Before and After - My Makeover

I've Gone and Done It Now

I did it, I succumbed to the seduction of mySpace. Here is my page.

I did it so I could talk to my friend Wuzard easier. Check out his page, he's a tattoo artist and has some cool pictures. I'm still trying to figure out this "friend" thing. If you have a mySpace account and want to be my friend (oh please, oh please) let me know.

I have a few of my short stories on there and I plan to add more once I clean them up. Enjoy.

My husband is leaving me!

It finally happened. I told him the game or me... and he didn't chose me.

Just kidding! Hubby is going to help a friend from his game move this weekend. The poor guy has no one to help him so my man is stepping up to help the guy out. Awwww, I love my hubby.

I am looking forward to the alone time. Me, the cat, and the dog are going to lay around snoozing as much as we can.

Women

We are confusing creatures.

Men say they have problems with women but at least they can claim they don't understand us and get away with it. I feel sorry for lesbians. I don't think being with another woman would make things easier, I think it would make things harder. When they argue they have no escape hatch, they are essentially fighting with themselves.

"You don't understand!"
"Yes, I do!"
"Then why are you acting this way?"
"I don't know...you tell me!"

Yep, I'll stick to men. Even though they are frustrating they aren't very had to figure out.

Regrets

I know we all have regrets about some of the things we've done in life, but have you ever regretted something you didn't do?

I was talking to a co-worker of mine today and she asked me if I liked the Three Stooges. My answer, "I hate the Three Stooges."

Many years ago when my sister and I still lived at home she was dating this bastard I'll call Dickhead. Dickhead was a very manipulative, egotistical, and controlling bastard with a liking for abuse. In our old house my sister and I shared the top floor, our rooms were divided by a thin curtain. When Dickhead slept over (which was often), he'd stay up till all hours watching the Three Stooges with the TV turned up as loud as he wanted. I could not sleep with that crap on and I asked not only Dickhead but my sister to turn that shit off. I was ignored. I went to my mother, but as always she was on his side. "Lay still," was her answer. Yeah, because laying still would make the noise go away....

I had a hammer in my room and I have always regretted not putting that hammer right through that TV. I wanted to night after night, just walk in there and BAM, no more TV, but I knew my mother would have a conniption. (In her eyes Dickhead walked on water and anyone who made him unhappy immediately became an enemy of hers.) I moved out of that house as soon as I could and I haven't seen or heard one Stooge since.

I think that's why I'm so outspoken these days. When I see someone who behaves just like Dickhead I know what kind of person they are. It takes something drastic, like a hammer through a TV, to get their attention. That's why I prefer to stay away from them. This I don't regret.

It's a Momentus Day!

Woooooooo, let's all run around like chickens with our heads cut off - Paris is out of jail!!!

In honor of this day I think we should all close our offices early, go put on a short skirt, head to a local bar and drink ourselves into a stupor, making sure there are plenty of photographers around to take our picture. Oh, wait, I forgot about sex...

In honor of this day I think we should all close our offices early, go suck a dick, then put on a short skirt and head to the local bar to drink ourselves into a stupor making sure there are plenty of photographers around to take our picture as we suck another dick and then drive home drunk. Yeah, that's it.

Those of Us Who Live With It Know the Truth

Psychiatrists are arguing over the merits of "Video Game Addiction." Some say it does not exist. Those of us who have family members who play video games don't need a bunch of stupid doctors arguing the point. We know it exists and it sucks.

Forget the medical data, go out there and collect a group of men ages 13 - 43 and just talk to them. Ask them how much time they dedicate to a game, how many hours a day they play, or even how many times their loved one's have to bitch slap them with reality in order to get their attention. Take all your Harvard studies and stuff them up your butt - video game addiction is just as real as sex or gambling addictions. It's the high, it doesn't matter where it's coming from.

B-Butt in the House

Look at Mr. Attitude!

So You Think You Can Dance?

I am a sucker for this show.

This season there are two people who continually knock my socks off - Lacey and Kameron. The first dance they had together was so hot I had to go change my panties. They are such a great looking pair, I certainly hope they are together because they would make beautiful babies.

