I'm a Shooting Star!

My professor asked me to read my paper to the entire class last night. Here's the title: Pay No Attention to That Bitch Behind the Curtain: An Analysis of Fanny Dashwood. No one else was asked. I am feeling quite snotty about it. He also said it was publishable. That blew me away. I never considered publishing a college paper. It may not mean much to others, but to me it's gold.

My professor is a wonderful man, and I'm not just saying that in light of recent events. I thought he was wonderful after I took my first class with him. He honestly loves the written word. He can't get enough. The man is sooo smart and soooo full of good humor, it's impossible not to fall in love with the guy. Plus, he personally knows a ton of published authors. We'll read a story and he'll tell us about a night out with the author. (Not in this class because most of the authors are dead.) If I could spend an evening picking his brain it would probably change my life. I owe this man a lot.

Gush, gush, enough of that. Back to the real world.

Wax on, Wax off off off off off off off

You know those candle warmers? The ones that look like coffee cup warmers but can melt an entire jar candle in about three hours? We got one of those for Christmas last year and have loved it since the first time we plugged it in. Sat. night hubby put a brand new candle on that sucker and it melted to the very brim with Berry goodness. Until I knocked it over by rounding off the table with my knee.

Wax everywhere. On the floor, the couch, the slip-cover, the table, and our wedding album, a six-prong extention cable, and a speaker wire. So there I was at 11pm on my knees with a butter knife scraping and scraping until I couldn't scrape any more. Sunday afternoon honey and I spent an hour ironing the wax out of the slip-cover. I have developed a strong hatred of Berry. If I smell Berry anymore I may just puke. I have to get a leather cleaner to finish off our album, but there wasn't any damage.

Hint - when you spill wax on fabric grab a newspaper and tear it into halves. Turn your iron on hot and turn the steam off. Put paper on wax stain, iron for about 5 seconds, remove, repeat. It's amazing how well this works. Our slip cover still feels a bit stiff where the spill was, but to look at it you'd never know. Thanks, honey.

We need a Country Re-boot

How stupid are our leaders? Who hasn't heard of or even seen The Dailey Show? Honestly, do you have to fail an IQ test to become a government official?

This is sad, but in a way it's a perfect death. Who gets to die doing exactly what they love? Well, some have died during sex, so I guess that's close, but if I were found stone cold sitting upright with my laptop in my lap and a good glass of wine by my side, I wouldn't complain.

I'm a terrible mother! I was clipping kitty's claws the other night (and if you have a cat, you know the acrobatic/masochist methods used to do such a deed), when I cut too close. Kitty let out a terrible yowl. I cleared the fur away to see the damage when, sniff, all I could see was, snivel, blood! Oh, he bled. I felt just awful. I cleaned the area and apologized profusely. Just to show him how sorry I was, I carried him everywhere. I even put him in the big bed, something he never gets to do on the week days. Yesterday it looked pretty good, no infection or swelling, and when I touched it he didn't pull away. Poor baby! The next time I have to cut the claws I'll have to sneak up on him. Once glimpse of the clippers and he'll escape to the basement, or in his mind, the land of a thousand boxes.

Psst

Hey. Hey, you there. This is President Bush. Okay, I just want to say I didn't know nothing 'bout it, okay? I didn't know nothing 'bout our ports. When they said port, I thought they were talking about wine. In fact, when we had those super secret meetings I wasn't paying attention. I was trying to remember what book I was reading when the towers got plane-bombed. Somethin' 'bout an animal, I think it was a goat. Whatever happened to that goat, anyway? Ah, Dick Cheney probably shot it, he-he. Anyway, I didn't know nothing 'bout no ports or no secret deals. I'm trying to justify the war in Iraq, I mean win - I'm trying to win the war in Iraq. What, the war, hurricane Katrina, the Supreme Court, and Laura kicking me out of bed I got a lot on my mind. My plates getting full, know what I mean? So don't blame me, it wasn't my fault. I gotta go now, I hear a vacation calling my name. Remember, I didn't know nothing about it. Vote Republican!

Truth Hurts

I don't know if you know about the feud between Martha "I'm a Miserable Bitch" Stewart and Donald "Everything I Touch Turns to Gold" Trump, but I love it! It's about time someone spoke truthfully to that lying wretch. I wish I could have been a fly on the wall when Trump hit her straight between the eyes. Her show sucked and now she's looking around for people to blame. I caught the last five minutes of her "Apprentice" once while I was waiting for another show to come on. It was so boring I channel surfed for commercials.

Some people have it, and some people don't. Maybe she should have stayed in prison, they seemed to love her there.

