The Power of One: Alice Paul

Because it's only been 86 years since women gained the right to vote. She is one of the main reasons why we've had that right for 86 years.
"

Alice Paul

just askin', just sayin' Halloween is the most bestest holiday of the year

If a person gets arrested on Halloween do they get to change out of their costume before their mugshot?

I mean, I can't imagine there is someone dressed as the Bride of Frankenstein, or Joan Crawford as Mommy Dearest, screaming, "No more wire hangers, ever!" or Nurse Betty, a fairy princess, a priest with a little fake boy doll attatched to his genitals has a mugshot reflecting these Halloween costumes, but I don't know. Anyone?

Although, those would be some pretty kickass mugshots to see. I'm thinking the Bride of Frankenstein wouldn't be looking so blushing after sitting in the back of a cop car at 4 a.m.

This is why I love Halloween. Hands down my favorite holiday. Only second to my birthday. I have permission to go out and show off all my little perversions and fantasties to the whole wide world and they embrace me! Actually, I think a person can see a lot about another person and all of their inner what-nots on Halloween and see what things are really lurking inside someone on a night like Halloween. Someone's demons, thoughts, fantasies, sense of humor, fetishes. It's so freakin' wonderful.

Me, this year I was a Catholic schoolgirl. A slutty one. Boobs up to my chin, more make-up than I wear in a year, and white lace stockings complete with fuck me shoes. It was wonderful. I had a nun eyeballing me all night. I was channeling all his impure thoughts. I'm pretty sure he wanted me back in the classroom with a ruler in his hand. At least that's what he told me.
(Jay?)

So, what were you this year?

Oh, and here's the end of my jokes:

What do you call a man with no arms and no legs hanging on the wall?

Art.

What do you call a man with no arms and no legs laying on the floor?

Matt.

How do you make a hormone?

You pay her. (Whore, moan.)

The sexiest thing a woman can wear is her head held high

the same it true for men, as well.

Confidence, self-esteem. I don't care what a person looks like, if they have a great outlook on life and an amazing personality and the self-confidence to go with it, wow. Color me sold.

After spending a Saturday afternoon with a home full of women and where two of the women were having a pissing contest between them over who felt worse about themselves. Who was the fattest, ugliest, and who had the most things wrong with them, seriously, it had to be a Madison Ave. ad man's wet dream. Finally when my breaking point of listening to it all had reached its limit I told them that the next person who said something negative owed me $10. Amazingly enough, all negative comments ended.

Here's a news flash: I'm not perfect. Here's another news flash: I don't pretend to be. (most days) Here's one more news flash: I don't want to be perfect. Perfect, is boring. I'll take all my flaws, thanks.
However, if I spent my time thinking and talking about all of my flaws on any given day, well, hell, I wouldn't make it out of bed most days. Instead, I choose to ignore what I think needs to be fixed, or more likely, I choose to embrace it. And here's the thing, it's what I think is wrong. If I were to point out what I didn't like about me to any one of you, chances are it's something you'd never even notice. It's all of the invisible things that we see and we think they are flashing a huge neon green sign to the person looking at us that they in turn are thinking, "Oh my god! Look at her! How the hell did she manage to even get out of bed today looking like that?!?!" When in reality, chances are they don't even see it or they may be envious because of it, or they wish they had whatever it is that we hate and vice versa.

I just don't understand why we spend so much time hating ourselves and putting ourselves down.
Ew! EW! Wait! I know this answer, it's because we're told by all of the ads we see and hear and TV shows devoted to what is wrong with us and what we need to change that we see and therefore buy into it. Dr 90210, anyone? Or as I call them: my nose is huge, my eyelids are sagging and my boobs aren't nearly big enough, and I have a tiny lump o' fat in my ass, shows. Trust me, I can be a victim to this as well. So, again it comes down to society and images killing us. Killing oursleves and it's not softly. However, I think we do an amazing job of killing ourselves, our self-esteem, our self-image, our self-worth each and everytime we say something negative about ourselves or about someone else we kill ourselves. We kill a little bit about what is great and individual about each and every one of us each time we buy into it and frankly, I think it's ridiculous.

So, how about we all start wearing the sexiest thing a person can wear, our heads held high. Let's all stop buying into the Madison Ave. wet dream and start wearing all of flaws proudly.

word origin: scum bag

The word 'scum bag' originally referred to a used condom.

Now, it seems to refer to the men I date.
Coincidence? I think not.

inner dork: sex through the ages

Did you know....

