My friend Tammy and I were having a lovely conversation about this guy she dated that within a few weeks, she realized was gay.
I asked her how she knew and she told me things like he watched the opening scene to Troy over and over again and then said "I have a thing for Brad Pitt". Comments like that will give you a clue.
It didn't take her long to break things off.
Our IM conversation about this guy follows:
(this is definitely R rated)
Tammy: we hung out and got high about a month ago
Tammy: and we started talking about sex
Tammy: just like general conversation
De: right
Tammy: and he comes out with this little gem
Tammy: "when i'm masturbating the only time i can come is if i have a lint brush stuck in my ass"
De: lmao
De: a lint brush
De: DUDE
Tammy: the handle
Tammy: but still
Tammy: shit
De: how about springing for a buttplug or some shit
Tammy: no kidding
Tammy: i'm tempted to get him one for his birthday
De: if you're going to play, have the proper accessories
De: a lint brush!
Tammy: yeah
De: wtf? what if I came over and realized I had some lint on my black pants
De: so I grab the nearest lint brush
De: "oh don't use that. it's been up my ass"
De: "so THAT'S what that smell was"
Tammy: i think it's a "special" lint brush
Tammy: dude, how do you even get to the point where you look at a lint brush and want to stick it up your ass?
De: thank you!
De: "oh wow...this handle would be awesome up my ass"
Tammy: exactly
De: I don't shop down the hair accessories aisle going "that brush would be great in my vagina"
Tammy: ive been with guys who like the occasional finger in their asses
Tammy: but never a lint brush
De: yeah that's a new one
Tammy: i like to think i'm sexually open
De: finger in ass: good
De: lint brush: bad
Tammy: that about sums it up
De: lmao
De: i'm laughing so hard
De: I have to blog this!
Tammy: hahah
De: I'll change names of course
Tammy: i don't care
Tammy: i didn't stick a lint brush up my ass
Crash is sick.
A few weeks ago, I noticed that he had been very lethargic. Crash likes to blitz around the apartment and play with his toys. He loves to pull the leash on our walks and dominate the other dogs, but lately, he wasn't playing, running or even leading me when we walked.
He would even hesitate before jumping on the couch or bed and Crash NEVER hesitated jumping on anything!
I also noticed that he had suddenly gained weight.
I took him to the vet and they drew blood for a complete blood panel and then weighed him. He had gained 5lbs. He went from 11lbs for the past 8 years to 16lbs.
That's HUGE and it shocked me. I hadn't changed our routines or their food. I couldn't understand why he would suddenly have a 50% weight gain.
The blood work came back normal except that his cholesterol was high and for dogs that's indicative of several things; one of them being hypothyroidism.
The vet did a T4 blood test to test the thyroid and it came back low.
So, Crash went on thyroid medication.
It's been two weeks and I've noticed no improvement. In fact, he was worse. He walks as if he's uncomfortable, he stands hunched over with his head and tail down, he almost flat out refuses to jump on the bed and he stands at the top of the stairs as if thinking, "Are you fucking kidding me?".
I took him back today for another T4 and wanted the vet to see him again. After explaining these symptoms, they kept Crash to do x-rays.
The vet noticed something wrong with his back, a disk I believe, and a small mass on his abdomen which he thinks is nothing to be worried about.
Now he's on medication for his back. We'll go back in a week for a check-up.
This last week has been upsetting for me to see Crash in pain.
I am well aware that I'm about two chihuahuas away from being the Crazy Dog Lady but I won't apologize for it.
I love my dogs.
I don't sit around whining about my problems...much...but if I had to list all the losses I've had in the past year - my father died, my boyfriend left, a miscarriage, one of my best friends (male) got married and my beloved nephew drowned - it would be overwhelming.
However, everyday, I come home to my three dogs who love the hell out of me.
They are so freaking happy to see me whether I'm gone 5 minutes or 5 hours.
They fight for a position in my lap and if they aren't lucky enough to get my lap, they are perfectly happy with lying against my leg or my hip...just TOUCHING me is enough sometimes.
Owning 3 dogs is a lot of work but I love it. They make everything ok.
To imagine losing them (as I know I will one day), is heartbreaking but the thought of losing one NOW is unimaginable.
