Um, ladies?

So I'm walking over to the cafeteria to get a dead puppy (what I call the wraps served here, the size and weight of these things are similar) when I realize my shoes are eating my socks. You ever have a pair of shoes like this? My socks are your average female business socks but now they look like footies. The material is all bunched up under my arch and my heels are slowly becoming naked. I make it into line and yank them back up.

As I'm solving my sock dilemma I overhear the conversation going on in front of me between two young girls. They have to be freshmen. I can't help but eavesdrop, they're both yelling. Must be cheerleaders, too. One is talking about Byron and his apparent lack of picking up her "Do-me" hints.

"We hang out all the time. We have so much in common and get along great, but I can't seem to get past that point. Maybe he's not interested."
"But he calls you all the time."
"Yeah, and we're together every night, I just don't get it."
"Maybe he's playing hard to get, or he's just shy."
"Shy? HA! I just don't...oh, there he is now. BYRON!"

Byron walks over and I get a good look at him. Problem solved, the boy is gay. Then he starts talking. Totally gay.

They start talking and joking and I'm flabbergasted that this girl is flirting with Byron. Hello, totally clueless, this is totally gay, totally gay, this is totally clueless. How can she not see it? What man can pull off a multi colored scarf with that hair color but a gay man? Then he looks around and I know he's checking out the guys. He isn't making it subtle. Then he starts pointing other guys out. Hello!? I'm thinking she's thinking that he's pointing other guys out for her benefit, but all she's doing is looking at Byron with googly eyes.

There's a heartbreak just waiting to happen. Byron leaves, I get my dead puppy, and I fight with my socks all the way back to my office.

Revenge of the Steak Pizza

We ate one of those steak pizza's from Pizza Hut last night. Ooohh, it was so good. I ate half a pizza, something I rarely do. Usually, after two slices, I'm good. Last night I wanted to lick the box after whoofing down my half. I went to bed thinking if it's socially acceptable to eat pizza for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

About 6:30 this morning I changed my mind about the pizza. I woke up with cramps so bad I swore I'd been stabbed in the stomach by the cat. I got into the bathroom just in time. I'll spare you the details, but let's just say a bomb hasn't been dropped like that since Hiroshima. I didn't know the human body could produce that much poo. As an added bonus, I had to go again while I was in my car, halfway to work. Did you know there is a poo God? Oh yeah, and I prayed to him mightily.

I have to be twenty pounds lighter.

Good thing we took the onions off the pizza or I'd be in the ER. Onions don't like me. They are the one food guaranteed to trigger my ulcerative colitis. I thought I could sneak a few in and be okay a few weeks ago with my pork fried rice. Pork fried wrong! We were going to go to lunch today to celebrate a co-workers birthday, but the birthday girl called in sick. I guess I'll fight my way through the cafeteria again. Watch, today's soup will be French onion.

I have a friend in prison and he told me that when the prisoner's are bad and refuse to eat their meal (or throw it at the guards), the kitchen serves them a "food loaf" for a week. The food loaf consists of your entire meal being ground up and molded into a loaf. Yep, you get your meat, vegetable, starch, and gravy all in one brick. I didn't think that was so bad until I learned they also throw in your dessert, which is always jello. Blech. The purpose of the food loaf is not known, but I guess it works because my friend only refused to eat his meal once.

Hmmmm...

It seems that most of the people Bush appointed have proven to be incompetent or corrupt. Is anyone surprised by this? The man made it a policy to employ his friends and not those who would be good for the job. Is it any wonder that the man called President has run every company he's ever been in charge of into the ground.

Hey, I'm sure he's a nice guy. I mean, the BTK killer and John Wayne Gacy were great guys...they just killed a lot of people. Come to think of it, Bush has killed a lot of people, too. I mean, not personally, but every soldier dying in Iraq can thank Bush for it.

President/serial killer, serial killer/president...

Who knew acting could be so tiring?

