Weenit.blogspot.com

I had anther bizarre dream last night...

2011-03-30T13:14:00.001-06:00

It's been a while since I've dreamed about zombies. These is something so psychological, yet so frightening about these very specific dreams that makes me enjoy them so much. Though my life is in constant danger and I spend the whole dream running and afraid, it also makes me feel very alive. Though in this particular zombie dream there were also tigers, but I'll get to them in a minute. The dream started in the streets with zombie people grabbing and clawing at me, they were much closer to me than they usually get in these dreams. I was with a group of strangers and one man in the group told us he knew a safe place. He lead us to an apartment building where he lived. There were cops and military men outside fighting off zombies. We went inside and took stairs to his floor. When we opened the door to his floor things got a bit weird. Instead of each apartment being segregated by a long hall and locking doors the whole floor was completely opened up. Each apartment was sectioned off by counters and stair rails, but you could stand in the kitchen or living room of any given apartment and yell across the floor to your neighbors. We struggled trying to figured out witch apartment we were looking for considering none of them were marked. We were worried we might enter the wrong apartment and intrude on a hiding tenant who might mistake us for zombies. Eventually the man who led us to his apartment shows up and directs us to his apartment where he begins to disperse household items for use in self defense against the zombies. Things like knives and scissors and other solid hard objects were handed out. I ended up with a knife which I was concerned wasn't sharp enough. All of the items were close range impact weapons and I couldn't help but think I wish I had a gun or something that I could use to defend myself from them zombies at a distance so I didn't have to get so close.
It was about this point in my dream that zombies began to work their way into the building. I was trying to stab them in the heart or neck with my knife but I felt like I just couldn't get enough force to make my attacks effective. So I kept looking for other sharper knives. Then suddenly my sister was there. She had been bit by a zombie and was turning into one. She started to come after me so I attacked her with my knife in the chest. She went down and then it seemed like suddenly we had our hold back on the building. I realized without further defense the zombies would end up taking over eventually so I went and got us two tigers. The dream did not describe how or where I got the tigers, I just suddenly had them. Around the outside area of the building was a fence so we kept the tigers outside near two swimming pools. the idea was that if zombies got over the fence the tigers would eat them. It worked. The zombies were no longer a threat to me, but now the tigers were. I suddenly had a whole new set of problems. I was afraid of the tigers turning and attacking on me, they were pooping all over the place including in one of the pools. And then we were not sure how we would feed them. I ended up giving them pretzels, bread, and frozen hamburger meat as a meal shortly before I woke up from this dream.
When I did finally wake up I had a pounding headache, as I often do when I was such intense dreams for such a prolonged period of time.

Bostons don't like camping...

2011-02-24T17:19:00.001-07:00

Niamh ( pronounced Neav) is snubbing me while Annibell tries to get the dirt out of her eyes. What a couple of pussies.

Annibell, so smart...

2010-04-28T09:18:00.006-06:00

OK, maybe I lie. I wonder where I went wrong?

Dear drunk insurance lady...

2010-04-20T17:48:00.002-06:00

I'm sure you have all seen one of those moments where two girls are fighting because one girl hit on the other girls boyfriend. Kind of like this... (P.S. This video is so not appropriate for work)

Yep, that was almost me, almost. If only I had an ounce of fight in me. Sadly, I'm full of hugs and marshmallows and rum, none of which are good for putting sleazy insurance ladies in their place. Also, I probably would have lost and, dammit, I'm too pretty for jail!

Anyways, my point is this, I've never understood the whole "two girls fighting over a boy" thing before. I've seen it happen, I've been mistaken for a sleazy insurance lady before, and I always thought it was a jealousy thing. I don't believe in jealousy. I think it's more a symptom of an underlying emotion rather than it's own emotion. For example, if a girl sees another girl hit on her boyfriend she might feel jealous because she is insecure in her relationship and with herself and worries her boyfriend might just go for the bait.

Except there I was at some smokey giddy up bar in Coalville with my super handsome boyfriend when he ran into the girl who handles his family's insurance account. And do you know what she did? After my boyfriend introduced us? While I was standing right there? She hit on him! as in flirting and body language and standing too close and, seriously, wtf? Who does that? Anyways, I won't lie, it pissed me off. And not because I was jealous but because it was completely disrespectful.

So now I get the whole, "Bitch, stay away from my man" thing. I suddenly feel humbled. I'm bringing the dog's spray bottle with us to the bar next time just in case we run into that girl again. Someone needs to teach her a lesson.

Dear Virgin Mobile...

2010-03-30T14:42:00.002-06:00

Please go fuck yourself. Without lube. Just you and your dry flaky hand.

In fact, I bet that is what you're doing right now, instead of fixing my broken service. What else could you have been doing for the last THREE months? Seriously, and every time I call about it things only get worse. Which leads me to believe you must just be fucking with me.

It's not nice, so knock it off please.

All I want is to be able to drunk text people and receive their responses, is that too much to ask? seriously, text messaging is a very ineffective tool if it only works one way. I feel like a deaf person having a verbal conversation with someone else. They may be picking up what I'm laying down but I'll be damned if I have any clue what's going on.

This sucks.

Weenit does 24hrs of Lemons (a picture blog).

2010-03-10T16:42:00.020-07:00

So there I was in this amazing city called San Francisco, I'm sure you've heard of it, somewhere on the west coast? California? No? Not ringing any bells? Wikipedia it and lets move on...

So there I was in the gorgeous city with the boyfriend drinking something called a Ramos Fizz, yeah, it's a fucking cocktail with a raw egg in it. You wouldn't think liquor and raw egg mixed well but there are apparently many things I need to learn.

Anyways, there we were drinking Ramos Fizz in my newest favorite city in the USA. It was awesome. And hot, as in sexy hot, not hot hot, it is San Francisco in march after all.

then the very next day I follow Justin to the 24 hours of Lemons competition, and all the class and beauty of San Francisco went out the window, or exhaust...

Yes ladies and gentlemen, that is a grown man wearing a diaper, on the OUTSIDE of his pants! Who has the number to FailBlog? This is what 24 hours of lemons is all about.

Watching a lemons race is a lot like watching a gay pride festival. Except, there are race cars instead of floats, and rednecks and gear heads instead of gays. I'm still trying to decide which one gets weirder. More on that later.

The basic rule of Lemons is that your car must be a complete piece of shit. For example...

Yeah, that thing is a race car, as in, it actually drove in the race... Fast. However, I think the license plate is new...

And they had a very frightened passenger...

Here are a few other Lemons cars...

The side of the Mini says, "100% free or BMW parts." Also free of windows, passengers seats, any class at all...

Ever wonder what they do with the old demolition cars? Now you know.

this one I just don't get.

Yeah, Lemons.

Officially, this is the fastest hot dog I have ever seen, ever.

On the side of their car it said, "Pilots do it better!" Too bad their car crapped out at the beginning of the race.

Read the bumper stickers on this one and you'll know why it was my favorite Lemons float, I mean race car.

Here is the boyfriends race car, also known as the most boring lemons car ever. Agreed. But the driver was hot. No really, covered in sweat.

Yeah, that, not a Lemons car. It's stupid enough, just not shitty enough. Also, I'm willing to bet it's full of nerdy Asians, or midgets. They are the only people that could ever fit in that thing. Or maybe kids, smart kids.

By far, my favorite part of the Lemons race was the penalties. Unlike Nascar, Lemons makes you complete annoying, time wasting tasks before they will let you back out on the track. One wall was covered in penalty options.

This penalty is called the "Bart Simpson". The offending team had to write a phrase of the judges choice on there car fifty times.

"I'm a big poopie head." And "I will not pass under yellow."

This guy had to write, "I drive a race car, not a lawn mower." I guess Lemons doesn't like it when you drive in the grass. Lesson learned.

This next one is called the Bob Ross. They make you don a silly wig and paint a picture on your car from a Bob Ross picture book.

These guys did an amazing job considering...

This is called the chain gang...

In the end the Alice In Wonderland team won. I guess that's what happens when you take your Lemons racing so serious.

Excuse me, who parked their sheep here? Yeah, there were fucking sheep at the race. Mother. Fucking. Sheep.

