I Love My Kindle but has it Killed the Quality of my Reading?

My Kindle sitting on a pile of books...

I've always been an avid reader. In high school, I would occasionally show up with sunken eyes and yawning like crazy. Friends would ask me what party I'd been to the previous night and why didn't I invite them? None, I'd answer.

15 Sure Ways To Know He's Cheating On You

www.lifecoachexpert.net

Other than finding used condoms under the car seat and love letters stashed under the mattress, if you wonder and (really-really) want to know if he's cheating on you then read my checklist:

Everything Takes Time... and Patience!

Broom Hilda? Come se dice en espanol?

Which we have plenty of (time), but the patience part? A whole n'other ball game! At least where I'm concerned that is! Not very patient at all...  *sigh* (Just ask the Captain in regards to the ongoing torture I've put him through these past few days because of my internet connection issues!)

La Paz has stores on every street corner. Some stores are "tiendas" like small general stores and hold everything from parts to build your own propane BBQ, to awesome terra cotta dishes and brooms. (Oh yeah, most stores have buckets of brooms right out the door, it appears as though these are always in need, especially when people sweep the sidewalks!) You can always find the unexpected...

A Job Interviewwwwww!

I got an email yesterday.

*happy dance*

Inviting me to a job interview.

*happy dance*

For a job I applied to at the San Diego Zoo.

Smoke On The Water

Source: boston.com Not us. Could have been us.

After 2 glorious days at Isla Los Islotes diving, playing and interacting with the seals we reluctantly headed back towards town. It was a must - we were out of tortillas and getting dangerously low on Capt Morgan.

After 2 hours of motoring (because, of course once again the winds were working against us) the motor started spinning madly out of control. And the smoke! Oh, the smoke coming out from under the boat! Lucky for us, the Captain was an engine builder. His instinct was immediate as he quickly turned the key and ordered me to pull on the kill engine plug.

We Knew It!

By 7:30 am it was obvious the skies we were headed towards showed darkness. I pointed it out to the Captain "It'll all blow away by 11:30 this morning" so we kept going. Ain't hind sight grand? (Mistake #1)

Our fuel gauge was below the quarter mark, and we'd already dumped our 2 fuel jugs into the tank. If the headwinds kept up, we would never make it to our first anchorage destination: Cedros Island. Our friends who were sailing with us had an extra jug of fuel we could borrow, but they were much further behind. The 2 Captains talked on the radio and decided to keep motoring straight towards the island in case the wind picked up as it got warmer. Winds often do that.

When In Rome...

Wear a toga and eat too much?

But when in Mexico - hang out with other gringos? Not for me - no gracias, no es para mi. What is it with the average American that fears the sense of being disoriented that they need buoyancy with their Hard Rock Cafés, Hooters and McDonalds in any country they dare visit?

I want to be lost, confused, thrown into a new culture with a whole new unknown world. That brings such a sense of adventure and keeps my eyes rolling constantly. That and the treacherous sidewalks where a fraction of a second in lack of attention can cost you an ankle! I'd hate to be in a wheelchair in Mexico - I'll tell you that much! Cracks, sudden drops beyond 2 feet, holes, or a pile of junk are what keep you alert on every stroll.

Halfassed Weekender Edition!

Doncha wish I made YOU a birthday cake?

It was HIS birthday Friday! I made him a cake too! Kinda like a Pink Panther cake. You remember that one? Where he's so hungry, but his fridge is empty and so are his pockets to he has no food nor does he have access to food so he cuts out an image of a fish in a magazine and fries it up in a pan. Places the fried up image in a plate, ties a napkin around his neck, grabs a knife and fork and eats the image...

