Educated Beyond Her Intelligence

2004-04-01T13:33:00.000-08:00

Hooray, Hooray It's MOVING DAY!
"...Shiny and NEW! Like a Virgin, hey! Touched for the very first time!" whirls around and sees you standing there. Stops. Hey y'all! Why is it so dusty in here? Because I am moving! Rolling on over to join the fellow munuvanians HERE. I hope that you will keep stopping by! All 5 of you. Yes, this means YOU (rudely pointing finger in your face). Remember, as long as you keep coming, I'll keep pouring! See you over there!

PS, If you have linked me, would you mind changing it, pretty please? The new address is: http://hurlnecklace.mu.nu.

MWAH!

2004-03-30T01:45:00.000-08:00

Paging, paging...

If you are that wonderful bunch of *cuddlies* who googled, and I MOTHERFUCKING QUOTE, "every woman is a whore and every whore has her price," I have one thing to say to you: How the hell did you find me? I'm too rich for your blood. Unless you own several Japanese restaurants. I kid, I kid. Having a hell of a day. Still up to my eyeballs in assignments.

I have EXCITING NEWS! Well, exciting for me, anyway. I was invited to join mu.nu. I will be transferring over to them in the next couple of days. As soon as my brain stops spinning around. When I get there, you can check me out at: http://hurlnecklace.mu.mu. Don't go there, yet! It is WHITE, and BARREN. I'm working on it. If any of you know how to fiddle around with MOVABLE TYPE, DIVULGE, DIVULGE!

We'll see y'all in between here and there, and on the other side.

2004-03-29T00:45:00.000-08:00

Brain Drain

Do y'all ever have those days, weeks, months where you wonder if you'll make it out alive? I'm having one at the moment. Slower than a female driver driving by a 70% off shoe sale yapping on the cell phone (Read: ME. Except for the cell phone. That's illegal, and I can't work the damn thing. It's all in Japanese, and my classes didn't cover decoding the Homeric Epic that is their manual), unable to leap stacks of books littering the house with a hop, skip, or a jump, is that a....no! It's a....what the HELL is that (Squints to make out person hunched over that machine)? Hey, it's TCWH. Wait, wait, wait. Is she DROOLING? No. I'm not. But I did arrive at work today with one earring only. What kind of dumbass, rooting through her jewelry bowl slips in one earring and completely forgets about the other one? THAT'S ME!!! (Do I have to tell you to insert the eye/tooth twinkle here?)

This is what a dolt I am. Let me set the scene for you. Sunny Palau. Here's a pic:

DEE - GORGEOUS. I was swimming here one sunny day, crouched amongst the pebbles at the lip of the cove, watching my friend Ethan dunk his laughing face under the water. As he resurfaced, his sunglasses (which, if any of you have had burnt retinas must know, are as valuable as crack in Palau) slipped off his head and fell under the water. I, almost at eye level with the amazingly clear and beautiful water, watched those glasses fall, fall, fall to the bottom where they hit sand. 1 millisecond later, I spotted a freckle on my toe, dunked my head, and stood to join Ethan at the side of the canoe. What of the glasses, you say? I forgot them. In that split second. I could lie and say that I was hypnotized by the beauty of the spot, which is a distinct possiblity for many who have been there, but I cannot even cite this as an excuse. Nope. I just blanked it. Enter Momma. "Ethan, are those your glasses?" "Wha? Yes! Momma (not her real name. She doesn't want the man to find her. She will be protected.), I am SO GLAD you saw those.We've got a 3 hour paddle ahead of us. Into the sun!" he laughed easily, retrieving them and completely missing the look of utter disgust I had painted all over my pink cheeks.

*sigh* Palau.

*sigh* I am a DOLT.

At least I shaved both my legs today, but it mattered not, because I wore jeans. I REFUSE to wear anything less than floor length with kindergarten children. One of my students used to lay on the floor and try to catch glimpses up my floor length skirts. One little girl told on me because I wouldn't let her look down my shirt to see what color bra I was wearing. I'll spare y'all the details of that parent-teacher conference. Teachers wear many hats, but lingerie model is not one of them.

Back to the grindstone, y'all.

For those of you who do not have to torture yourselves writing papers for the wicked witch of the west and you would like to enjoy more pretty pictures, click here Wish I were there myself.

2004-03-27T18:59:00.000-08:00

Umm? Hello?

I was going to hold off on blogging until I finished my paper, but then I opened AOL and *TADAAAH*!!! I am probably breaking a copyright law, but verily, verily, I say unto thee (ready?): THIS IS NOT MY PICTURE. I SHAMELESSLY BORROWED IT FROM AMERICA ONLINE. That being said,

Somebody with an excellent sense of humor approved this headline. I think that I have been perverted for life by going to college in the city of sin for so many years. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I will be working with small children. For an extended period of time.

Umm, and AOL, can I get some of that?

2004-03-26T14:11:00.000-08:00

Saturday? OR It's Not the Size of Your Plate, It's How MUCH SHIT You Can Pile on It.

I don't know what the hell I've been doing lately. Running around like a chicken with my head cut off, I s'pose. I've been so busy that I haven't even had the time to complete a coherent thought (which makes getting my school work done DAMN HARD and a FUCKING pain in the ass) much less complete a coherent blog entry. Sorry. AND, I am convinced that there is some kind of conspiracy to rob me of blog-fodder. No comedy for you, TCWH! You will be thrust into mind-numbingly unfunny situations for weeks at a stretch! We (whoever "We" is) are tired of being made to look like asses on your blog! To you I say, you do a damn good job of it by yourself! I just call it as I see it. (Why in the hell do I spend so much time talking to imaginary people? Ummm...medication, anyone?) Here's some thoughts: (Shit you don't want to know, unless you probably know me. I just need to get it off my chest. So read it. Or don't. I won't be mad. I promise. I'm not smart enough to make one of those text disappearing/reappearing links.).

1. Sitting in the homestretch of the Master's Program. I am physically tired. I feel diluted. I try to live life OUT LOUD for the most part. And I just feel like a weak cup of tea. All bite and no bark. I JUST REALIZED WHY I have avoided working with smaller children almost the entire time I have been in school myself (as opposed to junior/senior high school kids, most of whom need a good swift kick in the pants, or a stiff drink, which I dole out freely. Just fucking kidding. Get a sense of humor!). Primarily, they are still impressionable, and extremely labor intensive. I love them, I just don't feel like I can give them enough right now. Ummm...I just took a 6 week sub position at the Kindergarten level. If I can get through this and still get A's, I'll take a million weeks off. Right after I finish doing this one little thing here...