I stood in front of the class last night being worked over by my drill sergeant of a professor. I gave my monologue and was pretty happy that I hadn't forgotten any of the words. Then the questions started.

"What is your goal here? What emotion are you trying to convey? What outcome are you looking for?"

I have no answer for this. I just liked the words. So now I'm on the spot and I blurt out, "Pity."

"Okay, so how do you plan on getting us to pity you?"

Me, dumb look on face. I say, "Through anger, maybe? I want to force you to pity me."
"Go ahead, then."

I do angry. Angry I am pretty good at. Pity, that's a different story. I gave it a good shot.

Then she wants me to give her more. More emotion, more action, more desperation. She tells me to concentrate on one of my classmates and really give it to her. I start, jabbing my finger in her face for emphasis. I give it as much as I know how.

"More," she says.

I yell. I jab. I scare the crap out of my classmate.

"More," she says.

I yell louder. I jab more. I pour more emotion into it.

"More," she says.

I relive every bad moment I've ever had, let loose every demon I've ever fought. I plead, I beg, I scream and accuse.

"More," she says.

Forty-five minutes later I'm a quivering mass of jumbled nerves sputtering out a litany of incoherent words. She finally tells me to sit down. Good God, was this an audition or an exorcism?

No one else got grilled like I did. They just got busted on not memorizing their parts. Over and over again, our professor drilled the importance of getting each and every word correct. At the end of the class it was just me and the professor. I say, lightly, that I have to work on my memorization for next time.

"Nonsense," she says, "You were acting. You had your character by the throat. Once that happened, the words weren't important."

Well, hell-ooooo Mrs. Contradiction! I decided to take that as a compliment and floated home.

Monologues

I have to give my monologue in class tonight. My memorized monologue. My memory ain't what it used to be. I've done pretty well on this, I ran over it with the hubby last night and only added one small thing.

You would have thought I'd asked hubby to give up his right testicle when I asked if he wanted to hear my monologue. For Christ's sake, it isn't even two minutes long. He wastes two minutes an hour looking at the guide on the TV, but he can't take two minutes out of his oh, so busy life to help me with my freaking homework? Thanks for being supportive, chump!

Last night it took him twelve minutes to tell me a story about his cousin who may or may not have won a new car in Vegas that may or may not be expensive and he may or may not sell it to split the money with the friends he was with. So basically, it took hubby twelve minutes to tell me nothing. But he can't waste two minutes listening to me? And men wonder why women are crazy.

And I don't give a shit that football was on...we have Tivo, pause it!

Light at the end...oh, whatever.

Hubby was sick this weekend. He insists it's allergies. Uh-huh, and I had those "allergies" a few days before you did. Those "allergies" that get better after two days of a runny nose and cough. Yeah, ALLERGIES.

I hate it when hubby is sick because he turns into a moaning slug. He doesn't do anything to piss me off, like how some men turn into giant babies and demand attention. He just doesn't do ANYTHING. He's not up for conversation and barely moves. I might as well be by myself.

I was going to go riding this Sunday but it rained all day, so I slept. There ain't no sleeping like rainy weather sleeping.

Insult to Injury

I'm sick. Not that kind of feel crappy, suck on a cough drop sick, but that dizzy, spinning, watch my pupils expand and contract kind of sick that makes sleeping miserable and being awake pure hell. I've blown my nose so much that now I have that papery, thin skin around my nose that will start to peel soon. Oh well, it can join my head.

The question is where did I pick this up? I was ALONE on a bike for a full day, and then on a truck with my husband (who isn't sick and I could just kick him for it. His knee is much improved, thanks). Come to think of it I really haven't been around that many people since we got back from Memphis. Arg, someone hates me.

DayQuil, so good to have you with me. Too bad I can't spend more time with your cousin, NyQuil.

Okay, Kiddies, Story Time!

No doubt you've been burning with desire to know how the FedEx Rock-N-Roll MS-150 bicycle Ride went. Well, sit back and take a break because this ain't no short tale.