Forming the letter V with your index and middle fingers (the peace sign) today has a positive meaning. However, originally the gesture had a different meaning. In Europe it was seen as an obscene gesture symbolizing a double phallus and suggesting infidelity. If you made the gesture to a man you were basically saying, "Your wife has been cheating on you."
(Maybe the original meaning needs to be brought back. Can't find the words to tell your buddy their wife has cheated? Form a V. Ta dah!)

During the Victorian era it was considered improper to have sex on Sunday.
(Hell, I require it three times on Sunday. I feel I do my best praying on those days, with all of the "Oh Gods!" and all.)

In darker times the Catholic confessional was used by priests to recruit women for sex.
(Now they recruit little boys.)

Spartans use to dress their wives as little boys in order to be aroused enough to have sex with them.
(Jerry Springer, anyone?)

King Solomon at one time had 700 wives and 1300 concubines, according to the eleventh chapter of the First Book of Kings.
(Well, now that's a bit excessive, donchya think?)

The Egyptian pharaoh Cheops used income from prostitution, including that from his daughter, whom he pressed into harlotry, to finance the constrution of the great pyramid at Giza.
(Hmmm, wonder how much therapy she needed after that?)

Moorish baths in the 15th Century had women who were skilled in the art of pulling out pubic hair in men to induce orgasm.
(Ga! See, yet another excellent reason to be shaved.)

In the 13th Century if married Christians were not planning on having children, they were forbidden to have sex.
(I want kids!!! I want to have kids!!!!) (Okay, I'm lying, but geesh, can you blame me?)

During such sexually repressive times such as the early Christian era and the Puritan and Victorian eras, flagellation reached popular heights as a means of sexual gratification.
(I have sinned! I have sinned!!! Now, punish me!)

That's all for today's lesson. Class is dismissed until next week.

crack dealers and prostitutes

What's the difference between a crack dealer and a prostitute?






....A prostitute can wash her crack and sell it again.



(OH! Thank you. Thank you very much. I'll be here all week.)

that's gonna leave a mark

Why did the girl fall off the swing?




...because she had no arms.


(I've heard it once and told it four times today and each time I've laughed so hard I almost pee'd myself.) (almost)

Welcome to my world.

my knack for honesty + the fragile male ego = too many things at the dinner table last night. (or how to make a great date go bad)

...and so my night went.

Something about hurting his pride in regards to a comment I made over dinner. He was bad mouthing his ex-wife who he has two kids with. I told him how extremely unattractive I find that. I then explained why I find it unattractive. He understood. (He said.)

Walking me to my car he told me I hurt his pride. I told him that wasn't my intention, but I'm not going to listen to him talk about his ex-wife that way.

Then the kiss goodnight by my car was mighty short. (mighty)

The two might be related.

Yeah.

More to come.

Maybe.

(God I'm sick of dating.)

ducks and their chapstick

So, this duck walks into my office on Friday, I know what you're thinking, Pirates named Joe and now a duck randomly walking into my office, but truly, that is how random my job is. So, Steve, the duck, walks into my office and says, "Give me some chapstick, and put it on my bill."


I know, how odd. Who knew ducks, let alone those named Steve, like moist soft lips.

word origin: hermaphrodite

The term, hermaphrodite, meaning to have the sex organs of both a male and female derives from the Greek god and goddess, Hermes and Aphrodite. They gave birth to a son who ended up half man and half woman.

inner dork: falling off the wagon

Did you know....

The term, 'on the wagon' comes from a time when the streets were watered down by a horse drawn carriage or wagon. A person who swore to give up alcohol thus had then, 'climbed onto the water wagon.' So, when a person went back to alcohol they had, 'fallen off the water wagon.'


I know. Fascinating, isn't it?

lessons 101

How to draw unnecessary attention to yourself while at work: unintentionally dress like a Catholic schoolgirl. Complete with glasses, ponytail, and tights.

I was told that when I go out tonight I should lose the glasses or there will be serious fantasy fullfillment.


That concludes today's lesson.

career opportunities

If a woman with big boobs can get a job at Hooters, where can a woman with one leg get a job?


....

I-Hop.

The Power of One: Making a difference

I know the power of one is supposed to be about others, but it turns out I've been making a difference to one person and they told me about it today.

My part-time gig has been privately tutoring (and mentoring) a student. We meet twice a week and I help him with homework, study for tests and the like. I also, in a non-intrusive way, ask him how things are going in his life and calm his nerves about school. (He's an 18-year-old first year student, has had a past drinking/drug problem and has a one-year-old daughter, so it's the whole, world is there for his taking if he just takes advantage of it, that we all had at that age, but with actual life responsibility on top of it.)