2. I seem to have gained some weight as of late, so I pulled out my WeightWatchers points. This pisses me off because I have been working out intensively, and NONE OF MY PANTS FIT. If I were in the States, I am at the point where I would not be above and beyond buying some new pants in a larger size, so I don't look like a stuffed sausage. However, here, blah blah blah 1 store blah blah blah wear what everyone else is wearing blah blah blah you're so vain blah blah blah all Japanese women are size 0 blah blah blah at least all the clothes they sell are blah blah blah where do the larger women shop? Do they run around naked? AND I figured out that I had been eating ALL THE WRONG THINGS (like salmon, halibut, olives, ummm...stuff I love) and that I will have to starve to death to maintain 25 points a day. A breakfast bar is 3 points for PETE's sake. An egg 2. SHEE-IT, I do not like having to be preoccupied with weight gain, but seeing as I cannot buy larger clothes that FIT ME, I will have to continue torturing myself by stuffing myself into clothes that are too small. *This is great for the female ego, folks. Try it EVERY day!*(Takes swig of water, dribbles out of side of my mouth where she has no feeling due to surgery onto new shirt advertising her very favorite food in the world) Take that, body. Shrink, DAMN YOU!

3. When I was little, Momma used to spit about these foreign service parties that she hated going to because every time she opened her mouth to make a remark, all the men there looked at her like, "Hmmm. That vagina has a mouth. Now ain't that the damndest thing!" Growing up, because I was not exposed to these kind of people, I thought maybe she was being a little overly sensitive. Well, y'all, ladies and gentleman, they have taken me to their leaders, and I have found where they are all hiding. D.H. works for them. I spent the better part of Thursday evening with a permagrin affixed to my face after being ignored? disregarded? into bored silence. Token perfect AF wife, *THAT'S ME!* (insert fake eye and tooth twinkle and thumb gesturing to chest here!) Oh, don't let me forget to tell you about the disapproving looks I got, because DAMNIT women should wear skirts, and I wore a pair of classic tuxedo slacks. What in (You must read this "the" as "THEE" for the full effect) the *HELL* was I thinking?

4. My family. Death to bring to family together. This chaps my ass, which is TCWH for makes me really sad. LIFE IS SHORT. Enjoy who and what you've got. If you don't want to talk to a person for whatever reason, DON'T. But don't let death be the key to the floodgates of communication. Or the trickle of communication. PAH. What the hell do I know, anyway?

Okay. I think I can think clearly now.

Have one hell of a weekend, y'all.

2004-03-24T13:28:00.000-08:00

He's PINK! And He's Proud! I want y'all to look at this picture very carefully. Am I the only who finds this mildly disturbing? Why is a man, who is clearly NOT OUR BELOVED ZORRO, and was accused (although later cleared, because you know, she whored herself up enough not to look like a minor! Damn you Mary Kay!) of sex with a minor/child molestation (I'm feeling nice today. Take your pick) presenting himself to the public, like this? WHAT?! THE?! FUCK?! I mean, to quote Chippy HO, "I'm wanted by the Fashion Police in 50 States" and abroad, but even I know that this pink atrocity is a BIG MISTAKE. And I want to know: R. KELLY, what are you hiding? If he has a facial disfiguration, why can't he just slap a band-aid on it, like Nelly? (Yes, YES! I know what the band aid is really for! I read TEEN BEAST!)

Have a nice day.

*Edited to add random thoughts: Isn't it ironic that I am ridiculing a grown man for censoring his face, although I posted a picture of myself the day before in which I am also wearing protective eyegear? Hmmm...coincidence? I think not. I, for one, like my boys a little bit older. I used to have a friend who said, "Old enough to pee, old enough for me!" which tells you the caliber of people I ran across in college - but my point is that cradle robbing is not my style. I also am not on TV, but damnit I SHOULD BE! MTV came to Saipan for a Pacific MTV, I guess, and out of all the people that tried out, I was number 5. How many people did they want? FOUR. FUCKING FOUR. They kept saying, "Wow, so you're the 5th girl." Whoever said one is the loneliest number is full of shit. I know for a fact that it is the number five. BUT, Thank God I was number five, because I think I have already embarassed myself enough - we don't need my less than superhuman moments on TV to be recorded forever and ever amen.I think...no wait, wait, wait. I KNOW my parents would disown me. As would my husband, students, in-laws, cousins, florist's gardener. Everyone. Don't call us, we'll call you! My point, exactly? R.Kelly! Get with it! Get a new stylist! Get something. Just get out of that pink shiny Zorro ugliness. Please, we're begging you. We just ate. I should make this an essay for tomorrow. If R.Kelly were making a statement, what would he be saying? 100 words or less. Double spaced. Times New Roman. Go!

2004-03-22T22:36:00.000-08:00

Mr. Producer? I'm Ready for My Close - UP!

Yes Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. There is also a military wife by the name of TCWH who likes to go out and make an ass out of herself in Japan. She doesn't make it on the "nice" list for Christmas very often. Just in case you all were wondering what in the hell I looked like. I usually try not to post pictures of myself, but this one takes the whole damn sponge cake. Have a good laugh at my expense. I already spit yogurt out of my nose when I finally got this. P.S. If you look behind me, those are the creepy mullet men I was talking about. *Shudder*

Today? When I was subbing in the 1st grade? I had to read a book to the kids? The name? Was BOX and COX ! Can y'all fucking believe this? It was also about TWO men who wanted to marry the same woman. It should have been called "Two Cox and Not Enough BOX!" (passing around tip jar) I was almost excited about this as when I first saw the penis in the castle on the "Little Mermaid" box.

And, the kids did a word hunt. The teacher had left a space where the kids could write down other words that the kids stumbled across that were not on the list. One of the little girls had clearly circled and written: ASS. First Grade! It's a hoot!

2004-03-22T03:07:00.000-08:00

Marriage Vows 101

I received a wedding invitation today. The groom is the little brother of a boy I used to be very good friends with. I dated the big brother when he was 19, and I was 21 so...minus the 2, carry the 5...EONS AGO. I met this kid when he was 14. And now he's getting married. Because his big brother is no longer with us, I have various talks with TGTB (The Groom To Be), about love and life in general. When I got the invitation today, I started thinking about what they should really say during wedding vows. Instead of all that love, honor, cherish...all those flowery words...that bring to mind frilly aprons and pillow fights, I think the minister/pastor/rabbi/friend (Insert appropriate officiant here) should be truthful. I mean, they make you go to all that marriage counseling...they should have a fairly accurate take on what the people are like.

Maybe not. D.H. and I got married at the JOP (Almost free!free!free!), and it was a lovely ceremony. The judge spouted beauty about circles and two lives intertwined as one...Perhaps she really should have said something like this:

JOP: Do you, D.H., promise to love this woman despite the fact that she will bug you ceaselessly about her pet peeves? Do you promise to love her even though every time you leave anything open (lotion cap, cabinet door, etc.) she will come to you and passively agressively ask you why you don't like to close anything? Do you promise to love her despite the fact that she will only like your cooking about 85% of the time? She will also become ridiculously engrossed in school and work, leaving no time for laundry, dishes or otherwise extra-curricular activities. She will harp on you endlessly about your bad habits but conveniently forget hers. She will also spend money, hate golfing, ask you if she looks fat repeatedly, hate you when you tell the truth, and complain that she feels lonely when you join classes. She will be bitchy 10 - 30 days of the month, and threaten death by paper cuts if you ask her if she needs help. She will be overly sensitive, cry more than she should, and exercise less than she should. She will also admit to being a hypocrite and still only notice your faults. IF you still think that you can love her after all of this, then please say, "I Do."