Lacey is by far the best female in this competition. She is the sister of last year's winner and I think she is simply amazing. There isn't anything they've asked her to do that she hasn't been able to excel. I know it's only been two episodes, but she sailed through the audition process. She isn't classically beautiful but there is just something about her that makes her uniquely beautiful.

Kameron is not the best dancer, others are more graceful and have better technique, but just look at the boy? Hubba-hubba. He has sex appeal just oozing from his pours, he could walk across the room and I'd watch.

As a couple I think they are unstoppable. I'm watching the show for them this year. When a couple has "it" you can't help but be captivated. This couple has "it" in spades.

The other couples are giving Lacey and Kameron tough competition. Danny, the brother of last year's runner-up, is so fantastic he can only be classified as a freak of nature. Sabra has only been dancing for 4 years and she puts some of the others to shame. Tonight is the results show and I feel sorry for the judges. No matter which three men and women are in the bottom it's going to be a hard choice.

Family Values Start at Home

As the election year nears we will no doubt hear a bunch of shit about family values again. Well, I for one will not vote for anyone who sees family values as the biggest issue we have to face. Family values do not belong in politics, they belong at home. If you have a shitty kid it is your own fault. If you are a shitty family it is your own fault. Don't blame TV and the media, you're the parent.

High school teachers are getting beat-up, raped, and killed in their own schools. Why? Because parents send their kids to school to be disciplined because they are too damn lazy or too damn stupid to do it themselves. That, or they believe Junior is sooooo smart they back him up in everything. My mother would have kicked my ass if I'd ever smart-mouthed a teacher, these days parents act like the teachers deserve it.

Parents today are lazy. Plain and simple, they rely on everyone else to raise their kid and then sit back and wonder why Bobby is an asshole. If you don't want your kids watching violent TV, get rid of the thing. If you don't want them playing violent video games don't go out and buy them a X-box. If you don't want them hanging out with the wrong kids then PAY ATTENTION to who their friends are. You must become proactive in your children's lives, idiots.

The person who gets up there and says, "I'm going to fight for better health care, more money for education, and less money for stupid issues like gay marriage and abortion" is the person who's going to get my vote. Gay marriage and abortion have nothing to do with my life, I want a president who is going to make life better for ME.

The Price is Wrong, Bitch!

If Rosie O'Donnell becomes the host of Price is Right I will never watch the show again. I would rather they hire a Skinhead Nazi and call it Price is Reich.

The show is only an hour long, Rosie would spent 40 minutes giving her opening monologue on who was a lesbian hating republican that day. Each contestant would have to tell her why they think she is so great, and every female contestant would have to kiss her in order to get their prize. Ew.

Of 'course, she'd get into a fight with everyone from the producer down to the announcer and then we'd have to hear about it non-stop. Oy. The Price is Right is supposed to be entertaining, not painful. What was Bob thinking when he gave her his endorsement? He must have Alzheimer's.

Happy Memory

One night almost four years ago I stood in front of the Belllagio's massive fountain. I wore a brand new dress that looked stunning on me and I was held in the arms of my brand new husband. I was on my Honeymoon in Vegas, had been married all of three days. I had seen this fountain on countless TV shows and in countless movies but one can't really appreciate it's beauty until they feel the spray of it. A song was playing that I had never heard before. It was so beautiful, and I was so happy, that I couldn't help but cry. Once it was over I felt I had experienced something I would never feel again.

This is the song. Every time I hear it I am taken back to that moment when I can honestly say everything was perfect.

Celebrities

Let's talk about celebrities, m'kay. Celebrities are not normal people. I'm specifically talking about actors and entertainers. The desire to be an actor or entertainer usually stems from a desire to receive attention. They enjoy people clapping and applauding them. Thus, they usually will go much farther for attention than others.

Huge celebrities get huge amounts of attention. People fall all over themselves to see these people, much less talk to them or even get an autograph or picture. Wherever they go people go out of their way to treat this person like they are God's gift to earth. They get lots of shit for free, they get the best service, and they get all the perks us normal people don't ever get. The public treats these people like they shit gold.