This one wanted to eat me. I'm pretty sure sheep are evil.

Here are a few other awesome things I saw at the Lemons race. Powered by Black and Decker...

Kids on mechanical bulls. Dangerous? Or awesome? Both!

No Lemons race is complete without Evil Knievel. Wait, aren't all the drivers that get in those race cars kind of Evil Knievels?

Did I tell you how hot my boyfriend is? He is a beast, and this is his sexy face.

Long story short, 24 Hours of Lemons was awesome, weird, but awesome. A few other things I saw in San Francisco include the Golden Gate Bridge. I always wanted to see it, so now I have. Someone remind me to cross that off my bucket list.

And this one is for Lindsay. Rainbow tunnel. Of course you would San Francisco.

You're never safe in Fargo, ND...

2009-04-16T10:21:00.002-06:00

So, vacation is over, my relationship with Michael is over, and apparently, so is my good rapor with the crew scheduling guys.

I've been back to working reserve five days, and I have been stuck flying all five of those days! But I ran into my buddy Enrique and he's been on reserve all month and hasn't flown once...

Damn that island monkey!

Ok, I'm not racist, I'm just a little sad I have to go to Fargo today. Fargo is cold, and cold, and did I mention cold? Because it is very very cold. Plus, I still have to blog to you all about my fantastic vacation, meeting Heather Armstrong, and "the Break up". Did you know men don't like it when you tell them to man up on your blog? Well they don't, and I just don't give a damn!

I hope those Levees hold, I don't want to get stuck there like my baby sister was last month!

Anyways, I "should" be back tomorrow, at which time I "will" get around to posting lots of silly pictures of me and other various drunk people.

Conversation of the week...

2009-04-14T14:25:00.002-06:00

My sister Mindy and I were drinking cocktails after a rather inappropriate boat ride where my mother proceeded to show the "old ladies gone wild" side of herself after a few too many drinks when this conversation happened...

Me: "I think mom is one drink away from doing something she will wake up in the morning and regret."

Mindy: "Or one drink away from shitting herself." (long story, but it has happened before)

At this point our drunk mother comes stumbling up to us and Mindy holds her cocktail out to her with a grin on her face and says, "Hey mom, want another drink?"

Happy birthday to me! Come on, sing along everyone...

2009-04-07T13:36:00.002-06:00

Today is my 25Th birthday, you know what that means, right? Lower insurance premiums! So, the birthday curse has hit yet again, but I think the birthday goodness came out and kicked it's but all over the place. Things we not working as I planned, my family was giving me a migraine over everything, and I almost lost it. I came seconds away from canceling the trip and running through the streets with a machete dicing up mail boxes (isn't mental illness grand). Long story short, the BF won't be joining me in Havasu like planned, but aside from that things worked out.

And on top of it all I learned a few things. First of all, I may need to see a therapist. Second, I don't think the BF can man up when the going gets though and just enjoy it. Now I need to spend my vacation trying to decide if I have room for someone like that in my close and personal intimate life.

I'll be seeing you all in a week so I can tell you all about meeting my idol and interweb goddess Heather Armstrong of Dooce!

To call, or not to call?

2009-04-01T19:31:00.003-06:00

In July of last year I went somewhere far away and visited that boy from my past, you know, the one I use to dream about all the time. Anyways, I won't write much about that weekend because it's something I keep very private and very close to my heart. But I will tell you this, it helped me let go. I don't know why, and I don't know how, but submerging myself in his world helped me be OK with the fact that I'm not a part of his world. Maybe it was because his world is hot and sticky and full of mean people, city of brotherly love my ass!

Anyways, I got a bit drunk some time last week and found my way to his myspace. I ended up sending him an email that I instantly regretted the second I hit send. Dude, my computer totally needs a breathalyzer on it or something. Drunk dialing is bad enough but with email they have a written account of your debauchery to hold over your head.

Jesus save my soul!

Anyways, much to my surprise, said boy responded to my email with a very prompt "Your cell isn't working, call me!"

Call him? Oh God, why? What do I have to say to him? "Hey stranger, heard you were in town a few months after I came to see you, I called while you were here, kind of felt like you went out of your way to avoid me and my calls, why? Did I do something wrong or did you just have enough of me back at your place?"

I won't lie, a small part of me does want to call him, the part of me that thinks it has something to prove. But what do I have to prove? That I can go on without him? That it's been nearly eight months since I said goodbye to him and it hasn't even phased me. Yeah I bet that's it.

So I'm sure I'll spend the end of my evening tonight doing just what I have done every evening for the last week, sitting by the phone with a cocktail in one hand, the receiver in the other, dialing the first few digits of his number, and then hanging up. The number of drinks I have consumed directly correlates to the number of digits I successfully dial before my nerves get to me. Maybe tonight I'll go for one more cocktail and finally make that call so I can stop obsessing over it. And with any luck I'll get his voicemail and leave a message that he will, no doubt, never return.

It drives me bat shit insane that I've managed to distance myself from him so well in these recent months and still he is wasting my time and running circles in my head. It's moments like these that make me wonder if I did something wrong and karma is kicking me in the ass for it, or if I'm simply paying it forward for the great things to come.

Ok, it's time for mommy to have a much needed margarita...

Wow...

2009-04-01T19:01:00.005-06:00

So, it was like three months ago that I put up a post declaring my rebirth into the blogopshere, and since then, nothing. It took the reprimands of my close loved ones to get me a little focused.

"Bad blogger, naughty blogger, now go sit in the corner with your laptop and don't turn around until you have written something witty!" my mother said as she whipped me with a newspaper.

Ok, maybe it didn't quite go like that. Truth is, I sat down two months ago to write you all about what has been going on in my life but that post got so long and list-like that I forgot what I was doing and became distracted by something shinny.

So here is what happened to me in the last few months...

Some time before December 22: I get stupid drunk and snog with Photo Mike, which leads to us becoming "Us".

December 22: Tony wrecks his dads car after picking Rose and I up from the Sports Authority where we just bought wool socks for our snowboarding trip that next day. The impact broke two bones in my face, and broke my left ring finger in about ten different places. I still have not used my new board!

December 29Th: I have surgery to put my finger back together, and spend the next week or two lying in bed popping Vicodin and watching Vin Diesel movies. The surgery forces me to miss my New Years eve in New York watching the ball drop and drinking overpriced martinis at Manhattan's trendiest.

January: I think it's wise to acquire myself a cute little urinating poop factory we call Annabell, and consequently, I fall head over heads for my little pointer mix.

February: I get a huge tax return and buy a car. I'm not any good at this driving thing so wish me luck.

March: I have more surgery to remove some of the metal placed in my finger to hold the bits in place, more vicodin follows.

April 1st: I've recovered from the accident, aside from the lack of feeling in the top left side of my mouth, or the fact that my finger only bends sixty degrees. But if you can overlook all that, I guess you could say I'm recovered.

But more importantly, it's April fools day and no one has managed to pull a prank on me yet. Granted, I am huddled here in a corner keeping close watch out the window for AJ, or any of his little minions to come sneaking along.

P.S. Has anyone seen Google's April fools prank? Autopilot gmail, I love it!

Anyways, I guess now it's time to get back to real life. I've been sitting around the last three months recovering from this accident with little no more to do than google the names of every person I know that I've gotten so accustom to a little thing called sitting on my ass. Going back to work tomorrow is going to be tough on me, and my soft ass. Want to know what the most ironic thing about this whole situation is?

Next week I start my pre scheduled vacation.

But Popeye ate it.

2008-06-24T17:34:00.003-06:00

Five year olds don't like creamed spinach.

Who knew?

Funny thing is the little sprout would rather eat plain boring spinach than creamed spinach. Call me crazy but, I figured if I toss some cream cheese and Parmesan cheese on it he would like it better.

But of course, I forget, he hates cheese. The mention of the "C" word makes him vomit in his mouth. Is it just me or isn't cheese a weird thing for kids to hate? And more so for mine because he is half Italian. Don't those people love cheese so much they sleep with a block of Parmesan, or is that just my ex-mother in law? I mean, they put it on everything else, so why not their pillow?

Or their spinach?