I think something like that should cover it. It might help to lower the divorce rate! Marriage is for life! Maybe I should become ordained so I can perform my own weddings.

Happy Wedding Bride and Groom To BE! Much love, hugs, and kisses to you both.

2004-03-20T19:10:00.000-08:00

So NOW YOU tell me.

Whoever said you are what you eat is a genius. As of late, my diet has consisted mainly of Peeps and Pork Rinds, and I have to say, my midsection has indeed become round and puffy. While my thighs and buns are lifting and firming thanks to "The Gals" (I spend WAY TOO MUCH TIME sweating and cursing with them to refer to them formally), my stomach remains stubbornly round, despite umpteen sit-ups and bladder bursting bottles of water. I look like a Mrs. Peanut. Stringy Legs and Arms. Abnormally bloated midsection. I wonder if I could get a job at the Planter's Peanut Factory? Does anybody have a monocle I can borrow?

2004-03-20T04:44:00.000-08:00

Anger Management OR No, no, no, *You're* Number One!

Okay. So we have already confirmed that I let my emotions get the best of me, which in my eyes, makes me a fucking idiot.

What was the trigger? I recently got invited to be a part of my old highschool's site at Myfamily.com. You know, we all catch up there, stroke each other's egos a little bit. Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit, blah, blah, blah. So, you know me, in my quarter life crises and lack of "real friends" trolling through the pictures. When I happened upon HER. Our fucking class president. And I just wanted to claw my eyes out. She looked happy, and I just thought, "FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU!"

(Whoa, whoa, TCWH. Slow down! Where does all this hostility come from? You! The one that is so preoccupied with karma that you barely even whisper the name of people who make your life hell.)AND THAT IS WHAT FRUSTRATES THE HELL OUT OF ME!!!! Ugh. Bree? My college friend? Did the horizontal hula with my boyfriend in college, and then lied to me about it. Ugly, ugly, story, y'all. I had strangers (FUCKING! STRANGERS!) come up to me and tell me that she brought out a bag of Victoria's Secret Lingerie that she was planning to seduce him with. She bought him sheets for Valentine's Day. She was my roomate, co-worker, and best friend. On the nights that I was not with him, I'd sleep in her bed, and we'd laugh and giggle all night long, talking into the wee hours of the night. She broke dates for me. We went to China together. Her Dad had a room for Alex and Bree. Not just Bree. My point? I LOVED her unconditionally. Still do. Does she know this? No.

So what does this have to do with the price of beans in China? I forgave Bree. I don't know if she has forgiven me, but I'd like to think that we'd be able to sit and have a cup of Bloody Mary's. I was going to say coffee, but that would be completely insincere. I. FORGAVE. HER. But the class president? Her picture bugs me. She angers me. I just spent 20 minutes spewing hatred and ugly and nasty things to D.H. I called her a cunt. Which just makes me angry at myself (Not that I called her a cunt, mind you. I! LOVE! THAT! WORD! Starts with a consonant, ends with a consonant, slap some vowels and letters and junk in the middle there, and you've got a perfect word! Works well when drunkenly hostile).

I just don't know why this chick bothers me after so many years. Well, I'm bullshitting y'all, because YES. I DO know why. At our reunion? She was still a silly twat. She was all happy to see me until she realized that she couldn't control me anymore via e-mail, long distance or otherwise, and she spent the rest of the weekend sulking. What?! Are we in a bad re-run of 90210? Grow the fuck up already! You're a fucking psychologist for Fuck's sake!

To add insult to injury, I googled "Angry Chicks" - what did I get? Insert penis into vagina. 1 million times over.(Scream.scream.scream.) I am NOT in the mood for porn, and when I am, I'll let you fucking know, all right? Couldn't you at least throw on a little Marvin Gaye and light some fucking candles?

Then comes the inevitable question. Is it that time of month? NO! IT IS NOT! And Thank the Lord that D.H. is smart enough not to ask me that question, because otherwise y'all would be reading a blog that I type from behind prison bars. Ex husband was that stupid. Any male that asks that question should be immediately castrated, I say. And just to make it fair, any woman who asks....(insert question here, because I am running out of steam) should receive fair and equal punishment. Sew a penis on her, I think. Is that equally offensive? TCWH. Equal opportunity offender.

AH FUCK. I am just tired of being angry about stupid shit. I cannot stand feeling like I should be on one of those Jenny Jones, "I used to be a bigfatdorkinschool, but *twinkle*! Look at me now!" episodes. It doesn't help that I played Gamecube all day, ate pork rinds and Peeps and just fucked off all day. And it snowed. Big, fat, flakes that when you went outside felt like some bully was hawking loogies off his/her balcony at you.

What's really bothering me? I have to go to a fucking Partylite party tomorrow. Dammit. Just buy me a shot and call me tomorrow. THHHPPPTTT.

Completely Ironic? I'm watching The MAN SHOW. And loving it.

2004-03-18T23:13:00.000-08:00

Breakin' Up is Hard to Do

Note: 3LD, I hope this blue is dark enough for you. I REALLY wanted to write in turquoise to match my darling's headband, but *sigh*...I will respect your request.

Dear Greg,

It is with a heavy heart and decidedly un steel-like buns that I write you this letter. I have been coming to many new realizations and feel the time has come for us to part ways.

I know you feel the same way. I see the way you look at the other women. The redhead with the mall hair in the pink leotard. When you say, "C'mon, let's squeeze out those cheeseburgers," I know that must be your secret code with HER, because I don't eat meat. It used to be me you were talking to when you said, "People will notice you coming, and they'll notice you going too...They'll say 'Who's that woman with the nice mmm?'". The way you winked at me, I just knew you were talking only to me. You didn't even have to say anything. But now *sigh* the timbre of your voice has changed, and I know that I am not your muse anymore.

Please understand that it is not you, it's me. I have adored your headband and bordering on sexual remarks for over ten years. I have sweated with you, cursed at you, forgotten you, and laughed at you, but still you stare out at me from those 80's Farrah Fawcett like bangs and ask me how something so little can feel so good. But you ask all the girls that, don't you? You smile at all of them that way, don't you? I bet your eyes twinkle at the little number in the shiny black leotard and shiny blue tights, too. The way you pretend that nothing ever happened drives me crazy. You just keep going and going, never waiting for me to catch up, or for my heart to stop beating so rapidly.

Maybe I won't find anybody else. Maybe I won't find another to raise my heartbeat and make me warm. Maybe I'll never love another. But I'll take those chances. I can't see you anymore. It hurts too much.