Half-Assed for a Jackass

Enter "santorum" in a Google search box and the very first result you get it is a definition:

Pronunciation: san-TOR-um
Function: noun
Etymology:
Savage Love - 05/29/03
1. The frothy mixture of lube and fecal matter that is sometimes the by-product of anal sex.
2. Former Senator Rick Santorum (LINK)

Now, I must confess I am NOT knowledgeable in the sphere of American politics.  So much so that I had to spell check that knowledgeable word. But if a politician speaks loudly on anti-gay shit, then he deserves backlashes. Any anti-gay person makes me wish I wasn't married so I could be gay and seduce their wives. Or their daughters. Heck, they make me want to have 3-somes and 4-somes with their mothers, wives and daughters. Regardless of their age or race. That's how anti-anti-gay I am.

To Kill A Mockingbird is not available on Kindle. That will never cease to not shock me. (Whoa, easy on the double negatives there!)

I woke up wanting to kill zombies. Wish I knew why. Today is the season premiere of Dexter. That provides some explanation, but not all of it. I want a good Wii game of killing zombies. I hate the games where you need to figure shit out, like where to run in a building and how to pick up guns, I just want a good arcade style point and shoot and kill game. 

I'm really a mild nature'd person at heart.

The Mexican Navy rode up to us when we were anchored in Mexican waters. They had guns. They told us to dive off our boat we needed a commercial fishing license. Lost in translation you say? Who cares, they had guns, I had a Wii game without a gun attachment and paintings of mermaids. We left the Mexican waters before having our morning coffee.

After searching and searching we found out there is no such thing as a diving license for Mexican waters. Funny how the power of heavy artillery overpowers any kind of reasoning.

p.s. this is kinda a half-assed weekend post à-la Simple Dude style...

Made It By That Much!

www.thebestpageintheuniverse.net

Traveling by plane post 9-11 just isn't what it used to be. Ain't THAT an understatement!

I tried to get to the Continental counter 1 hour before my flight. Tried. Keyword. This story may have a few more keywords to come...

San Diego is making improvements. Continental is hidden waaaayyyyyy at the end. After all the shuttles wedging their way in and out, cars slowing down to pick people up or drop others off, and this is my excuse for being 15 minutes late on my desired 1-hour before thing (that and every single light on the way there was RED).

Our airport is usually chill and relaxed, but thanks to all the improvements, it was BONKERS! As I make my way to the Continental counter, I notice everybody and their brother decided to take an early flight out of town. Sweet. I take my spot last in line behind hundreds of others. Silently begging an attendant to yell out for those on MY flight to move forward. A quick scan of the room tells me this place is full of frustrated travelers and lacks employees. Staff patiently standing by waiting to assist ME in getting ME comfortably sitting in MY seat are nowhere to be seen...

Finally, 5 minutes later it happens "Everybody on the 6:15 flight stay in THIS line, everybody else, come here!"  Yes. Sweet mother of grace, my good karma is still in check. Only thing is I'm not the only one with good karma - evidently the majority of people ahead of me are on the 6:15 flight. Bummer.

After finally checking in, giving my suitcase away I'm instructed to head to the far end of the airport for security. At the entrance to security I'm told if I'm not on the 6:15 flight I'll have to wait aside. I show my ticket he let's me make my way to the end of the lovely line. Once there I realize I'm light. Lighter than I should be. Odd. I look down at my hands and realize they're empty. Odd. Shouldn't I have something in my hands? Shouldn't I? What did I have in my hands? Oh crap! I left my laptop on the friggin floor at the Continental check-in, of course the LAST counter furthest away from me!

I run back yelling "Excuse me! Excuse me! Coming through!" praying and hoping my laptop will still be there as I'm scanning every single person looking for my slim little black skin carrying my beloved laptop... "I FORGOT MY LAPTOOOOOP!" I yell at the ladies behind the counter. And of course it was necessary for them to explain to me the importance of tagging my bags. Nope. I have no name on my laptop bag. Why would I? I NEVER leave it behind anywhere! Never!