Hew, speaking of Italian, some guy on our plane Sunday threw up pizza. It was amazing how far he projected it, pizza vomit was everywhere. It hit the ceiling, the walls, even other passengers who then began to throw up themselves. You know how dominoes work? The first one knocks over the second, which then gets the third? Yeah, it was like that on a plane, except the dominoes were people, and instead of falling over they were throwing up.

We were delayed an hour while the airport crew cleaned it up. And what's even better is that because of this one guy vomiting and causing everyone else to vomit some big country star missed his connecting flight to some place. I think his name was Jack Green from the Grand Ol' Oprey, but hell if I know who he was.

I bet if pizza vomit guy knew he was going to make Jack Green miss his flight and have to sit in a plane that stunk like pizza vomit he might have reconsidered eating the whole pizza. But not me, I would have had two.

Speaking of celebrities, my co-flight attendant thinks we had one of the guys from Office Space on our plane, though I could never figuere out which guy it was. When it comes to celebrities, I really suck. I mean, as much as I love Vin Diesel, he could bend me over the chair and take me from behind while he recites lines from Chronicles of Riddick and I still wouldn't reconize him.

My sister is gone...

2008-06-12T12:58:00.003-06:00

Can everyone say "Goodbye Mindy and Dan"?

How about a good 'ol Canadian "Eyh"?

If I wasn't so busy flying about the continent I might have a moment to miss her; that will just have to wait till I get home I suppose.

But really, my siblings and I have always been very close, geographically I mean. We never lived more than a few minutes apart, and I liked it that way. Even when I lived in the city, it was a short trek up or down the highway for a friendly hello, drink, joint, line of coke, ect... (I'm just kidding)

Mindy had to go and ruin that. She loaded up her shotgun, her snow pants, and plans for world domination. Oh, I almost forgot about her husband and the dog.

She took them as well.

but the worst so far was when they left.

We were all hugging goodbye, which I just happen not to do so well, and of course I teared up a bit. And what did my friends and family do?

Made fun of me, of course.

Don't blame them, blame their fathers for not hugging them enough as a kid. I most certainly do.

Pictionary made me do it...

2008-06-01T21:26:00.004-06:00

I spent my evening last night playing a four hour game of Pictionary with twelve of my closest relatives. First, let me start by saying that sitting for four hours and doing any single activity with my relatives is just asking for it. There was so much yelling, and tension, and insanity going on around me I can still hear a ringing in my ears.

Second, my God fearing and wholesome uncle, the one I can't talk about vaginas in front of, was sitting across the table from me when I pulled an "all play" card that read "skeet."

Do you guys know what a skeet is? I didn't, at least not what the word really means. The only meaning of "skeet" that I know is the slang meaning which refers to ejaculation.

Long story short, I thought I was screwed. I mean, I had a serious moral dilemma. I could draw the image of what I knew "skeet" to mean, and risk an execution, or I could toss my turn.

What do you guys think I did?

I drew a stripper on a stripper pole, and a man with a handful watching her (in stick figure art of course).

And my partner got it on the second guess! Yeah, I'm good.

And the best part, my uncle did not freak out and banish me from his house.

Good call Tamy, good call.

Weenit's quote of the day...

2008-05-31T10:58:00.002-06:00

As we were all sitting about the table with a few beers and discussing previous drunken mishaps, the topic of my sister's ability to always fall down the stairs when she is drunk came up.

And let me emphasize this special ability she has by saying that, if you are married and tend to often walk around with bruises covering your body, people do not believe you when you say you fell down the stairs.

But in my sister's case, it's the truth.

And somehow in the midst of our discussion my sister's husband said something that lit her fire and she proceeded to drunkenly threaten his physical well being.

His response to her threats of physical abuse was, "What are you going to do? Fall down the stairs at me?"

Single parents date too...

2008-05-23T10:47:00.006-06:00

There is something that has been festering inside of me like one of those little alien babies waiting to burst out of my belly.

When we broke up, Mack pulled the kid card on me...
(Seriously dude, fuck you.)

Anyways, I am a firm believer that if you enter a dating scenario with someone who is open and honest with you, with someone who tells you they have a kid before you even agree to the first date, that if you do agree on that first date, you forever loose your right to use that kid card.

So here is the thing. I always tell anyone I intend to get involved with that I have a kid, but I ease it into our inital conversation. First I charm them with my wit and my pearly white teeth, then I drop the bomb on them.

It's a true and tried process that never fails.

Except I think it does fail, because once I get to the part where I tell them, well, I'm not one hundred percent sure what goes on in a guys mind, but I assume they have to that point decided I'm a pretty awesome chick, so me having a kid isn't so bad.

Except it is, and later on in the relationship they pull out the kid card and shove it in my face and say shit like, "If we become more serious down the road then I'll have a lot more responsibilities with your son."

And to that I once again say, fuck you.

And mostly because it's untrue. I need no help with my son, and he still has a father who takes great care of him. The only responsibility any man in my life would ever have towards my son would to be a good role model. But, then again, I know that can be asking too much for a man who likes to spend all his free time at a bar drinking beer and playing pool with his buddy.

But the thing that really gets me steaming about the fact that he illegally pulled the kid card on me is that I don't really think my kid was his problem.

He had other problems, but not enough balls to lay it all out on the table. What a man.

I think from now on when I meet someone the first thing I will say to him is "Hi, my name is Tamy, and I have a kid." Before I charm them with my devilish good looks and whit.

That way I get to see their first reaction, which we all know is the truest reaction. Because really, the next time a boyfriend pulls the kid card on me, I'm likely to punch him right in the face.

P.S. Fake teeth? I mean, really? How could anyone not laugh at that. Pick the fucking wedgie and get over it.

5am, too early for doctors and nurses...

2008-05-13T13:26:00.003-06:00

Ya know how whenever shit hits the fan, it really hits the fan? Like, one thing can't go wrong without taking everything else with it.

My last stride was when my son woke up at 5am and wasn't breathihng. That warranted us a trip to the ER, where it took four hours to stop the massive asthma attack he was suffering.

The only good thing about the whole event was that my son was here with me, a chronic asthmatic, and not at his dad's house where his cough could have been mistaken.

I wish I could lay down and sleep for the next century, but I can't get my sick kid to stop chasing the dog about the house. For christ sake, what do parents have to do to get their kids to understand their limits?

Couldn't the doctor give me some sedatives or something? I mean for me, not the kid...

Retard baby...

2008-05-10T13:56:00.003-06:00

The best way to get your spirits up when your feeling a bit down is to go through the old photo boxes. And at this very moment that is what my entire family is doing, so I thought I would join in. I need a little cheer.

And let me tell you, we found some great stuff, I mean great for blackmail, great to blowup poster size and hang on your wall, just great.

I even found pictures of my sisters picking wedggies, so great.

However, I did eventually have to leave the room from embarrassment, as my mother found a good handful of photographs of me as a baby making these awful faces. And when I say awful, I don't mean screaming and crying awful, I mean awful like when someone catches you making a bad face, your body contorted in between motions. I've been dubbed the retard baby. Great.

I't's harder on me than most have considered...

2008-05-09T23:39:00.004-06:00

In less than two weeks my sister and her husband are moving to Canada! Yes, Canada! And the truth is, it hadn't sunk in until today when they began to pack their trailer full of all their great stuff, stuff I often use. It made the move real for me when Dan told me they were taking an early trip up to Canada so he could secure a job, and so they could drop off a load of their stuff. Wow, this is really happening.

It's just so weird, and a little scary, because both my sisters and I have always lived so close to each other we could throw a cat and hit one another. But really, I've never been more than a thirty minute drive away from one of them, and now I'll have to cross an international boarder and travel miles just to see one of them, the one that will soon have babies.

I mean, why couldn't the crazy, fertiless one go? I mean, she won't be giving me any nieces or nephews to hug and spoil and teach dirty jokes to. Why couldn't she be the one to go?

But more importantly, how will I cope with the fact that the strongest bond I have, the one I share with my sisters, breaking?

I want to go back to the days when my sister and her husband would think about moving, but never make any real plans.Those were the days...

Marshmallow....

