Launch the Bitch

The following converstaion just occurred in between Zel and I. (I'm in my sewing room, Zel's in the living room, watching television.)

Amelia: "What are you watching, babe?"

Zel: "Launch the Bitch." (which translates to couples figureskating)

Amelia: "Oh. Anything good?"

Zel: "No, I'm still waiting for him to launch the bitch. I think this might be ice dancing because nobody's launching anyone across the ice. This is stupid."

Amelia: "I guess I don't need to come out and watch then?"

Zel: "Not unless you want to completely waste you're time. I'm pissed. This shit sucks."

Amelia: "Then change the channel."

Zel: "No. I'm pissed. But, she's kind of hot."

Amelia: "Nobody's making you watch."

Zel: "This gives figure skating a bad fucking name. Because people are completely bored when they watch this. And who the fuck wears that dress? If that guys gets his skate stuck in that they're fucked. It's like a wedding train. Is this a sport? This is a fucking sport?! What fucking channel is this on? ESPN? It's gotta be on ESPN2. FUCK! It's on ESPN1. Who in the hell decided to put this bullshit on ESPN1?"

Amelia: "Someone who knows everyone is either watching NFL, at the movies, or napping."

Zel: "What the fuck do the judges look for? Does the couple have to touch all the fucking time? That couple didn't touch. Do they get docked point? I don't understand this sport. In Launch the Bitch, there's actually competition. This ice dancing is a bunch of bullshit. In ice skating, there's a challenge besides just getting out there on the ice and dancing the tango. In ice skating, you're gonna have to launch the bitch to earn some points."

For a while, he switched back to the Packers, Bears game.

Back to ESPN1. There's a new couple on televeision.

Zel: "This could be the real thing. Their outfits lead me to believe there going to be launching the bitch."

Silence. We watch them do a death drop, where she leans back and they each hold one hand and she's laying out flat and if he drops her, she'll probably die.

Zel: "Oh. Here we go. Yeah this is it. She is fucking hot. I bet you could bounce a quarter off her ass. I should become an ice skater. They get to put their hands all over the hot bitches."

Amelia: "Yeah, cause you don't have a hot bitch of your own."

Zel: "Yeah. I mean, you're hot, but she's a bit hotter just because she's a professional ice skater.

Amelia: "No she's not. Besides, she probably has chronic diarrhea."

Zel: "Yeah! LAUNCH THE BITCH!!!!!!"

He throws her. She spins in the air 12 million times. She lands on a fucking razor blade. On ice. Launch the Bitch is pretty cool.

House down the road

There's this house about a mile down the road from us. Every year, the day after Thanksgiving, the owners decorate it for Chirstmas.


Every year, the owners seem to add something, usually a big blow up character, to the ensamble of characters. This year, they added one of those really big snow globes (on the left).

When I'm on my way home, I can see this house from over a mile away. I'm not kidding.

I'm glad he does this, and it's kind of cool. But when I think about the amount of money he's spent on decorations, not to mention the electric bill.... That's a lot of money. Money that can go into other things like hleping homeless people in our community or providing food for animals at the humane society. But whatever.

We shouldn't judge other people's money. We should be thankful that for a bit longer in our country, we have the autonomy to spend our money as we see fit.

Most Eligible Bachelor in the County

Today, I had the privilege to spend a little over an hour with the Most Eligible Bachelor in the County.

It was actually one hour and seventeen minutes.

He's an attorney.

He's very attractive.

He's an in-shape, 5'8", early thirty-something.

Dark hair and eyes.

Wears glasses.

Drives a truck.

He has a personality.

And he's fucking smart.

All of the women I work with think he's attractive. Including the lesbian.

One of the women I work with, she works with him pretty closely because she's the Contract Queen for my department. He's the attorney for the Entity we work for that reviews all the contracts.

The Contract Queen is smitten with the Most Eligible Bachelor in the County. He pops in to see her to talk about the contract of the moment.

The other day, she emailed him and said something to the effect of "maybe we can chat outside the office someday, like when there aren't 15 people pulling you in 15 directions."

When she told me this, I said, "Dude, you asked him out."

She said, "No, I didn't. I let him know that if he wants to ask me out, I'm available."

The Contract Queen is pretty smart. Much smarter than she gives her self credit for.

The Most Eligible Bachelor in the County has not yet emailed her back. He's very by the book. He has to be. His career and the Entity depend on it.

Before I met with the Most Eligible Bachelor in the County, I told the Contract Queen that I was going to say things to him like, "So, did you get the Contract Queen's email? Are you going to ask her out? Cause she really wants to blow you."

When I returned to our office after meeting with him, I told her I did it. She didn't believe me.

In actuality, when I was sitting in his office with the door closed, I wanted a disco ball to drop from the ceiling and do a pole dance on his desk.

But I didn't. I like my job. It keeps a roof over my head.

I'll come home and take my sexual frustrations out on Zel. He's aware that I'm attracted to the Most Eligible Bachelor in the County. He doesn't mind getting blown. And I earn some Wife Points.

I'll let the Contract Queen keep pursuing the Most Eligible Bachelor in the County. They're good for each other.

Geisha Camp

I read that Ziyi Zhang, who plays Sayuri in "Memoirs of a Geisha" had intensive training on how to effectively play a geisha. She said that before shooting the film, she spent six weeks on how to walk, bow, pour tea, perfect subtle gestures, and how to dance in 12 inch platform shoes.

Although she could've taken her 12-inch-platform-shoe-dance-lessons from Gene Simmons, Ziyi Zhang actually took lessons in a different manner.

I mentioned to Zel that in order to prepare for her roll, this beautiful actress spent time at Geisha Camp.

Zel said, "I wonder if they're taking applications. Do you think they'd take you?"

"Perhaps", I said. "But I'm concerned about my age."

After all, the Jedi Masters felt Luke and Anakin were too old to start training.

Zel said, "I have many reservations about your age! However, regarding Geisha Camp, it's never too late to learn."

I agree. About learning new things. Not about my age.

And, the longer the stress at work goes on, the more seriously I consider applying to Geisha Camp.

Stress at work

Work has been a bit stressful for me lately.

As a result, I had this show up on my chin.

Name, please

I just finished this quilt for our bed. It measures about 95" wide by 105" long. It's the biggest thing I've done to date. I started working on this in July, 2005, and just finished it last night. Yes, it took a while, but it's a fun hobby for me.


In quilting, it is custom to name the quilt. For example, this one is called, "To Zel's Health" (45" x 45"). It was my first quilt, and when I started to learn how to make quilts (took a class at our local community college), Zel was really sick. In the hospital for 17 days with a staph infection in his heart. Because this is my first quilt, and we were going through a rather tumultuous time, and when I started Zel was still in the hospital, and when I finshed four months later, he was feeling significantly better, that's how that quilt got its name.


In my second quilting class, I made this one, which is called "Letting Go" because we were given the tasks involved in the quilt one step at a time. So, week one, we were told to cut so many right angle triangles that were a certain size and so many that were this other size. Week two, we were told to sew these triangles to these other triangles, and so on. And, we basically had no idea what the quilt was going to look like, so I had to let go of that control. My type A personality struggled with this, but it all came out in the end.

So, I'm asking you, my 3 dedicated readers, to vote for what the quilt for our bed should be called.

A) Kaos (as in Amelia Kaos, Superhero/Porn-Star)
B) 3176 (because there are 3,176 triangles in that quilt. I'm not just kidding here.)
C) __________________ (write in your own suggestion; don't be shy!).

And, there's Evie's quilt, which I called "Red Hott", because she is! (Please note the red hot chili peppers on the back).


And My Little Brother's quilt, which is flannel, and I called "Autumn in the Pacific Northwest", because I wanted him to see the same colors I do. I gave this to him for his 20th birthday/Christmas last year.


Thank you all for your time and consideration of my request. I really appreciate your input!

Heard around

Last night, Zel and I were shopping at the Evil Empire (cause we live in a small town, and we don't have a Target) and I'm in the cosmetics section, and from the next aisle over I hear the following conversation:

Female 1: "No, don't get that one, because now they make ones that are hands free."

Female 2: "Really? Hands free vibrators? How does that work?"

Female 1: "Well, you wear it like a pair of underpants, but not quite, and it's pretty cool."

Female 2: "Really?! You've tried it?! How'd you like it?"

Female 1: "Well, that's what I hear anyway."

I go around the corner to see if these chicks are hot. Nope.