So, today as we are winding down I ask him about Thursday and his tests, grades, how it's all going and the spring semester. I tell him I am still planning to meet and work with him in the spring and summer and well, frankly for as long as he needs me. He tells me in that random nonchallant 18-year-old-guy-way, that he wants me to keep working with him this semester and yeah, he really wants me to keep helping him, because he really appreciates it and I've made such a difference with him this semester and with his classes and his grades and he doesn't know how he would do it without me and thank you so much for all my help....
I'm just sitting there listening to this really wonderful and remarkable young man tell me how much I matter to him and all I'm thinking is, 'don't cry, don't cry...'

So, yeah, wow.

It was one of those moments where everything came together, and someone told me I make a difference. That what I enjoy doing and I can hardly call or consider a job, matters.

Yeah.

So awesome.

It was my, warm-fuzzy-heart-all-a-glow-misty-eyed-floating-on-air-moment-on-a late- Tuesday-afternoon. Life is so wonderful in all it's randomness sometimes, you know?

skeletons

What do you call the blonde skeleton in the closet?
....

..

..

The 1983 hide and seek champion.

vodka + laughter = a happy party girl

I'm so easy to make happy.

A girlfriend and I went out after work last night.
I ordered a few tall doubles, a greasy hamburger and fries, lots of laughter and sex talk and well, I am no longer wallowing in my own self-pity.
I was reborn.
I am all good.

Yep, buy me some drinks, some greasy food, let me flirt with the waiter, talk with a boy, talk about sex and well, I'm a happy, happy gal.

I still need a $1,000.

Just putting that out there.

Still need money.

But hey, for now, I'm all good.

Tonight I'm out with one of my gays, and well, tomorrow all of life's problems with seem shiney and bright.

antifreeze

Do you know how to make antifreeze?

..

.

.....

...You take away her nightgown.


(Annie freeze/antifreeze)

Oh, I kill me!

just askin': tattoos

I don't want to write about what's really on my mind, so I thought I would ask a question instead.

Do you have any tattoos?
If so, who, what, when, where, why, and how come?

Me? My body is naked of any permanent body art. I've thought about getting one several times. I created my own designs and then I sat on them for a year. If I still wanted it after a year then I would get it. I never did. Thank god for the ability to look ahead.

Piercings? Got any?

Me? Just my ears. Six on each ear. I got the first one at three-years-of-age and the last when I was twenty.
Thought about getting my belly-button and nose pierced. Sometimes one of my nipples. Thus far just my ears.

movie trivia game

courtesy of GirlGoyle...

Proving, once again, that I am easily entertained, here is a trivia movie game. Killed an hour at work yesterday. Thus far I have 33 correct. (And I'm not a horror movie fan. I rock!) (and kick ass!) (just sayin')

Good luck and happy wasting of time on the clock

strawberry shakes

Do you know how to make a strawberry shake?

You take it to a scary movie!



(duh)

inner dork: The Rosetta Stone

Did you know....

The Rosetta Stone provided the link between ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics and Greek writing. The basalt stone, measuring 3 3/4 feet high and 2 1/2 feet wide, dates from 196 B.C. It was discovered in 1799, and it took three scholars working successively for more than thirty years to determine the basic principles of hieroglyphic writing. The Rosetta Stone wasn't intended to be a translation tool; it was a decree honoring Ptolemy V Epiphanes, written in three types of script. At the top of the stone the decree is written in hieroglyphics. In the center of the stone the decree is repeated in a script of spoken Egyptian, and at the bottom it is repeated again in Greek. Because the Rosetta Stone is nearly intact, scholars of written Greek were able to translate the Greek portion, and based on the translation, to decipher the hieroglphics. One especially exciting aspect of the endeavor was the discovery that hieroglyphics were largely alphabetic, not just pictorial. They actually spelled words, and didn't merely represent ideas through pictures, as had previously been thought.

word origin: listerine

The name of the common household product is named for the 19th-Century surgical pioneer, Joseph Lister who introduced antiseptic surgery.


(and thank god for that!)

Pirate Joe

So, this pirate walks into my office this morning. (I know, in this day and age, but yeah, a pirate) He tells me his name is Joe.
"Hey Joe, what can I help you with?" As I ask this question I notice he has very lovely ears. Very kissable, but more importantly he has some really cool earrings. Nothing to blingy or anything, just some nice studs.
He sees me looking.
He says, " Oh, you like the earrings? Yeah, I just got my ears pierced yesterday."
"Really? How much did that cost you?"


.... a buck an ear.

OH!

It hurts...so....damn....good!

oh, but wait, there's more..

...and look it's raining, how apropos.

