I thought I was past this...

Last night I dreamed about him again. For those of you who don't know what I mean when I say him, I'm referring to certain someone from my past who haunted my dreams just about every time I shut my eyes. But, it's been a long time since I've dreamed about him, and that is something I was very thankful for. It seems that my luck with a peaceful rest has ended, as he came back in my dreams last night bolder than ever. Damn my need for sleep. The worst part of this dream was how I was left feeling when I woke up. I was miserable, I was hurt, and I was angry. It's funny how something as imaginary as a dream can lead to such strong and real emotion. Anyways, if you want to know what happened in my dream, read on. But by all means, if you really don't want to know what goes on in my mind, stop here and go look at some porn.

The dream was set at my ex-husbands house. This was really weird because my ex-husband was not in the dream; his family was not in the dream, just his house. And in my dream He (being the man who haunts my dreams, not the ex-husband) came home to visit everyone. So his family, friends, and I all got together and threw him a nice little dinner party. It was right after Christmas, but before the New Year, so the Christmas decorations were still up. He brought his new girlfriend home with him, and she was at the dinner party. During the party He announced that him and his new girlfriend were getting married. I was very upset. And not so much because he was getting married, but because of why he was doing it. It didn't make any sense to me. Through out the whole evening, in my dream, I noticed that he didn't seem to be satisfied with this girl. It seemed like he was settling, and I was not only concerned, but I was hurt. I remember thinking in my dream, "I could have made him so much happier if he had stayed, but he left, and now he is settling?" It made no sense to me. So what did I do? Naturally, I went about the house and started packing up the Christmas decorations, but this was no ordinary packing. I was packing with furry. I was so mad and so hurt and I just ripped that tinsel a new one. He saw this and came over to console me while his beloved wife to be was distracted by other people. He asked me what was wrong, and with tears in my eye I explained to him that I didn’t understand why he was getting married, and I think I may have asked him why it wasn't me because, "it should have been me." He spent a moment consoling me, and then a few of his buddies came over and he spilled the beans about why he was really marrying her. He admitted that he had knocked her up, and her parents would disown her if she was not married. One of his friends chimed in and said that was exactly why he got married and now he was miserable. His buddy told him it was a bad idea, but still he insisted on getting married. Suddenly, the dream jumped to later in the evening when we are all going out for an evening on the town and some good wholesome fun. Him and I were in separate cars; he was behind me. The car he was in started to swerve all over the road and then they pulled over, so I pulled over to see what was up. When I came up to the car he opened the door and almost fell over, a cloud of smoke billowed out of the car. They were stoned, too stoned to stand straight stoned. It was obvious he was in no position to go out so I put him in my car and took him back to the house.

When we got back to the house I wanted to hide him and all his stoned glory from his fiancé, I didn't think she would approve, so I stashed him on a couch in the basement. After I laid him down I gave him a hug and tried to walk away but he grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me back to him. I tried to reason with him that we needed to have some boundaries; after all, he was getting married. He didn't care, and he pulled me down on to the couch and hugged me.

This is where the dream got a little fuzzy. We exchanged some words, and I can't remember what they were, but I do know I apologized to him for something, I'm not sure what.

Then, for some reason, I tried to get him to stand up. I had something to say, and I wanted him to be standing when I said it. So there we were standing in a dark basement, I was hugging him, and I put my mouth real close to his ear so I could whisper what I wanted to say. It was something that was really hard for me to say, I was scared, but I was ready to say it. I parted my lips, and just as I was about to say it I noticed something behind him. It was too dark for me to tell at first, but then my eyes adjusted and I realized there was a body hanging from the ceiling. It wasn't just any body, it was the body of his friend who earlier in the evening told him how miserable he was for getting married because his girlfriend was pregnant.

I wasn't sure what to do. I was finally ready to say to him what I needed to, but I couldn't possibly do it with his friend hanging in a noose behind us. I also didn't want to see him hurt when he saw his friend, so I just stood there for a long moment wondering how to best tell him what I was looking at. I decided to just turn him around. Next thing I know, the room is filled with people, cops, paramedics, all of the other friends and family. It was a madhouse, and I was drowning in the noise. So, I found him amongst the insanity to tell him I was leaving. I figured I didn't belong, I was the odd girl out, and I felt a need to get home and blog about the man hanging himself. (Is it weird to dream about thinking about how you want to blog something?) So I tapped him on the shoulder and told him I was leaving. But, once again, as I was leaving he stopped me. He pulled me aside from all the insanity, and everyone was so distracted they didn't notice the way he slipped his arm around my waist. So I figured, fuck it. I had something to say and I was going to say it before I left. The way I saw it, this was my final chance. I whispered into his ear that I loved him and then just stood there for a long second. In my mind I was praying that he would say it back, or at least say something, but he didn't. He just stood there for a very long time; it hurt. Then he whispered into my ear that he loved me too. Suddenly, I felt relief. I felt like I had finally heard what I needed to hear from him, and even if I never got to have him, I was ok walking away at that point and never seeing him again. So I did. I walked right up the stairs and out the front door, and I didn't look back. I knew in my mind, I would never come back.
Weird huh? I want to know, what the hell was up with the dead body? And the blogging? Who thinks in their dream after something bizarre happens that they need to go blog about it? I guess I am just a bit torn up about the whole thing. I don't know what to make of it. I don't understand what this dream was trying to tell me. Does anyone knows and expert? I'm due for a session.

It's too early for pink Crocks...

I'm already in a bit of a nasty mood. I was up until some ungodly hour cleaning my apartment so that by any small chance we may get our deposit back. I stood on my balcony and enjoyed the view one last time, used the toilet one last time, and peeked into my neighbors windows one last time.

Needless to say, these twelve hour days are catching up with me, I am starting to think in serial numbers and marketing part numbers. "Thank you miss, your coffee costs 384698987, will you be using a marketing part number to pay with that?"

Ok, maybe you didn't think that was funny, but that really is how my brain is working right now. So you can only imagine why it was almost impossible for me to drag myself out of bed and get clothes on this morning. And then do you know what I saw when I got to work? You might never believe it...

We have this big burly guy who works here. He must be seven feet tall, and could probably be Hulk Hogans body guard. he is what some people might reffer to as "one big ass motherfucker!" And he was wearing a pair of bright pink Crocks. Imagine the brightest pink you can, and multiply that by ten. It was way worse than the mullet I was forced to sit behind in our meeting for two hours yesterday.

I was not prepared for the visual pollution of either.

But I did have this really awesome conversation with an engineer about vibrators, and it really helped me put the pink Crocks behind me. I thought I would share. Enjoy.

cool: Yeah, I don't motivate myself to remember simple stuff, I can count form 0 to 10000 in binary and tell you all about how your computer or any of your personal and pleasure devices work inside and out

Me: ah, my pleasure devices? It sounds so dirty.

cool: Well, I didn't meant your vibrator, but I did build one of those in college as an experiment.
I meant your camera, your ipod, anything that is used for pleasure, but you went straight to the dirty part.

Me: what kind of experiment was that?

Cool: I had a million dollar idea to build what I called the "ultimate vibrator". It works by just sending magnetic pulses from a distance. Apparently, this technology does not exist yet, so I was hoping to build something that sends waves and resonate and acts just like a vibrator.

Me: did it work?

Cool: that was too complicated to do, so I just decided to build a very power efficient one that doesn't use any batteries at all and that worked amazingly.

Me: I so want one of those.

Cool: Oh yeah, it was a fun project; I almost started my own company building them.

Me: Why didn't you? And what ever happened to this amazing vibrator?

Cool: Well, my professor took it to his house and I think his wife kept it or something. Haha, so every time I asked him for it back he said that he couldn't find, and he's been looking for it. But, I don't believe that.

Me: Damn!


Weenit's how not to guide part 1: How not to relax at work...

Experts say the best way to learn how to do things is by trial and error. You know, the whole "if at first you don't succeed, try again". Some of us never succeed the first time, like me. I know a lot more wrong ways to do things than I do the right ways to do things. And do you know the kind of trouble I have gone through? I thought maybe I would be nice and share with you the wrong way to do things, in hopes that you too will not make the same mistakes I have. Enjoy.

How NOT to relax at work

Step 1: scan through your music player and put on your favorite Hannah Montana song BEFORE checking to make sure your headphones are plugged in. We are all in the closet fans for one band or another, but remember when your best friend caught you in front of the mirror wearing your favorite Brittney Spears concert shirt while jamming out to "Hit me baby one more time" with your hair up in pigtails and shaking your ass? What? Don't lie, you know it has happened to you before. If it wasn't Brittney Spears then it was The New Kids on the Block or the Spice Girls or Aqua, but whatever. You know the feeling, and it feels just like that when you accidentally broadcast your poor taste in music to an office full of your ubber-hip co-workers. Embarrassing.