The girls were about 19, there was also a dude and a baby. I'm not sure who was with whom, but I can assure you that the baby had the most teeth.

Nine Kisses

Gotta love the folks at Hershey's. They say a serving size is nine kisses. That's right. Nine.

That means that the two you have after dinner are 2/9 of a serving. Instead of the 230 calories you get from nine, you get about 51 calories from two. And you don't have to go into a diabetic coma from the massive dose of sugar that nine could potentially give you.

God bless the folks at Hershey's. They've got a good thing in those kisses, yo.

I decided...

...that if I were to have my own perfume named after me, I'd call it Hott Puse', with an accent over the e.

A Wedding in July

I don't remember if we received formal invitations to the wedding, or if the bride just casually asked us.

Regardless, we were very dedicated friends, still in college, and decided to go.

So Evie Kelley, Ms. Lois Lane, (who were each working on their degree in Journalism, as was the bride) and I (except me, I'm a Health Education girl) all hopped into Evie's car, I think the car's name was Frances, and headed south to the wedding.

Yuma, Arizona.

July.

July Fourth weekend, to be exact.

Yes we asked ourselves, "Who the fuck decides to get married July Fourth weekend in Yuma?" but, we figured we're hott (so hott we need a second t), we're young, and maybe they'll be some hott dudes for Evie and Ms. Lane (I had a boyfriend, and we later got married in the desert, too, but not in Yuma and not in July).

After all, there's an Army base in Yuma. That should increase the girls' chances exponentially.

On the way down, I dared Evie to flash a trucker her boobs. She didn't. She said she's not that skilled to flash and drive at the same time. I offered to hold the wheel. She declined.

"GODDAMN!!! If it doesn't smell like some shit in this town!!!!!!!!!" I said as we pulled in. Unbeknownst to us, there's also a large agricultural community in Yuma.

I remember that night, the Fourth of July, Evie, Lois, and I drove around, most likely looking for booze and men. I remember seeing fireworks through Frances' front windshield. I don't remember finding men for Evie and Lois. I do remember consuming large quantities of margaritas at the bride's apartment the night before the wedding.

I also remember the bride having to take prescription painkillers the night before her wedding and puking all night. The directions on the bottle of medication said to take with food. To me, that means a meal. To the bride, that meant a tortilla.

I remember the bride having a walk-in closet big enough to make a triangle in. I also remember Evie, Lois, and I getting so blasted at the wedding that we could have formed a triangle in the closet, but we didn't.

Then Evie, Lois, and I headed back up to the northern end of Arizona, where it was about a million degrees cooler.

Not sure what happened to the bride. I remember receiving a thank you note. Then Evie and I chatted on the phone, and I don't remember exactly who said what, but the conversation went something like this:

"Did you get the thank you?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Yeah. So, did you get an original, or a photo copy?"

"Copy."

"Hmmph."

"What the fuck?"

"Goddamn, if it doesn't smell like some shit in this town."

I remember seeing her at Evie's college graduation ceremony. It was a little awkward, kind of like bumping into an old friend who you used to be close with and one of you got into a relationship and the person you were with completely dominated your life and if you were caught talking to your old friend, your significant other was going to come unglued.

We haven't heard from her since.

Every once in a great while, when Evie and I and I are together, we'll will look her up on the Web, with no luck. Probably best to let sleeping dogs lie on that one.

Not sure whatever happened to Lois Lane, either. I wonder if she found her Superman.

Disney Princesses

My good friend, Evie Kelley is now writing prime time for the Washington City Paper. In a recent post, Evie talked about the complications of dating when you're a thirty-something.

I replied to her post, Complications. After I posted, I started thinking more about my post, and I didn't want to steal her thunder, so I'm expanding that post here.

For us 30-somehtings, we also had the old school Disney Princesses to show us how important it is to wait for Mr. Right. Snow White, Cinderella, and Sleeping Beauty all convinced us that some strong, handsome, dashing young man was going to save us from the evil of the moment, and carry us off to a magical kingdom far away, and we'd live happily ever after.

The reality is:

• Snow wasn't quite so White 'cause she was banging the 7 Dwarfs, usually simultaneously. She even had her own private gynecologist to treat whatever STD she contracted.
  
• Cinderella secretly dug the abuse by her stepmother and stepsisters, dabbled in BDSM and eventually became a Dominatrix. She currently owns her own sex club, and caters to D.C.'s elite.
  
• Sleeping Beauty's image could’ve been used by the rape prevention education folks and the National Institute on Drug Abuse because, let's face it, that bitch was out and anything could've been done to her. I wonder if someone slipped her some rohypnol?
• Ariel was so in love she not only gave up her identity, she gave up her species, yo. Talk about low self-esteem and desperation.
  

The newer generation of Disney Princesses seem to be faring a bit better:

• Belle seems to be doing a little better than the other princesses in that she was able to be ok with The Beast. Unless, of course, you go down the bestiality road, which I’m just not gonna do. Belle was also a reader, which is a powerful things for the young impressionables to see.
• Jasmine was pretty independent and wasn’t going to settle for an arranged marriage, so she snuck out of the palace and catted around. Good for her!

I didn't see Pocahontas or Mulan, so I don’t really feel educated enough about these princesses to comment. But, according to their bios, Pocahontas is “strong-willed”, but her name means “little mischief”, and Mulan “is as lovely as a blossom, but can’t seem to behave like the gentle daughter she’s supposed to be.” Hmmm...they both sound like trouble to me.

Regardless, the Disney Princesses show us girls that, in order to get a man, we need to be beautiful, passive, and in desperate need of help.

Thank the Goddess for Evie's postings, cause she's telling us women to have some ovaries, be assertive, and not be afraid to demand what we want from men.

I wonder of Disney and the Grimm Brothers are rolling over in their graves.

Snow

It started snowing on Thursday afternoon. We get this really wet, heavy snow in the Pacific Northwest. I'm used to Southwestern snow, which is dry and light.

Since Friday morning, Flof has been wanting to go romp in the stuff like every hour. So, I get my jeans on, lace up my Doc's, put on my winter coat, scarf, and gloves, and we head out.

We have a fabulous time romping in the snow. It's like we're both 5 and the first time we've ever seen the stuff.

We're usually out for about 20 - 30 minutes, and seriously, we go out like every hour. He'll say to me, "M'awwwmmm, it's time to go out and romp in the snow right now," and we'll go.

Sometimes, though, I'll let him stay on the deck, but then he gets pissed off because he's not out romping. He's a little spoiled, and ends up talking me into taking him romping.

One time, when we lived in the Southwest, we were running in knee-deep snow, down a hill, and we were both much younger and faster then. So, we're running, and I hear Zel yell, "Don't let go of that dog!" Flof was picking up speed, and I couldn't keep up, and he pulled me down, face first, into the snow. I had snow between my glasses and my face. It was quite funny. But, I didn't let go of that dog. I held on.

News Alert!

Shania Twain has joined the ranks of super-stars that have decided to name a perfume after themselves.

I just wanted everyone to sleep better tonight.

I didn't actually hear anything about this. I only saw Shania on some talk show.

I was at the gym, getting my ass kicked on the eliptical trainer. The televisions were on, but the sound was down. Apparently, the members working out today decided to follow the directions that the volume is not to be turned up.

I think Shania was talking to Sally Jessy, but I'm not really sure because the last time I saw Sally Jessy, she had on these obnoxiously large red glasses and short red hair. The lady Shania was talking with had on significantly smaller glasses and longer, not so red hair. And in front of Shania and Sally, there were these pink boxes on the table, and they said Shania in some fancy-pants font. And, of course, the bottles of perfume.

On the other television, Oprah was talking about something equally and also incredibly important: My teen daughter is a lesbian.

How did we all survive before people like J. Ho, Britney, Paris, Squeek the Dolphin (a.k.a. Celine Dion) and others had their own perfumes?

World AIDS Day

Yesterday was World AIDS Day.




This is the Obelisk in Buenos Aires. The people of Argentina are f-ing brilliant. I'd love to see this done to the Washington Monument.

Evie Goes Primetime

My good friend Evie Kelley has gone primetime with her column and is writing for the Washington City Paper. Please check her out and comment about how brilliant she is!

http://www.washingtoncitypaper.com/aboutlastnight/

Mascara

I hate it when I'm putting mascara on and I accidentally blink and then the mascara makes me look like a raccoon.