You'll have to excuse the southern accent, when I'm with a bunch of southerners from all over it just comes right out. I'll lose it in a day or two, but for right now, bear with me.

We drove down to Memphis, TN, on Friday night and met most of our group at the Rock-n-roll Days Inn not but two blocks away from Graceland itself. Elvis pictures and memorabilia were glued everywhere, we even had a big picture of him hanging over our bed. The pool was shaped like a guitar and everything. We ate at a place called the Rendevouz and I've never tasted BBQ quite like it. After walking up and down Beal St., we settled in for a night of rest and woke up at 5am the next morning.

This being my first ride, I didn't quite know what to expect. The organization of the Tennessee MS Society was impeccable. Check-in was smooth as silk, we were in and out in less than 10 minutes. There was a designated area for dropping off our luggage, plenty of port-a-potty's, stands to get food and drink before the ride began, and more. We went back to our car and prepared for the ride. I was number 437, hubby was 438. We had to tape a number to our backs, our bikes, and our luggage. After pumping up the tires, filling up with energy bars and Gu, stretching, and making sure everything was locked on the car, we headed towards the start line.

As more and more riders gathered around us I started to get nervous. So many of the riders were in such great shape (I looked!). The DJ started to count down to the beginning of the race. BANG! The starting gun went off and a sea of legs and wheels started rolling out onto the street. A group of local high school cheerleaders cheered us on as we left. Hubby and I stayed close together for the first few miles, then the herd started to thin.

I didn't want to push myself to hard too early, so I stayed at a nice 12 mph until we got out of the city. Then we reached a few hills and my average dropped a bit, to say, oh, 7 mph. Each time I would crest a hill I found another hill waiting for me. Son of a bitch, I thought, another damn hill. Then another one. So it went. Up, up, up, top of the hill. Fuck, another hill! Down, down, down, up, up, up, shit! Another hill!

So it went for the first ten miles until I got to the first rest stop. There were crazy fools standing in the street with signs and pom-poms cheering us on. They had a buffet of food waiting and not just water, but Gatoraide as well. I felt like a tired, red-faced, foul-tempered queen.

So it went for the next twenty miles. Then thirty. Then forty. At the forty mile stop lunch was being served. By now the sun had come out and I was done. I felt pretty good at my reception by the rest of the team ('cuz you know they all got there waaaay before I did). They were proud of me and I have to say, I was pretty proud of myself. I ate a sandwich with my husband, then climbed into the back of a S.A.G. truck and waited.

There is a certain satisfaction about riding in a moving vehicle and passing your team mates while they huff and puff up a hill.

At stop 6 my ride got a call to wait for another S.A.G. truck, there was an injured rider looking for a ride to the casino. We wait. Finally the truck comes and low and behold, who's in it but my husband!

Shit.

Baby hurt his knee again around the 55 mile mark. For those of you who don't know his history, about five years ago he had his knee broken for him during a co-ed softball game. He now has a metal plate and six screws holding his knee together. I was not happy to see him at all. We piled into the truck and rode the last 15 miles to the casino together. Me a nervous wreck and him a quivering mass of pain. Quite a pair....

I did not know that Tunaca, Mississippi was such a gambling hub. Our casino was called the Gold Strike and it was huge. Standing about 40 stories tall, it looked like something that could have been found in Vegas. We arrived to more screams and hoots. We thanked our drivers and limped to the very back of the casino's parking garage to drop off our bikes. We found our luggage in the huge heap by the entrance and waited in line to check-in. There were about 600 riders in all and no one spent more than twenty minutes in line. Damn fine organization.

It has never felt so good to take a shower. After we cleaned up, I made sure Baby had everything he needed and set out to explore the hotel. It was classy and modern and big. I went to the bar and ordered a beer. When the bartender gave it to me, I handed her a five. She returned with five ones.

"Wait, I gave you a five." I say.
"Yes, beer is on the house," she replied.
My day got a whole lot better.