So, if I have to start selling my few antiques or working it on the street corner, I will spend whatever it takes to make sure my dogs are ok.
So, how much are back alley handjobs going for these days?
My sister and brother in law are fisherpeople from WAY back. They practically raised their kids on the boat.
Their kids have become fishermen and love every second out there in the water. That's why Rick became a Wildlife and Fisheries major and that's why it was such a horrible irony that he drowned doing what he loved.
Getting back out on that boat was probably the hardest thing they ever did, after Rick died.
I was fortunate enough to be invited on that trip a few weeks ago. I KNEW how fortunate I was because one of my other sisters said, "You know, they NEVER invite other family members." It was well known that for some reason, they invited friends but only twice did they invite my dad as he was getting older and they knew he wouldn't be with us long but never any other family members.
So, when they invited me a second time on Sunday, I jumped. This entire week, they will be fishing in the annual Tackle Time tournament so I was excited to be along for the ride.
It wasn't long after we anchored that someone shoved a rod and reel into my hand and made me fish too.
My father taught me how to bait a hook and cast a line when I was a little girl but that was more years ago than I'd like to admit.
I soon retaught myself how to cast the rod out and realized that there was a beautiful art to casting.
I loved how simply complicated it was to use my thumb to release the line but still hold it on the reel as I whip the rod sideways, over my shoulder, releasing the line just enough to sail the bait and hook across the water and down into the depths.
The fact that I didn't catch a DAMN thing wasn't beautiful but after realizing that I sat there for hours catching nothing, I decided to practice my casting until I was flawless.
I could have done that all day.
I started having a deep sociological/psychological conversation with a friend the other night and then I brought it up with another friend the next day to get her opinion.
The night before, I was talking to a friend (exboyfriend) about how I've made such good friends with someone in just the year and a half I've known them and he says "Yeah, especially since you rarely let anyone in."
Well, this is possibly true but I took his comment to mean that I don't make friends very often, which is NOT true.
I do have a hard time letting someone into my heart but that's usually lovers, not friends.
But from what I've said about myself in the past, he concluded that I didn't make many friends not taking into consideration that for the 3 years we were together, he actually SAW me make friends and be socially literate.
So, this made me wonder. What is more powerful, the way we describe ourselves to others or the way others see us?
This also led me to question a person's self-perception. Are we who we think we are or are we who others see.
Are we defined by our thoughts or by our actions?
The definition of self-perception is: An awareness of the characteristics that constitute one's self; self-knowledge.
Self-knowledge. Our self-knowledge and the knowledge another person has of us could be completely different things.
Which one is right?
I would pay money to have someone follow me around for a long while and then tell me, honestly, who THEY see.
My friends aren't going to be completely honest. They won't say "You're nice but a little shallow and vain."
I'd need a professional. Someone unafraid to tell it like it is. Someone who has the ability to really see another person.
Could you do it? If someone came to you and said "Tell me what you see and be completely honest, even if it's negative.", would you be able to give an honest appraisal?
Should we be happy with who we think we are and care less about what other people see?
Or is it more important for the person we think we are and the person other people to see to be the exact same?
I'm obviously not one of these Four Honkies but am I a honky?
I laughed my ass off when I saw the name of this blog through my referrals. Four Honkies. Who says "honky" anymore? Was it always this funny?
If someone walked up to me and called me a honky, I'd laugh in their face. I love that word.
In this politically correct world, I guess we're not allowed to say things like that anymore but I don't think it's ever held the evil connotations that another racist slang word we-all-know-but-won't-mention holds.
But I have to know, where did the word "honky" come from and why is it used to describe a white person?
I turned to wikipedia to answer my question:
Honkey (alternately, Honky or Honkie) is a derogatory term for white people, especially in North America. The word carries far less derisive power when compared to epithets such as "n*****".Most frequently used by African Americans, the word was made popular on the popular 1980s TV show, The Jeffersons.
"Honkey" was probably derived from Civil War era "Yankee". Possibly a combination of the Wolof word honq meaning pink or pale and hunky, an alteration of bohunk, a nineteenth-century pejorative term for an Eastern European.
Wikipedia is kind of like a rabbit hole...you keep digging farther and farther....