The Couch Incident

For Thanksgiving, we had company. Company in our house is a rare occurrence. Partly because we don't have much furniture, but mostly because we're somewhat anti-social.

The Girls came over, and, given that we don't have much furniture, they sat on Flof's couch. We put a sheet down to protect them from hair and other things on the couch. It's more of a loveseat, really, but regardless, Flof is the only dog I know of who has his own furniture.

After we ate, which was pretty early (I tried to get the bird on the table between games so that I could maximize my Wife Points, but it didn't happen because Evie called, which is another rare occurrence.) we all moved into the living room to watch the second game. And then, because we were all pretty fat and lazy, like most Americans on Thanksgiving (and most other days) we just stayed parked in our respective places untill about 10 pm.

Flof came in to the living room and tried to sit on his couch with The Girls, but they weren't moving (which is fine, after all, they're company!). They all three couldn't fit on the loveseat. I mean, the dog weights 100 pounds, so it's not like he's going to sit on the couch and go unnoticed.

Throughout the day and into the night, he'd give them dirty looks; lay down near his couch and grunt; sit in front of his table, glare at them and grunt some more.

Towards the end of the evening, when we were watching "Grease" and all checking out Stockard Channing and Olivia Newton-John, Flof was laying down in the living room, and shifting his weight. He does this sometimes when he's been holding his urine for a long time. Usually when he does this, I tell him he's a Zen Master.

However, this time he was passively-aggressively telling The Girls to get their asses up off of his couch because his 12-year-old dog hips were really hurting him.

When The Girls left, he parked his 100-pound-dog-ass on his couch and didn't move. Usually, when we go to bed, Flof goes back to the bedroom, too. Thursday night when we went to bed, he stayed on his couch.

Wife Points

Today I vacuumed the entire house and earned 40 Wife Points. I didn't move the furniture. I get an extra 15 points for that.

Yesterday I prepared Thanksgiving dinner, which most sane people know is a tremendous amount of work. I'm hoping for like 150 wife points, but I'll know for sure in a few hours, after Zel eats.

I also earned additional points last night for making fudge (points = TBD; depends on the quality of the fudge).

I also cleaned the bathrooms (30 points total) and dusted with Endust for electronics, which is 15 points (if I dust with just the Swiffer, it's only 5 Wife Points).

I'm saving up my Wife Points in my Wife Points Saving Account (WPSA). But, I'm hardly ever in the black.

I'm hoping to cash in my Wife Points sometime soon and get my pussy licked.

Seen Around

In My Little Town, my local paper has this itty-bitty section called "Seen Around". It's where people contact the local paper and let them know what they've seen in the community. Each day, there's usually one. Sometimes, there are two.

For example:

"Sign on dental office parking lot: 'Dentists Only. Others Will Be Extracted.'"

"Deer prancing and drivers stopping. Deer bounds into woods."

I'm not kidding. I can't make this up.

In honor of Seen Around in my local paper, I'm starting my own version. However, it isn't likely to get into the local paper's Seen Around, since I may throw in my own commentaries on occasion.

So here we go:

Seen Around
Personalized state issued lisense plate: "LVDBYGD".

Good for them.

Do they know they're loved by God because W. told them?

Or maybe it was Pat Robertson?

They're the only two people I know of that are allowed to talk to God.

Do you think that if I were to go to the state and try to get a license plate that says: "LVDBYSATN" that I'd be able to put it on my car?

Probably not. Too many letters.

Maybe I could shorten it to "LVSATN".

Not that I do. I'm just sayin'.

Maybe I could get "WANNA69", 'cause I do. You know what I'm sayin'?

Friday night at the bookstore

Every Friday night, Zel and I go out to dinner, and then we go to the bookstore. We've done this religiously for nearly 10 years now.

The local Bookstore Lady, who we've become friendly with and who is simply lovely, said that she recently purchased the new Cyndi Lauper CD, "The Body Acoustic" and that she really has been enjoying it.

Then we started talking about music from the 80's.

Naturally, I brought up INXS, and how totally hott Michael Hutchence was (so hott, he gets a second t).

And, out of the blue, in a very matter-of-fact tone of voice, the Bookstore Lady said, "I heard he didn't shower."

It was one of those really rare moments where I was stunned. Had absolutely nothing to say.

Zel was thrilled.

Oral sex linked to mouth cancer: Swedish study

The Swedes recently published a study that states if a person has the Human Papilloma Virus (HPV) and another person performs oral sex on them, then the blower, if you will, is more likely to develop mouth cancer.

Makes sense. We know that HPV causes cervical cancer.

My favorite line from this article is the following:

"'You should avoid having oral sex,' dentist and researcher Kerstin Rosenquist, who headed the study."

I wonder if he's (or she, can't really tell by the name, bless it's heart!) in cahoots with the Christian Right.

Excuse me? Avoid oral sex? Why don't you just tell me to avoid breathing?

The Following Conversation Just Occurred

Zel said, "Were you hot last night?"

I said, "I didn't sleep last night."

He said, "I didn't ask you how you slept last night. I asked you if you were hot last night."

I said, "No I wasn't hot last night. I'm hott all the time!"

He secretly loves it when I don't answer his questions, he just won't admit it.

Do You Speak French?

Zel and I went to Chinese food last night with some good friends.

One of them had on a new blue fleece pullover. It brought out her eyes.

"I like your fleece," I said.

"Thanks," she said. She looked at me a bit longer than usual. She's a lesbian, but I don't think she was trying to get me to hit on her.

But I did anyway.

"It brings out your eyes," I said.

"Thanks," she said again, and continued looking at me.

Clearly, she wanted me to say, "Where'd you get it?" So I played along.

"Do you speak French," she said.

I wasn't expecting that for an answer. "What the hell does that have to do with the price of tea in China?" I didn't say this because we were sipping our hot tea at the Chinese restaurant. I really wanted to know where she was going with this one.

“Well…I’m trying to figure out a great way to translate the store into French, but it hasn’t been easy.”

I looked at her, and the expression on my face must’ve said something like, “What the goddamn are you talking about?”

She continued: “Saying ‘Goodwill’ in French just doesn’t flow.”

Top Cats

Good for the Carolina Cheerleaders!

Making out in a bathroom stall is totally hott! So hott it gets a second t!

They're capturing their youth and being young and reckless. When else are we given the opportunity to go this? That's right. Only when we're young.

Then they get in a fight with some other chick. Who, let's face it, was probably pissed off that she wasn't in the bathroom stall making out. I'm thinking three-some.

And honestly, when we're in the middle of a sexual act and we're interrupted, we're pissed off! Do you blame them?

Then they get released from the Top Cats. They dissed the squad. They dissed the Carolina Panthers.

Funny, really, considering the on-going escapades of many NFL players:

Ray Lewis, Baltimore Ravens. Set up a plea bargain for obstructing justice in a murder case. Nice. I bet his parents are proud of him for that one.

Jamal Lewis, Baltimore Ravens, distribution of cocaine.

The Minnesota Vikings players and the Sex Boat Cruise. I'm ok with the idea of having sex on a boat. I just don't agree with how the players went about it.

Mike Tice, coach of the above mentioned Vikings. Scalping tickets for this past Super Bowl. Come on, Tice, don't you make enough money in one year to feed and clothe the residents of Somalia for 10 years?

Terrell Owens...hasn't done anything illegal that I know of. But I had to throw him in the mix simply because I think he's making a complete ass of himself. His apology to the Eagles was a joke.

Ricky Williams, Miami Dolphins. Look, get rid of your bong, flush the weed, and go see a drug and alcohol counselor. Either that, or don't be so goddamned dumb about it that you get caught!

And of course, O.J. Do I really need to go into this?

We live in a world of double standards. In my opinion, the Carolina Cheerleaders who were dismissed didn't do anything worse than the above mentioned men. And the men are still making millions. Except maybe O.J. Didn't he have to sell his Heisman Trophy?

So, why were the cheerleaders released? Because the Top Cats organization didn't want to send a message to the little girls who idolized them.

Please. The only people that pay attention to cheerleaders are grown men. And lesbians.

No mention of the issue on the Top Cats' web page. Typical American attitude: Don't talk about it. Bury your head in the sand. It never happened.

But, then the former Top Cats, the ones who made out in the bathroom, received an offer to pose in Penthouse.

Good for them!

Annual Stretch and Poke

I started off my Halloween morning with my Annual Stretch and Poke.

I needed something a little spooky.