We ate dinner and attended the little program the MS society put on that evening. Honey lost $40 at the tables. The whole time he's telling me to watch my beer intake as we were riding the next day.
"Uh-huh. 'Nother beer, please."
"Baby, you'll be dehydrated tomorrow."
"Yup. 'Nothing beer, please."
At 6:30am the alarm went off and the first words I heard were, "I'm not riding today."
Color me shocked.

We got up and decided to go have some breakfast before finding an organizer and getting a ride back to Memphis. We saw some of our team there and broke the news to them. I decided to leave hubby at the table and find us a ride.

Thus the downward spiral began.

I found an organizer outside by the check-out station and told her our problem. She said she could get me a ride right away. "Are your things ready to go?" she asked.
"No," I say.
"Well, hurry up and come right back here, we don't have much time."

I race upstairs to an empty room and start flinging our belongings into our suitcases. I don't care who's stuff ended up where, as long as I could still zip the lid on when I was done. Just as I'm finished packing and starting to panic, hubby comes in.

"Hurrywedon'thavemuchtime,gotride,here'syourbaglet'sgo." I scream. We race downstairs and wait for a ride to show up. Honey looks at me and says, "Did you get my pillow?"

Shit.

Back upstairs, run down the hallway, grab the pillow, run back to the elevator, then back to my wounded man just as Jenny, a S.A.G. driver, is telling him that she'll take us in with the first rider. "C'mon," she says, "We haven't got much time. Where are your bikes?"

Shit.

So I run aaaaaaaaall the way to the back of the freaking garage to get our bikes, knock over two others in the process, put those back up, wrestled with ours again and finally managed to get them out of the garage. Jenny grabs one and we run to the pick-up truck. I toss mine in just as she's stepping on the gas and away we go.

Let me just set the scene up for you. Average sized pick-up truck. Two coolers, two suitcases (not ours), to bikes, and two people crammed into the back. I had a seat the size of a postage stamp to sit on. We put the bikes in with their nasty-ass chains facing us, we're pacing the lead rider at 25 mph, the sun is blazing hot and we have 75 miles to go before salvation.

Four hours later we come into Graceland's parking lot hot, sweaty, and looking like dalmations from the bike grease. I want to choke the cheerleaders hooting at us, I want to slap the lead biker for not going faster, and I really, really want to feel my ass again. Four hours on a ridged seat does nothing for spinal alignment. We should have ridden in the FedEx truck with the luggage.

To make things worse, I forgot to sun screen the part in my hair, so I have a blazing hot burn down the middle of the head. Can't wait for that to start peeling.

The volunteers had all kinds of goodies for us to take with us. We took them and ran.

Today I can count the bruises and scrapes I received from that gruesome truck ride without remorse. I had a good time. The organization alone made this trip a pleasant experience, but there was so much more to it than that. Complete strangers treated us like family. The enthusiasm for what we were doing never wavered. At every stop people with MS were there to thank us personally for our time and donations. They gave me a face to think about when I asked myself, "Why am I doing this?" The outpouring of love was humbling. I only rode 40 miles out of 150, but I was made to feel like I had ridden 300.

I look forward to doing this again next year. We went to our doctor and Baby has to take it easy for the next two weeks and take some pills, but he'll be fine. He just has to be careful and not push himself too hard. That means I'll have to go riding without him.

Next year I'll be hill ready. Next year Baby will take longer breaks. And instead of raising almost $350, next year I want to raise $1,000.

The end.

News Flash

St. Louis, MO - Panic and chaos in the St. Louis Metro area today. It seems water is falling from the sky. This strange phenomenon called "rain," unseen to all but the oldest residents of St. Louis, has turned an ordinary Thursday into a watery hell. We have an eyewitness to the event.

"Dang if that ain't somthin'," Bob Clover of Maryland Heights commented. "I seen the clouds getten all dark yesterday. Couldn't figure out why. Then I felt a drop of water on my arm. I looked up to see if a bird had pissed on me, then I thought 'That came from the sky!' So, I ran into my house and rounded up all the batteries and toilet paper I could find. I think we'll be okay as long as we don't try to drive anywhere."

