Yesterday, friends and family of Rob Smith aka Acidman, celebrated his life in true Acidman fashion: they partied in his honor.
There were many, many of us who could not attend so comments on his site were opened for tributes.
Chablis had the great idea of starting an IRC channel for people to come in and celebrate Rob and share stories.
It turned into an absolute laugh riot. The things that were talked about in that room would make a hooker blush.
I learned terms for female body parts that I never knew existed and I can't stop hearing in my head. I think Rob would have loved it!
At around midnight or 1 am, we were amazed that so many of us were still there and shocked at how we all felt like we had known each other for a really long time.
I didn't really know anyone there before or even read their blogs. The only person I actually knew was Jim @ Smoke on the Water.
The reason I met Jim was because of Rob's blog.
Now, I know all these other people and have made these connections, again, because of Gut Rumbles.
So, Rob is gone, but his legacy lives on. We have formed friendships because of what he gave to us...his friendship.
So, the Unusual Suspects are going on my blogroll. They helped turn a really sad occasion into a true celebration!
And if Chablis truly posts the unedited log of that chat, then I was NEVER there!
Chablis, whose great idea started this E-Blogmeet.
Evilicious Blonde, whose site may be too hot for work but she's TOO hot for words!
OG, the dirty "old" man AND the Neanderpundit.
Lisa, who has got to be one of the nicest girls in the blogosphere!
Libby, THE Libby!
This guy, whose name I didn't catch but who was a ton of fun!
Adam, the original horndog and my little pedo-crush!
St. Paul, the man who has been holding Gut Rumbles up and will be taking over to keep the site up and running in Rob's memory. Also, he's my totally legal e-crush.
If I left anyone out, let me know. I'm operating on very little sleep this morning but it was SO worth it!
So, here's to Rob...where ever you are. Thanks for your words that kept us coming back and for the legacy of blogging and friendship that you leave behind.
One of my very favorite bloggers, someone I read everyday and had the good fortune to share an email or two with has died.
I will always remember Rob.
Update:
Read some tributes and goodbyes to Acidman.
Instead of sitting home and "writing", this afternoon I went out with my sister and brother-in-law in their boat.
It's the Tackle Time tournament here and the goal is to catch the biggest fish.
We've lived on the water all our lives but until last summer, I hadn't been out fishing since I was a young girl.
I don't like to handle bait so my nephew or my brother-in-law have to bait my hook and my casting abilities are rusty.
I don't know all the rod and reel jargon but there is a lot going on when you have to cast your line out.
You have to keep your thumb on the spool once you release the...the thingy while you gracefully arc the rod over your shoulder, releasing enough line but still controlling the amount of line leaving the spool.
I had a really good reel and it had some super fast bearings. I would fling that line out and fail to control the spool causing backlash -or as my brother-in-law called it, professional overrun.
I spent more time trying to work out the backlash than I did actually fishing but finally I got pissed off at myself and decided that I was going to repeatedly cast that son of a bitch out until I got it right. And I did.
I was the first person to catch a fish. It was a large croaker but since there isn't an adult catagory for croakers, we threw it back. I later caught a small gafftop. We threw him back too.
There is something so amazing about sitting in a boat, floating on the water watching the clouds drift by, watching the pelicans dive head first searching for fish.
For a moment life was really peaceful and almost perfect.
Then my nephew turned on the radio and all it would pick up was a station playing a Kenny Rogers song.
The argument started over whether or not Kenny Rogers was called the Silver Fox.
My sister insisted that was his nickname. I said I didn't believe anyone had ever called him that.
My brother-in-law said, "No. Conway Twitty was the Silver Fox."
"What? No way! Conway Twitty had hair as black as shoe polish. No one called him the Silver Fox either!" I said.
We all sat in silence for a few minutes and for some reason I felt like I needed to say, "You know who the Velvet Fog is?"
No, no one knew.
"It's Mel Torme, you idiots!"
"Is that Marisa Tomei's father?" My sister asked.
I blinked a few times, opened my mouth to say something, stopped and opened my mouth again...
"Yes, yes, Marisa Tomei's father is the Velvet Fog."
I went back to watching the pelicans.
I know I haven't blogged anything of substance in a long time but I'm getting that itch to really write lately so maybe this weekend I'll dedicate a lot of time to writing and try to post something decent.
These last several days have been drama-filled and I got behind on the work I get paid for while dealing with the drama and the entertainment that followed.
So, let this be a warning....
I'm coming back.
I hate being overly-sentimental. I find it tiresome and I'm slightly cynical person but I couldn't let this day go by without a few thoughts.
As hard as it is to believe, my father died on this day two years ago.
Time has gone by so quickly, however, I feel like I just saw him yesterday.
Losing someone close to you is strange. Losing a parent almost seems unnatural.
One day they are here, right here in your life and the next day, they are gone and you really don't know where they went. Is there a heaven? A hell? An afterlife?
My father and I had a tumultuous relationship and there were times when I didn't like him very much but I do know that at no time did he ever stop loving me. Sometimes he didn't show it so well but I know that he did.
There are those five famous stages of grief and the final one is acceptance.
I don't think you can ever accept death. You just get use to the way it feels not having them around.
I think I just turned into a really bad person. Have you just ever been in one of those moods?
There are 3 brothers that come in a lot. They're all three equally weird.
The middle brother is real chubby, like an 18 yr old baby.
He's 100% baby fat and he giggles at the computer like a retard.
They're pushy and annoying and really starting to get on my nerves. They've been in a LOT these last few weeks.