The Annual Stretch and Poke is when we women go in, change into a gown, and are given an extra large piece of paper to cover our lower orifices. Today the paper was a nice mauve color. I found my self wishing I'd brought my colored markers.

Today, though, the entire office was in disarray. The computers were down. They didn't know why I was there. They asked me, which was good. I'd hate for them to give the Annual Stretch and Poke to someone who wasn't expecting it. Especially a man.

To add to the confusion, some of the staff were dressed up. One of my favorite people was dressed up as a Starbuck's Latte. At the end of the day, she get's the best costume award (we don't get trick-or-treaters at our house, cause we live in the sticks!). Except for the part where she was promoting Starbuck's. But, she was making a statement that she doesn't mess around with her coffee.

My nurse practitioner, who is really quite lovely, was a bit distressed. She couldn't give me the results of my annual blood work. She said she'd send me a note with the results, and that if it was really serious, she'd have the Latte give me a ring so we can get me back in. She said not to worry, though, she was reviewing blood work results on Friday to prepare for this week, and there wasn't anything that she could recall that stuck out. She didn't say how many blood work-ups she looked at. I didn't ask.

So, after the brief catch up since last year, she did the breast exam on me. Then she stretched and poked my vagina. The good news, and the reason my nurse practitioner is really quite lovely is that she runs the speculum under warm water. That way, and this part really is for the gentlemen out there, you don't have cold metal shoved into your vagina.

A warm speculum makes the Annual Stretch and Poke a little less spooky.

Daylight Saving Time

Daylight Saving Time is a bunch of bullshit.

Since leaving the Great State of Arizona in 1998, I've had to change my clock by an hour, twice annually.

My Grandma told me that when my Dad was a boy, the residents of the Great State of Arizona voted to decide whether they wanted to participate in these shenanigans. According to WebExhibits.org, "Daylight Saving Time is NOT observed in Hawaii, American Samoa, Guam, Puerto Rico, the Virgin Islands, Arizona, and most of the Eastern Time Zone portion of Indiana."

The residents of these states and territories are brilliant. When we moved from Arizona, we lost our glow of brilliance. We are now merely intelligent.

Every time I change my clock, I feel like I have jet lag for a week. Of course, being super tired makes me a super crab. And, did I mention I get to do this twice a year? Yep...once every six months, I get to fuck up my sleep schedule.

Why? I have to give credit for this to Benjamin Franklin. Apparently he was the first person to conceive of the idea of Daylight Saving Time. Bastard.

In the spring, we "Spring Forward". And in the fall, we "Fall Back". Cute. I wish Daylight Saving Time would spring forward so far it removes itself off the face of the earth and never falls back.

Really, it's another way for the government to control the people. In order for them to make sure they have complete control over us, the first weekend in April and last weekend in October we gain and lose time. It's not quite as cool as Star Trek. If it was, I wouldn't be bitching about it.

However, He Who is Not So Bright, a.k.a. "W", recently made it law that, in the U.S. in 2007, we'll be "Springing Forward" the second week in March and "Falling Back" the first Sunday in November.

What? Excuse me? Who decided to write this law? Sweet Jesus. They really need to find better things to do with their time and my money in D.C.

Is it a coincidence that He Who is Not So Bright hasn't lived in one of the above mentioned states or territories? Perhaps.

Some people theorize that we have less accidents, thus we are safer, because there is more light. Well, lemme ask you, when it's December and January, and there are little kids out waiting for the school bus at 7:00 am and it's goddamn cold and goddamn dark, and the sun isn't coming up for another 90 minutes, how is that safer? Am I missing something?

And, twice a year, prior to changing our clocks, I get to have the following conversation with my office mates (there are three of us):

"Don't forget to change your clock this weekend."

"Are we gaining or loosing an hour this time?"

"I don't know. I hate this. In Arizona, we didn't have to do this. That state knows what's goin' on. Really, Daylight Saving Time is just a bunch of bullshit."

Usually, this gets an eye roll from both of them. But the one who lived in Arizona for a few years agrees with me.

The Monday after we change time, one of them inevitably comes in to the office and is in a major tizzy and says, "Ugh! I'm late because I forgot to change my clock!"

One of my office mates was born and raised in My Little Town. The other has lived all over the U.S. They've been doing this time warp shit a lot longer than I have, but it never fails: one of them forgets to change her clocks.

Maybe they fail to change their clocks intentionally because they secretly don't want to conform.

But really, it's really all just a bunch of bullshit.

Decided on a Birthday Gift

For My Little Brother, we decided to get him two books for his 21st birthday. We thought about the suggestion posted to the blog (thank you Evie! The rest of you suck for not providing suggestions!). However, shipping alcohol across state lines without a license is illegal.

The first book is Blindness, by Jose Saramago. Both Zel and I recently read this. We picked it up for My Little Brother's birthday to expose him to different styles of creative writing. After all, he'll have his BA in Creative Writing one day.

The second one is Fast Food Nation: The Dark Side of the All-American Meal, by Eric Schlosser. Again, something we've both recently read. We picked this one because My Little Brother is becoming socially conscious. For example, he recently watched The Corporation.

I'm not gonna lie, we haven't seen this yet. But, I can't express to you how exciting it is to watch this kid become aware of how evil corporations are...how they shove their propaganda down our throats...how many of us eat it up like popcorn that was popped with saffola oil on the stove, and sprinkled with sea salt.

I think the last book I gave My Little Brother was Good Night Moon when he was like two years old.

He said he was glad to receive Blindness and Fast Food Nation, and that he'll probably read them when he's on Winter Break. Right now he's reading for pain and not pleasure.

It appears giving him books is a hit. I think the next book we'll get for him is The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time by Mark Haddon (thanks to The Girls for recommending this one to us!).

Chaps

The Indianapolis Colts' Cheerleaders wear chaps (please refer to hott babe at right. So hott, she gets a second T.)

Zel noticed tonight during the game (or should I say "spanking"?).

Thinking I might get a little, I offered to buy some. When, according to the U.S. Census, you're "a thirty-something-who's-
been-married-for-a-long-time", you tend to do what you can to spice it up.

Zel said, "No. You don't have the legs for it. Some babes were blessed with long, slender legs. You were blessed with short, stubby legs. I don't think you need chaps."

I said, "What about chaps with super high heels?"

He said, "I said no."

My Intenet

My intent today was to go to the grocery store, go to the gym, and come home and clean the house.

I did the first two. Then I came home and took a 2 hour nap.

Zel said, "That's ok. But on Monday, don't work all goddamned day, and make sure you come home and do your slit work."

I'll be sure to hop on that.

Baking Soda

Baking Soda. Useful for everything from baking cookies to neutralizing odors to cleaning grout between tiles.

"I've brushed my teeth with that shit!" said Zel.

"Did you do that when you were a Boy Scout?" I said. "Because the Scouts are always prepared."

He said, "No. But I've brushed my teeth with baking soda. Have you?"

I said, "Nope. I was never a Scout. And, given that we've cleaned grout with that shit, I'm not sure I want to brush my teeth with it."

Zel said...

"...that shit better not break my speakers!" He's talking about the fact that Depeche Mode is now on the computer.

NEWS: Singer Boy George Arrested on Drug Charge

This is my first news post. I'm not sure how many of these I'll do. Don't worry, Evie, I'm not turning this into the Fall of Humanity.

Singer Boy George has been arrested in NYC on a drug charge.

Really, I just couldn't resist making a comment about this. I'm not concerned about his drug charge. I'm concerned about his appearance! Sweet Jesus!


I mean, WHO DOES THIS?!?!?!

WHO DRESSES LIKE THIS!?!?!

Who dresses like this, hits the streets of NYC and DOESN'T think he's going to get arrested for SOME goddamned thing?!!?

I wonder if his parents are proud of him?

Sweet Junior Diva.

Burning Money

I really enjoy having candles in our home. Especially during the fall and winter months; they add light and a sense of warmth...a little ambiance, perhaps.

We don't have a plethora of candles in our home. Just a few here and there.

We're not the type of couple who has to make love with lots of candles; or even one candle.

The reason is quite simple, really. Zel said, "Burning candles is just like burning money."

"New and Improved"

Why is it, that when we use a different lotion on our faces, or the brand of face cream decides to "new and improve" the lotion we've been dedicated to 10 years, our faces break out?

And who decided to "new and improve" the current lotion? The lotion I've been using works just fine, thank you. That's why I've beenusing it religiously.

The same thing happens with face wash. And make-up.