Step 2: Take off your shoes before doing a quick courtesy sniff. Not only is it polite, but it can save you from having to make up a lame excuse to cover up for your foot odor. You smell something? I think someone just warmed up some tuna casserole in the kitchen. No one is going to buy that, so sneak off into the bathroom and when you are all alone take a good whiff. Chances are, if you smell something not so fresh, so will someone else. While we are on the topic, you might want to give your pits a quick sniff.

Step 3: lean back in your chair and take a nap. More often than not, the only reason you have the option to relax at the office is because you are slacking off, this is something the boss is not to keen on. That, and if you fall asleep there is a chance you may snore or drool, this is double trouble if it happens in a meeting. Have you ever seen what happens when someone falls asleep and starts to snore in a group meeting? I'd tell you but I'm always the one sleeping. From what I have been "told", office hazing is a lot worse than the one time you passed out at your buddies kegger and your friends took pictures of various testicles on your face and mailed them to your grandmother.

Step 4: And this is really the most important. Whatever you do, don't smoke a joint with your co-workers on your lunch break. Sure, getting a little high always helps you through the rest of the work day. But what if you come back to something unexpected, like the VP of the company there to personally congratulate you on your new promotion? Allergies, in the middle of December? What's that? You're allergic to your cubicle? Don't worry, you'll never have to see it again, the door is that way, now hurry, you're stinking up the place." save the tokin for the evenings activities you lazy stoner.

If you have a heart you would just shoot me.

Every office has at least one of them, unfortunately, mine has two.

I'm talking about those annoying, giggly, sickening cute, and far too often dumb, gossip girls.

And gee, aren't I lucky they sit right behind me every day? If I want to know what they think about the hot guy they saw yesterday at the pool, their most recent yet failing weight loss efforts, or their secrets to always having a good hair day, then yes. But, if I'd like a little peace and quiet so I can sit here and do some work, then no.

Really, I don't care about any of those things. Here is an idea, maybe I'll go over there and introduce them to a lovely little device we have here in the office called instant messenger; then they can converse without forcing the rest of us to listen to it. My ears are sore from wearing head phones all day, I'd like to take them off but I don't really care to know about the newest nail polish color they bought at the mall.

Even when they talk intellectually I want to gouge out my ear drums.

"The Mayan calender says the world is going to end in the year 2012"

Oh really? When did it tell you that? Was it before or after you had one beer too many last weekend and woke up in that strangers bed? Did you ever stop to consider that maybe, just maybe, the calender ends in 2012, and then starts back at the beginning? Just because it's the end of the calendar does not mean it's the end of the world. Just like when you're at the end of the toilet paper roll. The world is not over, you just get a new roll and start from the beginning.

Right now, my happy place is a place in my mind where I can imagine pouring red paint on their new outfits they "bought yesterday at the mall. It's designer you know."

F.T. Casuals at the mall is not considered designer, I like to call those stripper clothes.

What? I'm just saying...

The worst part is, weather I like it or not, when I go home I will still know who their favorite American Idol contestants are. I seriously need a heavy dose of bourbon. Heck, just give me a bourbon I.V.

On being wicked...

My grandmother has been spending some considerable amount of time at my place watching my kid while I am working. The thing about my kid is, he really only needs us adults around to make him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, so watching him can get a little, well, boring.

And so every morning while my son sleeps in until ten, my grandmother will read a book from my collection. Don't worry, I've been careful to hide the adult themed books so my grandmother doesn't find them. She did, however, find my Augusten Burroughs books. Not only did she read them, but she loved them. This surprised me a bit because I seem to remember spending my childhood summers stuck at her house with nothing but cheesy romance novels to read. But if she wants to pick up a GOOD book a read it, well that is fine by me.

Last week she finished all of my Burroughs books and requested another book. I was shuffling through a stack of books I have even yet to finish and I picked up "Love in the Time of Cholera." I tried reading this book but it's too dry for me. I figured it would be a great book for an old lady like my Grandma Willie, but just as I was about to walk away another book caught my eye.

And suddenly I had a devious idea!

And as we speak my God fearing, Jesus loving, Christian Grandmother is reading Sam Harris' "The End of Faith." When I gave her the book I figured she would read the first chapter, realize it's all about how religion is destroying the world, and put it down with a foul face. This is not the case. She is actually enjoying it.

Which makes me wonder if she really understands yet what the book is about...



While enduring my twelve hour work/Frank Sinatra marathon, I thought I would kill two birds with one stone. I've got to write a short bio about myself for a new project I've been invited to contribute to. It's a book of short stories written by a group of female bloggers (me included). However, I can't seem to concentrate; all I can think of is how I would totally throw my wet knickers at Frank Sinatra if I were around in his day.

Anyways, the madame of the project has requested that each of us write a little something about ourselves including "education, hobbies, family, interests, etc..."

I have no idea what to write. If I wanted to be honest I'd write something along the lines of :

"Majored in business, english, history, and photography but ultimately received a Guinness Book of World records mention for being the only person to drop out of college four times. It is the only thing she has ever accomplished."

"Has a killer knack for photography, blogging about shit, and making fun of stupid people while not always avoiding to be one."

"Born from a family full of dysfunctional in-breeders. Her family is best known for their photograph in Webster's dictionary next to the word "hillbilly". And yes, her motto is, "duct tape can fix that."

"She is very interested in the mating habits of human beings and therefore can often be found with porn in hand or, more likely, on screen."

So, I think we all know it's best if I just avoid the truth and sugarcoat a few things, which is a talent I do not possess. Any suggestions?

It helps me stare at a computer for twelve hours...

So here I am, staring at a computer for twelve hours today. I'm squeezing in a ton of overtime to help me save up for a new car. But have you spent twelve straight hours in front of a computer?

The way I see it, there are only two things that can help me get through such a long stretch of torture, but they don't let me watch porn here at work so I'm left with one shoother, music.

That is why I am so glad to have found a new web site today Called Pandora. It's a free online radio site, and it's easy to use. You just type in a song or artist you like, and Pandora finds that and similar music and plays it for you. It's free of cost and commercials, and I didn't have to download any plug ins (which can be a problem as Sun doesn't let me download things either).

The only downside is that Pandora doesn't let you skip more than a few songs in an hour, or go back to a previous song, but it's still a very useful tool of entertainment if you have dropped your roommate's iPod into the tub in Cancun and thus have no MP3 player to keep your ears dancing throughout the work day.

If you go check it out you too can be caught singing Frank Sinatra songs out loud by a room full of your co-workers! Good times...


What a douche...

So, I'm giving you guys direct from my Yahoo instant messenger a copy, cut, and paste of an unwelcome instant message conversation. Some of you may wonder why I didn't just close the message and move on, and Truth is I like to fuck with people online too. But it backfired, I fear I may end up with a stalker.

Note: My thoughts are in italic purple...

Ryanr787: Hi.

Ryanr787: 32 male Airline Pilot in Denver.

Weenit: And?

Ryanr787: You interested in some free airline tickets? I know where this is going...

Weenit: Which airline? What can I say, I'm a curious girl.

Ryanr787: American... Right, buddy, right. He's probably full of shit.

Ryanr787: They are good to anywhere in the world we fly. Ha ha, he wants to do me.

Weenit: And what is it that you expect of me? Let's see if he beats around the bush...

Ryanr787: I am new in town, just moved here 2 weeks ago. If I had a penny for every time I heard that.

Ryanr787: I am looking for a friend with benefits. At least he is honest...

Weenit: Moved here from where?

Ryanr787: Austin,TX

Weenit: And what do you look like? I bet he's an ugly fat fuck. All though, I know some sexy pilots.

Ryanr787: Do you have myspace?

Weenit: Yes.

Ryanr787: http://www.myspace.com/ryanr787

Ryanr787: do you have pics?

Weenit: Yes...

Weenit: But does that ever work for you?

Ryanr787: What?

Weenit: Telling girls you'll give them free airfare if they'll be your friends with benefits...

Ryanr787: Oh, I just thought of it...lol I almost never have extra airline tickets. I normally use them all. But cause of my move and stuff I haven't been able to go many places. Right buddy, I bet I'm like the tenth girl this night you've said this to.

Weenit: Do you even know what I look like? Do I have pictures on my Yahoo profile? What are these Yahoo profiles and how come I have never seen them?

Ryanr787: Figured if someone is looking for a friend with benefits cool....the airline tickets are just extra.

Ryanr787: I saw the one pic on yahoo. I wonder which pic that is?

Ryanr787: What's your mypace?