I talked about my day up until 9:45 a.m. here's how the rest of my day went. The short version: The story ends with me not graduating in December. Don't mean to ruin it for you, but, yeah.

Okay: I told you my feelings towards Java. To recap: no skin + rock salt= less painful.
But, hey who cares, I can stick it out for another eight weeks.
*Ding* thought: This class is meeting a requirement, doesn't that mean I have to receive at least a C- in the class? I wonder if that's possible. Hmm, I should call my advisor. Yep, I need to get at least a C-.
Hmm, (there's gonna be a lot of 'hmmm's' in this post. Just warning you.) with my GPA I should graduate with high honors. That C-, yeah, not gonna make honors.
I email my instructor and ask his thoughts on the possibility of that C-. (See last night we got our tests back. I was totally excited about my grade because I got five more correct than I thought I would, I was totally high-five'in' the guy next to me. I thought I only got 6 right, and I got 11. Whoo-hoo!
Oh, maybe I should point out that, that was out of 50. Go me!
The instructor pointed out that, I'm getting a 100% on the homework, but that test, well....

I dunno, something about an English major (me) in a computer class (them) that is like a nun and anal sex, just doesn't seem right. (Last night I had an epiphany about me and the class: I'm looking at the sea of people and they are all dressed in monochromatics. Then there's me. I'm in my stylish long black skirt, my black tank, and my darling bright pink circa 1954 button down cardigan. Not to mention my black stilettos with the pink stitching and my hooker hoop earrings. Hmm, who doesn't belong....which one, boys and girls who just doesn't seem to belong....here's another hint: the chick in the pink sweater didn't get, nor did she understand, the 'computer humor' that was so rampant in the class, yet many students thought the pink sweater chick was hee-larious..)
So fast forward through a few conversations with the advisor and the financial aid office and I am out of the Java class and into another class that doesn't start until Feburary. (See, that's two months past the, to graduate by, date.) (However, also see the class I should have been in to begin with. Again, see an English major + programing class = pink sweater girl adding up how many weeks she has left in the class while the instructor drones on....and on...and on....and on..8, she has (had) eight weeks left.)
The financial aid office, tells me I am all outta fundage, but it wouldn't matter if I did have fundage left cause I would only be taking the one class and they wouldn't pay for it as I wouldn't be at least half-time.
The class that starts in Feburary is on the main campus i.e.: the cross country trek than takes an hour one way and is 80 miles round trip.
As there is no fundage I will have to pay $1k+ out of my own pocket for the class and the books. (As it's a nice private college where I be gettin' all of my kanawledge from. I think it has been money well spent.)

This the part where I tell you about my plans for myself in May: As a, I-totally-kick-ass-and-I- did-four-years-of-college-in-about-two-years-and-I'm-so-awesome-in-all-my-fabulousness-I- think-I-deserve-a-graduation-present-as-I-haven't-had-a-trip-or-a-vacation-in-eons-at-this- point, trip. Hmm, where should we send PG, where oh, where?? Hey, I've always wanted to go to Greece. Yeah, I think I'll go to Greece. A nice little 12 days cruise to the Greek Isle and the thought of all those Grecian men just made me sweaty with orgasmic anticipation. So, yah me!

I'd started saving up for the trip about a month or so ago and all the money from a part-time job gig (yeah, I forgot to mention, I'm also working a part-time gig on top of the full-time gig and the 16 credits and all) was going into a jar marked: 'Greece fund.' It's not a fancy jar, but hey, it was my fundage jar and I loved it. I even made a cute, funny, witty, and whimsical (can something be witty and whimsical?) jar for work. I made $9.21 from my witty and whimsical work, 'send me to Greece' fundage jar, before I was told it wasn't appropriate. Funny, but not appropriate. (whatev.)
Well, I'm just guessing, just pulling it out of my ass really, (are you ever amazed by what people pull out of their asses? You know what would impress me if it came out of an ass? A bowling trophy. Now that would be impressive my dear readers. Painful, but impressive.) that the funadge for Greece, yeah it's now going to go to that class. I'm also just going to pull out of my ass (...and a goat. If a person pulled a goat out of their ass. A goat named Billy and it needs to be 'bah-haing' when it comes out. Yep, a white/gray-ish (is it grey or gray, never know, and what's the difference? Ump, there's that kanoawledge at work again..) goat named, Billy. Wow, that'd be good TV right there I'd almost pay money for the psychotherapy that would come from something like that) that the trip won't happen at all. (I realize that a trip like that costs more than $1,000, however, trying to scrounge any and all loose fundage only to have $1,000 of said fundage taken away...might as well be trying to sell an ass covered goat eating a smelly bowling trophy to recover the loss.)