My mom said that the reason your face breaks out when you switch face lotion or face wash or make-up, whether by choice or by force, is because your face is going through a cleansing period. Your face needs to get used to the new product. She would know. She's a licensed cosmotologist.

SOLITICING ADVICE: What do you get for your brother who's about to turn 21?

My Little Brother is turning 21 in 2 weeks.

The question is: what do you get for a 21-year-old?

He's a junior at the University of Arizona, majoring in Creative Writing.

He's traveled all over the States; been to Mexico several times; Italy, Ireland, France, England, New Zealand, and Australia. I'm sure I'm missing a couple of countries.

The last time I saw him was for his high school graduation. (He's the kid on the left. The kid on the right is his good friend, who currently lives in Japan. My Little Brother hasn't been to Japan yet, but it's on his travel list.)

The last time I spoke with him was nearly 3 months ago. He was headed off on a trip to the South Pacific (Note: the image below was taken on the NZ/Aussie trip, not in the Pacific Northwest. He hasn't been up here yet, either, but we're moving up on his travel list. And, I have absolutely no idea what "All Blacks" is. We're 12 years apart. Am I that out of touch with the generation after mine?)

We talked about a conclusion he made: He'll graduate in two years with a BA in CW, but he'll most likely have to continue waiting tables because, afterall, what the hell do you do with a BA in CW?

He talked to Zel and I about graduate school and what we thought before he pitched the idea to The Parents. He figured we were the people to talk to about grad school because we both have our Master's. Mine is in Education with an emphasis in Health Promotion; Zel's is in Mathematics. (I frequently hear things, which can include, but are not limited to: "Education degrees are for pussies!" and "Call me Master, woman!" and "Science degrees, like one in Mathematics, isn't a touch-feely degree, like one in Education!", and "Well, I suppose you're alright, because your Bachelor's is one in Science!" Sweet Junior Diva, you know?)

But, in typical Amelia style, I digress.

So, My Little Brother is planning to apply to grad school. He's thinking he'd like to teach English and/or Creative Writing at a community college. And, since he'll have three months off during the summer, he'll be able to work on screenplays and other things creative writers work on.

We asked him why he wanted to get his Master's. He's intrigued by the autonomy, the ability to meet different people, to get paid to think. He said, "I'll be a considered a Master of my subject, you know what I'm sayin'?"

I know what he's sayin'.

So, I'm currently soliciting your advice!!

What do you get for your brother who's about to turn 21?

For the past several years, I've baked him chocolate chip cookies. For Christmas last year, I made him a quilt. It was supposed to be his birthday gift, but I was working on a couple of different quilts, and it turned into a Christmas gift instead.

Any and all ideas are welcome! (Except another quilt. I'm a bit strapped for time!)

Ideas need to actually be submitted no later than Friday, 10/7. This way, I'll have a few days to get the gift and ship it down to the desert!

Thank you in advance for your time and consideration of my request.

Love,
Amelia
xxoo

As the Milk Foams

I've stopped drinking white chocolate lattes. Its part of my new me.

See, I work in the basement of my building, which is ironic, really, because who puts the health department in the basement? Especially in the Pacific Northwest.

It can be really challenging in January to get up in the dark, go to work in the dark, work in the basement, not see the sun for days or even weeks on end, and then go home in the dark. I think my new exercise routine will help with this.

I work downtown, which in my little community of 25,000 people isn't quite the same as downtown Chicago, but it's exciting all the same. In my town, the tallest building is four stories tall. Across the street my building, there's an independently-owned coffee shop. It's important to me that in my little community I patronize the locally owned businesses. We don't have a plethora of corporations in my little community, and there's a sense of taking care of your own, which includes indy buinesses. There's a Starbuck's kiosk in the Safeway that's across the other street from my building. But Starbuck's over-roasts their beans, and the result is a cup of Joe that tastes like a cup of what came from Joe's ass.

The owner of the indy coffee shop is simply lovely. And the baristas all know my name and what I drink. It's a bit like "Cheers" really. I walk in, everyone says "hello!", and then the girls say, "Are you having your white chocolate?"

Usually I say, "Yes, please!" And, they make a 16 ounce Ghirardelli's White Chocolate latte, no foam, with 1% milk. In my head, that's less calories than using 2% milk. But I'm not down with non-fat milk, so I just have them use 1%. They actually make the 1% by combining non-fat and 2%. It works, yo.

And, please understand that as part of being a resident in the Pacific Northwest, you have to be able to order coffee 12 different ways. Its part of our drivers' license test.

I've been going over to the indy coffee shop several times per week for the last three-and-a-half years. I get out of the basement. I get fresh air. I have the possibility to see the sun. I can get a lot of business done with my boss on those quick walks, especially on the days when she's swamped with meetings. I have the possibility of running into the attractive men from different departments that I occasionally get to work with on different projects. (Of course, I go home to Zel and say, "I saw my boyfriend at coffee today!" And sometimes Zel and I will have great sex, which burns also calories! But other times he says, "Well, if you keep drinking that shit, you're gonna get fat and your boyfriends aren't going to want to fuck you, and neither am I!")

But, that's a lot of lattes. A lot of calories. A lot of fat on my ass. And, a lot of dough at $3.68 each.

There's a person who, as part of my job, I'm required to meet with a couple of time a month, in a group setting, and this person has a way of making me want to poke her eyes out with my latte straws.

She's not nice, but I'm sure she thinks that she is. She's not very friendly; she's more like a rabid raccoon. She has an opinion about everything, which is fine, because opinions are like assholes: everyone has one. But, still, sometimes, I just want to tell her to be quiet. She's rude: she interrupts people while they are speaking, and tells them its not their turn to speak. It's always about her. In a nutshell, she's a Mega Pain in the Ass.

The scary thing is, about 18 months ago, the group voted her into this "leadership" position. Fortunately, her tenure is up in May. As Eric Cartman says, "You can call yourself leader until your ass bleeds, but that doesn't make it true!"

So, when I have to deal with her, I usually go across the street to the indy coffee shop and treat myself to my white chocolate latte.

However, since I'm working on my new me, I think that the 60 minutes I spent on the elliptical trainer today, where I pedaled for 5.62 miles and burned 550 calories, is going to be a complete waste of time, energy, and effort if I "treat" myself to a 420 calorie White Chocolate with 1% milk. When we exercise, it's not an automatic license to eat or drink whatever we want. Good idea! But, unfortunately, it doesn't work that way.

Please note, I found the above information on Diet Bites, and while the site only lists Starbuck's calories, I'm thinking the indy coffee shop is producing similar calories. According to Diet Bites, a Starbuck's White Chocolate Mocha made with skim milk has 400 calories, and one made with 2% milk as 440 calories, so I just figured that 420 is halfway between 400 and 440. A mocha and a latte are basically the same thing, really. That was a question on the drivers' license test.

By way of comparison, a few of my other favorite things: (both current and former)
2 ounce regular size Snickers = 273

3 Oreo cookies = 160 (note: 3 is a serving, but who in the hell just eats 3?! Honestly!!)

1 slice of veggie pizza = 215 calories (again, who in the hell eats just one slice of pizza?! Seriouslah!)

1 cup of air popped popcorn = 23 calories (what about the butter?! And, serve that shit up in a bowl! I ain't eatin' just one cup! And don't forget the parmesean cheese!)

8 ounce Margarita = 185 calories (enticing when compared to the WCL, but, I'm still not wanting to take a drink).

So, I will still go over to the indy coffee shop, because the owner and the baristas are quite lovely. But I will only drink regular coffee or perhaps a chamomile lemon tea, when I have to deal with the Mega Pain in the Ass.

No more 16 ounce Ghirardelli's White Chocolate lattes, no foam, with 1% milk. No more lattes, period. Unless I'm out of town at a conference.

Today at the gym

Today there were these young things who were maybe 20. And, they were cute, don't get me wrong. I've seen them for the past week or so. One of them wears a tank top and short shorts that say Corona on the ass in that same font as what's on the bottle.

I told Zel and he said, "As in the beer?"

I said, "Well, I don't think she's promoting the sun."

Anyway, so she and her friend are on the elliptical trainers, and I'm on an elliptical trainer some distance away, and another young girl goes on an elliptical trainer close to them and after a few minutes, she says, "This is pretty intense. How long do you guys usually do this for?"

Corona says, "Mmm...about 15 minutes."

Other girl: "Wow! That's a lot!"

Amatures. I do 45 minutes of hills on level 10. I'm not foolin' around. I wanted to say, "Why don't you come up to where the women work?"