Weenit: Which one is on yahoo? That must be an old ass picture!

Ryanr787: You had a hat on I think.

Weenit: A Christmas hat?

Ryanr787: Yup...

Weenit: Ahhh.... Yep, old picture!

Weenit: http://www.myspace.com/tamysmemories What can I say? I like to show em' what they can't have.

: And when you go to my profile you'll see I have a boyfriend. That, and next month I will be working for the airlines too so I'll get plenty of my own free airline tickets. Leave me alone, I'm no longer entertained.

Ryanr787: Did you see mine? Yes, and damn you are ugly, what's up with that monster mouth?

Ryanr787: You're very beautiful! Gremlins are beautiful next to you.

Weenit: Thank you.

Ryanr787: So, you interested? Oh please...

Ryanr787: Anywhere you or some friends want to fly to...

Weenit: I'll be working for the airlines myself soon, that equals plenty of free fare, I don't have to sleep with a stranger for it. Should have stopped here, but what can I say? My mommy never taught me not to talk to strangers.

Ryanr787: What are you going to do at the airlines?

Weenit: Flight attendant. Contemplated telling him I was going to hijack one, but didn't in fear of prison.

Ryanr787: Oh cool.

Ryanr787: For who?

Weenit: Lynx

Ryanr787: Whats that?

Weenit: It's a sister company of Frontier.

Ryanr787: Like a regional?

Weenit: They are smaller.

Ryanr787: Yeah, but you only have flight benefits on them.....they don't go to Hawaii...or international places.

Weenit: They go to Cancun.

Weenit: That's good enough for me.

Ryanr787: Why don't you get on with United here in Denver or another major? Why don't you blow me?

Weenit: Because, this flight attendant thing is just a temporary gig for me anyways.

Weenit: So no i'm not interested in your offer, I don't think my bf would much appreciate it.

Ryanr787: Don't tell him.

Ryanr787: Then take him to Hawaii.

Ryanr787: Or Australia.

Weenit: Well that would be a little crooked wouldn't it?

Ryanr787: Depends on how you look at it...lol

Weenit: Not going to happen.

Ryanr787: OK...if you change your mind let me know. I would love for you to be on your knees begging for me to cum all over your face. Like I'd be the one begging.

Weenit: And I love to chain you to the guard rail off I-25 in your whitey tighties and teach you a thing or two about respect, but it's not going to happen.

Ryanr787: But you couldn't take my 9 inch cock, so your right, it wouldn't work. He wishes he had a 9inch cock.

Ryanr787: NOW THAT'S FUNNY!!!!! Your right, the idea of you having a 9incher is funny!

Ryanr787: I KNOW you are laughing your ass off!!!!!

Weenit: I am?

Ryanr787: Nighty night.

Ryanr787: See ya in the air sometime.

Weenit: God I hope not.

Ryanr787: I actually work for lynx, this will be interesting. What? You didn't even know who they were?

Weenit: Sure ya do.

Ryanr787: lol...you'll see. Oh, weird.

Ryanr787: When is your class date? Uhoh...

Weenit: none of your business, and it wont matter, you wont recognize me.

Ryanr787: Well I know your name. Shit, I didn't think about that!

Ryanr787: I'll just go ask Ruth. Double shit! He knows names, maybe he isn't a liar.

Ryanr787: She'll tell me when the next class is.

Ryanr787: I'll come say hi..but don't be mean. Can you say stalker?

Weenit: I don't know about that.

Ryanr787: Just think when you fly with me...you will have to call me Captain. And just imagine what I will call you under my breath!

Ryanr787: I cant wait for that. Yeah, someone needs a therapist, and for once it ain't me.

Weenit: You are a sick man.

Ryanr787: I am also the garbage man in town. What the?

Ryanr787: So I'll see you in the morning, when I am collecting crap from the street. Ummm...

Ryanr787: OK, I think I am a bit too drunk.

Ryanr787: I need some coffee.

Weenit: Yeah...

Ryanr787: This was fun..made my night. Really? You don't have anything better to do?

Weenit: Did it?

Ryanr787: I am amused easily.

Weenit: Obviously.

Ryanr787: I was locked up for 8 years and just got out....so anything makes me laugh. Once again, weirdo say what?

Ryanr787: Hey my girlfriend wants me...brb OK. Yeah right, like you have a girlfriend.

Ryanr787: I showed he your pics....she likes you. Your dog does not count as a girlfriend.

Ryanr787: Wants to know if you will come over.

Weenit: Why, so she doesn't have to put up with you?

Ryanr787: No, so you can join the orgy tonight. Right, did you offer them free trips as well?

Ryanr787: We have 5 so far.

Weenit: If I did that I'd have to abandon the mad orgy we are having over here.

Ryanr787: your just saying that cause I did...

Weenit: Am I?

Ryanr787: Besides, we have more people.

Ryanr787: Funner time here.

Weenit: No thanks.

Give me something deep fried and sweet...

This weekend Mack and I ventured out of the city and spent an evening at the Indian Springs Resort in Idaho Springs. We lounged around for an hour in one of the private hot tubs (very relaxing, but is it just me or does any one else agree that hot tubs can totally drain every ounce of energy right out of your body?). After the hot tub we hit downtown Idaho Springs for some drinking and fun, and we found it at the Tommyknocker brewery.

So there we are, Mack with his beer, me with my Vodka and Cranberry cocktail, when Mack said, "I could really go for some dessert. Cheesecake sounds good. Or even something deep friend would be nice."

So we ask the bartender for the dessert menu and we open it up to find "deep fried cheesecake" on the menu!

And then a bright light shined down on us and angels sang. Seriously, what are the chances that every last thing your tongue is salivating for should be found on the menu in one perfect and precise item?

Now that I think about it, it's kind of creepy, I mean, it was almost to good to be true.

Get a life...

I don't get the things some people do sometimes. Like cyber-bullying, what's the point?

I got an email on my Myspace account today from some homely looking girl who told me I needed to try harder to look less like a man.

What? Did she really think this would hurt my feelings? My Myspace page is so full of femininity the only way I could give it more estrogen is to put a picture of my vagina on it, and I think Myspace has a very strict no porn policy. And besides, what the hell do I care what she thinks?

The kicker was when I tried to respond to her email with some disgusting and vulgar pictures and her page was blocked so that I could not send her a message!

So what? She can dish it but she can't take it?

It's just too bad she doesn't have anything better to do that irritate strangers online. I think the proper solution for this girl would be a really good vibrator. Not only would it put her in a better mood, but it would also give her something better to do.

Razzle Dazzle!

Craig over at Puntabulous has posted another episode of Super Viagra and Vagina Girl! This is by far one of my favorite features on a blog. If you have not seen it before, make sure to head over and check it out!


And I was talking shit about her sweater...

It's February 23rd, and I have just finished taking down my Christmas tree. Good thing I had to take it down to move, or it probably would have hung around until the next Christmas season.

But does anyone know an effective way to eliminate tinsel?


I can't breathe!

My lungs are practically useless. Without a series of drugs inhaled into my body on a regular basis they would cease to operate and I would suffocate to death.

And I bet you've been taking your ability to breathe for granted, haven't you? For shame.

I've lived life as an asthmatic since I was four years old; I can't even remember what life was like before I had to depend on medication to keep me alive. When I was younger health insurance was a "just in case" for my condition. Medications were not super cheap, but they were reasonable. My parents kept the insurance around just in case I had to spend some time in the hospital.

But now that I am older, and my lungs are not what they once were, and the newer and better medications I need are so damned costly, insurance is no longer just that. Here is where my problem comes in. I've been without health insurance for the last two months. Over that period I was very careful to conserve my resources until my new coverage went into effect, and I have been doing great until this week. I fell a week short of my medication, my three hundred and fifty dollars a month without insurance medication, my sell my internal organs on the black market so I can afford it medication, my can't live with out but can't afford to live with medication.

So there I was sitting with my very last dose of "save my fucking life" Advair in my hands wondering how in the hell I can possibly last a whole week with just this one tiny dose. I'm barely breathing as it is, to make it last this long I had to skip a dose every other day, and then skip two doses. I've got enough medication in my body to keep my lungs barely working, but God forbid I have to do something like walk up a flight of stairs. Chances are, my lungs will stop.

And crap, I almost forgot I have to move out of my apartment tonight. If that doesn't kill me with the physical state I am in, I don't know what will.

Obviously, I came to the conclusion that I would have to buckle down and pay full price for the medication, but first I would have to get to a doctor and get a prescription (which is extra cost). So I decided to call my aunt because my cousin also uses Advair. I had high hopes that maybe, just maybe, they could lend me a weeks worth of medication until I could use my insurance to buy the "save my fucking life" Advair. But guess what? They have switched insurance to what I can only conclude to be the worlds worst health care coverage and now they too can't afford to pay the outrages two hundred dollar premium. This means my cousin, as well, will soon be without this very vital medication once she has used up her almost empty reserves.