Others weren't so lucky. Road conditions deteriorated quickly once the city was blanketed in this "rain." We spoke with one cautions diver, EllaMae Whitfield. "I kept one foot on the gas, one on the brake, and used both at the same time. I wasn't sure if people could see me, so I put one blinker on even though I wasn't going to turn. Then, I stopped at every intersection to make sure the road was perfectly clear before I turned." Others weren't so cautions, reaching speeds upwards of 20 mph. "Those hellions," EllaMae commented. "Don't they know we're in the clutches of a apolcolyptic event?"

What does it mean? Where has this "rain" come from? What will it do to the city of St. Louis? We won't know until it stops. Until then, residents are urged to stay inside. The Red Cross is prepared for the worse. After seeing the destruction in New Orleans, they aren't taking any chances. Said one member, "Sure, it looks like a ordinary, everyday, averagely mild rain storm, but you just never know."

Barbarian02003 reporting.

I Rule, then I get Bitch-slapped

I rocked in class last night. I went first because everyone else was too chicken. Best to go ahead and get it over with. I had to read three monologues chosen by moi. The first was from a play called "Knock, Knock," by some guy named Fiffer. I was Joan of Arc come back to present day.

The second was Jesse from the play "'Night, Mother," a pleasant little play about suicide. Very dramatic. Not my favorite but I gave it a go.

The third was from a play called "Cowboy Mouth" by Sam Shepard. I really liked this one and it showed because everyone was impressed. Yeah, I was glowing. Then my professor says that particular monologue has been done more than Jennifer Lopez, so I should get rid of it. Damn! She did soften the blow by saying I performed it better than the others that she's seen. Yeah, yeah...

The others were good. Woody McConoughey was particularly funny, he has a very expressive face, I'd love to see him do something very dramatic. Economics boy showed up, surprise, and he has a very nice speaking voice. He read from another Sam Shepard play. Boy's creeping up on my territory, have to smack him down.

So all in all not a disaster. Now I just have to find another monologue to memorize before next Tuesday.

(Insert Clever Title Here)

I'm taking an acting class this semester called "How to Audition." It counts as public speaking, but I probably would have taken it anyway. I enjoy acting. When I took my first acting class in 6th grade I brought home a report card with 5 D's and one A+. Guess what the A was in. Anyway, acting was a profession frowned upon in my household so I didn't get to continue my studies.

This class appears to be fun, but I've only had one class so far, so the jury is still out. I had to find three monologues for homework and tonight I get to perform all three of them. I am semi-nervous. Talking in front of people has never been that hard for me. Acting, well, acting is a bit different. See, I tried to do it on my own as a teen but I found something out: I can't act.

I'm horrible. Turn the light and camera's on me and I freeze up like a deer in headlights. If I'm just goofing around or performing for myself in front of a mirror, I bring the house down. Put me on stage and I become a block of wood.

Since my suckiness seems to grow with my age, tonight I get to see just how badly I've deteriorated over the years. Thank God there are only four other people in this class. Two skinny-ass girls in their early twenties, a young guy who looks like the illegitimate love child between Woody Harrelson and Matthew McConaughey, and a stuffy Economics major who probably won't continue this class.

Happy Monday, Freaks.

Spent an intolerable two hours in a movie theater Friday night surrounded by a bunch of teenage hell hounds who could not shut up. Such disrespect makes me want to follow these pubescent bitches home and slap their mothers. If anyone wants proof of just how far our civilization has declined, go to a movie on a Friday night. No wonder so many people want to watch movies at home. Why pay to be abused? I did learn a new word, though. Prosti-tots. Very clever.

Bush has finally gotten his ass to New Orleans and actually STEPPED OFF THE PLANE. Congratulations, you only two weeks late and behind all the talk show hosts. I notice your keeping to the rescue workers and coast gurad, whatsa matta, don't want to sully your soft little hands by touching the poor? Why you're still in office is a mystery to me.