A person who has been a celebrity for a looooong time, like, oh, William Shatner, begin to think people kissing their asses is the way life works. Getting special attention become their "normal." Having people bend over backwards to fulfill their every wish becomes commonplace. They actually start to believe they aren't God's gift, they are a God themselves. They get used to the money, huge houses, nice clothes, and so on. After a while they even feel they deserve it. They become so conceited and self-important they lose touch with reality all together.

The public goes along with this. See, we confuse the actor with the characters he/she portrays. For example, Julia Roberts was labeled "America's Sweetheart" by the press and we sheep went along with it. She's so nice and perky and funny and has that big smile and oh yes she is just so great! Then she stole another woman's husband and we were like, "What?!?" People, we didn't know her! We saw her work and assumed she was like that in real life. Well, we all know what happens when we assume....

This is what gets me about the whole Paris Hilton thing. We are so appalled that she's getting special treatment in jail, yet we are the society that gave her the special treatment to begin with. We treat our celebrities like Gods but end up so shocked when rules are bent. How hypocritical is that? If you don't want a celebrity to get special attention in prison, don't give them special treatment outside of it. Actors are professional liars, they don't need the special attention.

So if you happen to brush up against a celebrity and find yourself disappointed by their behavior you have no one to blame but yourself. Just because someone is an actor or entertainer does not mean they can't be an asshole. Every profession has them, why not the entertainment industry?

A Story for My Husband

My husband is a slow reader. As such, when he sees a long story of mine he runs and hides. So here is a story just for him.

A man in his early thirties walks into a dimly lit cabin. He is dusty and worn, a tattered cap sits crooked on his head. He takes it off and beats it against his thigh as he closes the door. An old man sits in a chair by the fire even though it is nearly 100 degrees outside. He is gnarled and shrunken with age, but he focuses on the younger man with eyes steady and alert.

"Did you find it this time?"

The young man shakes his head, the old man slumps in his chair. For forty years he'd been looking for the lost treasure he'd buried in desperation right after the Civil War. He'd been so sure he'd know where to find it. For forty years he'd felt like a first class fool.

The young man takes a gold coin from his pocket and flips it through the air to land on the old man's lap. He stares at it in awed wonder. With tears forming in his eyes he looks at the young man for explanation.

"Don't thank me, the coons found it. They just can't resist anything shiny."

The old man turned his head to stare at the far wall. It was lined with raccoon hats and the pelts of hats-to-be, his only means of survival these last forty years.

The old man started laughing and didn't stop until his heart gave out.

Hope you like it, hon.

A MUST Watch

You must watch this video. It makes PERFECT sense. It's about 10 minutes long so make sure you have time to watch it, but more importantly, you must HEAR it.

No matter which side of the Global Warming fence you sit on, you must take this man's words to heart. I'm begging you, it's only 10 minutes out of your life and it will make a difference.

Thanks.

More Ramblings

I woke up with swollen eyes and a headache this morning. Why? Because I cried myself to sleep. Why? Because I watched the HBO Sports special on Barbaro. Yep, I watched a show about a horse and cried myself to sleep.

I wrote this short story recently. The title is: Piccadilly

Kyle Reyado was surrounded by his family as he took his last few breathes. Through eyes filmy with age he gazed upon the face of his daughter, Liesel. She was as beautiful as her mother. Her husband Cal held their son, Chris, in his arms. Chris kicked and fussed in his sleep.

Tracy, his daughter-in-law, held the hands of the twins. The little girls looked at Kyle with eyes too big for their angelic faces. He wanted to tell them not to be afraid but he had no strength to speak. The light was already beginning to fade. His two sons stood at the end of the bed, one with his hands in his pockets and one holding his head. A good solid family, he thought, I did well. We did well.

Between his sons the spectral form of his wife shimmered into view. He had not looked upon her face in 17 years. Oh, how he had missed her. He felt a tear slide down his weathered face as she smiled at him as she held out her hands. With a hint of a smile on his own lips Kyle joyfully gave into death.