Hubby's birthday was yesterday and I didn't get him anything, just like he wanted. Whatever he did want has yet to make an appearance. He was home late last night, I thought maybe he went and got a dog, but that didn't happen. Oh well.

My sister, Alissa, and I went to the Chocolate Wine Trail last Sunday. We had a blast! It was nice to talk and laugh and just have a good time with the girls. The only bad thing that happened was we ran into a know-it-all, try to impress you with my wit, Capote wanna-be at one of the wineries. It was our fourth, so we were feeling pretty good (what with the bottle we drank in the car and the taste-testing we were doing). He sees us and says, loudly, "Oh, here are a few girls on #7." There were 7 wineries in all. To this I replied, loudly, "No, this is only #4." I know, not exactly a scathing reply, but I watched him for a few minutes as he regaled his latest adventure using lots of big words and dropping quite a few names. I have a few words myself: ostentatious, egocentric, narcissistic. Ooooh, look at me! I'm one degree away from Kevin Bacon. I know someone who knows someone who might know Brad Pitt. Woo, look at me!

I have to lose weight, my fingers are starting to
look fat. 

 I’ve been toying with an idea for a self-help book.
I’ll call it “Don’t be a Dumb-ass Ho.”  I know some
women who could greatly benefit from a book like that.

I’m watching the Olympics in Torino.  A guy named
Johnny Weir is skating his short program dressed like
a swan.  Not the Bjork kind of outfit, but a black and
white number with strategic cut-outs going down the
leg.  He is absolutely mesmerizing.  Not his routine,
that was simply amazing, but his attitude.  Nothing
gets to this guy.  He told everyone in the public and
the media to kiss his ass, looking like an off-duty
drag queen while he did it.
He is very pretty.  This kid has lashes that can
create wind, and a sharp nose and lion’s main of dark
brown hair.  Plus he’s tall.  I’ve always had a thing
for tall guys.  After his routine he gave an
interview, the woman reporter had to reach up to put
the mike by his mouth. 
He was humble in his attitude.  Now there’s a class
act.  We don’t see enough of men like Johnny.  Too
bad, I don’t think he likes girls. 
I was trying to tell my husband that there are two
types of ice skaters, the technical and the beautiful.
Technical skaters are very impressive because they
usually do a lot of tricks.  They are usually fast and
somewhat dangerous.  These routines are like a quick
visit from the circus.  Beautiful skaters have a grace
about them.  They float across the ice and gracefully
jump into the air, with little effort showing through
their constant smiles.  Beautiful skaters look at each
other or the audience while they skate.  It’s more of
a dance with beautiful skaters.
I like both, but I prefer the beautiful skaters win.
It takes a lot to be a technical skater; I’m not
saying it’s easy.  But performing those tasks and
making it look easy is superior. 
He really didn’t care.
How many of you know the pain of running out of money
before you’re paid again?  It sucks.  My husband and I
are making good money, we shouldn’t be scraping the
bottom every two weeks.  I guess I’ll have to start
stripping again.  We’re supposed to get a dog at the
end of this month, but how can we?  We’ll have to get
it licensed, take it to the vet, and buy it some toys
and food dish, all after we pay to get the dog in the
first place.  Then it will have to eat.  Oy.
 Tomorrow is payday.  If I can stop my husband and
myself from buying anything unnecessary for the next
month we’ll be back in steak and potatoes.  We were
supposed to go to Savannah for a visit, but I don’t
think that’s going to happen.  I’m so glad we almost
have one of our credit cards paid off.  With the rate
hike coming that’s one less thing to worry about.

Happy Feb. 15th

Last night I had a fabulous dinner of fillet mignon with baked potato and a really good wine. Then, my cat gave me the newest Stephen King book, "Cell." He's such a good boy, that cat, even made me a card. Such a sweetie.

Today I am drained. For the last three nights I have been woken up by my bowels. What is going on? I'm eating right, I'm taking my meds, and I try to exercise as much as I can. I don't get it. I know people like me have ups and downs, but I'm about due for some "up", I think.

Have a good day, everyone.

Happy VD!

I'm staring at the bag of chocolate that could put me in a coma. Migraines - caffeine - no chocolate. My co-workers are angels and went way overboard this year. The smell alone makes my head hurt, but I can't stop cramming my face in the bag. Sniiiiiiifffff, oh yes!

As if that's not bad enough, my sister, Alissa, and I are going on the Chocolate Wine Trail in Hermann this weekend. What was I thinking? I'll drink, my sister will get the chocolate.

Honey says we're getting a dog at the end of this month. Glad it's a short month.