So, a short recap:
Not graduating in December.
Out $1k+ for the Java class that I dropped, plus the paper-weight, aka book, gas and time.
Will be paying $1k+ for the class I should have been in the first place, plus book.
I'll be taking the $1k+ from the fundage that I was going to treat myself for a much needed and deserved trip to Greece for said class, book, and cross country trec twice a week.
There won't be any Grecian men in my near future.
Might be, better be, (soon) (very, very soon) sweaty orgasms in my future.
Unless I am suddenly hit in the head with an ass covered bowling trophy and a goat I will graduate with high honors.
I would pay money to see someone pull a bowling trophy and a goat out of their ass.

All of that was before noon.

...and I was tir'd. Not tired, but tir'd. (There is a difference. It's like poor and po. In the latter one a person is so po, they can't even afford the 'r'.)

After noon, I'll say, around 12:30-ish or so, I was told by my girlfriend that she cheated on her husband with a girlfriend and she received another speeding ticket costing her $177. (Neither are actually related to the other one. I mean, she didn't get the ticket as a result of the tickle me clit, just how she told me the events.) I told her, perhaps hypocritically, (sure, it's a word. More of that kanowledge.) that girl on girl is not the same as girl on guy. Then she said it was a threesome
..um, well, ah, well, um....
I finaly told her I lived in a glass house and didn't believe in throwing stones and she can always tell me anything cause, yeah, that whole, 'don't judge and glass house thing' I so firmly believe in.
By the time I left work I found out it wasn't just a one time only thing...

who knows what tomorrow will bring.

Both in her story and my life....

I feel like I'm forgetting something..

God, my ass hurts.

Huh, how'd my bowling trophy get up there...


and a goat!...what the...

directions on how to not let a bad day get to you

Day starts out basic enough.
Alarm goes off at 5:54.
Let the alarm go off three times.
Get up at 6:19.
Leave the house by 7:23, get to work on time.
Color yourself impressed.
Leave for the doctor's office at 8:30 for 8:45 appointment.
Converse with the staff.
Make another mental note of why you love your small independent neighborhood doctor. (And she's female. Bonus points.)
Nurse and doctor take their time and chit chat, actually still seem like they care after all these years.
Doctor tells you what you expected. (Nothing big deal, girl stuff.)
However, she wants to run labs.
She knowns you don't have insurance, she's sorry, she just wants to cover all basis.
You understand, but inside stress over the future lab bill.
Ask the receptionist if I can make a small payment today and then if she can just bill me. ( You know, like always.)
Of course, she says, no problem.
Doctor remembers that she has samples of my everyday perscriptions to give me. (That cost hundreds of dollars.)
Thank everyone profusely (as always).
Leave to get perscription filled.
Tell yourself you don't want or need a Starbuck.
Drop script off.
Wonder around Target for 15 minutes until it's ready for pick-up.
15 minutes later pick script up.
When they give me the total I ask if they filled it as generic.
Yes.
Crap.
Give them a credit card instead of debit card.
Decide I still have several hours left in my day.
I won't let myself be sad.
Told myself I wasn't going to cave to the temptation of Starbucks when I walked in.
Decide to cave to the temptation of Starbuck as I walk out.
Order a light pumpkin frappaccino.
And a big frosted cookie.
Laugh with the Starbuck guy.
Sip the frap.
Get into my car, read the directions to the script.
Pop a pill.
I will not let myself have a bad day.
Things will get better.
Put on continuous repeat.
Pull out of the parking lot drinking frap and eating the big frosted pumpkin cookie.
Pop in the Fergie CD.
Start to dance and sing to the CD.
Sit in work parking lot pretending to be at the gay disco while finishing the cookie and finishing the song.
Get back to my office.
Resolve to have a good day.
Pick up the half-empty frap.
Notice that I seem to have th shakes from all the sugar and caffeine.
Decide that even though I think coffee is a food group unto itself, figure it probably really isn't.
I will not let myself have a bad day.
(and repeat.)

just askin', just sayin'

Do you know what would be less painful to me than sitting in my Java computer class for four hours every Monday night?

Having my skin riped off and rolling me in rock salt.

Just throwing that out there.

Truly, truly painful. (The class. Again, the no skin/rock salt thing = less painful.)

joke of the day

Do you know what kind of coffee they served on the Titanic?

....

..
......


Sanka!


(Oh yeah, all- ALL- down hill from here.)

joke of the day: the beginning...of the end

How, oh how, did I let one week of October go by without one joke of the day? How I ask you?!!?!?