He woke on fire, screaming, and naked. He was strapped, back down, to a metal barrel, his arms and legs stretched painfully behind him. The barrel was glowing red with heat, he could smell his own flesh cooking. The barrel rested on an endless bed of coals, independent fires burned here and there. His skin melted and dropped off into the hungry coals. They lit immediately and fed flames that burned through muscle and straight into his bone.

Kyle screamed and screamed.

A demon came into view. Huge, red skin like a snake, and on cloven hoofs the demon followed the sound of Kyle's useless screams. In one hand it held a chain of skulls, the last of which drug on the ground. Those skulls were scorched and broken. How Kyle wanted to become one of them. The demon stood before Kyle and bent down to meet him face to face. It said nothing but just watched as Kyle struggled with his misery. Finally Kyle rasped, "Why am I here? I don't belong here."

The demon threw his head back and laughed. He then took a deep breath and bathed Kyle in a string of molten fire.

Kyle woke with a shout. His body jerked and writhed in imaginary flame until he nearly slipped off his bed. Coming fully awake he jumped up and stumbled to the middle of the room. His skin felt icy cold, he was drenched in sweat. The images of the dream began to fade as Kyle took a few deep breathes to calm himself. Just a dream, just a dream, just another dream. He ran to his mirror just to make sure. He checked his image, the skin on his face and chest was smooth and unmarred.

"So fucking real, " he whispered as the door to his room burst open. Kyle shouted and nearly fell over his desk.

"Kyle? You alright? I heard screaming."

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a bad dream."

"Again? You want to talk about it?"

"No, Mom, I'm good. Just, you know..."

"Yeah, I know. Try to get some sleep, honey, you have school tomorrow," she closed the door.

Kyle looked back at his reflection, then turned and fell onto his bed. There would be no more sleep this night. He lay on his back staring at the shadows on the ceiling and waited for the day to come.

Ramblings

I found an old notebook and I thought I would share some of the things I found.

Written sometime in 2004 -

Some people think Americans are loud, obnoxious, and rude. The French have been quoted as calling Americans silly and immature.

Why not? We have a culture based on words like boodylishous and fashizzle. We wear big watches and use small phones. All our black entertainers throw the word nigger (a.k.a nigga) around like it's candy.

"Hi, nigga, what' up, nigga, where you been, nigga."
"I went to see that nigga Charlie and he says, 'S'up, Nigga?'"
"That's my nigga, Nigga."

It's just plain silly.

But let a white person say the n-word and all surrounding action will come to an immediate stop.

"Hi, Christian."
"What's up, Nigga?"
(Long record scratch) Eeeeeerrrt "What did that little white boy just say?"
"Um, er, I said 'brother.' What's up brother. You know, I don't even you you, my mistake, bye."
The little white boy breaks the land speed record getting out of there.

So you see, we ARE silly and immature. An entire race has taken a white man's slur and turned it into a taboo while at the same time making the word part of their heritage, culture, and identity. Well, I'm sorry, but you can't have it both ways. It's like getting caught with gum in grade school, if everybody can't chew gum than neither can you.

Y'know, the world isn't even black and white anymore. Boy, I bet that scares the hell out of the KKK. We've fucked around so much we'll soon all look the same. Then what? Who will we hate when we're all the same color? Guess we'll have to stick to religion.

I feel sorry for the priests.


Written sometime in 2006 - Title: 1,628

Nathan strode across the casino looking like a model. The style he wore was yet to be defined, but he wore it well. Nathan had been a fashion maven from the womb. In the 1980's, when we met, he could be Boy George one day and Adam Ant the next. The 80's had been full of fashion victims but nothing ever looked ridiculous on him. God knows the rest of us looked stupid and had the pictures to prove it.

While everyone else was conforming to grunge in the 1990's, Nathan stayed sheik. He skipped the Goth revolution but wore black like no one else. So here he was now, in 2006, looking unbelievably gorgeous in lime green leather pants and a black shirt. Yes, lime green. And no, no one else would be able to get away with it.