2008-05-07T21:39:00.004-06:00

I was sitting by the fire tonight, mesmerized by the flame, my mouth salivating with the thought of roasted marsh and mallow goodness, but my mind was salivating at the thought of my trip to St. Louis next week.

It will be the first trip I intend to take with my flight benefits at my new job. Why St. Louis? Because my good friend Rosie Posie is in St. Louis.

Hey, speaking of fire, and speaking of Rose... Let me tell you a story...

Rose and fire make a dangerous combination, especially if you happen to be standing below a window when Rose and fire decide to tango. Mostly, because Rose likes to throw things that have caught aflame out windows. I know for a fact she's done it with at least one toaster. One time she almost burnt a McDonald's down. Ok, that might me getting a bit drastic, she simply caught the change machine on fire and then threw it out of a window, at least I think she threw it out the window as it was on fire and she was next to a window. So what else would she have done with it?

Anyways, one time she took her long criminal career of fire starting to a whole new level when she tried to burn down my mother's house. Keep in mind that I said tried, because she has never successfully managed to burn something down, just start the fire. It's kind of like a hit man who only injures his targets, never takes them out. That is Rose. And how do I love her so...

Anyways, Rose, being the newly discovered woman she was, decided a nice hot oil treatment would do her beautiful locks a bit of good. So what did she do? First, like any good analytical person, she read the directions on the box of V05 hot oil treatment (Don't tell her I said this, but I think that was where she first went wrong, with the selection of oil, not the directions). Although, I fear she may have also read those directions terribly wrong, as they called for a hot towel to wrap around your head after the oil treatment is applied. Naturally, someone would assume that meant a moist wet towel, maybe one soaked in hot water. But not Rose. She took the directions as literally as they were written. So, she found one of my favorite purple towels and tossed it high and dry in the microwave for way too fucking long. When she pulled it out of the microwave it was so hot it was smoking. Apparently, smoke does not warrant a toss out of the window, but mearly walking it outside and setting upon a wooden chair on our wooden deck.

Now, I was never a girl scout, but I do happen to know the effect wind has on something smoking. Hmmmm...

Do you see where this is going? Yeah, that towel caught fire, burnt a hole right through the wooden bench and the deck, and then the ash ran havoc on my neighbors AC unit which then ran havoc throughout his house.

And when we came home and found no remnants of the towel, but a hole burnt through the deck, we didn't know what to make of it. Rose latter figured it out, though she was slow to the conclusion, teenagers...

I can't wait to see Rose next week, so we can't set the town on fire, figuratively of course.

It's not the first time...

2008-04-29T18:56:00.003-06:00

Picture this...

Me, rolling fifteen miles an hour down a hill on roller blades. At the end of the hill is a busy road of traffic.

(Did I mention I have not worn a pair of roller blades since high school?)

Well, I haven't. And as I came closer to the busy road of traffic, I realized I didn't know how to stop or slow myself down... SHIT! And, I was picking up speed.

So, what did I do? I found the softest thing I could find, and used it as a brake. In my case, the softest thing I could find was a parked car. So now I've gone and torn something in my arm, a muscle I assume. My neck hurts from whiplash, and the couple standing by as they pointed and laughed gave my ego a good bruise.

But don't worry, the parked car was ok.

Lesson learned: Always know how to stop before you start. That metaphore also works well when it comes to the topic of drugs and alcohol.

Ugh, too much whiskey...

2008-04-28T09:54:00.003-06:00

The nice thing about working for an airline is that I am finding myself with a lot of time off, it's been time well spent drinking whiskey and then recovering from the hangovers. And now that I can squeaze my way on to the computer for the first time in a while I thought I would put together a little video for you all. Enjoy.

I am not blogging about my cousin...

2008-04-24T23:34:00.002-06:00

So, the best part about living with distant relatives is not picking on them, it's about collecting blackmail and using it against them...

Ask Eric.

I am so enjoying our drunk nights together...

Ohh, I hope he hasn't been taking notes...

because of my childhood...

2008-04-21T21:31:00.002-06:00

nothing is better than turning on an old rerun of The Drew Carey show to see guest actor Tim Allen being forced to do his famous grunt! Agh,reminds me of the summers of my adolesence. Can I please have some Fresh Prince now?

One day and counting...

2008-04-17T16:41:00.003-06:00

So, gues what?

Tomorrow is my last day of FA school (that's airline talk for flight attendant). Anyways, I only have one last test, one last frigging day of pure hell. Yes, FA school is pure hell. Ok, maybe I am being a dit dramatic, but seriously, I intend to consume more burbon this weekend that I have even consumed in my entier life, ever.

And then if I can work my way around the massive hangover I'll be sure to have, I'll pop online and give you guys the best picture/written/video blog of the whole ordeal. really, you'll feel like you've just spent a few minutes in hell when you are done watching it as well.

Ever thought you might like to waste an hour and a half of your very busy day? Then go to Walmart...

2008-04-16T20:53:00.003-06:00

So, I just got back from an excruciatingly long wait at the Walmart pharmacy, when I was given the twenty questions by a three year old named Elizabeth. Ok, I think it was Elizabeth, I don't really remember. Anyways, I don't know Elizabeth. She is one of those kids who likes to talk to strangers, guess her mom never taught her that lesson. I guess, judging by the look of frustration in her eyes, she was probably wishing a stranger would run off with the kid.

Anyways, I suddenly realized while trying to avoid conversation with Elizabeth that my youth is slipping away. And all because Elizabeth asked me if I had a husband!

Like, am I really starting to look old enough that a child would look at me and think I should have a husband? And then, of course, when I told her I did not have a husband she asked me, "Why not?"

Why not? Like, now I feel like not only do I look old enough to be married, but I look old enough that I should be married.

I really wanted to tell Elizabeth that I hated my husband so much I took him out with the trash, but I would hate to be held responsible for crushing the spirits of such a free child.

However, when she asked me if I was her friend, do you know what I told her? I said, "Elizabeth, I am not your friend, I am a stranger. And don't you know, you should never ever talk to strangers."

Hello blog...

2008-04-14T20:26:00.003-06:00

I hate two things, wait, make that three things very much. First, there is my ex-husband, second is waiting in line at the DMV, and third is filling taxes.

But just two minutes I finished filling them online, which is something that really does make the whole process a lot less painful. However, where I should have a 4,500$ return, I'm only getting 100$.

That is an unfortunate change thanks to the ex-husband, who is still costing me money years after our divorce! Gosh, I hate that guy!

So now, it's back to court to force him to adhere to the binding legal document he signed. Oh yeah, I also hate court.

Anyways, I've got so much to tell you, but so little energy with all the training for my new job and the taxes and such. But soon I'll have a massive amount of time to check in and tell you all about hot jugs and peep holes!

Chain blogging? Now I have heard it all!

2008-04-03T17:44:00.002-06:00

Historical Wit has chained blogged me! Yes, I have to follow the directions below. Normally, I toss this stuff in the can and move on, but he is such a committed read of mine, and I like the challenge. Here is what I have to do...

1. Write a six-word memoir.

2. Post it on your blog (accompanying pics, art, music, etc. optional).

3. Link to the person that tagged you in your post.

4. Tag five more blogs with links.

5. Leave a comment on the tagged blogs with an invitation to engage.

So, I'll do steps 1 through 3, but I'm not passing it on. This is due mostly to laziness.

Anyways, here are my six infamous words.

Weenit: Saddest girl in the world.

There you have it. I think it's quite fitting, though most of you may not quite understand it, so allow me to explain. I got the nickname Weenit from an old boyfriend, he also use to call me the worlds saddest girl. And in a way, he was right. I've felt a lot of pain and despair through out my life, some of it I may never overcome. I can smile and enjoy life, but there is always this shadow hovering over me, reminding me.

I'm out of disk space in my brain...

2008-03-31T22:13:00.002-06:00

If you were to ask me how I was doing, ask me what's up, how life is treating me? I'd be very likely to crumble to the ground and scream like that crazy lady who often stands naked on Colfax yelling at the buses. The thing is, I'm afraid my brain pushed out all my knowledge about sanity and how to properly handle stress so it could make room for all this airline industry information.

I'm not sure if I am trading up or trading down. And why can't I forget the useless things like my ex-boyfriend's phone number, or the address of that crappy apartment in California that I grew up in? I mean, those bits of information are useless to me, but I fear my sanity and stress coping skills may be needed again some day.