How in the hell does an insurance company tell you, "Sorry, we know you need this stuff to survive, but we are still going to charge you out the ass for it." Hey Mr. President, don't you see something wrong with this? Of course you don't, you are too busy bombing other countries to notice what's happening right here on the home front.

I don't remember when our health care system failed us so terribly, but it has.

Ultimately, I have no other options. No other medication works as well as Advair. No other medication comes even close to providing me with the security of knowing that when I wake up in the morning I will STILL BE BREATHING! So, I have no other choice than to pay the two-hundred dollar premium, but at least I save one-hundred and fifty bucks and the cost of a doctor visit by using my cousins prescription and insurance. Isn't that illegal? What are they gonna do? Throw me in jail for trying to breathe?

And to think, if only I could make it one more week It would only cost me a twenty dollar doctor visit and maybe thirty bucks on the prescription. That is just my luck.


God hath no wrath like a woman without a g-spot!

A few weeks ago a couple of Mormons found themselves on my doorstep (poor bastards). They were, of course, trying to convert me. I was as polite, as a girl disrupted from a nap could be, as I told them not to waste their time because I am an atheist. And do you know what they said to that? They asked me if, "I found it kind of depressing to think there was nothing waiting for me after this life."

Is that the best they've got? Like, do they really expect to convert me with a comeback like that? No, it's not depressing. What's depressing is the thought that people like them will devote a good portion of their lives to serving a God that isn't real, when this is the only life they have got.

Hello, you are not getting those years back. Shouldn't you be out getting laid and snorting cocaine or something?

But do you want to know what thought really depresses me? Abby over at Girl With a One Track Mind posted a link to this article about the female g-spot. Or more accurately, the lack there of.

This article says what I have been saying for years; not every woman has a g-spot.

I know ladies. Take a minute, sit back, swallow it, and take some time to digest that one.

The article suggests that only women with a G-spot can have a vaginal orgasm, and that only 20-25% of women have experienced a vaginal orgasm. Do you people know what this means? This means I, one of those unlucky girls without that elusive G-spot, will never have a vaginal orgasm.

If you could have seen my face when I realized this it would have looked quite similar to the face I had when I found out I was pregnant with my son. I do not like the idea that I have been robbed of a very vital part of my sexual anatomy.

That people, is very good proof there is no God. What kind of supreme being would do such a thing to me? The next time a Mormon asks me why I don't believe in God I will tell them it's because I have no G-spot. I bet that will get them.

I, like a good portion of my fellow women, have to rely solely on my clit to get me off. So now Merideth, are you so surprised to know I have never had a vaginal orgasm? just consider yourself lucky lady...

Anyways, it's not just us ladies who have to suffer through this, what about the men we bed? It can be a tough blow on a man's ego if his girl never gets off. Take my baby sister and her man for example, she has never in her life experienced an orgasm of any kind. I wonder how he feels about it? I'm willing to bet my life that much like me she does not have a G-spot, leaving all the luck up to the clit. But the problem with clits is they are not all the same. Some are bigger and thus more receptive to touch. And some, like mine, are smaller, and need a little extra TLC and a very talented touch.

I got doubly screwed.

My point is, if your one of the 75-80% of women who have never experienced a vaginal orgasm, get a good vibrator and a man who gives some killer cunnilingus. And don't let any one tell you there is something wrong with you or your vagina. You are not alone.

And for the men, just be patient with your lady if she is one of the less fortunate. Chances are, she is just as frustrated as you are. I'd recommend brushing up on your cunnilingus, and remember that practice makes perfect.

Fun Fact: Did you know, the G-spot was named after the German gynecologist Ernst Gräfenberg who was the first to hypothesize the exsistence of the G-spot. To this day, the G-spot has not been proven to actually exist, and may be just an internal part of the clitoris. Neither theory has been proven or disproved.

Fifteen second hello...

I don't have much time for blogging today, as someone got smart to the idea that I have been getting paid to sit around all day and do nothing productive. So, they have loaded me on with work I'm not too sure how to do, which means things are going to get interesting.

But in the mean time, I'll be spending several hours of my own personal time implementing some new HTML code into my blog so that it dazzles. Aren't you all excited? I know I am, and mostly because I have discovered some really useful websites that are helping me to design the new and improved Weenit.

Now, It's time for me to hunt down a can opener so I can get inside of this can of soup and have some lunch.

Why don't all cans have a nifty peel back lid? I totally think that should be required by the FDA or something.


Does my page look weird?

It sure as hell does, but don't worry, just give me a day or two and it will look awesome! I promise. Until then, Weenit is under construction.

Woah! That will get me fired!

So there I was at work, doing a little personal research on company time, searching for articles about the female genitalia on Wikipedia. I put the word "vagina" into the search field and next thing you know I have a photograph of a vagina on my screen.

That, I was not expecting!

I was expecting the typical high school sex-ed drawing of a ladies good bits, with some numbers and arrows pointing to the clitoris and such. But no, it was a real vagina with fingers touching it. It almost looked like porn. It was even shaved clean and a bit moist, if ya know what I mean.

Did I mention I was at work? Couldn't they have given me a little warning? Are they even legally allowed to do that? I thought if you wanted to show some crotch online it had to be an 18+ site. Does that rule not apply to everyone? Can I put a picture of my vagina on my blog? Hmmm...

I wonder if that girl knows her vagina is on Wikipedia? Do you suppose she is proud of it? Can you imagine how many people search the word "vagina" on Wikipedia and see hers staring back at you? She must have one of the most famous vaginas in the whole world, right after Paris Hilton's and Jenna Jameson's vaginas.

I wonder what will happen if I search the word "penis"?

From now on I know where I am going for my free porn.

Skank Stank...

You know it's going to be a long day when you wake up with a Beach Boys song already stuck in your head, and about fifteen minutes left till you have to be out the door.

And don't even bother to ask me where the song came from, I have no idea.

So here I am at work, stinky because fifteen minutes is not enough time to shower, and my access is still not working. I've been here six weeks, and still I can't do any work.

I'm not complaining, who would complain for getting paid to do nothing all day long but blog and take naps? Not me, no, not ever.

- That's where I wanna go, way down in Kokoro... Bermuda, Bahama, come on pretty momma...


Killing off my feelers...

I'm a little upset right now. Mack said something that hurt my feelings, weather he knows it or not. Hell, with all the teasing and playful banter I can't even be sure if he ment it or not. But I do have this bad habit to psychoanalyze things, and what he said was one of the things I mentaly tried to disect, and now my brain hurts.

He said my kid was out of control. Now, I know my kid is no angle, but I never thought he was out of control. And if you ask me, there are no bad kids, just bad parents. So when someone says my kid is bad it feels like I am being called a bad mother.

So not cool.

So there I was feeling a little upset that someone who has spent only a few hours around my kid could say that, partly because he is the one single thing I am most proud of.

Like, "Look at my kid, isnt he the coolest thing since sliced bread? He can walk and talk and knows more about trains that the lady behind the counter at the train museum. And you should totally see his rad mohawk! Yeah, and I'm the one who made him."

And then he came home from the zoo in a particularly rambunctious mood. I asked him to sit down at the dinner table to eat but he insisted he was not hungry.

So I started to wonder, "is he purposely trying to piss me off or is he really not hungry? Could Mack be right? Is my kid out of control? Is this a sign that your is out of control?"

And I began to think to myself that I would not be defeated by this kid. So I go to grab him and sit him at the dinner table to eat dinner weather he likes it or not. And what do you think he did? He ran upstairs and to his room. So then I'm really frustrated because I suddenly feel like maybe Mack is right, and maybe I am just a really crappy fucking mom. And then I put that frustration out on my son. I yelled, and I was mean.

And then I really felt like a crappy mom. It's not in my nature to yell and scream and loose my cool with James. Five years ago, when he was born, I made a vow to myself to never become the kind of parent my stepfather was. But thinking I won't be like that is a lot easier than actually not being like that. When you grow up with that kind of anger and cruelty it tends to imbed itself into you. As a kid I learned to handle frustration by getting angry, and I handled anger by yelling and fighting. It took me a long time and a lot of hard work to undo that bad wiring.

And when it comes to my son, I had to learn not to get frustrated with him because frustration for me equals anger, and anger equals me doing all the bad things my stepfather once did. And if I were to turn into the monster he was, if even for a second, it would be really hard to live with myself because no child ever deserves to feel that way, not even a naughty one. So what did I do? I developed a really really high tolerance level. Heck, I could stand in a room full of screaming babies and my blood pressure would not rise, not even a tiny bit.

