play pretend it was my birthday asking over and over "I wonder what it is? As I'd unwrap it and expose the Q-tips I'd be thrilled: "I love these! Just what I needed!"

I think my 1 gift limit per birthday and Christmas must have been a bit of a letdown, kind of like the Pink Panther cutting out an image of a fried fish in a magazine and slapping it on his grill. But admit, I was a pretty creative kid with a vivid imagination!

www.ohwhatfunevents.com

And if that wasn't enough, I'd sit my teddy bears and my dolls around my little table and pretend it was one of their birthdays. The ideal accessory for such a grand occasion was an empty little raspberry plastic crate. You know those little basket type things that're about 3" X 3"? I'd stick a kleenex on it covering it up (again, kind of like a birthday present) and decorate it. Place it upside down on the table surrounded by my teddy bears and dolls and voila: a beautiful little birthday cake!

I'd clap my hands and randomly pick who's birthday it was then sing happy birthday perfectly out of tune. To finish it off I'd cut the birthday boy's hair. It took me a long time to figure out the fact that it never grew out. All my dolls had crooked hair.

Let's not talk about the teddy bears... *sigh* they were a sad sight! But I loved them unconditionally.

Is THIS not the perfect picture of a really cute and happy (and desperately lonely, now that I think of it) little kid?

******

On another note (because now I'm depressed and need to change my line of thought) those full body scanners at the airports do have the perfect name: Rapiscan. It IS pronounced RAPEY-scan. It scans you, violates you and ultimately rapes you. Don't you think they should have focus group'ed that name?

And yes, I was scanned and violated no less than one week ago. And yes, I did suck my tummy in, thanks for asking. I do want my violators satisfied. I'm fucked up. Anybody got an empty raspberry crate I can borrow?

Single White Female

Every time a eHarmony.com commercial runs, my guy sighs, looks at me and says "I wish I had somebody who loved me like that!" Me too, me too...

Know where to go to find the ideal mate? Check out these ads:

"I am a very sweet girl who enjoys car rides, giving people kisses and receiving any affection I can from you (AKA - SLUT!)! I am quite energetic (A.D.D.) and would like a home with an active owner (NYMPHO). I may jump up in excitement when first meeting people (PSYCHO), but in a friendly way (YEAH... RIIIIGHT). I sometimes may chew when I am left unsupervised (SHE EATS A LOT, KEEP YOUR KIDS AWAY FROM HER), so give me lots of exercise and toys to keep me busy (NEEDS TO LOSE WEIGHT)."

OR

"Hi my name is Joker (I'M THE ONLY ONE WHO LAUGHS AT MY JOKES)! I was brought back to the shelter because (I'M HOMELESS) I like to escape and travel to neighbors who are not to fond of me (ESPECIALLY WHEN I'M DOING THE NEIGHBOR'S WIFE).  I am a very sweet boy! I love to play (OH YEAH, GIGGIDY), and of course the more attention the better (ATTENTION WHORE)! I love being around kids as they are fun playmates (DON'T TELL MY PAROLE OFFICER). I need someone who will be patient with me and work with me so I do not escape anymore. (I LOVE TO BE TIED DOWN, I HAVE MY OWN HANDCUFFS)"

OR

"I am a very loving and affectionate girl and I really like attention (ANOTHER ATTENTION WHORE), I would also do great in a home with kids of all ages."

OR

"I love treats and will take in gently (WITH A LITTLE KY). I am very people oriented, and I like to be next to my owners as much as possible (I AM VERY SUBMISSIVE, WILL YOU BE MY MASTER?). Oh and I also was used to being around a chihuahua and I was the submissive one (TOLD YA). I like car rides, and I tolerate baths but it's not my favorite (THE WATER CAUSES FRICTION). I need lots of running space in my next home because of my energy level, and because I was used to it (WAS? WHAT DO YOU MEAN "WAS"?). I love to fetch. I also retrieve (I'VE BEEN CAUGHT STEALING). I have not hunted (I'M ALWAYS THE HUNTED). Thunderstorms and gun shots did not seem to bother me (AS LONG AS THE SHOOTER CAN'T AIM). When strangers came over I barked if I was outside but would not hurt anyone. I got along great with the cats as well (JUST LOVE THE FEEL OF THAT SANDPAPER TONGUE). I just like everyone (I'M EASY!)"

OR

"Hi there I'm Jake! Don't let my age fool you, I'm a big playful boy with a lot of energy (AKA I'M OLD BUT WILL LAST MORE THAN 8 MINUTES). I'm very social and friendly with strangers (I LOVE EVERYTHING THAT'S STRANGE TO MOST PEOPLE). I like to give hugs, I do well in car rides, I like baths (WASH ME, I'M DIRTY), and I love to cuddle (OH YEAH, AND SPOON, AND OH YEAH...)"

OR

"Hi, my name is Buddy! My original owner abandoned me (YUP, ANOTHER DIVORCÉ) and so I was kept by another family for 3 months (REBOUND EFFECT). I love chew toys and pigs ears (AND BACON, LOVE BACON) and I lived with older children. I can be a little vocal (I'LL YELL WHEN YOU DON'T DO WHAT I WANT) when I don't get enough attention or on car rides (AGAIN WITH THE CAR RIDES). I  like to chase cats and probably should not go in a home were they are present (CRAZY CAT LADIES: BEWARE). I was kept outside all times (I KINDA STINK, EVER SINCE I DID IT WITH A QUESTIONABLE PERSON). I would love a home where someone has time for me and where they have time to train me and teach me new things. (I SOMETIMES PEE IN BED)."

Something tells me the fine people who work at the Humane Society have spent too much time searching for their soul mates online.

DISCLAIMER: No animals were harmed in the making of this post.