I haven't received anything from my honey for VD. (I prefer VD over spelling out this cursed holiday). I don't know if I will. I baked him some cookies yesterday in the shape of hearts. Then I drew sexually graphic cartoons on them with red and white icing. Ah, the corruption of Tollhouse.

Hey

"That poor man" lied about his involvement with Abranoff. What a surprise!

I had an interesting experience recently. I get the Brazilian bikini wax. For those of you who don't know what that is, it's the waxing of all area's that come in contact with my underwear. Yep, ALL hair. I'm not going to lie and say that it is pleasant, but the pain is only temporary. I like the result enough to deal with it. Anyway, so I was due for another waxing. I went to Studio Branca to get it done.

As some of you may know, I also have ulcerative colitis. This means that I am more in tune with my colon and intestines than the average bear. I'm on medication to control it, but a side effect is I have a lot of gas at times.

I think you see where this is going.

No, I did not fart in the face of my waxer. But I really, really, really could have. See, with her face a mere foot from the blast zone there would have been no way I could have hid it. That is the kind of social faux-pax one can not recover from. There's no coming back to a salon once you fart in someone's face - everyone will know by the end of the day. So I clenched and squeezed and thought of every happy place I could find while she ripped and stripped. When we were done I debated running to the bathroom without putting my pants back on. But I survived.

Just another day in the life of the Barbarian.

Tonight the Olympics start! I'm so excited, I just love the Olympics. The costumes, the action, the heart-warming stories of dedication and survival. Oh, and the drug scandals, which this time seem to have started before the opening ceremonies. You know it's coming, yet you take the pills anyway. Stupid.

I think I like the winter olympics more than the summer. All that running is pretty boring, but the cross-country skiing takes a close second. My parent slove the ice skating. My husband like the luge. Well, actually, the luge crashes. Anyway, I plan to watch it as often as I can. Have a good weekend everyone.

Tests, Exams, and Finals, Oh My!

Look, if your kid is too stupid to pass an exit exam, they shouldn't be allowed to leave High School. High School is a place of learning, I know that may get lost in the debates about religion, sex education, drug prevention, and kids bringing guns to school, but that's the main objective of going to school - to learn.

The work force is already packed with idiots, we don't need any more. And instead of running to the courts and suing school officials when your kids proves to be stupid, why aren't you scolding yourself? You raised that child, and obviously you did a bad job. Suck it up and take some responsibility.

I just can't fathom how parent's can blame everyone else for their children being rotten, dirty, mean, or just plain stupid. They came from YOU! They were raised in YOUR home, with YOU as a guidance counselor. Their failure is also YOURS! Stop taking the easy out. If your child has a learning disability, get him/her help, don't dump them on the school steps and expect the system to handle it.

Being a parent is a job. Got that, J-O-B. And as with most jobs, there are a lot of things about it that aren't fun. It's hard, and some days you want to call in sick - BUT YOU CAN'T. It's 24/7, and if your kid fails, it's your failure as well.

We need to stop blaming society and point the finger back at the parents.

Candy!

We've come full circle as a society. How do I know this? Because of my Tylenol PM's, that's why. Remember in the old days when medicine bottles didn't have child resistant caps and medicine tasted okay? Yeah, and then kids started eating the pills because, well, kids are stupid, and they made a big stink about making bottles kids couldn't open. Then the bottles became so ridiculous that no one could open them without aid of a claw hammer. So they experimented with several different kinds until they decided to give up and tell parents to watch their kids better.

I have a bottle of vanilla flavored Tylenol PM's in a not-so-child resistant bottle that taste GREAT! If I were a stupid kid I'd probably eat the whole bottle. So how far have we come, eh? All that stink and we're right back where we started.


Let me ask you, do you think the families of the two victims in this story would have bitched if the police beat the shit out of this guy? I'd want a tape of it so I could watch it over and over again.

Hey, "That poor man" is now taking care of Medicare. Yep, wiping it clear off the board. Seeing as my co-worker is 63 and close to retirement, I'll bet she sings a different tune soon.

The Sorry State of Survivors

To those of you who are refugees from Katrina living in a hotel room and bitching about the fact that the hotel is now kicking your lazy ass out - DO SOMETHING!! Sitting on your ass crying about how rough life can be will not get you a new home. Watching repeats of Oprah will not get you a new home. Running from all the government agencies that are trying to help you get a new home will not get you a new home. In case you haven't figured it out by now you are on your own. No one is going to take care of you. You will have to suck it up and take care of yourself. Free ride is over. You have my sympathy, but hey, you're not the only one who's had a rough life, okay? There are lots or poor people all across this country that have it worse off than you. Stop the whining and get to work. (Im by no means saying that Katrina vicitms don't need help, but BILLIONS of dollars have been raised for that specific group. What about the homeless children living on streets in this country? What about the poor in other states that aren't getting a dime of help from anyone? Enough's enough, share the wealth.)