But now, I've gone and done something I can't take back, and at this moment I am here taking a timeout so I can calm down and collect my thoughts.

And James is cowering in a chair, probably afraid that Mamma has lost her damn mind.

And all for what? Because I let someone else’s criticism get to me?

Yes, I know my kid is no angle. I know sometimes he has to be told two or three times to do something, sometimes he whines, sometimes he jumps on the bed. But am I crazy, don't all kids do that? I mean, he is good natured. You'll never catch him drawing on the walls, he's never vicious or full of mean intent. He doesn't hit people, or throw things, or hurt small animals. He doesn’t act out for attention. He's not going to rob me in my sleep so he can buy cocaine.

And you know the worst of it all is that one week he is the best behaved child, and the next his mood can be a bit foul, but he's a small child forced to split his time between three homes because of the divorce. That kind of inconsistency can make any kid a bit restless. Could you blame him?

I think I need to go hug my son now and tell him how sorry I am for being such a mean mommy.
Do they make a Hallmark card for this? You know, something that says "Sorry I was such a mean Mommy. Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?" except maybe it could be a picture card? James is smart, but I didn't think he can read all those words.

The war on bush...

No, I am not talking about the president...

I'm talking about pubes people, and I've got plenty of them. The thing is, my mother mated with a gorilla, and do you have any clue how hairy those fuckers are? Yeah, I have to wax and pluck and shave constantly. But the one patch of body hair I don't mind to keep around is a small patch or "racing stripe" of hair on my crotch. It's trim and clean and reminds me that "Hey! I'm not a twelve year old prepubescent girl anymore."

But recently, a particular someone who has been spending some time with my crotch has started to complain about that little patch of hair. Apparently, he likes the smooth and hairlessness of a twelve year old crotch.

But doesn't he know that I am a creature of habit? I always put the peanut butter on my sandwich before the jelly, I brush my bottom teeth first, and I have never shaved that patch of hair. It just seems so unnatural.

And now, he wants me to change the way I have been doing something for all of my adult life? Doesn't he know what it does to my mental stability when my way of doing something is disrupted? Yeah, there isn't enough Valium in the north Americas...

I've been dubbed!

After watching that music video about three hundred times I figured out that part of the video I never shot was finished using another girl. The clips from 1:15 to 1:27, where they pan up the girls leg to the back of her head and then she takes a drag of the cigarette, is not me. I know this because for the last seven years my toes have always been painted either red or pink, and those toes are not. Also, those crooked ass fingers holding that cigarette, I assure you those are not my fingers. And I never smoked the cigarette, I only put it in my mouth.

So I wonder who might have been my double?


Sluething equals me being embarassed...

So, do you guys want to see something rather amusing? Why do I even bother to ask, of course you do. But first, a little story...

Once upon a time I agreed to be in a music video, the producer was my boyfriend at the time. Then I dumped him and never finished the video because him and his team fucked up some of my furniture. This was over six months ago. I had assumed they tossed the video and moved on to bigger and better projects, until today.

I had an email from the ex-boyfirend/movie producer, the video was done. I froze. The thing is, I wasn't too nice to him when we broke up, that, and I am naked in part of the video. Am I crazy to think every one else might conspire against me, or does anyone else see how he could have extracted his revenge?

But he didn't. In fact, the video came out better than I thought it would. And the part where I am naked, not so bad. All though, the acting was pretty bad, I never claimed to have any talent.

So do you guys want to see me pretending to be a murderous waitress/seductress/vixen/person who actually knows how to shot a gun? Did I mention I am naked? Yeah, that's what I thought, enjoy...


Shame on you Seventeen!

Va-jey-jey? Does anyone know what that word means? I guess it's slang for vagina, like on the new cover of Seventeen. And no, I was not reading Seventeen. I just happened to catch glimpse of it while at Walmart playing my favorite game (who ever spots the fattest, ugliest, and down right trashiest person at Walmart wins). We call it the Walmart game, and sometime maybe I'll photographically document it for you.

But back to the va-jey-jey. Tell me, have you ever used that word in reference to your vagina, or someone else's? If so, find the biggest dictionary you can and slap yourself in the face with it. It's called a vagina, as in V-A-G-I-N-A. Say it out loud with me ladies. Oh wait, might someone hear you? Might they snicker at the dirty word coming out of your mouth? Fuck them!

Do you want to know what my biggest problem was when I was seventeen? It wasn't acne, or dating, or grades, it was my fear of my vagina! It's true, me, the sexually liberated self proclaimed masturbater, was once afraid of my vagina. And do you want to know why?

No, it has nothing to do with an unfortunate experience with porn at a young age.

It was because the older women in my life didn't teach me how to embrace my vagina, and the older men in my life, like my evil step-father, taught me my vagina was a dangerous thing.

I'll never forget the first time I had my period; I was fifteen and at a friends birthday party. I went to the bathroom and found blood in my underwear. And as much as it pains me to admit it, I didn't know the brown goopy substance in my panties was blood. It took me the better part of an hour of pondering to figure out what was going on. And then do you know what I did?

I hid it because, well, I was ashamed. I had watched my step-father tease my mother for being on the "rag", which is in its self a rather unpleasant name. He would refer to my premenstrual mother as a crabby bitch, blame everything on her PMS, and make fun of her whenever she bought tampons.

So can't you see why I wouldn't want to tell anyone? I felt ashamed that I had a vagina, and I can honestly blame that shame on the way people like my step-father objectified anything vagina related.

A few months later my younger sister Mindy had her first period, but because I hid my first period everyone assumed she was the first of my sisters and I to start menstruating. I was OK with that because it gave me a chance to see how everyone would react, which I consider nothing short of a disaster.

First, my mother got on the phone and called everyone, and I mean everyone. Now, being a mother myself I understand the need to gossip about your kids. But when a girl gets her first period, that's a difficult moment in life for her. The last thing she wants to see is you, the mother she confides in, babbling to the world her very private information. I was mortified that my mother would call my aunt and my grandmother and tell them. I was too ashamed of having a period to let anyone know, but there my mom was breaking my sister's trust and sharing it with the whole world. What would come next? Pictures on the internet of the whole ordeal? As confused as I was by keeping my first period a secret, I was glad at that moment I chose the lonely path versus a national broadcast.

And you think that would have been enough for a young girl, but then my mother sent my sister with my step-dad to buy her first box of maxi pads. I'm not an expert or anything, but I'd say my mom really fucked up on that one. How could she send my sister off with a man who's personal logo was "don't trust anything that bleeds for a week and doesn't die" to purchase her first box of feminine hygiene products?

Because of that experience I hid my menstruation from my family for a year, a whole fucking year. Do you know what that can do to a girl?

For me, that was a very confusing time, and if my mother had simply taken a moment to sit me down and discuss vaginas in a safe environment, maybe she could have told me having a period was not as big a deal as she made it out to be, maybe she could have taught me the basics of vaginas and why they can be so spectacular, maybe they could have covered it in school. Just imagine a class called Vaginas 101: everything you need to know.

But you know what else would have been great? If I had an outside source to turn to, like maybe I could have used a friendly reference in a magazine I often read when I was younger, like Seventeen!

But not even Seventeen, a magazine dedicated to young girls of the proper age, can get the vagina thing right. Their first mistake was referring to it as a va-jey-jey. Are they trying to tell young girls through subliminal messages that "yes indeed, you should be so ashamed of your vagina that you can't even call it what it is."

I couldn't bare to buy the magazine so I could see what the article said, but the topic was "Your va-jey-jey, ten things you didn't know about your girlie parts."

I know it's illegal to put a vagina on the cover of a magazine unless it's sold in a porn store, or with a big black cover over it, but is it illegal to put the word vagina on the cover of a magazine? Is that why Seventeen feels the need to sugarcoat the topic.

That title should have read, "Your vagina, ten things your mother should have told you."

Seriously people, our youth do not need a sugar coating, they need the raw and unprocessed truth. I can't imagine the number of STD cases and teen pregnancies that could be prevented every year if only parents were more willing to toss the sugar coating and give their teenagers the cold hard facts straight up, no ice.

I know this because I became pregnant as a teenager. And do you know why? It wasn't just because I was having sex, it was also because I was so ashamed of my vagina I was too afraid to get on birth control.

OK, it wasn't so much the birth control that scared me, but the process a girl has to go through to get it. Mainly, pap smears. And for a girl who hid her period from her family for a whole year, opening her legs up so a stranger can poke around is a really scary thought.

So we tried condoms, but I think all of us can remember back to a time when we were teenagers, weren't we stupid? I'd think to myself, I just had my period last week, so I'm OK to have unprotected sex this week. Boy was I am idiot.