Either I have a small brain or.... Ok, I must just have a small brain.

I didn't see it coming...

2008-03-28T15:38:00.002-06:00

You know when you get a completely unexpected email from someone who you never expected to get an email from? And you know when that someone apologizes in that email about all the horrible things she said and did? And you know how you want to believe that person has really changed, that they won't try to use and abuse your friendship, but you just can't? And you know how that person wants to meet up and have a cup of coffee with you because they really do miss your friendship? And you know how you want to do it out of curiosity, but every fiber of your body tells you it's a bad idea? And you know how you don't know how to respond, don't know a nice way to say no because you don't have anything nice to say to them, so you just don't? Yeah, it was pretty much like that.

My first ever video blog!

2008-03-27T12:53:00.009-06:00

Here it is! My long awaited video blog. Saddly, the only evidence that I was even there was my obnoxious voice in the background egging my brother-in-law on. It's a bit long, but it's one hell of a good story, so enjoy!

It's not the first time I've been caught doing this...

2008-03-25T08:25:00.002-06:00

I am an air head, and being an air head has it's own side effects. Mainly, when your mind wanders off into space so do your eyes.

Which explains why yesterday, when my boss pulled me aside to ask me why I'm always staring at him, I had no idea I was even staring at him.

So while my boss thought I was giving him the sexy eye I was probably wandering the happy place in my mind where Vin Disel and I are making sweet, sweet love.

Too busy....

2008-03-23T09:23:00.002-06:00

I owe you all a very long post, and I had better make it funny, witty, and snappy!

I got you covered, as I just bought two new fancy (and expensive) pieces of equipment. I got myself a FlipVideo, and an iPod Touch!

That means video blogs..... (here is your que to go OOOOHHHHHH with your lips puckered in the shape of an O as you lean far back in your chair)

And the iPod Touch gets Wifi, that means when I'm sitting in the car and have a breakthrough idea for a blog I can hop on my iPod and make a post BEFORE I forget what I was thinking.

How to piss me off...

2008-03-21T19:33:00.003-06:00

Make me sit around and wait for you, I really do have better things to do with my precious time.

I bet they say the same thing about me.

Mommy really needs a drink...

Philosophical debates...

2008-03-21T12:36:00.002-06:00

Here is the thing, I'm sick and tired of my sister bothering me with her philosophical POV, but she can't help it. The one and only thing she is good at, besides bitching your ear off, is debating. So, I've decided to give her the opportunity to "debate her POV on my blog with one of my readers. Now, all I need is a reader, any volunteers?

Changes...

2008-03-21T08:02:00.004-06:00

Yesterday, I woke up with a hang over and decided to say fuck on the idea of going to work. Instead I sat about playing on the internet and then I headed down to the Frontier building to go through all of my paperwork and take a drug test...

Can I just say, drug tests have become so formal these days. The last time I took a drug test some lady handed me a Dixie cup and sent me to an outhouse around back. But yesterday the lady had a special cup that came sealed. I had to put all my belongings in a file cabinet before going to the bathroom, where I could not was my hands, use toilet paper, or flush the toilet, until after the nurse came to "check things out".

Funny thing about the whole ordeal was checking in. When I looked up at the clock to see what time to write on the form it was 4:20pm.

Then I had my finger prints taken with a spiffy little machine that required no ink, and next I'll be taking a physical (turn your head and cough)...

Life is crazy busy with the new job, trying to finish up a few chapters for the book I'm co-authoring, and now I've been offered money to put adds on my blog.

Plus, yesterday was the one year anniversary of a very devastating day for me. Ironically, I had an IM conversation with the person who caused all my misery. He asked me a very interesting question: If I could date anyone int he whole world, who would I date?

It's an interesting question to ponder, and I wonder if he took my response serious or thought I was joking. That will stay on my mind for a while.

He did ask me to come visit him once I was finished with flight attendant school. So now, I've got to plan a trip to Phiily and try to keep a level head about everything.

Anyways, wish me luck...

The brutally honest post....

2008-03-18T08:15:00.030-06:00

This is one of those posts that require an upfront disclosure, particularly to the particular someone that Ive been seeing. Here is the thing darling, I am about to get brutally honest with my feelings. So I recommend you take a moment and seriously consider your options here. You could close this web page and go look at some porn, or you could read on. But be cautious and remember, if you continue, there is no going back...

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Are you sure about this?
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OK, but don't say I didn't warn you, because I so did...
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It's a been a few months, and for me, this is the point where one of two things happen. Well, most of the time only one thing happens: I run. The other option, which rarely happens, is me giving myself the chance to get emotionally involved.

And we all know my Daddy didn't hug me enough as a kid, mostly because he left, and when you're not around it's kind of hard to distribute hugs. But whatever, I thought I was OK without him around; probably a lot like the way he thought I was OK without him. But in a way, I really do feel like my father's absence is part responsible for my inability to get emotionally involved. I guess I feel like he didn't love me enough to stick around so why would any other man? That fear was only rooted deeper inside of me when someone who I spent a decade loving also left.

That was hard on me. I don't think most people understand just how hard it was on me. Think Romeo and Juliet. Only, when Juliet professed her feelings to Romeo he may have been a bit tipsy and insisted that ten years was not possibly long enough for her to know him well enough to be head over heels. That is, until he got loaded and came back to the balcony crying and insisted he loved the fair Juliet and not this other broad who had threated Juliet at a ball if she didn't stay away from Romeo.

And then when Romeo is banished from Verona, he doesn't ever give his poor Juliet a proper goodbye, and after she drank the potion he never came back for her. So when Juliet woke up alone, she was like WTF?

Yeah, it was something like that, minus the sword fighting, but with a lot more booze and stretched over the span of ten years. So would it really surprise anyone that little ol' me would be afraid to invest my feelings into another man, another man who could also leave me in his dusty path?

It's that fear that's kept me in relationships I knew I'd never get emotionally invested in, and it's ended others that could have been very prosperous.

So here I am back at the point where I feel that urge to walk away because it's the safest option. I guess it's kind of like a when you're a kid and you stick a fork in the power socket. It fucking hurts, and in some cases you're lucky to be alive. So would you go and stick a fork in the socket ever again? Hell no, you learned your lesson the first time. Only, as you get older you're not afraid to use the socket how it's intended. you still plug your radio and computer into it, and the rechargeable batteries for your vibrator. But me, I have to get past the fear of getting shocked whenever I go near a power socket (metaphorically speaking). I'm lame man's terms, I'm still learning how to overcome my irrational urge to sever any relationship I may find myself in. I'm afraid if I get shocked again I might not be so lucky to survive it.

And you wouldn't believe the things I do to avoid falling for someone. Remember that episode of Seinfeld where Elaine is always looking for a reason to dislike the person she is dating until she finds a great guy who is perfect? She puts an end to their relationship because he didn't put any exclamation points on the end of a message he wrote to her on a sticky note about her friend having a baby. I have been known to do the same damn thing. Give me the man of my dreams and I'll give you ten reasons why I can't be with him. He has a smile like my ex-husband's, He has a tattoo I didn't like, he drives the exact same car my metaphorical Romeo drives. Really, you would not believe the things I tell myself. And all of it has kept me from having the one thing I've always wanted but never had in life.

And I know I may get chastised for writing what I am about to write because I am suppose to be a modern twenty-first century kind of woman. And everyone knows a modern woman is the only kind of woman to be these days, with their fancy careers and Prada heels. They drive BMW's and have fifteen boyfriends. They enjoy sex without emotion and hate the word commitment (think Samantha from Sex and the City).

But I don't fit that modern woman mold, I care very little for most of that stuff. This is not to say I'm without goals, but material things and power mean nothing to me if I am not surrounded with people I love. Of all the things I want out of life, a family is one of them. I want to wake up every day next to someone I love. I want to grow old with someone. And get ready for this one...

I'd even like to try the "having a kid" thing one more time, only, I'd like to do it the right way.

Those days are far away, but I've come to the realization that I will never have any of those things if I don't get over the emotional scars of my past and try to move on.