Back at security "Yes sir, I'm on the 6:15, here's my ticket!" And now the long ass line. Again a wonderful staffer yells at us "If you're on the 6:15 come here and stay here!" What is it with everybody on the 6:15 flight? Collectively arriving at the last minute? By then it's 6 am. I'm far behind the line. But being surrounded by hoards of 6:15'ers I reassure everybody around me it'll be ok, there's too many of us, the plane will wait.

And I know this because?

And what is up with people and their luggage on the plane? It's only $25 people. Take your shit and check it in! This guy in front of me is alone, he's got 2 suitcases and a "carry-on". TWO suitcases. And he looks angry, but then again we all do. Being yelled at over and over will do that. Finally I make it to the slick counter and the plastic crates. I start taking my boots off (they're sweet boots, if I'm going to Montreal I am so wearing my sweet sweet boots!" and in follows my belt, my purse, and all the other metal stuff I'm wearing. What can I say I love to accessorize!

I notice the angry dude has a crate full of stuff. Big shampoo bottles. Old bottles, not new ones. Cans of some drink I've never seen in my life. OK, so he's got like close to a gallon of liquids. Being the calm cool collected person that I am I look at the security guy with eyes popping out and ask if they've changed their liquid limits? "Nope, we're just scanning this stuff to make sure it is what he says it is, but it's NOT getting on the plane!" Now the angry dude who's on my plane who's carrying enough liquids to hydrate a camel has noticed me.

Great.

To be continued!

Best 6 Minutes You'll Spend Today!

I'm struggling to keep up with this blog now. I guess it's just simply becoming a once-in-a-while thing. Which is ok. A lot has been happening with me. All good though, it's all good. Last night I helped a friend create a blog. I'm satisfied with the design I put together for her since it totally fits her. To a "T".

Feel free to go over and say hi to her, here's her link! This woman is connected to ALL that is San Diego arts and culture. An amazing woman, I can't wait to start reading her blog...

Today I stumbled upon THIS little gem of a video. I know - Bohemian Rhapsody is the poster child of over-done songs, just like Paris Hilton is the overdone of rich-girl-gone-famous-over-nothing or Brittney is the poster child of repeated self-destruction. BUT this version - trust me - so deserves to be viewed. And it gets better and better as you keep watching. I laughed to hard tears wanted to come out. Those tears are probably pent up from all that's been happening... all good, all good.

And about that friend who wrote the Confessions of a Manic-Depressive? He helped me out with my bio. He did such a good job, now I want to hang out with the cool chick he wrote about. If that's not narcissism at its best, please tell me how YOU would define it?

See you on the flip side...

Oddly Enough...

The coolest thing about Cake Betch is she doesn't know she's marvelous.

You find yourself in bed by your pretty little wife, and you may ask yourself "This isn't my pretty little wife?".

The last time I posted, many many moons ago, was to accept an award I'd received from superstar Cake Betch. And today I'm back, and guess what? The Cake'ster has ME over in her Hot Mess Chronicles featuring my shower story with her amazing drawr-ings! And it's AMAZING! I'm so thrilled!

Guess Who Lurves Me?

Cake Betch is hurting... help make her feel better!

Cake Betch is a cool blogger. I found her through Pat Tillett when she featured a story of his in her drawings. I know we all love Allie Brosh and her Hyperbole and a Half... Cake is Ohio's Version of Oregon's Allie. Yeah. She's THAT good. I love her cartoons and her stories. I think I may have recently read on Twitter that she bought a backpack and hadn't had one in so many years! Really? I don't ever remember a time where I didn't have one.

I always have oodles of backpacks and try as much as I can to fight the urge from buying more.

Anyways, as usual - I'm totally not focusing.

Cake Betch needs some bloggy lovin'. She's going through some icky turmoils. Shit she doesn't deserve...  So go check her out you'll enjoy her stories... I hate it when people I admire go through sadness. Don't they know they're freakin' awesome?

Oh, and she gave me an awaaaaaaard! Something about being an inspiration... She actually dedicated it to me as a roller derby biotch. So I don't know if it should go to Marr*Bulls or to me. That personality disorder of mine is in full swing! I'll gladly accept it here, maybe put the award up on my other blog...