But, if they feel they only need 15 minutes of elliptical training, so be it.

They don't have as much fat on their asses to work off as I do. I'm sitting on their futures.

Pancake Piggy

Flof is a pancake piggy. He loves pancakes.

Today, he was awarded the first pancake off the griddle. In our house, Sundays mean three things: 1. Football; 2. Pancakes; 3. I sleep as late as I want. Zel gets up and turns on ESPN's "NFL Sunday Countdown" and feeds Flof his breakfast of kibble and rice. He even shuts the bedroom door so I can sleep as late as I want. Zel's great.

The door gets shut because Flof sometimes whines at me. He says, "Muh-aaawwwmmm, you need to get out of bed and make me some pancakes!" Eventually, I drag my ass out of bed and make a pot of decaf for myself (Zel thinks coffee tastes like ass) and make pancakes for my boys.

Flof always gets to eat from the first batch of pancakes. I have a griddle, so I'm albe to make 3 pancakes at a time. Zel gets 2 and Flof gets 1. Really, though, he deserves more. I mean, who can refuse this face?!?

Last week, I overcooked the first 3, so they were pretty hard. Zel said they were like frisbees. But he ate them, because he knows whats good for him. Flof didn't complain; he's the smarter of the two in this instance. He doesn't stare a gift pancake in the mouth.

Then, because I overcooked the first 3, I under cooked my 2. They tasted like ass. So, I made 2 more for myself, which were much better.

Flof didn't feel good earlier this week. On Thursday, we woke up and he just wasn't himself. He was agitated and shivering so bad that his teeth were chattering and panting. It was 59 degrees in the house. Granted, he has on the thickest fur coat I've ever seen in my life, but he's not a panting dog, especially when its 59 degrees. I turned the heater on, because, even though I have enough fat on my ass to survive a couple of weeks without food, I'm not down with 59 degrees in the hosue.

Flof also didn't go into the kitchen when Zel made his turkey sandwich. When the dog isn't in the kitchen for a handout, something's seriously wrong.

So, I called Dr. Carmen's office, and she wasn't able to see Flof until 3:30 pm. Sweet Jesus. That was in 7 hours. In that time, Flof drank 4 bowls of water, which is at least twice the amount of water he consumes in a day. So, we went outside for him to pee like every hour. Fortunately, I work 20 hours/week and although I was scheduled to work on Thursday, I didn't have anything really pressing that I had to attend, so I called in. The main secretary in my office has 1 child, 3 dogs, and 2 horses, so she completely understood.

I told Flof we were going to see Dr. Carmen in the afternoon and that it was a good idea for him to take a lot of naps today. He didn't take a lot of naps because he was panting so hard. When he did nap, he was taking these shuddering inhales. I felt really horrible for him.

At 3:00, we started to get ready to go. I took Flof outside and, since he's had a couple of UTI's in the past, I figured I'd better bring Dr. Carmen some Flof urine. The only thing I had that I was willing to part with was a Philly Cream Cheese container.

When we went back inside Jennifer the receptionist called. Dr. Carmen was doing an emergency c-section, and would we mind coming in at 4:30, please? "Of course!", I said. "Giving birth is a big thing, and I'm not saying it's not more important than my dog's health, but does she really think she'll be able to see him at 4:30?" She said yes. Bye bye Stability Ball Class.

So, I tried to get Flof to take another nap. He wasn't really interested. He said, "But, Muh-aaawwwmmm, you said we were gonna see Dr. Carmen at 3:30!"

"I know," I said. "But Dr. Carmen is delivering babies right now and it's an emergency."

Flof said, "Its only an emergency if she's delivering puppies. If Dr. Carmen is delivering kitties, I'm going to emergency all over that kitty mom's ass! Goddamned cats."

Flof's not a fan of the kitties.

I called Zel to let him know about the time change. He was planning on meeting us there, since it is much easier to have both of us at the vet's office. Flof's a bit of a pussy when it comes to procedures at the vet's. Dr. Carmen is very PC about it. She says German Shepherds are worriers, and its ok, because it also means he's also a lover.

Once at Dr. Carmen's office, it was discovered that Flof had a bit of a fever, his urine wasn't really concentrated, and his left ear had both bacteria and yeast in it. This made me think that Flof's ear is really a vagina, because vaginas have a balance of yeast and bacteria. That's why licking pussy is good if a person has a sore throat!

Flof even got an anal probe. They took him out of the room for this one. Jennifer the receptionist assisted with this. Good thing, because Flof has an affinity for cute girls, and he's more likely to cooperate. However, we could hear the whining from the exam room. He said, "Goddamnit, Dr. Carmen, this isn't ok! Couldn't you have warmed up the glove before you anal probed me!?!?"

He also bitched to her about moving his appointment. She said that he could relax because the puppies and the mom are ok. He said, "Well, you better thank your lucky stars that you delivered puppies and not kitties because I would've been really pissed off if you moved my appointment to deliver kittens. Kittens are a bunch of pussies!" All this occurred whith her hand in his ass.

Twice a week, we have to douche out his ear. Twice a day, we have to put drops in his ears to take care of the yeast. The bacteria will be taken care of with the antibiotics.

Flof is on antibiotics twice a day for 10 days. This he enjoys, because it means he gets lots of sliced cheese. In a recent blood draw, Dr. Carmen did a geriatric pannel, because Flof's a senior dog of nealy 12 years old, she said his cholesterol is a bit high. She's also said that he looks like he doesn't miss too many meals. He weighs about 95 pounds. He's about 10 pounds overweight. Its probably because he spends most of his day sleeping on his couch. When you're a 12-year-old dog, you've earned the right to spend the day on the couch. Especially if you're going to read the newspaper, which he often does on Sundays.

Flof is feeling better today. He let me sleep in, and as a result, he had pancakes, as a pancake piggy should. He just finished reading the Sunday paper, and now it's time for his mid-morning nap.

It's Football Season

Well, it's football season.

I know because phrases like, "Break his fucking leg!" and "Trip, motherfucker!" come out of Zel. He yells like he's at the game and the team can hear him. He does not use his inside voice.

He mostly says this when the Dallas Cowboys are playing...mostly.

He sometimes says these things when he is rooting for a particular player on his fantasy football team, the Alien Anal Probes.

Of course, there are also great phrases when Dallas has the ball, including, "Run, bitch, run!" and "Catch that ball, motherfucker!" and "Wooohoo! Woohoohoohoo!!!!!" and "Show those Redskins who's boss!!!"

There is also an occasional bark....like a dog. Flof doesn't respond to this because he is smart enough to know the difference between a human bark and another animal's bark. He's the smartest dog in the world. He could be a doggie brain surgeon.

Sometimes, Zel even jumps up and down on the floor. This concerns me not because I think he may hurt himself but because our home is on a perimeter foundation. This means that our home is supported by concrete only around the perimeter. Its not like it is in the southwest, where there is an entire slab of concrete under the house, and that concrete helps to keep the house cooler in the 1,000,000,000 degree heat. In the Pacific Northwest, they use perimeter foundations because of the relatively mild climate. And, basements are a popular thing in the Northwest, unlike the southwest, and this is another reason for perimeter foundations. We don't have a basement, and basically Zel is jumping on plywood. My concern is that he's going to go right through the floor one day. Granted, he's going to have to gain about 200 pounds, but I still have a little concern. Sometimes I get visions in my head of Zel going through the floor and hitting the ground, which is about 2.5 feet below the floor. He'd look like Tom Hanks in "The Money Pit".

Sometimes, he goes into convulsions if Dallas has either a great play or a horrendous play. Seriouslah. It's like a seizure.

When the official makes a call that Zel doesn't agree with, he says something like, "Oh, bullshit, you fuck!!!"

This really only happens when we get Dallas games on TV. We're so far north and west of Texas that we just don't get a lot of games. For this, I praise the Gemma.

Sometimes our good friend Special K calls. She lives in Dallas. She has even called from the game sometimes, which, of course, is an impossible conversation because of the crowd that is screaming on her end of the phone. The phone calls usually come because she's seen a great play, or a bullshit play, and wants to know if Zel saw it, too.

Picture this: the cell phone rings its special "Special K ring", which is the rodeo. I can't describe the song, but I'm sure you can hear some rodeo music in your head. Zel says, "Hello?"

In her Texas accent, Special K says, "DID YOU SEE THAT?!?!?!" so loudly that I can hear her, no matter where I am in the house.