Because, I'm sick of running, I'm far too lazy for all this running. I just want to stop and take a breath already. You know, smell the roses and all that crap.

And there is someone I'd like to stop and take a breath with for a while, maybe the fresh oxygen will help mend my broken soul.

Tamy, welcome to the mile high club...

2008-03-16T17:12:00.003-06:00

So, the call came yesterday! I've been waiting months to find out when my fligth attendant training would start.

March 31st people!

Are you guys as excited as I am?

Only, I'll be a little sad to leave Sun, I'm having quite a good time there.

What would you do?

2008-03-15T14:04:00.004-06:00

Have you seen that movie "The Bucket List" yet? Don't worry, neither have I, I don't really like that Jack Nicholson guy, he has a clown's smile. Just creepy. But my point is, that movie has sparked an interesting question here in the office.

What would you put on your list of "things to do" if your life was soon coming to an end?

Mine list would be very short.I'd only have two things on my list to accomplish, both of which could be taken care of by a phone call. That's like what, fifteen minutes tops? And then I can spend the rest of my time doing lots of drugs and having lots of wreckless sex.

But what would you do? What things would be on your list?

And what about this lady who spent two years on the toilet? Could you imagine? And that sparked another debate in our office.

If you had to spend the next two years in one place, where would it be?

At first, I thought this lady was bat shit insane. I mean, she spent two years on the toilet. I'd totally choose to spend those two years in bed or on the couch in front of the TV, but on the toilet? Then I got to thinking about it and realized this lady was smart. Sure, I'd be cozy in bed while she is stuck on the lou, but what would I do when I had to take a crap? I would so be shit out of luck.

but where would you want to spend two years of your life, if you had to pick one place?

Apple Vs. Mexico

2008-03-15T09:02:00.004-06:00

A group of my co-workers were standing around discussing a particular website we use for support of our customers. I'll give you a hint, it starts with a lowercase i, and apparently any word starting with a lowercase i belongs to Apple. What I want to know is, how does one own a word?

Anyways, Apple and us are in dispute over the site, and I hear it's causing a great deal of uproar. One of my co -workers was nice enough to give us his opinion of the situation...

"Don't try using iHelp, iSupport, iFuckoff, iAnything, Apple might sue. Could you imagine the headlines? Apple sues Mexico for use of i,i,i (pronounced ey, ey, ey!)"

Weenit's conversation fo the day..

2008-03-15T07:20:00.002-06:00

Dude co-worker: "I usually don't remember what I dream about, but it's usually pretty mystical."

Me: "Mystical?"

Dude co-worker: "Yeah, like castles and fair maidens and stuff."

Me:"Right(rolling my eyes). I dream about everything, it would be hard to categorize it."

Old lady co-worker:" I usually just dream about sex..."

Me and Dude co-worker give her a weird look.

Old lady co-worker: "Well, when you're my age that's all you get."

I wanted to be a...

2008-03-14T12:44:00.009-06:00

I'll never forget that day. I was seven years old, snooping around in the closet of my stepfather's 26 year old roommate. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed something hiding under the dresser. What was it? My tiny fingers plucked it out from beneath it's dark cave. The sight to meet my young eyes was almost incomprehensible. What was he doing to that girl? What happened to all their clothes? These should have been the thoughts running through my mind, but they weren't.

It was that pornographic magazine that first sparked my interest in photography. Parents, that right there is a very good reason you should remember to lock up your porn like you lock up your guns!

I know it's strange, but the first thing I thought when I flipped open that magazine and scanned through the worn pages of boobs and butts was, "I bet I could have taken that picture so much better!"

And even though I was only seven, had never held a camera, and knew nothing of the art of photography, I was sure I could have done a better job. In retrospect, those magazines were not of the highest caliber, I bet a blind man with Polaroid could have done a better job.

Of course, as a child, when people asked me what I wanted to do when I grew up porn photographer was never my answer. A little girl can't go about sharing that kind of information. Could you imagine? One time, when I was in fifth grade, we had to give a presentation to the rest of the class about the profession we wanted when we grew up. What if I had gone up there with a display of pornographic magazines? How would my parents explain that one to the officials?

In fact, to this day, I can't tell people what I wanted to do when I grew up because they would think I was a liar. I usually just tell them I had no dreams or aspirations as a kid except not growing up, which I failed at miserably.

Third annual...

2008-03-13T08:37:00.003-06:00

Hey guys, did you know it's Tamy day, again? Yep, it's the third anniversary of my very own special holiday, so I slept in an extra hour. I think that was a fantastic way to start my special day, we'll see what my boss thinks about that.

And when I got to work I discovered a protein shake in my backpack that I didn't know was there, that was another highlight of my day. And now, I must go hunt down some cake, because what would Tamy day be without cake?

in the world of blogging...

2008-03-12T16:04:00.003-06:00

I've been picking up on a few new blogs, and I have to admit, I have a bit of a crush on Lozo. He's funny and witty, and undeniably cocky, and I may just start stalking him on MySpace (where he was nice enough to give me the second spot on his friends list). I get the feelings this has something to do with my hot profile picture, and nothing at all to do with him thinking I am the second coolest person he knows on the net. But whatever, I am so cool. Anyways, I've added his site to my blog list, so check him out.

And though you guys may not care, one of my favorite and boldest British lady bloggers, Girl With a One Track Mind has announced she loves New York City so much she plans to make the great migration across the Atlantic ocean to join us here with our Ford Rangers and freedom of speech. I can't wait. Maybe some day I'll get to met her.

One other lady blogger I would love to cross paths with is Heather B. Armstrong of Dooce, who recently won several awards in the 2008 Bloggie awards, including best American weblog and weblog of the year. Go Heather!

And now, back to the weather...

Working at Sun...

2008-03-12T15:06:00.004-06:00

people are always asking me what I do here at sun. I often give them some exaggerated and complicated answer like Administrative contract booking support IT management analysis representative. I know, it makes no sense what so ever, and that is the point.

But here is what I really do all day here at Sun...

The sex was soo not worth all this...

2008-03-12T08:58:00.004-06:00

My kid is still having a hard time adjusting to the time change, so it's not much of a surprise that he burst into my room at 11:33pm last night. What was odd was his request. He wanted me to turn his fan on.

Hello. It's the middle of friggin' winter here in Colorado. That, and our thermostat turns off at night. It's already cold enough. After stumbling out of bed and across the frozen tundra to his room I discovered his ceiling fan no longer works. The bugger is broken, which is Ok by me. It wasn't, however, Ok by him. I know this because not but an hour later he came bouncing into my room and up on my bed. Sleeping with me isn't something he's tried to do for some time now, maybe because angels heard my prayers?

Normally, I would have sent him off to his own bed but last night I was far too tired to argue about it. I can't count for you the number of times I was woken last night with tiny feet in my face, or abruptly disturbed by a sudden miniature snore.

I was half hoping he would fall off the bed so at least I could get a good laugh in through out the whole ordeal.

And do you know what my first thought was this morning (aside from the various ways I could make my kid disappear)? I thought to myself, "I can't wait till this day is over so I can go to bed."

And then it occurred to me that starting off your day by thinking about the next time you get to go back to sleep may not be the best way to go.

Does anyone have a frying pan? One of those really heavy iron ones? I hear those are good for knocking out cranky bitches like myself. I could use a little nap.

Check it out...

2008-03-12T08:21:00.002-06:00

I've recently participated in the act of guest blogging for the gang over at hipsterpad.com, it was good fun. So, if you would like to know about my most recent hair cut go check it out and let them know what you think. After all, I'd like to be invited back again.

An Inconvenient Truth...

2008-03-11T17:04:00.004-06:00

I watched Al Gore's documentary "An Inconvenient Truth" last night. Upon the end of the DVD I have to stop and ask America, How did Bush beat him in the Presidential election of 2000? It just does not make sense to me. First of all, Al Gore can get up in front of a crowd of people and give a speech and not sound like an idiot. Second, he cares so much about the human race, I bet he would have had better solutions to some of the problems our country has encountered since Bush has been in office.

I could spend the whole day writing about the many ways I dislike Bush, could kick his ass on an SAT test, and quite possibly just kick his ass, but I won't. I'm writing about Al Gore and his stand on global warming, which is undeniable once you watch the documentary.