I am supposed to give it to 10 other bloggers. Ugh. If I read you then I love you, then you deserve the award... right? RIGHT? I love getting awards because I'm messed up that way and need the recognition, but choosing a limited group of people is SO HARD!

Way too hard. But this time I'm giving it to only one person. And it's a dude I find very inspiring. It goes to Micael Chadwick. Yes. He is inspiring. And has inspired me to create more art and leave behind me more beauty - as he does daily. Micael, you are a true inspiration. I know... I know... You don't give a rat's ass about these awards, and you're no longer "blogging" per say, but you still have a blog and still post regularly on it.

And because I think you are so deserving of this award, I'm not diluting it by making you share it with 9 others. This goes out to you. And only you. Don't ever stop making this planet a better place mon ami, your art is sheer beauty and anybody who gets to see it becomes a better person.

The Takers - Part 2

In my previous post I ranted about how I'm struggling to get certified as a diver. Ghaaa! It makes me mad.

At the end of my 2nd open water swims, I literally had to DRAG this girl 300 yards because her hips were hurting *wimper-wimper* and she was soooo tired *wimper-wimper* and she just couldn't kick anymore *wimper-wimper*. She got her certification.

Ghaaa! It's so frustrating.

And then we throw out this invitation via a Yahoo Scuba Diving group to all announcing we were planning a boat dive into the kelp beds. Of course I couldn't dive because a- my ears were in turmoil and b- I wasn't certified (but the chick I towed to shore was fully certified - wtf?). So my plan was to chill and hang out on the boat while Booby and our new diver friends explored the bottom of the sea. Sans moi, *wimper-wimper*.

This girl we did not know accepted the invitation, plus 2 other divers we did know. With Booby that made a perfect 4. (Perfect because of the buddy system). Yay for them (notice my sarcasm?).

This unknown chick shows up and graciously lets Booby load all her equipment into a dock cart and roll is out to our boat. Then she graciously stands by while he unloads it and sits all pretty in her Victoria Secrets swimsuit twirling her blond braid.

Again, notice the sarcasm?

She goes on and on about Belize and other chartered dives she'd been on. We kinda nod and say the occasional "uh-hun" but honestly, we're so not listening. Then we anchor and they prepare for their dive. And she graciously squeezes herself into her suit while Booby gets her tank strapped into her BCD and regulator. She makes more Belize-related comments as Booby makes sure her air and everything pans out. Then she graciously comments on how hot it is so sit in her wetsuit as Booby now gets to slide into his suit (after prepping his AND her gear).

Booby has everybody's gear sitting in the dinghy (hee hee, "dinghy") and has everybody jump into the water as he sits in the *giggle* dinghy handing out the gear. She jumps out and one of her fin comes off. Now she is lost. Cannot fix her fin. So once Booby gets everybody settled into their gear he has to fix her fin. WTF? One hour later (after anchoring) they are all good to go. The plan is to swim around the boat to the front, and descend holding on to the anchor chain.

Easy right? Off they go. And off she goes, swimming away from the boat head in the water.

WTF? She is certified?

Finally she makes her way to the front of the boat and obviously does not have enough weight. So I have to run back and forth getting her extra lead. So they do the dive, blah blah blah, constantly having to drag her back to the group and she decides to sit out the second dive.

Booby again has to take care of her gear before going back down with the other divers. She lays down and realizes it's chilly when you're wet. Duh. She goes down to change into dry clothes and it takes forever.

And forever later I realized why it took her forever. She was SICK and PUKED and made a MESS. Which she graciously omitted in telling us. And graciously allowed Booby to reload all her gear after rinsing it in clear water and waltzed away.

And I was stuck cleaning up after her. WTF! AND the first thing we told everybody coming on the boat was "If you're going to be sick, do it outside and off the side of the boat!"