::sob::

TCWH

2004-03-17T16:20:00.000-08:00

TCWH On Couth OR UNCOUTH

Italian Starlette and I were toolin' around Fussa the other day (Sweeping Vanna White-ish motion::Notice picture to your left), after taking some highly anticipated panty and porn corner pics (If you have not heard about this yet, let me enlighten you. Japan, in all of the cherry blossom/sushi/karaoke/Hello Kitty/mystery of the Orient beauty has some *ahem* interesting vending machines. About 5 minutes from our houses is what we refer to as "the Corner". 4 vending machines. 2 panty. 2 porn. HELLO! KITTY!) for Mr. Chapman. Apparently the GOJ (Goverment of Japan! Ooh! Ooh! I am so! Military! Spouse-y!) is outlawing them, and we had to get proof before they are taken down. Maybe the GOJ doesn't want visiting Americans to know that they are HENTAI! (Read: Perverts. Aren't I just impressing the hell out of you with my acronyms and bilingualicity?)

After the mission, which involved some Mr. Toad's wild ride type driving down impossibly skinny streets, we were driving back to the base (Insert feeling of impending doom here), when I noticed a frangipani flower hanging from IS's rearview mirror.

TCWH: Where did you get this?
IS: The flower? My husband's grandma made it.
TCWH: (recoiling in horror and begin whispering as I know what is about to come out of my mouth is a serious display of insensitivity and can't stop it) The Dead one?
IS: (laughing) NO! The other one! What! You think she's going to make flowers and send them back from the grave?!
TCWH: (visibly relieved) Oh. Don't tell your husband I said that. I have no couth.
IS: Couth?
TCWH: No manners (Don't worry, my Rhodes scholar readers, I have since looked it up to find that couth means "refined, or sophisticated." SO I THOUGHT I knew what I was talking about. That's never happened to you?)
IS: COUTH?! Is that how you say it? (pronouncing it like "Tooth")
TCWH: Yeah. Couth. Why?
IS: (in only a way that she can) Because...I mean, I don't know, it reminds me of the word Girth - like the width of something. Except with the beginning of the word, it sounds like Cooch. So Couth would be the girth of your...(voice trails off) COOCH! (laughing)

Keep in mind that these are the girls who refused to eat the mussels at Galway's because they looked so much like vaginas it was unsettling. ADD to this that we spent about 10 minutes discussing it in detail at dinner about 25 minutes prior to this conversation.

IS: And it even had the little...
TCWH: Button? I know!
IS: And what about the...
TCWH: Hair on there? It was so...
IS: Funny!
TCWH: Well, I was looking for bizarre, but sure!
IS:(lovingly) Shut up! Bitch!
TCWH: *giggling* And then you put it on HER PLATE!
Contrary to popular belief, we are grown adults. As opposed to the ungrown kind. I'm just trying to set the mood here, y'all! BACK. GROUND.

And we laughed ourselves silly the rest of the way home. What do you expect? I guess we had box on the brain? I mean, we HAD just stopped to take pictures at "The Corner". Did I tell y'all they cost $30 dollars a pair?

What new words did y'all learn today?

2004-03-15T16:59:00.000-08:00

A Day of Wondering and WTF?! with TCWH

Psst! Hey you! If you don't know what "WTF?!" means, it means (beckons you a leetle beet closer) WHAT THE FUCK?! There, now that we have that all cleared up, we can proceed.

I was watching MTV this morning, you know, because I am addict, and what should come on, but J-Kwon's "Tipsy". I'm not linking the stupid little bastard because I think he is an idiot. I know I usually don't hop up on my soapbox, but after spending 2 years with middle school students who think fucking up your! life! is! *giggle* cool! I can't leave this unsaid.

So he's got parents. And as the dad is leaving, he says, "Teen drinking is very bad." I thought, "Well, no shit." I guess I forgot to put my "I'm a rocket scientist" t-shirt on today. Directly after which J-Kwon proceeds to rip off his "nerd clothes" (Read: Argyle Sweater), and sing with Chingy like precision "Err-eee-buddy in da club gettin tipsy." And I thought, "Hmmm...I really don't care for that 'Up in herrre' wannabeishness, but it's all right." And then I thought, "WTF? This is a song about TEEN DRINKING and it's on MTV, after they just rolled around in the mud for showing Janet's Boob?" But, wanting to give my beloved MTV the benefit of the doubt, I googled this young Shakespeare's lyrics. This is what I found:

1, here comes the 2 to the 3 to the 4,
Everybody drunk out on the dance floor,
Babygirl ass jiggle like she want more,
Like she a groupie and I aint even on tour,
Maybe cause she heard that I rhyme hardcore,
Or maybe cause she heard that I buy out the stores,
Bottom of the 9th and a nigga gotta score,
If not i gotta move on to the next floor,
Here comes the 3 to the 2 to the 1,
Homeboy trippin' he don't know I got a gun,
When it come to pop man we do shit for fun,
You aint got one nigga you betta run,
Now i'm in the back gettin head from my hunz,
While she goin down i'm breakin down what i done,
She smokin my blunt sayin she aint havin fun,
Bitch give it back now you don't get none.

Okay, he's got some pot and a gun, knows how to use the n word. Sound like a typical teenager. Maybe I'm overreacting. Let's peruse Verse 2,shall we? *Yay* And I don't know about you, but putting together words like gun, run, fun, and hunz are not *ahem* rhyming hardcore.

2, here comes the 3 to the 4 to the 5,
Now i'm lookin at shorty right in the eyes,
Couple seconds passed now i'm lookin at her thighs,
While she tellin me how much she hate her guy,
Said she got a kid but she got her tubes tied,
If you 21 girl that's alright,
I wonder if a shake comin with them fries,
If so baby can i get em super sized,
Here comes the 4 to the 3 to the 2,
She started feelin on my johnson right out the blue,
Girl you super thick so i'm thinkin that's koo,
But instead of 1 lifestyle i need 2
Her eyes got big when she glanced at my jewels,
Expression on her face like she aint got a clue,
And she told me she don't run with a crew,
You know how i do but i guess one gotta do.

So some 21 year old girl comes up to you, tells you she's got her tubes tied, AND slaps her hand on your penis directly after which she glances at your "jewels" (How punny! snort snort) and runs away? Well, shit on a cracker, it must be your lucky day! Lots of fraternity boys I know would "give their left nut" (courtesy of an old college buddy) to see action like this! Ooh, ooh, but let's read Verse 3.

3, here comes the 4 to the 5 to the 6,
Self explanatory I ain't gotta say i'm rich,
This single man aint tryna get hitched,
Nigga waste it on me man son of a bitch,
Brushed it all off now i'm back to gettin lit,
Grisa orange juice man this some good ish,
Homeboy trippin cause i'm starin at his chick,
Now he on the sideline starin at my clique,
Here comes the 5 to the 4 to the 3,
Hands in the air if you cats drunk as me,
Club on the set kwon cut out them trees,
Dude i don't i'm a p.i.m.p.

Watch out ladies, he's single! And he's a man! At 17! And, "Grisa orange juice man this some good ish!" And all this lyrical genius is wrapped up with the piece de resistance. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the chorus! Y'all might want to sit down now.