Two possible answers from Zel: "No. We didn't get the game. But I've been following it on the web." or "Dude! Can you believe that!?!?"

Sometimes, they'll even say things like, "We look like shit!" or "We look great!" depending on what's going on. But, they're not on the team. We've had several conversations about this, but they think they're on the team, so I just let it go.

Zel has been a fan of the Dallas Cowboys since birth. He once told me he came out of his mom rootin'. He said he even had pompoms. He was born there; he lived there till he was about 14. He even moved back to Dallas to attend the U of Texas at Dallas.

The funny thing is he doesn't have a Texas accent.

The other funny thing is, I hate the Dallas Cowboys. I was raised to hate the Dallas Cowboys, mostly because my Democratic parents hated the fact that JFK was assassinated there and that the Cowboys aren't "America's Team" and that there is a certain arrogance about the team.

So, when Dallas is on, it's really hard for me. I want them to do well, because then Zel is happy. However, secretly, I really want them to choke on it, like a bunch of bitches. But, the Cowboys recently picked-up Drew Bledsoe as their quarterback, and I would fuck him. He's a mega-hottie-super-babe. (The image of Drew was taken before he was a Dallas Cowboy, he played for the Buffalo Bills, and he lost this game to the New England Patriots, who he played for before he played for the Bills. I made him feel much better after this loss. In fact, he forgot all about it!)

When Dallas lost to their arch nemesis, the Washington Redskins on Monday Night, I had to listen to things like, "Stupid fucking game!" and "Piece of shit!" and "I hope you guys get reamed [by the coach]!" and "I hope that [Coach Parcells] chews their asses off!!!"

I had to wash my ears out they burned so badly from such foul language. Really though, language only comes out between September and January.

That's how I know it's Football Season.

The Apple Stem

Last night at dinner time, I wasn't very hungry, so I decided I would eat an apple and some peanut butter. I washed the apple, and then I twisted the stem out. With each twist, I said the corresponding letter under my breath. Little girls learn to do this at a young age. In Little Girl Land, the letter at which the stem comes out is the first initial of the name of the man we're going to marry. My stem came out at F.

Zel was making himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and asked me what I was saying.

“F,” I said.

He gave me a quizzical look and said, “What?”

“F,” I said again. “The stem came out at F.”

“What the f does ‘F’ mean?!” said Zel.

“It means that I should've married a man whose name begins with F,” I said.

“YOU ARE NOT IN THE FOURTH GRADE!!!!” he yelled at me. He even stomped his foot.

“I’m sorry, who isn’t in the fourth grade?” I said. I mean, stomping your foot to get your point across is so fourth grade. He shook his head at me. There was probably an eye roll, but his back was too me as he returned to making his PB n’ J.

“So, according to this, I should’ve married someone whose name begins with F”, I continued. “You know, Fred, Frank.”

Zel shook his head at me again, “Jesus.”

“No, Jesus begins with a J.”

“Did you ever fuck someone whose name begins with F?”

“No. Not yet. Did you?”

“This isn’t about me,” he said.

We moved to the table to eat. “You didn’t have sex with your friend Fred from high school?”

“No,” I said. “I was afraid of black dick at that point in my life. Besides, I had a boyfriend and he had a girlfriend, so it never happened.”

As Zel took a bit of his sandwich, I began to continue, “Ferdinand.”

“You fucked a Ferdinand?!”

“No,” I said. “I’m just saying I could’ve married a Ferdinand if one were to go by what the apple stem says.”

“What’s the farthest you ever made it on twisting the apple stem?” This is an unusual question. But, we’ve been married long enough that Zel knows that he needs to indulge me every once in a while.

I thought for a couple of seconds. “I’m not really sure, but I know I probably never made it much past R. Really, its amazing we ever went on a date, if you look at the what the apple stem says."

Stability Ball Class

I just finished my first week of Stability Ball Class. We meet twice a week on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Its a brand new class for beginners.

See, I just joined one of the three local gyms in my community. The first gym was a little scary...not very clean. I'm not paying for not clean. The second gym is used mostly by the baby boomers. Its not really a gym. It is actually the largest fitness franchise in the world, for women only, but its just machines. I need classes. I also need to see people my own age.

So, gym number three has classes and treadmills and eliptical trainers and they have a deal right now where you can join the gym for two months for only $20, with full membership privilidges. They challenge you to loose 10 pounds in 8 weeks, which is 1.25 pounds/week, and if you loose the weight, and you want to join the gym as a member, you can and they wave your registration fee, which is like $50. The way I see it, they're paying me $50 to loose 10 pounds.

Zel is all for this, by the way. He feels that not only will his wife look even hotter, he'll save $50. Furthermore, if someday we have kids, I'd hate to see this....

We sit on the ball, and lift weights. In a sitting position, we do curls and overhead presses. Then we lean forward, with flat backs, and do tricep work.

We roll onto our lower backs, and do sit-ups. Lifting our bodies forwards and then to each side.

We use the ball to make a bench with our bodies and lift weights. We did flyes and then we kept the right arm going while holding our left arms up. Then we switched sides. All the while, balancing on the ball. I'm not kidding.

We also did hamstring extensions and hamstring rolls. Why this dude is in a decent shirt, slacks, belt, and saddle shoes, I can't tell you. I'm not sure why he's dressed like this, other than his agent didn't tell him what to wear to the photo shoot. Maybe he's an intern. Maybe he just finished a round of golf.

We also did this inner thigh work, which was a mega-ass-kicker. We also dropped the ball into our own hands and then threw it back up and caught it with our legs. So, we really worked our inner thighs.

We also did a little yoga. But not quite like this! Look at those legs! Sweet Jesus! And that ass! You could bounce a quarter off that ass!!! Maybe someday....

I got my ass kicked. But I enjoyed it. I guess that makes me a bit of a masochist. Apparently there 35 masochists in class on Tuesday. The instructor said that for future classes, we were required to sign up. So, today there were 25 of us masochists in Stability Ball Class.

I was so sore on Tuesday night, that I woke up in the middle of the night and took two Tylenol. I got spanked. Rght now, Tylenol PM is calling my name.

I'm very much looking forward to next week.

Not off to a good start

The Alien Anal Probes, Zel's fantasy football team, isn't off to a great start. The players on the bench, who were considered for play today, scored more than the players who played.

That sucks.

The other team Zel is playing against, the Old Stooges, are pretty far ahead, and they have 3 players playing in Monday night' Philly game.

"Any chance you'll catch up?", I said.

"Only if all three of his players get hurt before the game," Zel said.

It's not looking good.

There's 65 bucks down the drain.

That's almost three dinners at my favorite Mexican food restaurant.

However, this is football. And there's always next week. When the Anal Probes stick it to the Viscious Wieners.

Stolen Sign

A sign notifying drivers that the Sheriff's Chain Gang is working ahead was stolen when they were out working this past Wedensday.

The Sheriff's Department speculates that the sign is hanging in someone's house, garage, or barn. They said the sign will cost $650 to replace.

They are asking residents to be on the lookout for the sign. The department also said its a popular sign, since it is rare when compared to stop signs.

$650. My tax dollars at work to replace a stolen sign.

Yippee.

Yard Work

Yard work is a bunch of bullshit.

Today, Zel and I rented a billy goat mower. We don't own a lawn mower, because we don't really have a lawn. So, once a year, around Labor Day, we rent a billy goat mower. That thing does not fool around. It can take down tall grass and saplings. It one mean machine. Seriouslah.

And then it stopped working.

We called the place we rented it from. They said to bring it back. We loaded it in the truck, and went back to the store. All the while, thanking the Goddess that the store is only about 4 miles away so we don't have to spend a bunch of money on gas going back and forth. We also passed the Sheriff's Chain Gang picking up trash and other things by the side of the road.

The belt for the blade fell off. Just fell off! Can you imaging if this was your car and you were going 60 mph and your engine's belt just fell off? Sweet Jesus! Think of the money that'd cost! Let alone the possible accidents.

Fortunately, we bought insurance to cover little mishaps. So, they gave us the other billy goat mower. Not that this is really an insurance issue. Bending the blade is an insurance issue.

And we loaded billy goat mower #2 up in the truck and went back home. We passed the Sheriff's Chain Gang again. On Sundays in the local newspaper, they report what the chain gang collected in the past week. Trash, old tires, syringes, aluminum cans that are taken to recycling. And sometimes, they collect some underpants and bras. How do these things end up on the side of the road? I can only speculate that there are some folks who feel it is appropraiate to throw their underwear and bras out of the window of their trucks. Or maybe they feel a need to brag about getting laid.