So yeah. I am bitter. She cannot swim, cannot set-up her gear, but got certified.

p.s. and did I mention she puked on my boat?

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.

Mucho Gusto - Don't Eat Me!

www.mexicanfoodie.com

Last year we spent 3 weeks in Punta Mita, Mexico. This is a small fishing village NorthWest of Puerto Vallarta. Small fishing village is key here. It's a quaint little spot for when you don't want to be bothered by all the touristic crap. Oh I think you know what I'm talking about...

I carried my spanglish dictionary everywhere I went. These peeps-itos did not speak much English, nor French. I was visiting THEM in THEIR pueblo. When in Rome, wear a toga and add a slice of lime to that cerveza...

I had just finished eating what I thought was the best carne asada ever! (Note to readers: when tour books warn you of the street stands selling tacos, they're just trying to keep a well kept secret hidden to avoid long lines.) And searching my dictionary for something that could mean "good" I came upon the term "gusto".  And I knew "mucho" meant a lot.

So I told the man who served me "Mucho Gusto!" He looked at me all weird. Booby and I assumed he thought I told him I wanted to eat him...

Last night was my first class of Spanish 101. Maria, my teacher looked at me and pronounced (oh you guessed it) Mucho Gusto!

Me: "Do I look that tasty?"
Maria: ??? "What? No I am pleased to meet you"

And to you reading me mucho gusto I am happy to MEAT you!

So, I've Been Thinking...

This is how I started yesterday. Then he froze. Stopped what he was doing, swallowed and replied: "Uh oh, I don't know if I like the sound of that."

Of course he's been witnessing me with puffy eyes and leaving a trail of used up tissues behind me. So the opening line can be scary. Have I ever mentioned he told me recently he has nightmares where I tell him I'm leaving? Kind of like Peeta in The Hunger Games, only we're not hungry nor in total survival mode. (Great book by the way, thanks Rachel!)

Of course I start crying again. But I'm trying to concentrate on the dishes I'm washing. I find it very soothing to soak my hands in hot bubbly water. And that's when I tell him "Of course if you want to go to Mexico, I'll go with you!" And cry some more (again with the conjunction as a sentence starter, if Stephen King can do it, so can I - thanks MinuteMan's Wife). Then he looks at me all weird.

Evidently he's even more of a mess than I am because he had come to the conclusion that going to Mexico now would most likely be a mistake. For a lot of reasons, not just because of me. And then he tells me he'd never go without me anyways!

I know. I wanted to strangle him too for what he'd put me through. But to be honest he wasn't as aware as everybody who's read yesterday's post of the turmoil I was going through.

But anyways. All this to say, I've been thinking and I realized I have THE BEST blog friends any whacked out lady could EVER hope for! You guys are the best. You really are.

I've been working on a post for the Studio 30+ Magazine that is due to be published this coming Friday.  After 3 attempts, I think I've got it. It's pretty much a tribute to you - the readers. Or my friends. My friends. I like the sound of that.

I'm smiling now. I know I have a few kinks to iron out, but still the smile is strong.

Thanks.

Sex as Part of Your Workout Routine

www.sodahead.com

You all know I am undertaking a very serious intensive work-out program as I get ready for roller-derbying. This is serious shit. I may actually be ready for some Olympic event from all this working out.

This morning as I was debating over doing it sideways, climbing on top or having him roll over me, it dawned on me: sex as part of my workout regimen. Of course I googled on some very serious workout sites what kind of calories I was burning. Please, as you read this do not attempt to do this at home without the supervision of a professional. If you do this, GOOGLE AFTER INTERCOURSE. I cannot make it more clear, if you google during intercourse some unfortunate liquid may splatter onto your computer rendering it rather useless. And gooey. Don't forget the gooey part.  And sticky. Not a very good mix for your keyboard.

I stumbled (heh heh) upon this website explaining all the various calorie burning actions following sexual intercourse. I myself this morning have burned up a total of 429 calories.  This is about the calorie count of 2 candy bars. Or 3 beers. So... I think this means that if I drink only 1 beer today I'm totally ahead in my regimen. But if I drink 2 beers, then I'm still ahead as long as I don't grab a third one. 