Now everybody in the club gettin tipsy, everybody in the club gettin tipsy,
Now everybody in the club gettin tipsy,
Everybody in the club gettin tipsy,
Now everybody in the club gettin tipsy,
Everybody in the club gettin tipsy,
Now everybody in the club gettin tipsy,
Everybody in the club gettin tipsy.

Holy shit. Why didn't I think of that? But, he's 17, I guess. So I skeddaddled on over to MTV to see what they had to say for themselves. This is what I found:

HOOD HOP is a true depiction of the thoughts, fears, joys and experiences of a 17-year-old boy who has seen way too much of life for such a young age. It is also a reflection of what happens everyday in the real world; the way real people think and feel and act. It bridges gaps, opens minds, and moves feet. It covers a lot of terrain; musically and emotionally.

Well, excuse the fuck out of me. We all saw way too much of life at 17, but I wasn't made famous for my sexual experiences and binge drinking talents. I mean, I don't want to jump on the What the Fuck MTV? bandwagon, but after seeing how religiously these kids eat, sleep, breathe, and emulate anything MTV, BET, and VH1, I think I have to hang up my hat.

And then, after all that ranting and raving? I thought What the FUCK, TCWH? When did YOU *shudder* become Tipper Gore? I listened to Guns N' Roses as a child (from 11 years of age) and I didn't let anyone show me their serpentine until I was at least 12. Just kidding. Older. 13. Just kidding. Older. (Aren't I just a bucket of giggles and fun today?) And then it hit me: I am getting morals. Or old. You pick.

Yeah, so I'm off to buy myself a nice, sturdy bra that stops my boobs from grazing my waist. Did I mention I was listening to ABBA?

2004-03-13T16:53:00.000-08:00

Last Minute Memos from a Frantic TCWH Or Is THIS thing ON?

To: Blogger
From: TCWH

Dear Blogger,
If you could just post my pictures in an untemperamental manner, I would be highly appreciative. Also, if you could release me from your highly addictive grasp just until Tuesday at 4:00 standard Japan time when all my work is finished, I would LOVE YOU UNCONDITIONALLY.

To: DoDDS Hiring Gods
From: Perspective Teacher

Dear DHG,
I would be forever grateful if you would give the principal the thumbs up so he can offer me a full time position. I have been working my little fingers to the bone for almost two years now. Not to mention practically starving to death on the below poverty level salary I have been making as a sub. I promise not to beat any of the kids, or at least get their parents' permission before I even think about it. I will even provide the sacrificial bully at your altar.
Thank you.

To: Vanity Queens
From: Queen of Denial

Dear VQ,

If you all could take a moment from your busy schedule to wave your wands and disappear the love handles that were not there when D.H. met me as well as any additional cellulite, I would be much obliged. As you may have noticed, my 28 year old body is not what it used to be, despite my strict adherence to all things exercise. Also, if you could stop my thumbnail that I slammed in the closet from falling off, I'd eat celery and tomatoes for a straight week.
Respectfully.

To: Mother of D.H.'s children and my stepchildren
From: The Evil Stepmonster who couldn't possibly be trusted alone with your children (in her own Momma's house!) for two weeks this summer.

Dear DB,
Please stop bursting into tears whenever Son #1 says that he wants to go to New York with me. He knows that you are guilting him into staying with you and will only resent you for it. If I am not mistaken, it has already started. Also, if you could see to it to stop filling both children's minds with what I can only refer to as COMPLETE and ABSOLUTE bullshit about their father, it would make our jobs much easier. As it is, we spend half of each visit deprogramming the from all the lies you have programmed them with. By the way, you do not *GIVE* (insert syrupy sweet disgustingly innocent smile here) their father time. As their father, who wishes to very much remain active in their lives and pays you support and gives you money without question, he is entitled to as much time as he wishes.

To: The Higher Being
From: A Concerned Wife

Dear THB,
I will be sending D.H. off on various trips to various places for varying lengths of time. I would be very grateful if you could return him to me in one piece, safely. The world has been an ugly place as of late, and I have had my share of losses throughout my life. I ask you for this opportunity to live out the life that I have finally found with the man I adore.
Humbly.

P.S.: Dad and Italian Starlette and hubby will also be flying the friendly skies soon. Please keep them from harm.

To: TCWH's Brain
From: TCWH (the frantic student side of her, anyway)

Dear Brain,

I realize that I have not been very good to you as of late. Binge drinking, not enough sleeping, and overheating come to mind. I am writing to notify you that we are almost done with this program, and if you can hold on throughout the summer, I promise to give you some much needed rest. More importantly, if you could focus for this weekend for our Integrated Unit, I promise to watch mindless TV for a week straight. I won't even watch Jeopardy. Oh, and if you could send a few waves to the butt and ask it to shrink, I would appreciate that as well.

To: JC Chasez
From: Concerned

Dear JC,
If you could please stop making catchy tunes and putting them on an album that is of relatively low quality, I would be much obliged. Or, if you could just make your kicky singles available free, that would help us out greatly. I won't even mention that you seem to be in denial. You know what I'm talking about.

2004-03-13T00:44:00.000-08:00

Rockin' Out with My Erin Go Bragh Out OR Mullets, mullets Everywhere. Oh yeah, and a little haiku, too.
Last night was the night of nights. Hilarious, funny, and a little creepy too. I have to say that there is almost nothing better than being ensconced in a tiny Irish Pub 6 floors up from the streets of Hachioji surrounded by friends, acquaintances, and 80's music. The only possible thing that could have improved that situation would have been if D.H. were there, but he decided to NOT ride the train, because he's getting ready to paint his VW Bug, and he had to get his baby ready (Thpppttt. Every party has a pooper).

The gentlemen to your right? No idea who they were. I was merely trying to get a picture of the house rules, which were:
1. Don't disturb other customers.
2. Avoid sexually-harrassing conversation.
3. Refrain yourself from violent action.
4. SCRATCHED OUT.
5. Being Happy! (penned in).

I in no way anticipated this being a problem. It was great fun. We had free flowing food and drink (after drink after drink), and lovely music. There were tons of expats around us, giving it the feel of Hong Kong, and less of Tokyo. Not that I have anything against Tokyo, I just don't socialize (in public) here as much as I did in Hong Kong. And truthfully, I am glad that I went. I laughed myself silly with JW, JS, and Italian Starlette, and did juvenile things with the food. Or laughed when Italian Starlette did juvenile things to the food. Did you realize how much a mussel can resemble a vagina? Disturbing. It even had the little hair on there and everything.

After 3 or so Orange Beers (Like a jolly shandy. If you don't know what that is, well...look it up!), 3 business men walked in. 2 of unidentified caucasian backgrounds, and 1 decidedly Asian. I always wondered if men living in a country where women were predominantly viewed as submissive (I know, I know, I'm digging myself in a hole. Don't worry. I brought my shovel AND my shitkickers) would adopt typical dominant male stereotypes. Answer: They do. So, all night, Italian Starlette and I were ogled by a mid 50's business man with a permed gray mullet who kept making not so subtle references to our asses. Nice. If I had consumed several more drinks, he would have been wearing my contempt. Don't misunderstand me. I am all about the casual look. This jackass was anything but casual. He was about as subtle as... Jessica Simpson's bodily functions.