Too bad my vision was blurring. Tears tended to do that. See, my husband died two months ago and I haven't felt right since. The only reason I was still alive was because of Nathan. He made me promise years ago to never kill myself, no matter what. Damn him for the forethought.

The eye-offending pants looked soft. Nathan was crushing me to his chest, they were all I could see at the moment. Why we had to meet in Vegas I'll never know. I'm pretty sure I hold the record for being the one person in Vegas with the least desire to party. I couldn't gamble without thinking of my husband. Shows didn't interest me, and I didn't want to be around people. All I wanted to do was drink and I could do that anywhere. I'd been doing it at home just fine. Nathan pulled me away from him and took a good, long look.

"You look like shit," he said. I think this is why I loved this man. Honesty is so hard to find.

"Thanks. Nice to know I look how I feel."

He hugged me again and started walking towards the bar. I looked around and saw trees. Trees on the inside? "Where are we?" I asked.

"New York, New York. You said it was your favorite."

Yes, it was. I had taken the trees for granted. How detached am I? I'd done that a lot lately, slipping into my mental prison and shutting out the outside world. We walked through the slot machines and black-jack tables towards Gallaghers. I stopped. My husband and I had gone to Gallaghers on our honeymoon. Could I go in there? Nathan hugged me closer to his side.

"All your memories are going to change, Hon. You can't avoid it. But we can go somewhere else if you want."

"No," I tried to smile. "It will be nice to think of him." My insides were being ground into dust by shards of glass, but hey, it would be fine. Just fine. For the 1,625th time that day I thought of my death. Yeah, I'm just fine.

Nathan had a table reserved in the darkest corner possible. How he could pull strings this far from Los Angeles was a mystery. Nathan had started off his career as an actor. Somehow he started making more deals than movies and soon became a powerful man in Hollywoodland. I didn't quite know what he did, and so well, but I'm pretty sure most of is is legal. Ok, maybe half. When Nathan wanted something he got it, no matter how long it took.

I had a glass of Riesling in my hand before a word was spoken. I hadn't tasted a good, expensive wine in a long time. My husband and I lived simply. Or, we had. Hubby didn't admire money like most in his profession. He had been a film editor. A good one. Everyone loved and missed him.

1,626.

My husband sat in an urn in my bedroom back in St. Louis. I had thought of bringing him with me, but enough people thought I was crazy without me having to prove them right. Besides, he hadn't like Vegas as much as I had. Nathan was saying something.

"I have tickets for O this evening."
"That's still playing? What's it been, 6 years. I thought Cirque de Solel had a new show."
"They do, but O is still going strong. Cheryl is in it now."
"Really, how wonderful, when did that happen." Cheryl was Nathan's ex-girlfriend, one of the many. None of them ever stuck, but none of them ever left unhappy. They always seemed to become friends. I couldn't imagine how Nathan managed it. Every ex-boyfriend of mine had become a bitter enemy. I didn't miss any of them. Maybe that was kept the girls friendly, Nathan was a great person to know weather you were sleeping with him or not. Come to think of it, I'm an ex-girlfriend.

Damn, I had almost forgotten.

I was Nathan's first love. We had been 15, so many moons ago when the world was still fresh and nothing could stop us. A lot had changed since then. Nathan and my husband knew each other back then as well. Maybe that's why I accepted his invitation for company when I had rejected so many others. That, and Nathan knew I wasn't going to kill myself. Everyone else hovered over me like mother hens. I wanted to slit my wrists just to give them something to do.

I wasn't hungry but I knew Nathan would make me eat. Everyone wanted me to eat. I had lost twenty pounds on the Mourning Diet, but I wouldn't recommend it to anyone.

"Cheryl has been with O for the last six months. I hear she's doing very well," Nathan was saying. He held his glass up and looked through it at the candle on the table.

"You get her to job?" I asked. He simply smiled. "You're good at that," I finished.

"Yes, I am." He was being cryptic again. Nathan just loved being cryptic.

"Is that why you invited me here? To get me a job?"