My co-worker made the comment this morning, "Oh, that poor man." She was talking about Egghead Bush and all the flack he's getting for being the antichrist. She's a widow. That "poor man" is trying to take away her social security benefits. How blind can some people be? How corrupt does the man have to become before they'll stop following him?

I would like to say that the funeral of a civil leader IS NOT the place to blast Bush. I think it's appalling that anyone used Coretta Scott King's funeral as a political podium. Shame on you! Didn't your mama teach you any manners? The political crap should have been checked at the door in order to celebrate the life of a wonderful lady.

Oh, and by the way, IT'S A CARTOON!! Get. Over. It.

It's snowing. I think I saw a lady in a minivan slitting the throats of her children on the way to work today.
"What are you doing?" I yelled through my window.
"I'm sending my children to heaven! The world is ending, Satan is coming. White stuff is falling from the sky!"
"It's snow," I said. "Moisture in the air is freezing due to the cold weather, resulting in ice crystals forming. The ice crystals are too heavy to remain in the air, thus they fall to the earth. It's just SNOW!"
"Oh."

EXCLUSIVE

A lost interview with author H.T., an unpublished writer with a whole library of unfinished works.

"What made you decide to be a writer?"

"It wasn't a conscious decision, really. It seems that I've known how to read and write since I came out of the womb. When I was in first grade I wrote my first short story called "Jerry the Jiraffe" and read it to my classmates. My teacher told me I was a natural born writer. I kept a journal and eventually branched out into poetry and short stories. I didn't think about writing a novel until I got to college."

"None of your work has been published, correct?"

"That's not true. An online poetry contest sponsored by an elite group of businessmen published a poem of mine called "Daddy." It was great, they told me I qualified for the grand prize of $5,000, and if I won I would get to go to their annual convention. I only had to pay $1,500 for room and travel. Oh, unless I wanted to buy copies of previous anthologies, then it was $40 a pop. A Nigerian banker with millions to give away sponsored it, I think. If I responded right away I could enlarge my penis and buy drugs from Mexico. It was a fantastic deal."

"Oooo-kaay. Let's move on to your work, what genre do you write?"

"Anything involving murder, violence, supernatural beings, and cats. I like writing vicious mysteries with lots of gore and blood, but the bigger picture wraps around love and understanding. All my killers are compassionate. You may have to look for their humanity, but it's there."

"Uh-huh. What is your first novel about?"

"Death."

"Just any death, or can you get more specific?"

"No."

"Ummm, okay. How do you plan on getting your stories to the public?"

"Lulu.com or some sort of online self-publishing machine. Once I hit the craft fairs and festivals, it's sure to take off. I mean, who doesn't love horror?"

"Horror?"

"Crime fiction, mystery, fantasy, whatever you want to call it, who doesn't love it?"

"Wait. Is your novel about death, crime, mystery, or fantasy?"

"A little bit of both."

"But I mentioned four things."

"Well....if you're going to be specific, all four. Does that answer your question?"

"No. I think we're done here. Look for H.T.'s novel about death and compassionate killers coming to a Strawberry festival near you... some day."

Snippets of my Imagination

Take a peak inside my mind:

Scene One, dreary, mid day, traffic noise in background:
A man, bloody, torn, dirty, leans on a plain brick wall. He digs around in his pocket and pulls out a slightly bent cigarette. It starts to rain. He looks straight ahead, eyes unwavering, as a song starts to play:
"What a day this has been. What a rare mood I'm in. Well it's almost like being in love. (Sinatra? Martin?)"
He pulls a lighter out of his shirt pocket. He flicks it, it won't light. He throws it, takes the cigarette out of his mouth and throws it as well, then walks away.



I wonder if this is how my Grandmother lost her mind? Forced into a solitary life because of location and society, she didn't have the option of making many friends. So she made one up; one who would never leave or disappoint her. One who would grow old with her and be there when she died. Can you really blame her? The heart can only break so much before it no longer resembles a heart.



Fuck the fame, take the money.




Story Idea:
A man is killed by using the Archimedes mirror method, slowly burned to death. Melting skin, lots of screams. Has to be in the boonies somewhere.



I've come to the realization that I am a predator. I wasn't born one, I actually had a sweet disposition as a child. But from the age of 11 to 17 I had to fight everyday. Not physically, I was too small for hand-to-hand combat. I fought emotion. I learned how to rage on the inside. That killed off my childhood as well as a big chunk of my humanity. Now I seem to be fighting to get it back.

Ta.