Does anyone else's mother talk to them in baby-talk? I'm not sure how to combat this problem. I'm 32 years old and my mother still talks to me like a baby. It started when my nephew was born and I put up with it for a year or two, but B-Butt is now five and it just keeps getting worse. Any advice would be greatly appreciated.

My web site that I maintain for work has been deleted by the dufus asshole that runs our departmental site. See, he's a professor and instead of concentrating on his research or his students, he thinks he's an IT whiz, so our departmental web site has been messed-up for the last two years. He overhauled the whole thing last week and my web site, which a certain committee has to look at on a daily basis, is gone. "Page Not Found". Usually, one would be able to call their web site manager and say "fix this." But our IT/Professor is a territorial prick with a God complex, he never does anything wrong, so I'll have to go over his head and complain to the big guy, who will in turn filter my insults down and finally, in about a week or two, I'll get my site back. By this time the committee will be behind and somehow, I just know it, this will all be my fault.

Hey, St. Louis Rams, get your head out of your asses. Ever heard of defense?

So sorry! 

Trying to be a Better Person, Part 1

Yesterday I had issues. My office is located between two bathrooms. For one I have to go down a long hallway, through a lounge, and down another long hallway. For the other I have to go down a short hallway, climb a flight of stairs, then to the end of another short hallway.

So I'm sitting in my office when I suddenly feel the pressure of a Class A emergency poop coming on. I decided to forgo the stairs and instead race down the hallways toward the bathroom in another building. Now, I'm a big girl with long legs, I have no trouble covering a lot of ground in a short amount of time. My bowels are telling me to hurry or I'll have an embarrassing excuse to leave early.

I went through the door like Randy Moss and smacked the hell out of a student who had the misfortune of trying to exit at the same time. The door smacked her straight on her forehead. Her ponytails whipped back so fast I could hear the woosh. She staggered back and looked at me with a dazed "Wha happened?" look. I felt so bad, but the shock of nailing someone with the door did little to ease the pressure of my emergency. I shouted "I'm so sorr-aaaaaaaaay!" as I ran to the stall.

She wasn't still standing there when I finally came back out, but I'm sure I'd recognize her if I saw her again. She'll be the one with the big goose-egg on her forehead.

On My Soap Box

Katrina was bad, but she's nothing compared to the evil our own countrymen are capable of. I hope that once this is all over, one good thing to come of it is that this country will be forced to take a long, unpleasant look at itself.

We, as a society, have separated ourselves from each other to the point of ignorance. We stay in our houses with our flat-screen TV's, play our video games, text-message our friends in Idaho, and make sure our high-tech security systems keep everyone out. When we leave our houses, we glue a cell phone or iPod to our ears. We all drive to work alone, work in cubicles, surf the Internet, eat on the go, and then drive ourselves back home. Strangers are seen as intruders, we're rude when we don't get our way, we're impatient, and we are all selfish. We know more about the life of the hot "It" actor than we do our neighbor's.

Women are killed, beat-up, raped, and disrespect in every form of entertainment we have. Rape isn't viewed as a violent crime. Women don't report abuse because we don't want to shame ourselves. We're portrayed as tit-holders who like to shop in shows like "Sex and the City", and we make it popular. We don't demand to get paid the same amount of money for doing the same job as a man. We're held up to a standard of beauty that's impossible to reach and we just take it.
As a society, we all think we are right, and we feel we have the right to kill you if you don't agree. We dwell on issues that will never be resolved and feed off issues that are meaningless to this society. You won't know if God exists until you die, so why waste your life trying to argue the point? We're so wrapped up in our own belief's that we don't pay attention to the teachings of those beliefs.

We've learned that we're not very nice. All those other countries that call us materialistic, barbaric, and savage have been proven right. We need more compassion and tolerance in this country. We need to care more about our community than our possessions. We've learned that we can't depend on our government to make all the decisions. We've learned that we need to become better people.