He didn't even have the notion to look sheepish. "I do have a job for you, but only if you want it."

The waiter chose that moment to take our order. I was glad, I needed to avoid the topic. I was going to Savannah, Georgia, after this little trip to lick my wounds and drown in a bottle. No one was going to stop me. After the waiter left I commented on his latest acquisition - a sporty red convertible of some kind with lots of gadgets. "I'll let you change the subject," He smirked. "For now."

Uh-oh, Nathan had an agenda. Once he had one he kept at it like a pit bull. What Nathan wanted, Nathan got. Right then what I wanted was another glass of wine.

The show was spectacular. Cheryl did a phenomenal job. We sat in our private area watching the regular people exit from the building. Every male with short brown hair and a goatee made me wince. Did so many people have to look like my dead husband?

1,627.

"Are you tired?" Nathan asked. "I had planned to take you to Taboo, but we can go to the room if you'd like."

"The room, not my room. Planning something?" I asked.

He looked at me so seriously I became uncomfortable. "Once you see the room, you'll understand." That sounded ominous and I was suddenly nervous. I didn't need this. I really wanted to curl up in a ball and cry. All this Vegas cheer was choking me. I'm sure the room was some fancy suite with lots of pomp and circumstance. Nathan would have it no other way. "I'm tired. Can we just go to the room?"

"Of 'course." Nathan held out his hand for mine. The way he held it and looked at me, like this was the beginning and end of a long journey. I took his hand, it felt like a piece of home, so I kept it there as we walked out of the casino. Just a nice couple out for a stroll. Part of me felt guilty, I expected my husband to come around a corner and catch me.

1,628.

We walked in silence through the bustling crowds of tourists and newlyweds. We arrived back at New York, New York and waited for the elevator. Nathan shifted on his feet and did a little dance with his hands. He used to do that when we were kids, it meant he was anxious. He caught me looking and put his hands in his pockets. How long had we known each other? How long had he waited? The elevator arrived and Nathan got on. He turned to look at me. I stood frozen just outside the door.

If I got on that elevator I wasn't going to make it to Savannah. I would probably never make it back to St. Louis. I realized all those years ago I hadn't run away, Nathan had let me go. I went away to college and then met the man who'd marry me. Nathan hadn't protested it, he hadn't whined or begged in any way, he'd only made me give him a simple promise. All this time. Damn him for the forethought.

I stepped onto the elevator.

Throw the Dirt Over It Anyway

My husband and I have been discussing the finale of The Soprano's for the last 24 hours. He thinks it was great. He has no problem with open-ended endings that leave no solid answers. Me? Not so much.

Here's my take, a story must have three things; a beginning, a middle, and an end. I am not one of those writers who feel I can fudge an ending and let my readers come up with their own conclusions. A story needs and END. I feel artists who do that are lazy. L-a-z-y. If this is your creation than the responsibility of an ending is on you. If you can't, then you shouldn't be a story teller. It's that simple, folks.

David Chase had this to say about it: "I have no interest in explaining, defending, reinterpreting, or adding to what is there," said Chase, 61.

Hmm, sounds to me like someone just got tired of it. I don't see a genius at work, I see someone who no longer gave a shit, and that's a slap in the face to his loyal viewers. Oh, and it's not just Chase. Have any of you read Stephen King's "Cell?" Yeah, the master of horror got a little lazy on that one, too. And don't even get me started on Pirates of the Cab: Dead Man's Chest.

I have no interest in seeing anything else David Chase has to offer. Why? Because I can't trust him. Why should I invest time into a story knowing it may never have an ending? Or, it will have an ending so cryptic it will only piss me off. Not worth it. But to amuse myself I have created David Chase endings to some of my favorite movies:

Sleepless in Seattle
Meg Ryan stands in the garden, anxiously awaiting the arrival of her email pal. She smooths her pretty dress and wrings her hands. She hears a male voice calling, "Einstein!" The camera closes in on her face - fade to black.