I've also discovered that teenage boys are not raised to feel ashamed of their penis' the way girls are of their vaginas. Heck, young boys are encouraged to enjoy the pleasures a penis can give them. Take the movie American Pie for example. remember the part where the dad gives porn to his younger son? But you never see a mother sitting down with her daughter to give her her first vibrator.

When my ex-husband got the sex talk from his father it went like this:

"Son, sex is good."

When my step-dad sat me down and gave me "the talk" it went something like this:

"Don't be a tramp, keep your legs closed."

Does anyone else see a problem with this? While he was told that sex was good I was told sex made me a tramp. Geeze, no wonder I got knocked up at seventeen. Hell, if my step-dad had told me not to jump off a bridge I would have done it just to piss him off. I guess being a rebellious teenager didn't work out so well for me though.

Now I'm older, I've gone out and searched for the sexual education my mother should have given me. I've discovered a period is not the mark of the devil, touching myself is OK, men like my step-dad are pigs who will eventually end up with a bad case of the clap, and we (as a society) need cut the va-jey-jey, sexual education is not a place for sugar coatings.

This is what I call kissing ass...

I was just spending a few minutes of company time to check up on one of my favorite blogs, where I discovered a lovely and charitable project I'd like to be a part of here. So everyone, cross your fingers and take a look at what is going on in the blog world.

Remember, it's for a good cause.

Why am I such an idiot?

No, I do not want you to answer that.

but seriously now, I've been known to be a bit of a space cadet. I loose things, confuse things, and forget other things. Like yesterday, remember how I got locked out of my house at six in the morning because I had the wrong key? Well, when I found the right key I made a point to put it in my backpack so I would be sure not to get locked out after work. Then, I made a point to tell myself over and over through out the day to put that key from my backpack into my purse. And guess what, I forgot.

SO, once again at some ungodly hour of the morning I found myself locked out of the house again, in a pair of stiletto heels, and stinking of , well never mind that...

So again I had to wake my sister up so she could let me in, and boy was she pissed. I don't know how Dan wakes up next to her every morning; maybe it's the high dose of Valium. Although, I can't blame her for being annoyed. I would be too if my airhead of a sister locked her self out of the house twice in a row and I had to climb my ass out of bed to help her.

I think my problem with remembering my key is that I am not use to the door of my mothers house being locked. So naturally, the last thing on my mind is remembering to grab that friggin' key before I run off to Mack's house for the night. But no worries, I have a fail proof solution, belly button piercing key chain! Now, I just have to make sure my belly can reach the door knob.


Like cough syrup for the soul...

For me, there is nothing in this world that can lift my spirits more than talking to an old friend. I just got off the phone with Sam from Chiks on the hill. I once upon a time did photography with them. That is, until I went crazy and had to isolate myself from everyone so I could get my shit together.

But it was so very fantastic to speak with Sam about the Chiks, and how things have been for him and Eva. And if I am lucky, they can forgive me for my rude period of absence and give me a chance to shoot with them again. I got some of my best work out of their studio, and I hope I'll get a second chance at making some great art.

Once a mother in law, always a mother in law...

There is a special place in my heart, it's cold and damp and dark. this is the place I keep my love for Josie. Josie is my ex-husband's mother. My ex-husband, being the responsible twenty eight year old adult that he is, still lives with his mommy.

Seriously Ken, it's time you cut the damn umbilical cord. You are too old to have your mommy wash your undies.

In all honesty, I don't give a damn if my ex-husband spends the rest of his life under the umbrella of his mother, but I do have a problem with his mother thinking she is my son's mother, instead of me. I distinctly remember the kid pushing his way out of my vagina, not hers. This gives me final say.

So why is it that every other week that woman calls me to question my parenting skills? Just this week she called to ask if anything had happened to my son at my house because in the last two weeks he has not wanted to come visit me. It was very hard for me not to tell her to shove it and hang up the phone.

For as great a caregiver as this woman claims to be, I have to wonder why she doesn't get that maybe my son would rather stay with her because she lets him get away with murder. That, and they have the more expensive toys. It's so true what they say about buying your kid's love.

Just think about it. Wouldn't you rather stay at grandmas house, where they submit to your every fancy, where the living room is full of expensive toys, where they wipe your ass for you? Or would you rather go to mom's house, where you have to pick up after yourself, eat what the rest of the family is eating for dinner, and God forbid, wipe your own ass?

Some day, when he grows up and knows how to wash his own laundry, he'll thank me. Because, unlike my ex-husband, when my son is in my care I am the one caring for him. I don't pawn him off on my mother while I play my flight simulator and read car magazines. I don't distract him with television so I can Google the web for my next get rich quick scheme. I am by his side smothering him with my love and attention. I'm the one who gives him time out, teaches him how to brush his teeth and bathe with soap, and I do it all because I love him.

There are few people in this world that I have loved as much as my son, so when someone insinuates that I would allow anyone to hurt my child, it really pisses me off. I do everything in my power to make sure my son is safe and healthy and happy. And if anyone ever so much as thought to do wrong to him I'd have to break every bone in their body with a sledge hammer.

No, that was not sarcasm, as I have recently purchased a sledge hammer. I keep it next to my bed.

So, to my nosy and pushy ex-mother in law, I have many things to say. But mostly, I'd just like to tell her to shove it up her ass.

It's too early to have so much trouble...

Let me start off by saying Happy fucking Valentine's Day. Do you know that it is only 7:51 in the morning and I have already dealt with a number of problems, starting at six o'clock this morning when I got locked out of my house in my pajamas. I had nothing but a soaking wet pair of house slippers on my feet and it was snowing like crazy. What a wake up call.

And then when I got to work this morning I realized I forgot my badge, so I was locked out of the building. What is it with me and getting locked out? I am also locked out of my program at work (still) which destroys any possibility of me being productive today. Now, I'm not complaining about the fact that I get paid to sit around here and blog all day, I'm just a tad bit worried they will can my ass if I don't start contributing.

Maybe I could clean some toilets or something?


No, I'm not mad, I'm torn...

Yesterday was not a good day. I mean, it started out just fine, but a few hours into work I began to feel very sick to my stomach. And do you know what is worse than throwing up in a public bathroom? I'm thinking it's worse when a co-worker comes in and catches you doing it.

So there I am with fresh vomit breath, red in the face, and I have to venture all over the building to find my boss and let him know I am going home. I do eventually find him, check out, and wait forty minutes for my grandmother and son to get me.
And then I discovered something even worse that your co-worker catching you blowing chunks in the bathroom.

Riding in my grandmother’s car with a stomachache, lets not forget she cleans that thing with vinegar every week. Ugh. I hardly made it home.

So then I lie in bed all day and watch bad TV with pains in the pit of my stomach that won't let me take a nap, and my mother comes home. She had an envelope from the child support people. In the envelope was a letter explaining how much back support my father owes her for all those years. Get this, it was some ninety-four thousand dollars. They were offering her a smaller lump sum to settle it. Of course, this was the talk of house and every five minutes either my mother or my sister were asking me what I thought she should do.

But here is my problem with that. My mother getting her money means me never ever in my life having even the smallest hope of having a relationship with my father. But what can I do? My mother deserves this money. Lets face it, my father was a bit of a douche bag who didn't hold up to his responsibilities. But on the other hand, the one thing that makes me feel so damn incomplete in this world is the fact that I don't know my father. I want a chance to get to know my father.

I do not want to stand at my father's funeral, look down at his grave, and not know who he is.

But with my mother settling all that back child support he owes her, I'm quite sure he'll have it out for us. After all, ninety-four thousand dollars is a lot of money for a man like my father.

So, if I have to accept this ,but at the least my family could to not involve me in there excite fest over the situation. While they are all in the mood to celebrate, I'd rather mourn.


Being the editor of the household...

My sister writes a lot of papers for her college courses and it's my job to check them for grammar and punctuation. This means I get a college education vicariously through her; do I get any credits for that? I'll take a masters, please...

Most of the papers she writes are boring, factual, and full of big words I don't understand; I doubt she understands them either. The simple fact is, I hate proofreading her work. The only reason I continue to do it is because some day, when she is on stage accepting her PHD, I can say, "If I hadn't changed that comma to a semi-colon in your paper about the speed of light you wouldn't be here today!"

Not to mention, proofreading is about the only thing I am useful for around here. I know, I know, you're probably thinking about that post last week where I used an improper junction. I'm only human, but I'm still the only human in my household who understands the difference between a noun and a verb.

But let me tell you about this paper. To put it bluntly, my sister is an idiot to have me proofread it. Hmmm, I am suddenly reminded of that time in high school when she did my math homework and I got an F; payback is way past due.