Okay, with it being October and the grand month of Halloween and all I will be doing a joke of the day.

Now, what you should know about the jokes I like and the ones I tell are, they're bad. Really bad. Not bad dirty, not can't repeat around your parents bad, or children under 15 years of age, or certain co-workers bad, no, they're just cringe, hang your head and laugh in spite of yourself make it stop, make it stop, kind of bad.

I like my jokes to be short and sweet. I also like to incorporate them into everyday conversation if I can that way I can hit you with the badness when your head is not in the game.

Okay, so, here is the first one:

What do you call a boom-a-rang that doesn't come back?
..

....

....... a stick!


...Yeah, I know, but I bet you by the end of the month you'll have repeated at least one.

Or, that you laugh in spite of yourself.

....You love me. Admit it, you can't help yourself.

deal breakers

I got to thinking today about deal breakers and compromises. What would you be willing to give up if you met the man, woman, tranny of your dreams that was all that, then some, and a little bit more?
Those things that make you happy, all those little things that eventually add up to the big things that you like in a person, in your life, in a relationship; what would you be willing to compromise on, give up, in order to keep that man, woman, he/she that is the dog's pajamas, the cat's tuxedo, and the milk bone of your world?

So, let's talk deal breakers.

Me? I can't stand cigarette smoke, mostly because it makes me sick. Pot smoke on the other hand I'm okay with. Oh look, a joint.

I like my alcohol and I can't imagine dating someone who didn't have an occasional drink. Yet, I am strangely amazed when I down a few cocktails and my companion doesn't.

I need someone who is open and honest in all aspects of their life, so someone who said, "I don't want to talk about it," or was always shut down or extremely walled up when questions and conversations are happening, well, it's not going to go well between us.

Sex, please, be open and tell me what you like and want. I will do the same. I like anal sex, I like my ass to played with. Someone who isn't going to want to smack, play with, grab or occassionally fuck me, well, eventually that's going to get old.

Chewing with your mouth open.....

No.

I'm thinking too big.

Let's think smaller.

Unibrows. I will eventually become cross-eyed from looking at it and wonder why the hell your not aware of it. Same with nose hair. And comb-overs. I mean, really, have you not heard the comments and jokes about these things??? Please, tweeze, pluck, plow, shave and generally take care of these things.

Someone who isn't a good kisser.
Kissing is very important to me. Essential, really. Yeah. There is something about two pairs of compatable lips coming together for the soft, hard, passionate, breathing in sync, tongues mingling, not too wet, yet not dry, warm taste of each other mixed together that is so.damn.perfect. (She types as her fingers unconsciously touch her mouth and her fingernails go across her lips....)

Someone who doesn't think birthdays are a big deal.

Someone who doesn't get excited about the small things. The really, really, really small things that make life, life. A beautiful full moon. The way something smells. A great song on the radio. A really good book. How something feels.

Someone who doesn't make me laugh.
Christ. You know where I would be without the ability to laugh? In Happydale Insane Asylum waiting for my nex telectric shock therapy treatment.

Someone who can't or doesn't want to talk on the phone for hours at a time. Sure seeing each other is best, but sometimes, with life being life, that isn't possible.

Someone who doesn't have a nice voice. I realize a person can't really control this one, but if I have to spend the rest of my life listening to a person I want to be able to listen to the words coming out of their mouth without thinking, "shut up! shut up! shut up!"

Someone who doesn't like pets. I prefer dogs to cats, but hey, as long as you like one, were good.

Someone who doesn't say, "bless you" when I sneeze. Remember I sneeze on average five times in a row. I could go at anytime. I need to be blessed.

Someone who complains. All.the.damn.time. Here, here's the pot, piss already.

Someone who doesn't say, "...and you?" That's a biggie. A hugey, actually.

Yeah, it would never work.

Hmm, I seem to have gotten stuck on all the kinda big things, well, those are essential to me that would eventually ware on me and the dog's tuxedo who started out as the milk bone of my world would eventually turn out to be another crumb in the annals of my dating world.

So, what about you? What would your deal breakers be?

soapbox rant: politics, media, and stupid ass politicians

Although I know this has been, and will continue to be, covered to ad nauseum in the next days, weeks, and god help us, months after waddling in the spew over the information over the latest politico scandal I felt the need to throw my two cents into the blogdom.

Yes, the lying irritates me.
Yes, the "cover up" is ridiculous and irritates me.
Yes, the hypocrisy, although far from making me spin on my stiletto in mock shock, still manages to irritate me.
However, none of those things are behind the need to type this post when I should be studying for my two exams tomorrow. No, what is taking precious time away from the books, and has managed to churn my stomach a few times this morning while listening to the radio are the following things.