Casablanca
Humphry Bogart and Ingred Bergman stand on the airport tarmac. She is crying, and her lover stands behind her getting ready to get on the plane. Bogart is sad. She turns to him and the camera closes in on her face - fade to black.

Men In Black
Will Smith and Tommy Lee Jones sit on the sidewalk covered in intergalactic cockroach goo. Will has the galaxy, Tommy has his gun. "I like this gun," Tommy says. From behind them the top half of the cockroach begins to stir - fade to black.

Braveheart
Mel Gibson is tied to the torture rack. His buddies watch from the crowd as the guards do unspeakable things to him. Mel turns his head and sees his dead wife peeking out from behind his friends. The camera closes in on his face - fade to Black.

Usual Suspects
At the Police Station the Sargent has just released Kevin Spacey. His officer goes to the fax machine to retrieve the incoming fax. He looks at it, then hands it to the Sarge. The Sarge's eyes go wide as the camera closes in on his face - fade to black.

I think you get the idea...

Good Morning!

How are you on this fine day? I'm great, just like Tony Tiger. Why? Hubby and I got up early this morning to ride.

I know, some of you are probably asking what's wrong with me, but I enjoy our morning rides. The sun has not yet risen too high in the sky, traffic is light, and the park is full of friendly or too tired people to be much of hassle. Then there is the smell of the morning, enough time has passed that the exhaust from traffic has been blown away. There's dew, little furry critters, it's a nice time. Except when I rode past the zoo, I could have done without that smell.

Then hubby and I come to my work and take a shower in the old-ass men's room located in one of my buildings. It's nice and clean, but small. Honey and I have to take turns. It's nice, we chatted about whatever and made sure we started our day with the right clothes in the right place (we packed the night before and neither of us were too awake when we did it). Kiss-kiss and then I start my day.

I am so GLAD the Suprano's are over!! No more conceited actors demanding ridiculous amounts of money and thinking they are so damn special they can take 2 years to film one episode. No more real life drama of divorce, depression, and drug abuse. The fact that the finale was disappointing to just about everyone solidified what I've suspected all along - the show turned into a piece of shit. There wasn't a neat, tidy, and understandable ending. What did you expect? The show lost viewers for a reason. So long, Tony, and too damn bad you didn't end up with a bullet to the brain.

Barbarian Food Critic

Summer is here and with it a burning desire to look good in a swimsuit. I find myself eating a lot of salads this time of year. I discovered a BLT salad served at Growler's Pub that is worth every penny. The steak and arugala salad at the Macaroni Grill is good any time. Sometimes I'll even make my own salad combinations at Schnucks.

A while ago Hubby and I discovered a restaurant called Red Robin. They have damn good burgers, I recommend the Banzai Burger. Hubby is a fan of the peppercorn himself. Anyway, we went there recently and I just didn't feel like a burger. So I checked out the salads. I ordered the Apple Harvest Chicken Salad. Let me just say this: it is one of the best salads I have ever eaten. Lettuce, grilled chicken, almonds, apple slices, and goat cheese tossed with a tangy honey dressing with just a hint of brown mustard. Oh. Ma. Gawd.

It is so very yummy. Being the anal person I am I like a salad with a lots of chunks so every bite can be the same. Eating this salad was heaven. It was so delicious from the first bite to the last that I licked the Styrofoam to-go box clean. Oh, you know I took it home, they serve it in a punchbowl. All the ingredients were fresh, they don't make the salad and then let it sit there getting its nuts soggy. I am usually not a mustard person (I hate it) but the extra zip it gave the apples was perfect.

It's a bold salad, so if you don't like a lot of flavor you should probably move on to the cheese sticks. It's only there for a short time so hurry up. Ta.

Now You're Messin' With....

Oooooh, have you seen this?

Yee-haw, now there's a politician who has the right idea. If more people were in danger of getting punched in the mouth I think this country would be run a little better. (My mother is dying of embarrassment right now, she's in Alabama.)

In fact, I say we set up a boxing ring right in the middle of the senate floor. Everyone gets a pair of boxing gloves. Dispute? Ding, ding! Oh yes, our political system would become something quite extraordinary if that were to happen. Maybe I'll start a petition.