She was writing a paper on interpersonal communication, and for this paper she had to use a specific example of an interpersonal communication problem she has had. Now, for a woman who is married to a man who wears his (and this is a direct quote people) "shit eating grin" more than any other grin, you would think she could use a marital argument for the thesis of her paper. That was not the case at all. She blames that on the fact that she doesn't think her professor would appreciate a paper depicting conversations full of F bombs and references to their genitalia.

For the record, that is a paper I would love to read. If I were a professor I'd give it extra credit.

Instead, she wrote the damn thing on a little something I like to call "the war on dishes." Meaning, our kitchen is always a disaster, that, and no one likes doing the dishes. Of course, she writes herself as the innocent angle who is constantly scrubbing pans and licking peanut butter off the counter. My mother was described as a ranting lunatic who never appreciates her hard work. But lets not forget about me. She made me sound like that obnoxious teenage sister who is too busy tramping around and partying all night long to pick up after myself.

Not only did she exaggerate a dust devil of a situation to make it sound like a tornado of a disaster, but she also made up false evidence to support her argument. Now, isn't this why we all hate Bush?

I'm going to remember that when she is running for president...

For a moment I was seriously considering sabotage. It would have been so easy to change all the commas to colons, or add a few dirty words, and she never would have noticed.

But damn that conscious of mine! Why do I have to been such a good willed person? I blame it on my mother for giving me all those values.

About wifes....

My son was watching PBS because, well, kids are the only reason there is PBS (except for old people). His cartoon had ended and some elderly gentleman with some lame talk show came on the screen. He was talking about something he had done and said to the viewers, "My wife is going to kill me." with a chuckle and sarcasm in his voice.

This got my son's attention. "Did you hear that? He said his wife is going to kill him!" My five year old remarked and then began the kind of laugh only a child possessed by the devil would laugh.


As if that laugh wasn't enough he goes on, "I hope my wife doesn't kill me! She probably won't kill me, but she will argue with me. Wives like to argue with their husbands."

Isn't that a lesson most guys don't figure out until they actually get married? My grandmother was right, this kid is smart.

Weenit's conversation of the day...

My Grandmother was holding up a puzzle she bought for my son and asked me, "Has he put this together yet?"

Because she is hard of hearing I had to scream my response, "Yes he has Grandma."

"Well," she said as she shook the box full of pieces, "Did he do a good job?"

"He finished it, so I would say so." I yelled back, hoping not to wake the sleeping beast (my son).

"Wow, he is just so smart, I don't know where he gets it from."

Ouch Grandma, that was a low blow!


Not for the faint of heart....

So there I am last night lying in bed trying so damn hard to get to sleep, and even after a Lunesta and half a Trazadone I was wide awake. So what do I do? Naturally, I pull out my favorite toy and decide to have a more personal moment. Things were getting hot and heavy, I had this great fantasy about Charlize Theron and the male materialization of me going at it when suddenly I heard a loud snapping sound. Suddenly, the good vibrations of my favorite pink toy ceased.

Mother fucker! And really, at a moment like that, it's all I could think.

So I reached into my reserves and pulled out my Rock Chick, but it had no batteries, so I dug into my atomic plutonium drawer to find some and wouldn't you know I had every size of battery but the size I needed?

So there I am, a sexualy frustrated girl with a broken vibrator and a great fantasy of Charlize Theron going to waste. What was I to do? The dog and peanut butter? No, I don't have a dog. The shower head? No, the water pressure is a bit too rough for me. The electric tooth brush? No, the bristles hurt.

BTW, I'm just kidding... About the dog anyways.

So here I am today, and everyone at work keeps asking me why I am so grouchy. I want to tell them that I am a sexually frustrated insomniac who spent the better part of my night talking sweetly to my vibrator in hope that some divine intervention would fix it so I could get off and pass out" but according to some employee manuals that can be considered sexual harassment. So instead I keep telling them all I have a severe case of explosive diarrhea because I just want to be left alone in my dark corner cube. And you would think diarrhea would be a great people propellant, right? Wrong! I bet they would still bother me even if I had the Ebola Virus or some infectious zombie virus!

Ugh! Can't a girl get a little peace around her at Sun?

Weenit's conversation of the day...

My sisters Raquel, Mindy, and their husbands Ron and Dan, and myself were driving back from Greeley after having lunch with my grandfather. we drove past an old farmhouse that had a sign outside that "Palm reading, five dollars."

With a car full of my siblings, can't you imagine the mockery?

Raquel: "Lets go get our palms read."

Mindy (as she points to a long line in her hand): "I don't need to have my palms read, I already know they will tell me my husband will be a pain in my ass for the rest of my life."

Dan: "Yeah, well they would just tell me my wife's ass will keep bigger every year of my life."

Mindy (as she smacks Dan): "Baby!"

Dan (laughing and giving her the eating shit grin): "What? It's the best investment I have; I get a ten percent increase in growth every year!"

I'm so glad you are not my Valentine...

We all know how much I hate V'day. But that aside, I have heard some rather amusing suggestions for Valentine gifts for men that make me want to squeal, and not in a good way. Lets go through the list shall we...

The first gift was suggested by a man who apparently has Valentine's day and birthday confused. He suggested buying your boyfriend VIP bottle service for him and his friends at a trendy club downtown. What? Lets start with the first problem to this gift, where is the girlfriend? I don't know about your man, but I'm sure mine would much rather spend the evening wrapped up under the sheets with me than getting drunk with his friends. And unless his buddies are all gay, I think it would be safe to assume they'll be out with their ladies doing couples things, and not because they wouldn't enjoy a night out slamming whiskey on someone else's wallet and checking out broads, but because if they want to keep their woman around they had better spend it with her. After all, we all know on V'day it's the ladies who run the show.

Now lets move on to a second awful suggestion, shall we? This love nymph suggested the traditional sex game because that is, apparently, what a man really wants.

No way! You mean, he wants to get laid?

Seriously, all women know their man wants some on this special day. And unless things go drastically wrong, or God forbid, you're saving it for marriage, the night will end in fornication. And trust me when I say this, men care about silly boxed sex games bought at places like Spencers just about as much as they care about your bra, they don't. they may play along, tell you it's hot, but in the end they just want to toss it on the floor and get down to business. The end!

Besides, any toys used in the process of doing it should never be bought at a place like Spencers. I would recomend Fascinations or Romantix or anyplace that has certified dildo specialists on hand to answer any of your questions.

And last, but by far not least on the ridiculous scale, is the dude who suggested getting your mate a "box of rain." People, this guy is obviously a hippie. He describes the box of rain as a small wooden box with a small vile of water in it.

What? Did I read that right? Some guy actually suggested this as a gift for another guy? What in the hell would someone do with something like that?

Oh, right, the receiver is suppose to keep it on their dresser as a constant reminder of you. The only thing that would remind me of is how much I really do hate the person who gave it to me. Maybe I am missing something here, but I don't get what the messages is that tiny vile of water inside that tiny wooden box is suppose to relay. I would just assume it means, "Some day, my love, I will drowned you in a tub of water and bury you in a box in our back yard. Don't ever forget it." Yikes.

Fucking hippies.

I'll never truly submit to the traditions this holiday has become, and though I know it's all a bunch of Hallmark hogwash, I'll not take the millions of suggestions to just ignore it and pretend it's just another boring day. Why? Because everyone likes to feel special. So maybe I'll whip Mack up some of my awesome strawberry shortcake, cook a few steaks, and find some cheesy romance flick to cuddle up next to with a good bottle of champagne. It's simple, painless, and to the point.


Weenit's conversation of the day...

A good friend of mine was nice enough to share with me this story. For the sake of her grace names have been replaced...

Crazy girl to me on the phone. "The cute guy I am dating use to live across from me in the dorm about three years ago. He had a girlfriend back then and when ever I saw him in the elevator or something he was always wearing his headphones so I would never stop him and say hi. Instead, I would stand behind him and make obscene gestures and whisper to my friends about how much I wanted to bone him."

Me: "Of course you did."

Crazy girl: "Well, I was talking to his roommate and he told me that even though cute guy was always wearing his head phones they were not always on."

Me: "So, he heard you talking dirty? He knew all along you had a crush on him?"

Crazy girl: "Yep. He heard everything, he knew all along."

if there is anything I learned today it's that a pair of headphones is more useful without the Ipod.

Dodging a bullet...

I just finished my one on one with that behemoth of a woman wearing an awful Christmas sweater with snowmen decals. Turns out those snowmen are actually retarded penguins.