And for those of you who hear the word documentary and suddenly feel like you are dying of boredom, don't run away screaming just yet. This flick is worth watching, especially if you think you know how global warming works. I know I thought I did, then I watched this film and was surprised by the wealth of information I absorbed.

but what stunned me most was the fact that America is the number one contributor of Pollution in the world. And not just by a little bit, but by a lot! We should be ashamed. We are single handedly destroying the world we live in, and then what? What will be the solution when it is too hot to step outside? What will we do when our coasts are flooded and millions of people loose their homes? What will we do when the hurricanes and tornadoes destroy our lands? these are things that will happen unless we work with our government to pass laws and regulations that can help.

While all that can take it's time, I think we could all use a few eco-friendly adjustments in our own homes. So first, I'd recommend everyone go watch the movie. And then, check out the following sites to help you "go green" and save the planet our children will someday inherit.

http://www.treehugger.com/gogreen.php

http://www.worldwatch.org/node/3915

http://sierraclub.typepad.com/greenlife/2007/03/10_ways_to_go_g.html

Two years, and stronger than ever...

2008-03-11T12:52:00.004-06:00

Today in a meeting where we were discussing very important things, things I care to know nothing about, I realized while dazing off into space that today is the official two year anniversary of this blog.

I say "official" because when my blog first started I had it registered as it's own domain Weenit.com, but lost a ton of money on a bet involving the Denver Broncos one year and could no longer afford the outrageous fees Yahoo was charging me, so a bit down the road it became a Blogspot blog. So, even though the address may have changed, I've been sharing with you my feelings and secrets for two years now. For a girl who can hardly commit to dinner, committing to two years of blog up keeping is amazing. And I don't intend to stop.

And of course, as much as I dislike him sometimes, I feel obligated to thank Christopher who, quite possibly in a drunken haze, gave me the nickname Weenit. He was also one of the driving forces that suggested I start this blog. So to Christopher, thanks dude.

The story of Pasquell...

2008-03-11T08:47:00.002-06:00

There once was a Duck, his alcoholic caretaker named him Pasquell. We're not sure why, but we think he got the name from a porn.

Pasquell was a relatively happy duck considering his circumstances. He enjoyed typical duck activities like splashing in the toilet and quacking out the window at people walking by. He even had a girlfriend named Kitty. Kitty had fur instead of feathers, and meowed instead of quacking, but Pasquell loved her just the same. Kitty and Pasquell often spent the evenings hiding under the couch, where their bodies and limbs were safe from the dangerous and often intoxicated guests of his caretaker.

But unlike his caretaker, Pasquell didn't much care for beer. He had experimented with it back in his younger duck years, until one morning he woke up next to Oscar the Dog with some sore feathers and no recollection of the evenings events. That was when Kitty introduced him to "the nip". Pasquell really loved the kitty nip and gave up drinking all together. In a way he felt like he owed his life to Kitty for saving him from the evils of alcohol. Little did he know booze would still have a suffocating hand on his untimely death.

One night, Pasquell's caretaker partook in a rigorous series of beer pong competitions and lost badly. Beer pong, being a favorite pastime of college men everywhere, was not the only pastime on Pasquell's caretaker's mind that night as he drunkenly tried to pick up on every hot piece of ass at the party. But his efforts were futile; apparently, hot ass doesn't like to go home with sloppy drunk. So, it was just the caretaker and Pasquell, as Kitty was off prancing around town doing cat things. Pasquell was never quite sure what Kitty was up to when she would run off for an evening or two once a month to prowl the alleys, and though he had his suspicions, he tried to trust that Kitty was simply rummaging through garbage cans and starting fights with other felines. He'd even tried to join her once or twice but Kitty had insisted his webbed feet could never keep up with her stealth like claws.

That evening Pasquell found himself in the hands of a very intoxicated caretaker. On any other given night this might have annoyed Pasquell, but earlier Pasquell had come across Kitty's stash. It's needless to say Pasquell was feeling a little frisky, and having a warm human to cuddle up next to didn't seem like such a bad idea. Plus, if Pasquell used his imagination, the snoring of his human caretaker slightly resembled Kitty's purring. Pasquell didn't struggle as his caretaker tucked him tenderly into the bed and cuddled up next to him. Sure, it was odd of a caretaker to cuddle up next to a duck for the night, and sure, Kitty might have been jealous to see the whole affair. Kitty didn't much care for the caretaker. In fact, Kitty didn't even like the word "caretaker". It was her strict belief that this drunken slob was not her caretaker because she didn't need a caretaker. She was an independent feline.

But on that night, none of those social cliches mattered to Pasquell. Maybe it was because he felt so lonely without Kitty, maybe it was because he had a bit too much of the nip.

Early the next morning Kitty came home stinking of garbage. She searched the entire apartment for Pasquell but he was nowhere to be found. She began sniffing around and picked up his scent. It led her straight to the bedroom. She thought maybe the caretaker had thrown another ragging party and Pasquell has sought out refuge under the bed. But his scent led her onto the bed rather than under. The caretaker was the only one she saw. He was laying on his back snoring loudly, a sure sign he was drinking heavily the night before. She could smell the booze on him, but she could also smell Pasquell on him. Had the caretaker eaten Pasquell? Why would he do such a thing? Pasquell tasted nothing like chicken. This, Kitty knew because she had once taken a bite out of him prior to their love affair. He tasted foul and rubbery, and at that moment Kitty knew Pasquell was not meant to be eaten, but loved.

Kitty was furious as she scratched the feet of the caretaker, causing him to jump up and disturb his drunken sleep. that was when Kitty saw it; Pasquell's cold feathery body was lying flat as a pancake. The groves of the caretakers ass left an indent in his feathery hide. Although relieved the caretaker hadn't actually eaten Pasquell, Kitty was still mortified.

The image of his lifeless body would forever haunt her as she lived out the rest of her years acting out against the human race. Between her crippling depression and her increasing use of the nip, Kitty eventually found herself in a pound where she was then adopted by the "cat lady" who was equally insane as Kitty had grown.

Lesson learned here people: Don't drink and cuddle with your duck. You never know who you could hurt.

Blogging: more fun than a giggling baby...

2008-03-08T07:10:00.002-07:00

You may have noticed my hits counter on my menu bar, I love that thing. It does so much more than count my visitors. It also keeps track of other interesting data, like links leading to my site, and even Google searches that result in some unfortunate soul visiting my site. Some of the Google searches that lead people to my site are very amusing, but my favorite was the one I saw today when someone Googled "orgy" and ended up here at Weenit. I bet that pervert was very disappointed to see that my site does not, in fact, contain any mad orgies.

Sorry dude...

Weenit's quote of the day...

2008-03-07T12:55:00.001-07:00

You all know how much I really hate people, that's why it's amazing I went and had lunch with a group of co-workers. I feared the worst when the conversation turned to God, until this was said...

"I think God is gay, and every time you see and rainbow God is having sex."

I heart country...

2008-03-07T07:26:00.002-07:00

I have been one busy girl. These slave drivers here at Sun are slamming me with work; it's a bottomless pit of fucked up serial numbers. On top of all this I have been victim to one hard core cold, it's totally owned me. And, I've been a busy bee getting everything prepared for Shawna and her new book project I will be working with her on. I'll tell you more about that after we meet Sunday. Until then, bare with me. In the mean time, I'll be working my ass off and jamming away to some country music. You may be asking "why country, Tamy?"

Because, one of my boss' here at Sun happens to be in a country band. If you were to meet him you'd never guess. He looks more like one of those Boulder hippies who rocks out to Sublime while passing the joint in "the circle", but no. And if I hadn't known it was him on the CD, I never would have guessed it. I wonder, does he pimp out in cowboy boots and a ten gallon hat when he gets on stage? This, I would pay to see.

We don't have mad orgys on Sunday...

2008-03-05T11:37:00.003-07:00

Friend: All my friends that are married seem happy and say they are happy, but they complain all the time about not getting laid.

Me: My brother in law complains about that all the time, but he only does it in front of my sister. I know they have plenty of sex, so I think he does it just to tease her.