Apart from the mulleted jackass, the evening was perfect. I was intrigued by a young teacher who had a notebook in his pocket. He told me that he had a short term memory, but later on in the evening he whipped that baby out and started composing haikus like a motherfucker. Not to be outdone, the rest of the table jumped in (Warning: Do not attempt without inebriation) and I lamely tried to extend two words, "the mystery", into 5 syllables by using artistic license. Poetic license? Witness:

blah blah notebook (5 syllables)
blah blah curiousity (7 syllables)
The mystery. EE. (breathes on nails and brushes them on chest. Damn. I am GOOD. OD. You just don't get that kind of genius every day, y'all!)

I even took a picture for y'all. There is one of me floating around, but I didn't take it. Therefore, the fabulous Italian Starlette, looking pie-eyed. Funniest damn thing I've seen all year. I almost wet my pants.

What'd y'all do? AND please excuse my elementary photo editing skills.

2004-03-11T03:57:00.000-08:00

Cry Me a Fucking River, Already.
Yesterday, I had to call my old place of employment on the fabulous island of Saipan to get them to write a letter saying that I had indeed worked there for two years, and was fairly competent as an educator. Whatever. Not my point. I was speaking to a good friend of mine when she tells me that she went to a PTA meeting the other night.

Her: So, you know he got remarried, right?
TCWH: TSS? Really? To an island girl?
Her: Well, she's not from this island. She's Filipina.
TCWH:(pensively) Hmmm. Good for him!

So I thought about this for a couple days. Let it roll around in my big 'ole brain. My ex-husband. Remarried. And I kept waiting for something to happen. Some little stab of pain. Or some tug at the heart strings. Anger. Jealousy. Bitterness. But I got nothing. Not a damn thing. If anything, I was curious about his choice. I thought he always wanted to marry a Carolinian girl and have little brown babies while he sat back with his betel nut and drank beer.

Why was this so earth shattering to me? Because for so long I could not control how I felt about him, and was actually terrified of seeing him. It was an irrational fear. One that births itself in the pit of your stomach and feeds on insecurity and violence. When I first got here, I saw a man who looks just like him. I stopped in my tracks and hyperventilated and physically had to talk myself through parking the car so I could get a double take of this man and convince myself that TSS did not in fact come here. I have a friend, Happy Pockets, who wants me and D.H. to come see him in Saipan. "No. What if I see TSS?" I'd whisper, as if it were actually happening, and it already WAS because I could see it in my mind. "TCWH, Show him that you are capable of a real marriage! Let him see that you are a grown up, that you've moved on!" he'd encourage, but I would just shake my head silently into the phone, knowing that this type of interaction would never be possible because I was so damn scared of him.

It is also impossible because TSS, in his famous politician's charm has denied about 99% of the things that he did in our marriage, which I know because I talked to him about 12 months ago (Yeah, yeah, I know. I don't want to hear it. I thought I might try for some closure. What did En Vogue say? "Never Gonna Get It?" I was struggling with the You don't marry somebody that you completely hate issue. Then I realized he was extremely capapble of something like this. So blah blah blah. Yeah. I know that now.) and he was eerily controlling. Which is probably I spent the first anniversary of our null and void wedding day curled up in a fetal position on a couch in a State where I didn't know any body but D.H. bawling my eyes out and feeling like a complete and utter failure. Add to that his mother calling me, wanting to know if I was okay. I sighed and told her that I was fine, while really I felt like telling her that her baby did not in fact have Seasonal Effective Disorder, but had other things wrong with him that no person would be able to fix. AND THAT if he expected someone to be able to fix them for him, he would keep using them up and spitting them out.

You know, all that OC drama that some people just fucking thrive on. Which could lead me to a very ugly sidetrack about military wives, but hey, I'm one too. So I'll just say "Hey YOU!" Do you really find it necessary to detail two months of some fucking soap opera in disturbing detail while complaining about your diet at a level that everyone within a ten mile radius can hear? Then talk about eating fucking McDonald's and Taco Bell and Popeye's and wondering why the pounds aren't melting off? Just respect that not all of us are interested in why Xander could not be alive AND have written the letter! Lower your fucking voice! PUBLIC. PLACE.

Flash forward to today. I couldn't be happier. Which is a complete fucking miracle for me. If I were my old self, I'd be wallowing in some quagmire of self pity, inviting you all to the party. D.H. said if his ex gets married, he will send the man fabulous thank you notes and send him on a trip. What a fabulous idea. Being as TSS cleaned me out of 6 grand, I think that will be my wedding present to him.

Hoping that you all are smart enough not to marry the wrong fucking people. Obviously I wasn't. But we're back on track now, y'all. Aww YEAH. Back on track. Watch me work!

Promise to get over all this sappy ass drudgery. I'm going to dinner with the bear people tomorrow night. Fun times will be in abundance, and I promise to take the obligatory Tokyo Pictures, you know, so I can have actual proof that I lived here! Happy! Happy! Let's! Celebrating!

2004-03-09T23:08:00.000-08:00

OUT OF CONTEXT

You know, it's a good thing that I'm going to be a teacher. When I was teaching kindergarten, I always asked the kids to CLOSE their mouths and OPEN their ears. After repeating it so much, I'm glad I taught them to do this. They might not hear stuff that comes out of teachers' mouths like this:

"Don't go from crap to Christ!"

"Let me see you finger a natural."

COME PA LEET LEE out of context but so damn funny, I just had to share. Actually, it doesn't seem that funny, does it? Well, just take my word for it. You know, cuz I like crackin' butts.

Teacher update: Think that my student teaching will get waived because I already have 2 years 'sperience. YIPPEE AI OH KYE AY MOTHERFUCKER!!!! I have not been this happy since I found out that Happy Hour in New Orleans meant 3 for 1 drinks!

2004-03-08T21:46:00.000-08:00

It never ceases to amaze me (Cliche's anyone? Ahem. We'll be passing out the tea and scones later) what kind of things I find hilarious or that pop in to my brain due to lack of sleep (If you have had enough of this, jump ship now. I am all *HOPPED* up on NO!SLEEP! and it is worse than the famous ACID trip of 1994, where I was convinced that I was a blonde crayola crayon in pursuit of the bugle boy pants man. Not in the mood? Go read a book, we'll catch up later.). Add to that mix the fact that I have been listening to Jimmy Fallon's "Idiot Boyfriend", and, well, it's no wonder I am barely lucid at the moment.

I decided to throw caution to the wind yesterday ( AW, HELL! Let's just use as many of these trite treasures as we can! Strap it on, boys and girls!) and add to my white light lack of sleep a Diet Coke and an Espresso and Vanilla Ice Cream. This basically exceeded my caffeine intake for the entire year. And after tossing and turning for about 30 years, it was politely suggested by D.H. that I go watch some TV.