Naturally, those penguins were a bit distracting. As I sat next to her wondering what terrible genetic disorder might have befallen those poor decals she was covering some very vital information, including two new assignments I am to begin working on right away. Then she told me if I had any questions at all to make sure and ask her because no question is a dumb question.

Really? Like, are those albino penguins?

Anyways, I found myself back at my desk completely dazed and confused, mostly because I really wasn't paying attention during our meeting this morning. Turns out the stuff covered was vital to our first assignment but I have one of those very short attention spans. I constantly feel like a shark caught in a large school of shiny fish, and who can listen to some crazy woman talk for two hours in monotone with all those shiny fish? Not me, and that is why when I got back to my desk I had no idea what to do.

So I consulted a co-worker who has been doing this very same work for the last three days because even though my boss said I could ask her any question I have, I know she would not much appreciate it if I said, "Excuse me, but while you were showing us your lovely and elaborate presentation about RFQ's I was busy imagining just how nice Vin Diesel's ass would feel with my hand cupped around it, so could you please go over everything again?"

Needless to say, it's a good thing my co-worker knew what to do. But of course, I don't have access to the key program I need to perform my tasks. And at that moment I felt like, "Wow! Jesus really does love me!" because now I have a good excuse for not getting anything done.

And no, I'm not talking about Jesus the gardener.

So now I have the whole weekend to find myself some training aids and figure out what I missed during this morning's meeting, I hope someone has some training aids or I am so SOL come Monday. And just in case it comes to this, at my funeral I would like to be buried with my Augusten Burroughs books and a night lite.

Be afraid, be very afraid...

I just spent two hours zoning out into random dream sequences while we had a meeting. And now I have to go sit in an office with the world's scariest boss ever, and show her what I remember from the meeting. Damn, if only Vin Diesel didn't have such a fine ass I could have concentrated on the presentation and not my X rated fantasies about rubbing up on it.

Damn you Vin Diesel and your perfect ass!

I can't lie, this lady scares me, and not just because she always looks like she got dressed in the dark. She is mean, and when you combine mean with a bad Christmas sweater worn in February it equals me being seriously distracted by miniature snowmen decals while I get my ass verbally assaulted because I don't know what the hell I am doing. Who wears ugly Christmas sweaters, and in February? I thought those things were around just to take up space in your closet and remind you how much the giver of that sweater really hates you.

And now the heat is on. Our little vacation here at Sun is over and the work is flowing in like a tsunami on Japan, and here I am without a raft, Holy ugly Christmas sweater! I better clean up my dirty mind, get myself some damn ginseng, and take some notes.


Hi Mom!

Sometimes, my mother really pisses me off, and it's because I love her and she knows I love her that I can say this. After she has a glass or two of wine she gets a bit mean, or cantankerous, if you will. When she gets in this mood it's best I not be around because she thinks up the rudest thing she can think of to say and out her mouth it comes because she thinks she is funny. But she is so not funny.

And when I let her know how unbearable it is to put up with her any longer she accuses me of being too sensitive, but if your mother asked you, "What are you taking advantage of this new guy you are dating for this time?" I hardly doubt you would find her amusing.

Aside from the obvious insinuation that I take advantage of people, asking your daughter something like that with a smirk on your face and a giggle in your tone is nothing short of cuntish (note, I'm not calling my mother cuntish, but the act itself).

I could hardly function when I heard such a nasty slur come out of her mouth, and she insisted she was just teasing, but for me that hit a bit too close to home. Maybe because it helped me realize how very little my own mother knows me. Or maybe, just maybe, because the last man I really liked was scared off by her drunken slurs and harsh accusations. But of course, she was just teasing then as well she said. But seriously, do you know that she told him I had an STD?

How in the hell is that funny?

And, no joking, I never saw him again. Thanks Mom, really. Can't you just let me mess up my relationships myself? I am more than qualified for the job.

Pfft... Like I would tell her if I had an STD. She would probably do the same thing she did when my sister got her first period, call EVERYONE including the local news. And people wonder where I got my big mouth from?

I guess the thing is, I just don't understand what goes on in my Mother's head after she has one or two glasses of wine. Is she bitter or angry about something? Did I once upon a time say or do something to her to deserve this? I know I'm a tad ornery at times, I may make fun of her shag mullet, but never would I say such vicious things.

Because mullets are funny, and STD's are not (except crabs, they are a little funny).

So I'm thinking next time my mother is sipping on her garbage juice I'll slip a Lunesta or two her way, that way she'll pass the fuck out and shut the hell up.

Sorry Mom, but I am told talking about the things that bother you is a good form of therapy, and sometimes you bother me when you drink, so I am going to talk about it. Aren't you glad you raised such a fine and reserved blogger? Love you...

Why we love the British and the News....

Ever check out Dooce.com? If not, go and enjoy. And normaly I don't try to take things from other people's blogs, but I really thought this video was funny. I wish James had a british accent.

And, if that is not enough why don't you go listen to what this news reporter has to say about cocks. Just awesome.

My job is getting in the way of my blogging...

I've been here five weeks, and today was the FIRST day I had any work to do, but that assignment only lasted me and my team about three hours.

Think of all the blogging I could have been doing...

And now I hear rumors of another assignment I may have. Another assignment? I thought I was getting paid to do nothing; I don't believe work was in my job description.

And now I worry I may not be qualified to do the assignments they are giving me. Sitting on my ass, that, I am very well qualified to do, but looking through spread sheets? That means I need to use a brain function or two, crap!


Found it...

Why I love Youtube!

This is what I have been doing to keep myself busy all day folks!

Take that Hallmark!

Valentine's Day is soon upon us...

I want to run screaming for the hills. I hate this day. I know, you're thinking "Oh no, she is one of those Hallmark holiday fun hatters who never has a date on Valentine's Day so she is cold and bitter."

This is not my problem. I have spent only a few Valentine Days alone; in fact, I've had the best of both worlds. I've had a few great ones and a few very shitty ones, and none of them have any weight on my decision to be a Valentine Day hater. What I really hate about the holiday is all the cuteness. Like I have said a million times before, I hate cuteness. And Valentine's Day is so fucking full of it with all those pink and red stuffed animals and chocolates in a heart shaped box. And lets not forget all those tacky cards with bad one liners and half assed poems on the insides.

Because really, any gift I would enjoy can only be bought at a store where you have to be 18 or older with a valid ID.

But is this really how we are suppose to show our love for one another? And what if you're not in love? What if you are in a situation like mine, where you have just started dating someone, then what? Suddenly, this holiday comes along and you have all this pressure on you to be in love, fall in love, and say you are in love. All that pressure just builds up and makes you feel obligated to say and do things you may not want to, like buy a dozen roses for a girl who's eye color you don't even know.

Why can't we all just agree to ban this holiday from our calendars and promise to show each other we love them every day, instead of just once a year. Just think about it. What if you did one small act of love for your sweetheart everyday? Like putting an "I love you" note in with his lunch, or sending her a mid day dirty email about how hot you think she is. Little things like this would take a minute or two tops, put a smile on everyones face, and in the end we all would get a lot more love than if we tried to cram it all into just one crappy day. Plus, it's crap like that which gets you laid, not a box full of cheap chocolates.

And that, people, is why I hate this holiday. Unless you ask my shrink, she'll tell you I am just afraid of intimacy. But fuck her and her PHD.

Morning world...

I was late to work today because that buttface of a co-worker of mine, the one who is generous enough to drive me to work, decided twenty minutes after we should have been here that he had no intention of coming. To make a long story short, I was almost an hour late and missed a meeting where my boss was telling every one "Don't be late!"

And to make this day better I am to go have coffee with Alex, who I dated once upon a time. Alex disappeared from the world for a while there until Monday he sent me an IM out of the blue. He was quite persistent on catching up with me. But me, being the bitch I can be, hounded him about his mysterious disappearance. He, of course, had all the right excuses about not having my number and being very busy. I knew this was all a bunch of crap so I asked him why he wanted to see me again, and do you know what he said?

He said I was one of the few people who touched his heart. What a bunch of crap, it's probably something more like I was one of the few people to touch his cock. Maybe he thinks he'll get lucky again? Ha, so not going to happen. And I only agreed to meet with him for a quick cup of coffee so he would be forced to look me in the eyes and admit to me he stopped calling because he started banging another girl. And then I can punch him in the face. I guess I don't really need to punch him in the face, I was over it almost before it ended. Maybe I can just give him the evil eye and pretend my feelings are very hurt. Then he will have to feel bad.

But somehow I get the feeling none of that will happen because once I agreed to meet him I informed him I was seeing someone so anything between us would be strictly platonic. He said that was cool and he would email me to confirm and make arrangements. I get the feeling he won't be sending me an email.

And that, ladies, is what I like to call a wanker.