Foley was on the committee for missing and exploited children. Hmm, more hypocrisy and yet another case of, "thou protesteth a little too much.."
The fact that those within his political party felt the need to lie and cover-up evidence that wasn't even hidden and shock of all non-shockers it was all taking place during a midterm election and the need for votes was greater than the need to do what was and is the right thing once again, although not shocking, I find the fact that I am not shocked by it to be disturbing.
How cynical and jaded have I, and am I, becoming?

Political cover-up.
I mean seriously, have politicians learned absolutely nothing over the course of time, history, and failed paper trails only to be unearthed by Washington Post journalists? Let's recap a few, shall we?
"I did not have sexual relations with that woman..."
"I was not part of the Watergate cover-up.."
....and then pick anyone for any kind of statement involving extramarital sex, drugs, drinking, car accidents. (Mmm, say Ted Kennedy.)
If they deny (usually vehemently) point, pound on something, or here's a tell, can't look you in the eye, well....yeah, the truth is out there it's just a matter of time and patience to see exactly where and when the truth will land, I mean, be splatted, all over America.
I don't care that my president has sex. I don't care if that sex is gay, straight, bi, tri, or otherwise and gets down and freaky in the White House. Frankly, I have more respect for him (some day I hope it to be a her) for having down and dirty sex (affair no. dirty sex, yes, please) just be honest about it. I'm just going to guess on this one, but I bet being the president or any politician is a stressful job. I mean, lying and trying to cover up those lies must truly be a full-time job. You know the best cure for stress? Orgasms. Lots and lots and multiple orgasms. So, please, have sex. Please, have it be with your wife or husband, not your mistress or boy toy, it doesn't have to be on a mattress just have sex. Thanks.

(Grrr)

Excuses and reasons for bad behavior.
Drugs, alcohol, the devil himself made me sell my soul for a semen stained blue dress on the crossroads by the light of a full moon. Unless there is a gun pointed at your head and you have to make a choice between your penis named Fred and your family, well, I don't care the reason and frankly I'm not going to believe the reason. What was/is Foley's reason? Alcohol. What? Gasp! Shock! To hell, you say!
Now, I'm a drinker. I like my vodka. (I like it a lot.) I like my beer. (You could say we're friends.)I like my Jager shots. (Mmmm, gets me right...about...there..) As a result of these loves, friendships, flirtations I've had bad one night stands, good one night stands, all weekenders, sex with my best girlfriend, held a spanking demonstration on said girlfriend in the middle of a Belgium pub, and once, twice, (three times a lady) I've even drank so much I've thrown up to the point that I was pretty damn positive there was nothing left but my stomach lining and through my blurry, glassy, tear soaked eyes I was certain it was lying in the bile at the bottom of the toilet water. However, never have I had, let alone been involved in, underage sexual relations. So, need a new, better, excuse, please.

Apparently others (spin doctors) felt the same way because what is his new reason?

(Spin Doctor shakes the Magic 8 Ball)

"I was molested by a priest!"

Well, of course he was. Surely people will believe and forgive him now, right?!?!.

Yawn.

Hmm, nope. That's not dimming the glaring media coverage. (Spppttt, Hey, doc, what else can we come up with?)

What, oh what, can he pull out of his ass??...

Got it!

He's gay!

To be a gay American shows that he is patriotic, and he can go back to blaming the priests, and well, deviance of course.

Yep, yep, that's it. Okay, recap: Alcoholic, molested by priests, gayness. Whew! Good. Think all the bases are covered and well, since he's an alcoholic of course he has been taken into the warm and comforting arms of those under the roof of denial known as the Betty Ford clinic. And magically when he has reached the peak of sobriety known as the 12 steps of enlightenment thus releasing him into the ADHD society also known as the suburbia of America, well we will long have forgotten who Foley was/is/had been/going to be/ and the "news" vans have long gone onto circling their next prey and we will be seeking and searching out our next Gasp! Shock! Mock Shock! cynicism inducing scandal that will last all of 2.3 seconds that will inundate our lives, minds, eyes, senses, and TV and radio waves before the Ritalin has time to take effect and we will have moved on to the next "scandal" and "cover up."

Oh look! A rampage of school shootings...ew! and the Amish are involved in one! Whoo-hoo! Let's bring all of our modern technology to this isolated community who have been happy to leave the God hating, technology loving, ADHD, different shade of beige, 2.5, Hummer driving place known as Wonderbread White America behind them and try and capitalize on it! Can you say, black buggy driving, white bonnet wearing gold mine?!?!?!