We have no one to blame but ourselves for being surprised at what went down in New Orleans.

I Stand Corrected

My parents visited this last weekend and my mom brought some pictures from my youth. Among them were pictures of my 13th birthday party. I don't remember that day at all, and looking at the pictures didn't bring anything back. Ok, so now I've had TWO birthday parties in my whole life, whoo!

Looking through those pictures brought back a lot of memories (which is what pictures are for, honey!) Times when I was really, really skinny and those oh so stylish 80's photo's. Did I really wear pastels? What was I thinking? And that hat, why didn't anyone ever tell me about that hat.
Some photo's contained people I no longer remembered. Some contained people I'd rather forget. But what I miss most are some of the clothes, man, I had great clothes. What happened to that blue sweater, or that pink dress? Like an onion I've peeled away all the layers of cool clothes and left myself with a collection of stained T-shirts. I need to get back to the days when I cared about how I looked. Not just for work, but all the time. There was this one photo of me in overalls. *sigh* I'm not a farmer!

So I've paid a bit more attention to how I dress when I go out. I'm bothering with make-up again and I'm looking through the forest of hair-care products to find something to tame this hair. When did this shit get so expensive? I cleaned out my closet on a massive level and reduced myself to a few items that 1) fit, and 2) are stylish. Now I'm forced to put things together.

I'm 32 and I've let myself go already. What am I going to look like when I'm 42? Thank God I've gotten into an exercise routine, now all I need to do is keep it up. I'm dedicated to eating better...nevermind that McDonald's I had last night after class. Today, today I'll eat better. I think I'll go on a high school diet. Every hour I'll pick up a pile of books and carry them around campus. I'll have a slice of greasy pizza for lunch, a burger for dinner, practice cheers for about two hours, then spend the rest of the night dancing around with my iPod. On the weekends I'll convince my husband to play all kinds of sports with me...oh, wait, football. Okay, on Saturday I'll play around with my husband and then Sunday I'll lay on the couch sucking down chicken wings and drinking beer. This could work...

Geyah!

There is too much crap in this world hitting the fan at once, I don't know what to talk about. I'm tired of the hurricane. I'm tired of gas prices. I'm tired of the speculation about what's going to happen because of the hurricane and gas prices.

I'm tired of celebrities patting themselves on the back for donating 1% of their yearly income. I'm tired of the telethons. I'm sick of hearing about Bush and all his stupid moves. I could give a shit about Roberts.

I'm just going to check out of reality for a few days. Let my brain come down and rest my weary emotions.

Hurricane Katrina (What a Surprise)

I have something to say to those in New Orleans:

I'm sorry, were you surprised? Did this hurricane sneak up on you? Did you not know that it was coming? Did you not hear the warnings? Did you not know your entire city was below sea level?

People in New Orleans chose to stay in their homes knowing damn well a hurricane the size of a mini planet was coming towards them. They had two whole days to pack their shit and get the hell out of town, but they chose not to. Through ignorance or arrogance they thought for sure that they wouldn't be effected by a CLASS 4/5 hurricane. Yes, you need help and you deserve to get it, but take responsibility for your own actions. We've had enough major hurricanes in the last couple of years for all of you to know what to expect.

This is the type of disaster there is no preparing for. When an earthquake hit Kobe, Japan and killed 5,000 people, it took rescuers two days to go into action. When the tsunami hit last year, efforts of rescue did not start right away. It took days for some people to get aid, so stop saying our country has let New Orleans down. There isn't a rule book for this kind of shit, ESPECIALLY when you add animalistic bastards with guns to the mix. You want to blame someone, blame them. Yes, it's terrible, and none of this should have happened, but it did. There are thousands of people who need help. Thousands. It's going to take some time.