Friend: How do you know they have lots of sex?

Me: I live with them, I hear it all the time.

Friend: That must get annoying.

Me: No, I'm use to it. Sometimes I fuck with them...

And then everyone was at a loss for words...

You damn perverts, that is not what I meant!

Take that cyber bully! And other tales of victory!

2008-03-05T08:54:00.003-07:00

Things over here at the Weenery have been a little less than pleasant; we are all sick. And when my sister came home from the doctor yesterday and announced she had strep throat, the only thought crossing through my mind was "mother f#!&*$ son of a b#&$%!!!" I know; it's just strep. You go to the doctor, he does a quick swab, he gives you a bottle full of antibiotics. Problem solved, right? Wrong, at least if you are me, then nothing is that easy. Which leads me to my first tale of victory of the day...

As of March first my health insurance with my new company should have gone into effect. I say "should" because that is not the case. It's been a while since I have been through the process of registering for health benefits. I may be a bit rusty on how things work, but one would assume your employer would send you an enrollment package several weeks before your benefits go into effect, giving you plenty of time to return them before the enrollment date.

Apparently, all this use of common sense does not apply if you work for the company I do. I say this because today is the fifth of March, count the days people, that is five days AFTER enrollment and I have just received my enrollment package in my email. And the only reason I got my enrollment package today was because I called our benefits department yesterday and ripped our benefits lady a new one. I have been arguing with this same woman for the last three weeks, and every time I talk to her she has a new bullshit excuse. At first it had something to do with systems being down. This, I can understand. But then a week later she told me it was in the mail, and a week later, she admitted my name was sitting somewhere in the bottom of a pile and she hadn't gotten to me yet.

Considering that I am a person who needs close to a thousand dollars worth of prescription medication every month just so I can breathe, I was not happy to hear what she had to say, and I had no problem telling her just how I felt. For once in my life, being a raging bitch paid off. And it's a good thing, as I may have strep.

And now, on to victory number two for the day...

Remember my post about Myspace cyber-bullying? Just like whenever I get a spam email, or some guy tries to hit on me, I sent a complaint to Myspace. This morning, when I checked my inbox, I discovered this email from Myspace:

Hello,

We have received and reviewed your report of inappropriate content. This content has been removed. We thank you for your support in helping to keep MySpace a safe and fun community!

MySpace.com

Now, all I have to say is, "take that cyber-bully! You say I look like a man, and I am not above tattle telling. Naner naner poo poo!"

Ok, maybe that was a very minor victory in comparison to tricking my kid into taking his medication yesterday, or saving a hundred people in my dream last night. However, it goes to show that people are still expected to have some sense of decency, even on the web.

Now if you will excuse me, I think a hyena broke into our house and is now couching up a lung, or maybe it's just my kid, it's hard to say.

It's all a bunch of voodoo...

2008-03-04T15:41:00.004-07:00

Growing up in my family I have heard and even been forced to try just about every home remedy, natural cure, and organic supplement. Around here, I call it all a bunch of voodoo. But if you ask my mom, colloidal silver will fix anything, my sister will tell you it's all about having the right combination of vitamins, and my ex-boyfriend will insists eating ten tons of garlic will cure any cold. I, on the other hand, am not falling for any of it. Which is why I was so glad to find this video clip on Yahoo today that denounces the popular cold remedy my ex-husband tried to get me to take whenever I was feeling a bit under the weather. I hate to tell you all, but I told you so...

Psstt... If the video doesn't want to play, go to this link here...

A pornographic tragedy...

2008-03-04T09:45:00.003-07:00

The other night Mack and I took a little trip down to the local porn store to find something for our viewing pleasure. We had a good idea what we were looking for when we went in there. No anal, nothing loaded with blowjobs, and not to be racist, but no big black cocks giving it to white chiks. Twenty minutes later we left with one of those porns that had a story line, it was called "Corruption" and featured a bit about a man running for President. If you can't figure it out by now, he was corrupt, and ugly.

When it comes to male porn stars, you can't expect too much. They are hired solely on cocktalent, looks have nothing to do with it. Take Ron Jeremy as a good example. He is the worlds most famous male porn star, and man, he is one ugly fuck, but he gets to fuck a lot of hot tail, so who's to judge?

That aside, this movie was full of everything we did not want. There was a black bodyguard screwing some white chick, almost every scene featured anal, and what was up with the blowjobs? These were not your normal blowjobs people. I wanted to throw up just watching it. I think I even saw one girl cry real tears of pain.
So, forty dollars later, we were very disappointed. And they won't let us return it. So what do people do with bad porn? Is there a place where people send their bad porn? Or maybe we can donate it to a good cause?

Dreaming of pixie dust..

2008-03-03T19:12:00.004-07:00

I dreamed last night that a good friend of mine, Lindsay, and I had gone on a trip to India. While we were in India I ran into my good friend Tinkerbell. Tinkerbell gave me some pixie dust, which I proceeded to sprinkle on Lindsay and myself. We then flew above India, and saw the Taj Mahal, in the summer evening sky. It was magnificent.

Why can't I have more dreams like that?

A misunderstanding...

2008-03-03T10:08:00.003-07:00

I was having a rather stressful evening the other night, it felt as though every one wanted to whine in my ear, and I hate it when people do that. So when Mack came over and started to pick on me I said, "I could use just a little slack."

And do you know what he did? He slapped me, and on the face! It didn't leave a mark, but it was hard enough to sting a bit. I looked up at him and asked what that was for. And he said I had asked for a "little slap."

This, ladies, is a perfect example of why men need to pay closer attention to the things coming out of our mouths.

Office Space...

2008-03-01T10:29:00.002-07:00

I'm working here at Sun today, on a Saturday. Yes, tragic, I know. But as I was heading back to my desk I noticed something written on a dry erase board between a row of cubicles. It read, "Ah, yeah, were going to have to move you down to storage room B..."

It's nice to find a little humor in the work place. it just made my Saturday a bit brighter.

I thought I was past this...

2008-02-29T16:23:00.006-07:00

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...

2008-02-29T08:33:00.003-07:00

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...

2008-02-27T16:46:00.008-07:00

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.

2008-02-27T14:24:00.002-07:00

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...

2008-02-27T06:44:00.005-07:00

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...

Bio?

2008-02-26T15:00:00.004-07:00

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...

2008-02-26T13:44:00.004-07:00

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...

2008-02-25T20:49:00.004-07:00

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.

Weenit: 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...

2008-02-25T13:54:00.003-07:00

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...

2008-02-25T13:30:00.002-07:00

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!

2008-02-25T11:47:00.002-07:00

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...

2008-02-23T09:56:00.002-07:00

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!

2008-02-22T14:37:00.002-07:00

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!

2008-02-21T16:10:00.006-07:00

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...

2008-02-21T12:33:00.002-07:00

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?

2008-02-20T16:52:00.001-07:00

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!

2008-02-20T09:36:00.005-07:00

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...

2008-02-20T07:27:00.002-07:00

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...

2008-02-19T18:06:00.008-07:00

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...

2008-02-19T08:52:00.006-07:00

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!

2008-02-19T08:47:00.003-07:00

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...

2008-02-18T11:20:00.004-07:00

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!

2008-02-15T13:20:00.006-07:00

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...

2008-02-15T12:17:00.002-07:00

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?

2008-02-15T11:05:00.004-07:00

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...

2008-02-14T13:55:00.003-07:00

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...

2008-02-14T08:10:00.002-07:00

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...

2008-02-14T07:51:00.004-07:00

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...

2008-02-13T09:34:00.003-07:00

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...

2008-02-12T08:10:00.001-07:00

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....

2008-02-12T07:44:00.000-07:00

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.

Creepy...

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...

2008-02-12T07:40:00.000-07:00

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....

2008-02-11T14:23:00.000-07:00

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...

2008-02-11T14:10:00.000-07:00

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...

2008-02-11T11:34:00.000-07:00

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...

2008-02-08T14:34:00.000-07:00

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...

2008-02-08T12:47:00.000-07:00

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...

2008-02-08T10:14:00.000-07:00

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!

2008-02-07T14:19:00.000-07:00

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....

2008-02-07T12:22:00.000-07:00

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.