The Power of One: The random simple act of a Hershey bar

One day a couple of weeks ago I was sitting at my desk at work when one of my work, and occasional out of work, friends stopped by to do some harmless chit and chat. I wasn't have a good day and I wasn't having a bad day, it was just a day. There wasn't anything good or bad about it.
She was standing on one side of my desk and I was sitting on the other side I was making her laugh and she was letting me talk at my usual 109 MPH when, out of seemingly nowhere, she pulls out two candy bars, more specifically, two chocolate bars. She told me to pick one. My hands flew up to my mouth in disbelief, my eyes glittered like diamonds, my heart quickened with the thought of a chocolate jolt, I started laughing and kept repeating, "Really? Really? For me?!!?!?! You bought a candy bar for me??!!?"
She commenced laughing and said, "Yeah, pick one. I knew you'd be thankful. I had no idea you'd have this kind of reaction!"
I hesitated, was she serious? Surely not. Who randomly gives out free chocolate? I choose the rather simple and harmless looking Hershey bar. It wasn't dark chocolate, it didn't have almonds, there was no golden ticket inside, it was nothing more than a simple milk chocolate Hershey bar. Yet, you would have thought it did hold the golden ticket, you would have thought it was brought over on horseback traveling hundreds of thousands of miles from the Andes and hand delivered by Milton himself. However, it was bought from the cafeteria, cost about a dollar, and delivered by my friend and it made an ordinary nothing day into a really great day. It was the simple random act of a Hershey bar.
Proving that the power of one and the power to make someone's day doesn't cost a lot and it doesn't take a lot. It simply takes a simple act and moment to think of someone else.

What's your Power of One, random simple act of the Hershey bar going to be today?

..and now for something completely different..or how to spend 10 minutes at work today.

If you're a fan of Star Wars (and I know you are) seriously, watch this video.

May the force be with you today



...and you're welcome.

Retards and BDSM

Billy, who manages a group home for retarded adults (his words, therefore I can repeat them) had to write up an employee for the third time for keeping a client in restraints too long.

PG: Hey, how do you know the clients don't enjoy the restraints? Maybe they're into BDSM, but they can't articulate it, you know, because they're retarded. Maybe they act out so they can be restrained.

Billy: (laughing) Trust me, they don't enjoy it.

PG: Okay, well, I'm just putting it out there. They may like it. You just may have a whole house of retarded submissives on your hands just looking for opportunities to act out so they can be restrained. Oh, and you'd be their master. You're the master over a house of retards. Just sayin'.

those damn American women anyhow

Sometimes for shits and giggles I scout the dating sites to see what's out there. Sometimes I am pleasantly surprised (rarely), sometimes I am mortified (often), sometimes I find something that is so bad it catches my attention and I feel the need to share it with others (this time).
I am sharing it one, for shits and giggles, two to see if any of you agree with what it is he is essentially stating: that American women are too independant, demanding, not family oriented, blah, blah, blah and well, if you do think that, why the hell are you reading me?

Welcome to Ideology 101 where I'm looking for a woman who is worthy of me. Today we will learn that most of the women I meet fail a cost-benefit analysis and among the fraternity of men an American woman makes the worst mate on the planet. In regard to career pusuits and independence, American women are to be commended. However, in repect to home and family they are failing misserably. Any woman that thinks she is too good to care for her family has absolutely no business being involved in a marriage. REAL women view family duties not as a burden but as an honor. There is honor in taking care of your children. There is honor in taking care of your husband. There is honor in taking care of your family. And there is complete honor for any man to be a part of this woman’s life. Most American women to me are far uglier inside than they ever could be on the outside. I have met a few that certainly were not attractive in the classical sense, but they were real women indeed. Unfortunately, most women are loud, demanding, cantankerous, rude, self aggrandizing, selfish, sociopathic and vapid beyond belief. In laymen's terms if she is a car she doesn't handle well and requires too much maintenance. I'm searching for a solid late model German import with low (no) mileage and a good set of child bearing hips. Speaking English is an option, understanding English is important and wrestling experience is a plus. I finish what I start and I'm the type of man you could grow old with. I'm ardently set in my ways and my mantra has become "My way or the highway." I'm not crazy - I'm realistic and contrary to popular belief I haven't lost my marbels - I've lost my patience. Additionally, if you wouldn't mind moving in with my parents that would be great (after marriage of course). If you have any questions please e-mail me. That's all the space I have available today... class is dismissed. Safe journey Mars fans... wherever you are.

So, in conclusion; he is a virgin who lives at home and isn't able to find a docile white girl to take either off of his hands.