I do feel sorry for those suffering through this. I will gladly help out in any way that I can, but you assholes on the news need to stop it with the guilt trips. Don't show film of devastated houses and chastise me because I still have a bed to sleep in; or show the faces of hungry children and chastise me for having food on my plate. Maybe it's a St. Louis thing because of all the Catholics that live here, but I don't feel any guilt over this. I didn't conjure the hurricane and I didn't control it, so why should I feel guilty for it?

Having said my peace, I implore you to call the Red Cross and see what they need. Universities all over this country are organizing relief efforts for students; if you have money, clothes, or food you want to donate call your closest school and find out how to help. If you are sheltering refugees from New Orleans, aid is available to you. If you have old cell phones, laptops, and/or computers, please donate those. Every little bit helps someone.

Thank you.

If Farts Could be Converted to Fuel, I'd be a Queen!

Hubby and I carpooled today to save on gas. Here in MO it has reached $3 a gallon. On the way to work I was thinking about how the oil rich countries are profiting from this in ways we can't even imagine. America is taking it up the ass because we can't produce as much oil as we use. Then I got to thinking about what America has that we can jack the price up on to make some of this money back. Blue jeans? Rock-n-roll? Breast implants? All good things, but not exactly exclusive to our country.

Entertainment. That's what we'll do, we'll jack up the price on entertainment. "Welcome to Apu's 20 Cine, how can I help you? You want to see the new Tom Cruise movie? That will be $80. Oh, there are two of you, that will be $160. $160 for the new Tom Cruise movie. Thank you, come again."

Not going to happen. Then I had a brainstorm. What does America do better than any other country. What do we have that other counties clamor for, trade their children for, would sell their own mothers for? Tobacco!

Yeah, boy-ee, other countries might grow it but there ain't no tobacci like our tobacci. You want a pack of Marlboro? Twelve thousand dollars. You want a carton? One hundred and forty-four, mother fucker. Don't forget the tax. Yeah, you might go to Cuba for a cigar, but there ain't no other carcinogenic, tar-laden, filthy-smelling cancer stick like the one's we make right here in the good 'ol US. God bless the Carolina's. Let's start charging $70 a bushel and see how fast that oil price comes down.

Because we are not addicted to oil. Oh, we need it, but eventually we'll find other ways to make our cars go. But there is no withdrawal quite like nicotine withdrawal. A sheik will pimp out a few wives for a cigarette, you watch. They'll start initiating tobacco-for-oil programs.

We could legalize marijuana and start selling that, too. Hey, farmers need the help and we have the right climate. You've seen on CNN acres and acres of pot being burned. That's money wasted! Pool our resources, people. We have to do something or we'll be working to pay for the gas to drive our asses to work and nothing else.

MOMENTS OF IDIOCY (echo-echo-echo)

So I go to my first class last night and as always, I'm way early. This is my Reading, Writing, and Grammar class. I've been looking forward to it because my grasp of proper writing etiquette is a bit lacking. Close to start time a Japanese fellow named Yoshi comes in and we start to converse. His English really isn't that great. Soon after, another oriental fellow comes in named JJ. Then a third, I didn't get his name because soon after his arrival the Professor came in.

She takes one look at me and says, "What are you doing here?" Turns out the class is for non-native speaking students. Yep, a bit basic for someone like me. So, with a red face and a smile, I quickly make my exit. Duh! I tried to enroll for another class but it was full, so I'm just going to take one class this semester, How to Audition. Hey, it's considered a public speaking class and if I want to find an agent one day, I'm going to have to know how to sell myself (and not like a whore, which I do pretty well, tee-hee).

As a bonus, I returned my textbooks for a full refund.

Bring out Your Dead

Katrina is turning normal people into animals. I hear reports that residents in New Orleans have brought out guns and threatened helicopters with them, set fires around the Superdome to stop busses from picking up the stranded, and looting has been going on for days now. You know what, if this is how the ungrateful fuckers of New Orleans are going to act, let them fend for themselves.

Hey, sorry to be so callous, but why should we as a society endanger ourselves when the people we're trying to help become dangerous? Paramedics had to call for help because of people with guns. Until they can learn how to behave, screw 'em.