We finished the mowing. Which is good, because the grass was like five feet tall. I'm not kidding. I'm 5'2", and actually, some of the grass was taller than me. It's actually hay. Maybe we should get a billy goat, and then we wouldn't have to worry about mowing.

I also used the trimmer, but it ran out of twine. And I raked. I'm not fond of these activities, but its a good strength training program. And my heart rate rose, which is good. Unless you're dying, then that's bad. But I think it was good.

Then we loaded up BG#2 in the truck and went on back to the store to drop it off because we were done.. Passed the chain gang going to the store and again on our way home. Three of them were painting a fire hydrant. The other two were picking up trash. I'm not sure why it takes three people to paint a fire hydrant.

Zel said, "Do they actually wear chains?"

"Yes," I said.

I work for the government, and I know these things. They have shackels on their legs. And they're accompanied by a deputy. And the side of their big white mobile unit says "Sheriff's Chain Gang" in green and gold. Not very politically correct, but you're on the chain gang, which means you're in jail, and granted, you're on the chain gang because you're good while you're serving your time, but you're still in jail. Do you really need to worry about being incognito when you're working in an orange jump suit by the side of the road? Don't get me wrong, I think they do great work and I think its a great program for the inmates. But, you know what I'm sayin?

Those chain gang dudes do a lot of work.

We did a lot of yard work today.

Yard work is a bunch of bullshit.

Drugs Or Jesus

Tim McGraw has a song called "Drugs Or Jesus" on his new album "Live Like You Were Dying". God bless the record company execs for properly spelling dying by adding a g.

What the lyrics say is, basically, is things are black and white in the world. That we all want the truth.

Based on the title of the song, if you choose drugs, you're screwed. In order to not be screwed, you need to choose Jesus.

What about those people who are addicted to drugs? I suppose one could be addicted to Jesus (W?).

What about those of us who didn't choose either? Are we still screwed? I guess so.

There's even a little Hallelujah chorus at the end of the song. Does that mean people have to stand up when Tim sings "Drugs or Jesus", like the masses did when King George II stood for Hallelujah Chorus in Handel's "Messiah"?

Tim McGraw is no longer hott.

Little Red Hen

I am the Little Red Hen.

I wash the clothes and put them away. I change the sheets and clean the bathroom and change the towels and vacuum the entire house. I dust, I cook, and I even do windows, which includes the skylights, but only from the outside because I'm 5'2" and can't reach the inside, even with a ladder, because the ceiling is 12 feet tall.

Zel usually helps me do the dishes (we don't have an automatic dishwasher). He sometimes helps me vacuum by moving the chairs around the dining room table. Please note, I am not complaining about those two activities; just the rest of maintaining a home.

Zel sometimes helps me change the sheets and fold the laundry. But, mostly, that's my area of expertise.

But, really, I'm responsible for cleaning. Zel and Flof are responsible for making messes.

Today, I changed the sheets on our bed. Zel said, "do you want help?"

Usually, he helps me, and I really do appreciate the help.

But, I saw him picking at his nose and then he wiped his nose with his hand. And so I said, "nope."

"Why not," he said.

"Well, nose-picker, do you really think that your snots should go on these clean sheets?" I said.

"That's fine. I won't help you. You just go on and do your slit work," said Zel.

Sweet Jesus. "Slit work". Well, beats dick work.

So, I changed the sheets. And then the clothes dryer finished drying the clothes. Whites. That means a lot of his socks and his panties.

"Do you want help?" said Zel.

"Are your hands clean?" I said. The reason I'm into clean hands is because dirty hands spread germs.

About 1 1/2 years ago, Zel had a staph infection in his blood stream, and it affected his heart. The doctors were never able to determine how the staph bacteria infected Zel. They said that staph is a bacterium that is on our bodies all the time. So, it's possible that he came down with the flu or a cold and then the staph seized the opportunity. An opportunistic infection, if you will.

Back to the laundry. He said some inaudible complaint about me under his breath. But, he washed his hands and then he folded some clothes. And, believe me...the Little Red Hen appreciated the help.

Maybe he'll get lucky later.

Come on, let's blog!

"Let's start a blog," he said to me.

"Why?" said I.

"So we can let the world know how funny we are as a couple. And we can have Evie link from her blog to ours because that's blogger code," he said.

"Mm-hmm. And what's our topic?" I said.

"Us. Because we're funny and we can just blog about shit that happens in our relationship. I was thinking we could call it 'Old and Married'. What do you think?"

I said, "Maybe. But we're not so old, so maybe we should call it '(Not So) Old and Married'...."

He said ok. And it's been a week and I'm the only blogger on this blog. Sweet Jesus. So much for a team effort and quality time together. F-ing clown.

apples and oranges

So, this "Countdown to Armageddon" made me think of a couple of things:

1. "Armageddon It" by Def Leppard
2. Is it really the end of the world as we know it? Do I feel fine?

R.E.M. asks a much better question. But who's the better band? Given that Michael Stipe didn't write down early lyrics, and made the songs up each time they were sung, I give R.E.M. points for creativity. But, Leppard had Mutt Lang produce Pyromania...and Mutt's married to Shania Twain, and given that she's sorta-kinda hot (note: no second t, so she's not hott), Def Leppard gets points.

Really, though, comparing these two bands is like comparing apples and oranges.

No Negative Self Talk

The Alien Anal Probes participated in their fantasy football draft this past Saturday. Zel picked up Tom Brady, Domanick Davis, and Kevin Jones. So, the season looks like it could be promising. However, on tonight's Detroit/St. Louis game, the Anal Probes' kicker, Jeff Wilkins took a hit, but he's probably fine.

For hours now I've been listening to, "my team sucks" and "this season is gonna suck" and "I don't know why I play this stupid game" and "I hope I didn't just blow a bunch of money to loose at this crap".

I said, "no negative self talk! I'm not listening to that this year. The Anal Probes are going to have a GREAT season!"

He's not buying it. He's currently watching something on the History Channel called "Decoding the Past: Countdown to Armageddon, Part 2", which means there was a part 1. Super. Watch how theologians are philosophizing that the world as we know it is coming to a screeching halt. Funny how the only minister that made any sense on the show is a woman. And Zel says we're feeble-minded.

I love the fact that when Zel is crabby, he makes every effort to sink even lower in his pity party. Maybe he should be the president of the new club in town: Crabinovich and Grumpenstein.

He really understands, even though people say, "he's just a dog"

So, last night, Zel and I are getting ready to go out to meet some friends for some kick ass Mexican food. It was about 4:45 pm, 15 minutes before Flof is scheduled to eat. And Zel and I were in our bedroom, which is in the back of the house and I said, "do you think we should feed Flof (Four Legs of Fun) before we go or after we get back?" And Zel said, "well...." And I said, "we'll probably be gone for a few hours." And Zel said, "yeah...." And then, there was this whine from the living room, which is in the front of the house. It was Flof saying, "you guys! you need to feed me before you go, you guys!" And so Flof was fed before we left. Sweet Jesus that dog! He understands English, even though people say, "he's just a dog". He's not just a dog. He's the smartest goddamned German Shepherd in the world.

My Idol, remembered

I've been inspired by Evie Kelley and the modern girl's action adventure guide and her recent post about Billy Idol. I was also completely enamored with Billy. The first time I saw him was in 1983's "White Wedding". I wanted to be the bride and have my finger cut when he put the ring on my finger when we got married. My little girlfriends and I joked that the blood from the bride was true love. And then "Rebel Yell" came out and I didn't even know what a rebel yell was, but I was willing to do whatever it was and cry "More! More! More!" if Billy were to make sweet love to me. On New Year's Eve, MTV was throwing their New Year's Eve Party and I was at home with Mom and Dad and I remember Billy performing "Rebel Yell" on MTV that night. And Mom asked Dad what a rebel yell was, so Dad gave her a rebel yell. And I thought, "Yep, I'd definitely do that for Billy." I was 11. And they say kids don't know about sex. Whatever.

Zel and I were talking about Billy Idol and how Billy's the coolest thing since vanilla ice cream and how, if given the opportunity today, knowing what I know about sex, I'd still love to make sweet love to Billy. And Zel said, "He's gay", which is his rebuttal for every dude I think is hott. So hott they get a second t.