The moral of the story is: have sex daily, drink 2 beers and still end up ahead (with a head, hee hee).

My Homies Wear Depends And Smell Like Mothballs.

Living at a marina is totally like living in a retirement home. All the homies are like... well - old. Older than I am anyways.

I take my daily shower at the pool since showering in the boat is a pain in the old buttocks (maybe I am older than I want to admit, yeah, sure...). Yesterday as I was skipping my way to the showers, I came to a slow crawl as some lady got to the door before me. So I had to slowly very slowly follow her in. She stopped when she sensed me "you are being followed" I chanted behind her. With a smile. But the smile was wasted on her behind.

She finally makes her way to the shower corridor. Finally. I'm dying behind her! And she opens the first stall and stands behind it. Okaaaaay... I start putting my stuff on the counter. And slowly wonder what it could possibly mean if she opens the door and stands behind it. Is she "reserving" that stall for herself? Am I supposed to walk around the door to one of the next stalls?

I'm new here, and I've never seen anything like this before! So, I do what any uncertain person would do: "Are using the first stall?". She shutters, or stutters, or whatever it was. "No I just want privacy!". Okaaaaaaay... I take my clothes off, pile it up on the counter because the bench is now off limits being blocked by the door to the 1st stall. I hang up my towel by my door and enter the shower. Close the door. Wonder if it's ok to close it since now she is exposed to whatever it was she wanted privacy from.

Whatever.

I'm in my shower taking my sweet ass time because that's what I do. I love long hot showers. It dawns on me that I still haven't heard my neighbor start her shower yet. But... whatever. Then IT happens: her hand is clutching my door. (oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, I'm freaked out, what do I do???)

I stand frozen not knowing what the hell is happening. The shower door is one of those glazed over glass doors. Maybe it's Plexiglas, not important. What IS important is what she does next. She is still fully clothed and she is doing squats. Using my door for balance.

What the fuck? Where am I again?

Now I start taking even more time. Rinse. Apply again. Rinse. Condition. Leave in hair for 3-5 minutes. Pull out my cute little soap fuzzer thing (you should see it, it's a rubber ducky with a swim mask tied to a pooffer, I love it!) and pour some yummy smelling pink bubble gum soap on it (I know, this detail is not needed to the story, but if you ever do find some bubble gum smelling soap let me know, I want more of it and mine was a hotel sample).

By the time I am finally done she is still clutching and squatting. Up - down - up - down with her banana yellow t-shirt. What am I supposed to do? Yell out "watch your fingers" and slam the door open as I jump out and stand naked in front of her clamoring how privacy is so important to me too?

Really! WHAT is the public shower etiquette for old lady hanging on to your shower door as she does her morning exercises? Oh where is Martha Stewart when I need her? I slowly open the door, grab my towel and wrap it around me. (Sorry, no drawing for you... maybe next time) Take all my stuff out of the shower, and close the door. She huffs. Looks at me like I'm a total moron and a very rude one at that. And opens the door again. "My privacy! Remember?" And huffs again.

Not sure about the etiquette, but giggling in these situations? Totally unavoidable. Totally. Sorry Martha, you'd be astounded by my rudeness after you were done laughing at her too! Oh, and let me tell you I took even more time after that! By now this is fun as she is OBVIOUSLY waiting for me to leave before she unveils her spectacular self. Privacy-shmivacy! You know how long it takes to puff-daddy comb my hair? As I stand there with nothing but my towel and my day dreams? FOR-EV-FUCKIN-VER!

Now she is standing behind her glazed over glass or plexiglas door waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. As I crawl around. Heh heh heh. See? I can be totally devilish... I never did find out though if she took her shower or not. I got bored and left while totally repeating over and over in my head: " I will so blog about this tomorrow."

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...