After "honkey" it said "See also cracker" so I fell further down to see cracker:
"White cracker," or simply "cracker," was originally a pejorative term for a white person mainly used by blacks in the Southern United States, a usage that is now (as of 2005) somewhat archaic. With the huge influx of new residents from the North, the term is now also used informally as a self-description by some white residents of Florida and Georgia ("Florida cracker" or "Georgia cracker") to indicate that their family has lived there for many generations.As an insult, "cracker" was typically invoked against a white American, particularly (though not necessarily) lower-income, uneducated rural men in the South. The term did not have quite the extreme derisive power of the word "nigger," presumably due to the vastly lopsided social situation between southern whites and blacks when the term was common.
There are various theories about the origin of the term "cracker." The term has been traced to the 1760s, when it was used by the Earl of Dartmouth to refer to frontiersmen who were "great boasters." It may be derived from the Gaelic "craic," meaning "entertaining conversation." Other theories include references to the slavemaster term "whipcracker" or to cracking a whip over oxen when driving cotton to market (Beacon - 1887) and to the 18th century practice of cracking corn to make liquor. The term is used by Charles Darwin in The Origin of Species to refer to "Virginia squatters."
Wow. I didn't know these ethic slurs had such glorious beginnings.
Hillbilly
redneck
trailer park trash
white trash
And they even have an alphabetical list of ethnic slurs!
If you're going to be a bigot, do it correctly!
So, curious now, I decided to look up the origins of the N-word we all find evil and offensive.
I'll just post this link to it because that shit is LONG. The history behind this word is unbelievable and the feelings it conjures up are powerful. It's one word. One word with so many emotions. HUGE.
So, the point of this "educational" post? I wanted to introduce you to a new addition to my blogroll:
Unfortunately, I have a small fraction of the knowledge of what Natalee Holloway's family is going through.
In February, we received a call that my nephew was missing after a "boating accident".
What followed was 22 hrs of nightmare. After hearing details of what may have happened. I knew that he was probably dead but that didn't stop me from hoping. Hoping that he found his way to shore and was waiting on us to come find him. Hoping that he drifted into the marshes and was possibly hurt, again, waiting for us to come find him.
So, I can almost understand the terror that the family of that poor girl is feeling. I felt it for the longest 22 hrs of my life.
I can't imagine weeks of it. I can't imagine months of it....I can't imagine years of not knowing what happened to your child.
I read this article today about bloggers covering the search for Natalee Holloway.
I wish there had been more media coverage for my nephew. It probably wouldn't have helped us find his body quicker but maybe it would help us now in getting answers.
We don't know why he died because his supervisor who was with him at the time, has lied to us repeatedly. She's told several different stories and most of them have tons of holes in them.
The authorities that responded to the "accident" scene are hiding things from us too and our attorneys know this, yet they have refused the case because there is no money to be won and it's not going to be easy going up against the "authorities".
So, do I think media coverage would help? Sure, what lawyer doesn't crave the bright lights of the news cameras? Hell, they would be falling all over themselves to take this case if the entire world were following it.
However, in the meantime, we silently suffer and grieve for someone who wasn't supposed to die.
I hope they find out what happened to the Holloway girl soon and I hope they find out WHY.
I wouldn't wish this kind of pain on my worst enemy.
So, Lisa (or whatever name she's going by now) over at Recreational Use posted a link to a little IQ Quiz and I clicked on it in a complete Pavlovian trance.
Reading the first question, my only thought was, "God I'm sleepy."
I did not continue the quiz.
and my grandfather had to kill a leopard with his bare hands!
Admit it...you're not a real man til you've done this.
A 73-year-old Kenyan grandfather reached into the mouth of an attacking leopard and tore out its tongue to kill it.
I bet his grandkids will never be able to bitch about bullies at school or pesky things like wildcats or snakes.
It may not seem like it here but I'm a closed book in the real world.
I don't talk about my real feelings very often. I don't open up to my friends and I don't cry on many shoulders.
But sometimes, I find my mouth having a mind of it's own and suddenly, I realize....I've fucking shared my feelings. Deep feelings! The next day, much like after a drunken encounter...I'm regretful. "God, why did I say that?".
I went to dinner with my sister, brother in law and my late nephew's girlfriend. As we were waiting for a table, I felt a really bad headache coming on so I took one of my prescribed Fioracets. Later, at the table, I forgot about the Fioricet and had a margarita.