I also decided to add to my lack of sleep about a cup and half full of stress. Y'all know that I love insinuations because of my karma phobia (Which just started me on an entirely different plane of thought. I saw somebody spell KAMA SUTRA as "Karma" sutra, and I just thought, "What if the sex world were indeed only Karma?" Where you only got what you gave? I would know some very sad people. What if you pleasured yourself? Would that good Karma come back to YOU? Which really indicates that I am tired, because usually I am so damn anal, I cannot stand writing with errors, my own included. 40 lashes for me, too.) and refuse to identify people. But there was something yesterday that really bothered me. I don't want to say who, because it is a distinct possibility I could be working with said human being very closely very soon. Usually, I blow off one or two miscommunications, or first impressions. But this person, THIS PERSON, THIS! FUCKING! PERSON! I can't seem to find that familiarity with. Every communication, every conversation is like the most awkward teen moment I've ever had minus the sexual tension. I think it reminds me of my teen years because I made it a habit to date men who felt themselves superior to me. *BEST* diet ever. Girls, try it some time. And that is exactly how I felt yesterday. Inferior. Small. And PISSED OFF. But what did I do? Nothing.

I could venture to say why this person acts this way. My parents say it is insecurity, but they're supposed to say that. D.H. thinks it is intimidation (I am very reserved and accomodating. I can be hard to read. Quit laughing, y'all! I AM serious), but he's my husband, he's supposed to say that. Chippy Ho thinks that this person is not too smart, but she's supposed to say that, I worship the ground she walks on. None of these explanations make me feel better, though. I just stood there while T!F!P! (THIS!FUCKING!PERSON!) laughed at me. I felt baffled. And believe me when I say this is serious, because I don't ever recall feeling baffled before, much less using it to describe myself. So, baffled, yeah. We were discussing the plight of today's military child. Ummm...decidedly not funny. And as I stood there fighting to appear serious, I knew what every contestant on American Idol that Simon and Randy and Paula (Yes, even though she's the *NICE* one, she got some laughs in) laughed off the stage felt like. But, I wasn't singing here, folks. If we want to liken my life to that particular show, though, I guess I was auditioning. BUT, I'm just saying. Blah blah blah Golden Rule blah blah blah common courtesy blah blah blah you just don't treat other people like that blah blah blah impending doom blah blah blah = BIG STRESS FOR TCWH.

I don't want to appear a softy. I have worked with PLENTY of people that I did not like before and have done it swimmingly.

On a lighter note, I had dinner with my boyfriend and his family last night. Usually I'm not about the full on chaperones, but HEY. He's four. I have to take what I can get. The grown ups started hooting at some sort of adult funny thing, and he giggles and says, "You guys are crackin' my butt!" and keeps chuckling while the three of us quickly say, "WHAT?!" and all turn to look at him. Watch:

My Boyfriend: (still laughing to himself) I said you guys are crackin' my BUTT!
TCWH: Where did you hear that (frantically racking brains to think if I said anything that could have been interpreted to mean this in front of him. Hey. It's a possibility.)?
My Boyfriend: Nowhere! I just made it up!
TCWH: (using teacher powers of inquiry. Very complicated.) Well, what do you mean?
My Boyfriend: I mean you guys are *REALLY* killing me (By the way, he is still laughing. Quite pleased with himself. And so damn cute I just want to ready for another cliche? No? Too Bad. gobble him up)!
All Adults Present: (collective laughs of relief after realizing we did not expose him to anything that would label us as bad caretakers - especially in public) Oh! You mean we're cracking you UP!
My Boyfriend: That's what I said! You guys are crackin' my butt!

So young and already displaying the powers of selective hearing.

P.S. I am also going to hell because I could not stop laughing at a person who possibly had his or her pupils dilated (Which is a bitch and a half, I KNOW) and was walking around with this huge flat black filter (I don't know what to call them. They look like my Grandpa's sunglasses clip ons. Very large) stuck to his face behind his John Lennon-esque spectacles. In reading this, guess you had to be there.

See what fun no sleep can be, y'all?

2004-03-07T15:35:00.000-08:00

Curtain Call for TCWH

Did I say that I wasn't getting enough sleep? The long winter months in Japan where it is dark until nearly noon and then dark again by three in the afternoon are long gone, and unfortunately, so is my shut eye. This morning, I was awakened by a lovely shining sun streaming through my curtains. AT 5:30 am. A time when most people are still standing naked in front of the entire classroom (insert your worst nightmare here. I'm always naked in mine. And terrified) before being roused by an alarm clock or screaming child.

I am a creature of habit. I wake up at 6:15, check my online classroom, shower, dress, make up, breakfast and out the door. In that order. If I do it out of sequenceI forget to do stuff, which results in me going to work in a skirt with one leg shaved and one leg stubbly. The same things happen when I am eyes open early in the morning. No routine, TCWH has her shit ALL out of order. Clothes a flyin', hairs a unbrushed, late a workin' because I had to go back and park! THE! DAMN! CAR! because you may not leave it unattended, and run upstairs and get my ID. You may not even return a movie without your ID, much less go to work and act as a functioning human being.

(So buy yourself some damn curtains, and shut the hell up already! God, when are you going to make some breakfast around here?) Which brings me nicely to the selection of curtains here. If you like pastels, y'all would be in heaven. One big easter egg. One badly colored hallmark card. One bag of easter themed peanut m&m's. Picture understood. Beiges and diluted greens and yellows and light pinks (that should be illegal) in satiny synthetic fabrics. As you can already tell, my carpet is beige. I DO NOT WANT BEIGE CURTAINS TOO. It would be like living on the inside of a regular cone. Without the ice cream.

So what did I do? Unable to resist any bargain, I bought some white curtains for $2.00. So, let's see, that would be: ridiculous sunlight at 5:00, blinking green exit sign outside bedroom window, blinds that don't shut out any light and are 1/2 an inch too small all the way around, TCWH's idiotic addition of white curtains that make the light brighter, and we're pretty much sleeping in pure white light. I tried unscrewing the light bulb from the exit sign, but apparently that's some sort of hazard, because the next day, about 5 men came and screwed the damn thing back in. You know, just in case there's a fire and I get lost going from my balcony to the fire escape (about 3 inches). I also tried buying curtains off base in the real world. As the Japanese houses are all smaller, so are the curtains. They end about 1 inch from the floor. I am a floor hitting curtain kind of person. Anal? Umm, yes. I'll have some of that.

Obviously I need some sleep. I have been obsessing about curtains for well over a year now.