Time to Wake Up

Have you heard about this? Therapists all over the world are upset about something that took place on "The Sopranos." Apparently the husband of Tony's therapist revealed his identity at a dinner party. This has caused a huge hissy-fit with real therapists and their patients.

All I have to say is this - IT'S A FUCKING TV SHOW! It isn't real. Pull your heads out of your self-absorbed asses. It's Hollywood, that has nothing to do with reality. I guess the fact that Tony has killed 837 people on this show doesn't faze anyone, but have a shrink reveal a name and the whole profession has a heart attack.

C'mon, people! Okay, for those of you out there who still don't get it, let me explain. See, when a man or a group of people come up with an idea they generally write a script first. Then they look at hundreds of actors and choose the ones that will play the fictitious characters. Those actors get paid to read the words on the script and make them seem real. They stand in front of a camera, say the lines, and then walk off set. Editors take the footage shot and cut it into a story that is then put on air for the audience, i.e. the public, to watch it. If they like it they will watch it again, if not, the show gets canceled and they have to start all over.

End. Of. Story.

It has absolutely nothing to do with anyone in the real world. Characters who resemble people you know (or yourself) is purely coincidental. No one is out to get you, copy you, steal your life, or reveal your secrets. What happens on a fictitious show does not happen in real life. To anyone. No matter how much they say otherwise. TV shows are here for our entertainment, m'kay? They are not blueprints of real life, they are parodies.

Get it straight and go about you daily life, morons.

I'm Alive!

I survived my surgery, thank you. My doctor told me I would have mild cramping afterwards. All I can say is mild cramping my ass! I had a brand new supply of vicodin. Luckily I only had to take two doses before the pain became managable. I spent the rest of the day in an enjoyable stupor watching movies and talking to my husband. Today I feel pretty good except when I cough. My body doesn't like that very much.

The groundhog is dead. We won. Woo-hoo.

I will be almost happy to get back to work tomorrow. Since I have been gone my nephew ended up in the emergency room twice and my best friend landed there once. Jesus, my whole family is falling apart. Both are fine now.

Getting a manicure and pediccure today has worn me out. I'm off to a nap. Ta.

Bitchyness, Groundhogs, and Surgery, Oh My!

Dear Readers,
I will be absent for a few days. On Monday I have my final female surgery and I will need a couple of days to recoup.

I am in a bit of a mood. Not necessarily a bad mood, just a mood. I'm irritable but too lazy to do anything about it. A lot of things are happening right now and I am helpless to fix any of them.

My sister is having a really hard time with her pregnancy. She has morning sickness to the tenth degree. I know she and her man are really worried about carrying this baby to term, but they have done a wonderful job of keeping their spirits high. We just need to make it past June....

My best friend is fighting with her man again. Do you know the definition of insanity? Doing the same thing over and over but expecting a different outcome.

My mom is having troubles at work I'd like to solve with bullets.

I have to kill a groundhog that is proving to be hard to kill. He drank a whole bunch of antifreeze yesterday but is still kicking. Hubby and I are going to try again this evening, a little Nazi-in-a-bag treatment should do the trick (gas). If not I'm going to be so pissed I'll just wring it's little neck out of sheer frustration. Then I'm going to feel bad for killing it, but I will have it's very interesting skull. You should see the teeth on this thing, straight out of Ripley's Believe It or Not.

I need more money. Lots and lots of money.

I am sick of reading the news. In between Bush trying to screw this country as much as possible to dumbasses flying around with tuberculosis I'm beginning to understand we are a society of the selfish and the stupid. We're so afraid of hurting each others feelings we can't say the word "nigger," but we have given up more civil liberties in the last 8 years than any generation before us. Are we idiots? All signs point to yes.

I don't want to work, I don't want to play, I don't want to do anything except run home and throw myself into my husband's arms. I feel good when I'm there, peaceful. I know I am letting other people's problems effect my mood and that's not good, but it's happening. I know I'll feel better after Monday so - ta, y'all, and have a good weekend.