It wasn't long until I started feeling dizzy. Shit! I just mixed alcohol with a barbiturate! Oh well...I sort of liked that crazy dizzy feeling.
It was then that I found myself talking....and talking....and talking.
I actually wasn't as chatty as I thought but more than usual I'm sure.
On the way home, I'm not sure what we were talking about that brought up the subject but suddenly I found myself telling them how I am kind of closed and it's hard to break through my shell and how guys see that as a challenge so they really bend over backwards to break through and worm their slimy little way into my heart. Then, once they're in, the game is over and they want out.
Now, to most of you, who aren't as neurotic and screwed up tighter than a 40 yr old mason jar, this is no big deal. You tell this kind of stuff to your friends all the time. To me, this was like letting the whole world know I had genital warts or something (which I don't!). But it was so completely personal to me that this morning, I was so embarrassed that I even said it.
I think there is something so fundamentally wrong with me.
Speaking of big mouths....
The other day I was talking to my neighbor. She lives downstairs and two apartments over from me.
She had some trouble with the people who use to live right above her back before Christmas and finally she had to call the police after a really bad fight where the guy was beating the hell out of the woman who lived their.
Typically, when the police has to be called to your apartment for something like domestic violence, the apartment managers quickly send an eviction notice and that's what happened in this situation.
So, now, she's got new upstairs neighbors and I asked her on this day, if her new neighbors were better than the previous ones.
She replied that they were much quieter but she's never even seen them.
"They seem to be a really nice couple." I told her.
"What do they look like? What color are they" asked my friendly, African-American neighbor.
I hesistated for a moment, searching for the most politically correct response because I am nothing if not politically correct.
"Dey black!" I blurted out.
If I could have physically pulled those words from the air and shoved them back into my mouth, I would have, but it was too late. There it was. "Dey black".
I am not a racist person at all. I'm probably the most tolerant, culturally sensitive person you'll ever meet but somehow, my mouth was having a Chris Rock moment.
I tried not to show how appalled I was at myself and she didn't seem to care about my faux pas but I smiled and beat a hasty retreat back to the comfort of my apartment.
"Dey black?????" I kept repeating to myself.
I think it's better that I always keep in mind....
"Well-timed silence hath more eloquence than speech."
Since June 9, I've written three blog posts and trashed them all.
I just seem to ramble on and on with no real purpose. All three blog posts sucked.
Therefore, it is time for Short Attention Span Blogging!
In just 3 days, I'll be 33 26!
Today, my lovely friend and coworker got me a beautiful James Avery charm bracelet and my first charm, a Happy Birthday cake. I've been wanting a charm bracelet for a long time and finally....now...I have one!
Friday, I'm having a "slumber party" with my mom and sisters. We're going totally old school with scary movies, facials, popcorn and pjs.
Saturday night my best friend and I are going to Benihana's. Her birthday is the day after mine so we always celebrate together. We've both been wanting to go to Benihana's mainly to see if anyone gets one of those huge knives imbedded into a body part or two.
I don't have any plans for my actual birthday on Sunday but I'm thinking of going to visit my nephews grave. I've been several times since he died but I wanted to make a special visit on my birthday just to let him somehow know that I think about him all the time and even though I can laugh and have fun sometimes, I'll never forget him and he's always on my mind.
So.....
My best friend threw her husband a HUGE 50th birthday party over the weekend.
She worked her ass off to create a luau theme commemorating his birth place.
It was awesome. There was so much food, seafood gumbo, cocktail shrimp, salsas, sushi and then TONS of barbeque.
The tiki bar was unfreakingbelievable. There must have been 50 or 60 different bottles of booze, a keg of beer and a margarita machine.
I've never seen anything like this party and it was a huge hit.
Lon ran into an old friend of ours a while back that we had lost touch with and invited her to the party.
I hadn't seen "Sally" in probably 10 years but we were all inseperable for a time in highschool.
Sally was kind of plain and a little on the tomboyish side in school so you'll understand why my eyes popped out of my head when this attractive, stylish woman with an amazing body walked into the room.
Holy hell! What happened to Sally???
I'm totally mostly heterosexual but the first thing I noticed were her boobs. Those puppies were up and at'em and they were awesome!