What I am really worried about: I got an e-mail from my advisor saying that there would be a man out here to do my midterm observation on March 31st. Ummm...I'm supposed to student teach for 10 weeks. Mid term would be at 5 weeks, wouldn't it? Here's the kicker: I'm still waiting for an envelope that okays my start date so everything is "official", meaning that I have not set hide nor hair in the classroom in the student teaching capacity yet. AND, my friend who just finished her stint, said that nobody came to watch her. Why me? I thought that my LOCATION (read: outside the United States) would pretty much guarantee me creative freedom in the classroom (read: nobody around when I fuck up). So yeah, I guess I'm a little nervous. I mean, what if he says, "TCWH, you are clearly not cut out to be an educator. Even though you have spent nearly 20k and taken tons of verbal abuse from pre pubescent punks, we think you would be better suited elsewhere." ? I think that I would just have to cut all the pigeon resistant netting that hangs around the entire outside of the building (SO. UGLY.) and hang off there, because I think committing sucide on this base a la jumping off the balcony could get D.H. kicked out of the military. You know, it would make a big mess and stuff. And probably disturb some officer's wife as she was driving by (H, hope you DID NOT take offense to that. I don't mean your mom. I mean the women who do not work or go to school and wear their husband's rank.)

Must get sleep. Must stop obsessing. Must get curtains.

So the answer to what y'all are wondering right now is: Yes. I have lost my fucking mind.

Let's have some cake. And by cake, I mean lots and lots of wine.

2004-03-06T17:33:00.000-08:00

InSANE in her ADDLED BRAIN OR Have you lost your fucking mind?

Last night, because I was possessed by someone who was clearly lacking sound mind and body, I did something really stupid. Yup, even more stupid than that time that I drove all over Florida at 3:00 am because I was too scared to get out and ask directions to my own house so I tried to drive the Geo down a sand road and got stuck and thank God it's a small car because I had to get out and push it out of the sand and pray on a deserted road to get it out. I deleted my blog. So, if you came looking for me last night, between the hours of 12 and 5, you probably thought, "TCWH, WHERE THE HELL DID YOU GO?" or maybe you didn't, because I have since discovered that just because I delete does not mean that it disappears. Kind of like life. I have deleted many things, but still find them popping up at unexpected random times.

Why did I delete it? I was trying to prove a point. And that has always gotten me in trouble. When my first marriage was going to hell (Thought: Is there a place worse than hell? Because the first time I realized I was going I was laughing my ass off and crossing my legs to keep myself from wetting my pants. Fun. 1st Marriage: Decidedly NOT FUN, which is why I think there has got to be a place worse than hell for that one.) faster than I can eat a whole can of olives (really *super* fast), TSS came over to get what he deemed his. I knew that I was not in any shape to see him, so I asked him not to come, but he did, because he always knew what was better for me than I did. Long story short, I wanted to prove to him that every time he called me a slut and a bitch and a whore was causing permanent, irreparable damage. So what did I decide to do? Well, after I grabbed the knife and offered him my wrist and he refused, I decided to take matters into my own hands and pop an entire bottle of sleeping pills in my mouth and down it with a San Miguel and some soup. I told him that he could write my fucking obituary and that I had left him a pencil and paper to do it. Outcome: Me: Spent the weekend in a mental hospital sharing a shower with a woman who thought she was a cat, and sleeping on a mattress in something that resembled a jail cell, reporting my bowel movements to the floor nurse. Him: Kicking back in the sun, wondering over a round of golf and a beer when that crazy ass wife of his was going to get out of the looney bin. Tally: Him: 1 TCWH: NOT A DAMN THING, some ugly bruises where they put the IV, and one very pissed off and worried sick Momma. Yes, stupid, I know, but it makes me wonder why I hurt myself to prove points. Stupid, stupid habit. Couldn't I just go out and get some fabulous haircut and join a gym, and be like, "Put that in your pipe and smoke it, motherfucker!"? Or better yet, learn how to play golf better than he can and kick his ass all over the front and back nine? I guess I could.

So slap me on the wrist. Make me write "I will not delete my blog no matter what" on your blackboard a trillion or so times so I get the point that depriving myself of something I enjoy does not prove my point whatsoever. Oh, and if you could get me out of the habit of calling up people that I don't need to talk to for some sort of forgiveness that I don't need, that would be good, too. Maybe I should shock myself with the cattle prod.

Realize, y'all, that I am posting this with sarcasm and good humor. Just in case you were wondering what the hell I was doing.

Ummm...(feeling uncomfortable because I don't think you will think this is funny) Look what I can do (in Stuart voice)!

How do you tell which M & M's are boys and which are girls?

The boy M & M's have nuts!

2004-03-06T14:53:00.000-08:00

Women in Comfortable Shoes OR The Ugly Shoes Crew

A couple months ago I got a package from Momma with these shoes in them. It has been her intention ever since I have become a fan of chunky platform shoes to buy me shoes like these. She would like me to cross over to the comfortable shoes side, for fear that I might snap my ankle, or worse, break my neck. She has every right to worry. I trip over "speed bumps" in the carpet. For those of you that are not gravitationally challenged, speed bumps are defined as imaginary bumps that I trip over whenever I walk. It is not even like tripping over my own feet (common to individuals going through puberty which I have not seen in eons), because I don't, and there is NOTHING THERE. D.H. has agreed to this definition, because otherwise he would have to admit that I am a complete klutz. That story about China? Where I fell? I have tons more of those. Add to my life a plethora of platforms (an array worthy of Imelda herself), my liking for wine, and well, Momma has a right to worry. She has been sending me shoes like this in every color for years. And for years, I have politely placed them in the back of the closet and then "lost" them whenever I moved.

On a side note, when I was little, they referred to lesbians as women with comfortable shoes. After traipsing around in high heels for balls and what not, I would just think they were smart. And, with the growing popularity of lipstick lesbians, and let's face it, bisexuality, Girls who like girls come in all shapes and sizes, as do their shoes. But, if one of y'all understands the association of lesbians with the comfortable shoes, please, enlighten me. I'd like to know.

I suppose the whole thing is my fault. Allow me to explain. When I was at Loyola, wasting my parents time and money, and having my social security number scorched into my brain, I had fabulous friends. Part of what we deemed fun was to go to PayLess, find the ugliest, cheapest shoes possible, and then throw an "Ugly Shoes" party. Kathy, Miss V and I would all traipse ourselves down to the local shoe store and laugh ourselves silly trying to find the most offensive foot covering known to man. What better way to make an ass of yourself than to do it with your closest friends? The best part came later, when we would wear our treasures out to the local watering holes and parade about. For some reason, people like to buy drinks for three girls wearing matching ugly shoes. *Sigh* I often feel nostalgic for those days...

Which is probably why these shoes speak to me. While not highly ugly, they do have a certain Minnie Mouse -yness to them. Remember her feet? Here, let me refresh your memory. Her feet look like she adhered to the Chinese tradition of bound feet. I present to you how they look on me:

I feel like I should be running around singing, "Who's the leader of the band that's made for you and me? M I C, K E Y, M O U S E!"

What's my point, y'all? I don't know. Random thoughts from a random girl. I'm still ruminating about that Emergency Cock. There was also a store called "Three Minute Happiness" - now what do you suppose they were selling? I half expected to see in small letters: "Home of the original Minute Man."

Happy Weekend! M O U S E!

"I don't want to work, I just want to bang on de drum all day."

2004-03-06T07:05:00.000-08:00

Sorry, I'm experiencing technical difficulties