She looked great and it was really good to see her and catch up with her again.
About an hour into our evening, she leaned over and said, "I had a boob job last year."
I knew it! Those suckers were just too good to be true.
I don't have anything against ANYONE getting plastic surgery (well maybe Michael Jackson) but I'm not sure I'd lean over and tell someone I hadn't seen in 10 years.
I wouldn't want to fool anyone but.....
Hell, who am I kidding? Of COURSE I want to fool EVERYONE. I would want the entire world to think I was born looking like that!
I'm not at all adverse to getting radical plastic surgery. I'd get an entire body makeover if I could!
And, like Michael Jackson, I'd deny it when people asked about it.
"It's not plastic surgery, my nose just looked bigger in those old pictures. They were taken with a wide angle lens. My ass wasn't really bigger then either, it's just an illusion."
However, when making the decision for plastic surgery you should always remember......
Good Plastic Surgery:
BAD Plastic Surgery:
I just posted about Foo Fighters and my fan friends and then I have this conversation about the upcoming album Foo Fighters are about to drop on June 14. She's listening to the new album and giving me her opinion:
Me: I keep waiting for TCATS
Her: that will never happen
Me: i know
Me: and that's totally unfair for me to expect it
Her: i'm listening to the entire album now
Me: how is it?
Her: enh
Her: not impressed
Me: dammit
Her: lol
Her: sorry
Me: lol
Me: i was looking forward to that being my bday gift
Her: uhhh
Her: don't waste your money
Me: the album drops right after my bday
Her: i'll send it to you if you want
Me: oh well I'll buy it regardless
Me: i mean...it's foo fighters.
Her: i know
Her: i even bought 1x1
Me: me too
Me: it blew
Her: yeah
Her: this entire record seems like it was made in the 80's
Her: and not the hard rock part of the 80's
Me: hmm
Her: the air supply part
Me: lmao
Me: fuckin A
Me: it's gay
Her: i'm fucking serious
Her: i sense a gay assed theme here
Her: dave is fucking pussy whipped
Her: and he's trying to sing about being in pain
Her: it's like he's trying to recreate tcats, but he's not suffering and you can tell
Me: dammit...that bitch (his new wife) needs to fuck all his friends and then someone needs to die in a painful way....
Me: that might be the only way we get a decent album out of him
God, I'm sorry Dave. I still love you!
I will still buy the album and I will still listen to it with an open mind.
Sometimes Sheila is way over my head. Sometimes I read her blog and think, "My God I wish I could be that intelligent." Sometimes I read her blog and think, "We might have been separated at birth." Today was one of those days.
Sheila wrote this amazing post about Dave Grohl.
I've never written much about him or the Foo Fighters on my blog because I can't put into words what they mean to me.
Yes, how strange for a group of musicians to have a powerful meaning in my life but they do.
I mentioned it in comments on Sheila's blog but I'll talk about it here.
Back in 1999 I was in the biggest, deepest, darkest depression ever. Every single day, I would wake up and think, "Is this the day I kill myself?" and I would have to actually list all the reasons why I shouldn't. Everyday, I would find reasons but I feared the day that those reasons would mean nothing anymore.
Then, while flipping through the radio stations, I heard Everlong. I had heard the song before, of course, but for some reason, the song just held me at that moment.
These lyrics:
If everything could ever feel this real forever
If anything could ever be this good again
The only thing I'll ever ask of you
You've got to promise not to stop when I say when
Just grabbed me and wouldn't let me go.
I had to know more so I got online and went to their website and suddenly became a part of this community of fans.
I ended up finding people who lived near me that I eventually met and am still friends with to this day. I'm still friends with fans that I've never met but talk to on a near daily basis.
Getting to know those people gave me a reason to get out of bed which led to me getting out of the house and actually starting to live again.
As stupid as it sounds, the Foo Fighters saved my life in a way.
I got involved in several projects and got to meet the band twice. And I talked to Dave on the radio during a Rock Line interview.
These guys are so gracious and don't throw attitude around like you would expect from real rockstars.
Dave was so amazing in person. He took the time to actually TALK to me and listen when I spoke all the while people were pushing and shoving around us trying to get autographs and pictures.
Anyway....read Sheila's post. She says it all there so much better than I ever could.