My coworker and I had the following conversation on IM:
Me: that fucking fat Middle kid just farted
Me: and he goes "scuse me"
Me: there is NO excuse for that
Co-worker: what the fuck is going on back there?
Me: those Smith kids are fucking retards….a whole family of fucking retards
Co-worker: is the youngest a retard too?
Me: which one is the youngest?
Co-worker: the skinny one I thought
Me: oh he seems slightly less retarded
Me: Middle kid seems like the type that would scream like a girl if you pinched him
Co-worker: ha ha... wanna find out?
Me: LOL! kinda
Co-worker: make it look like an accident
Me: I wanna punch him in his belly
Me: and make him cry to his mama
Co-worker: ok you can’t write shit like that if I can’t laugh really really loud!
Me: notice how I'm funnier on the internet?
Me: I'm always funnier via email or IM
Co-worker: I think you're fucking hilarious period!
Co-worker: go pinch his fat ass
Me: DUDE
Me: you said that right as Youngest walked up
Me: I was cracking up in his face!
Co-worker: are their parents here?
Me: no
Co-worker: ok good I might feel kinda bad if they were
Me: hell no
Me: they created these little downies
Co-worker: wow that was mean!
Co-worker: but so funny!
I KNEW it! Britney didn't have a stylist for her train wreck interview. This girl is just plain losing it.
Ok...I'm shutting up about Britney Spears now. You'd think I was obsessed or something.
link stolen from Pink Is the New Blog
I'm going to celeb blog here for a moment.
I watched part of the Britney Spear's interview with Matt Lauer last night at Lon's house.
Up until the interview, I kind of felt sorry for Brit Brit. She's hounded by the paparrazi all the time, she's under a microscope, she was thrust into the spotlight at a young age and now she's married to the worlds biggest loser...
I felt sorry for her.
Then I saw the interview.
She is a solid mess. 100%.
It's not hormones, it's not the pressure. Her true Louisiana, pwt upbringing is shining through.
Besides the incredibly stupid things she said all night, her appearance was unbelievable.
It wouldn't be that bad if I thought she dressed herself but every famous person has a stylist. That stylist picks out their clothes, decides how their hair will be worn and oversees the application of the makeup.
Was her stylist sick that day? Did the stylist get hit by a bus and Britney was left to dress herself?
Would someone actually ALLOW her to wear a lowcut top with her boobs spilling out while she was 94373943 months pregnant? Would a person not say anything to her about the clownish makeup circa 1985 she was wearing? Why wouldn't someone BRUSH her piss yellow hair? For God sake, give the girl some shampoo and a freaking brush!
What were her people thinking? Not only should they ban her from talking EVER, they should also not allow her to dress herself before she leaves the house.
She is a complete and total mess.
In lieu of anything remotely interesting....
Well, for a "birthday weekend" it wasn't so horrible. I stayed busy Saturday, trying to get things done in time to get home to watch the Astros play.
Sunday was an all sports day. There was so much good sports going on; the French Open, Astros, Clemens playing with the Astros' minor league team and most of all...World Cup Soccer! How exciting is this?
How is it that such a monumental sporting event can occur and we Americans just don't give a shit?
There are countries that riot in the streets and commit suicide over soccer/football games and in the US, we wouldn't know David Beckham if he came over and screwed our mothers. It's a shame really because not only is Beckham hotter than hell, soccer is a great sport.
What makes it exciting for me, though, is to watch the passion of the fans. Their teams are their lives and they will fight to the death for their beloved players.
What do we, as American's die and fight for? Definitely not soccer. Freedom?
I know, I'm early.
My birthday isn't until Monday but I've got the blues.
Caution: Whining Ahead!!!!
I am not looking forward to my birthday but it's not because of my age. I could easily lie about my age so I'm not worried about being 34 26.
I guess I still have that childhood birthday fantasy. Birthdays were a big deal in my family. I always had a big birthday party and lots of gifts. Even after I got older, my parents always made the day special for me.
My birthday started going down hill in my mid-twenties. I was dating a guy who was pretty cold-hearted. One year he didn't get me anything and his excuse was "I buy you a lot of stuff during the year."
I was already mentally beaten down by this guy so yeah, it hurt, but I wasn't outraged like I should have been.
Then years later, I was dating someone else who, although he was a good guy, was unimaginative.
His birthday was a few days before mine and one year I planned a trip to San Antonio and we stayed in an amazing hotel. I planned out this great weekend for his birthday and he was floored by it.
On my birthday, he planned....nothing.
We did nothing.
I was depressed. I stayed in bed until 2pm and finally he came in and said "I guess we could go out to eat."
God, I should have known then this shit wasn't going to work out.
So, every year my birthday has been a disappointment. It's my fault really. I have unrealistic expectations, I know.
But it would be nice to be special to SOMEONE even for just one day a year.
One day! Sheesh! That's not asking for much, is it?
As you all know, today is 06-06-06 which, of course, translate to 666. You know, the mark of the beast.
It would be a good idea to get your shit together because the "experts" have declared today to be the last day of civilization.
I've never thought we were very civilized to begin with but whatever, the experts didn't ask me.
What would YOU do if it were your (and everyone else's) last day on Earth?
Me? Well, right now, all I can think about is a really good nap. Nothing sounds better.
If I weren't so sleepy, I guess I'd want to spend the day with my loved ones or some shit like that.
It's not like I can travel Europe in a day or write "The Great American Novel" by midnight.
There is not much a person can do in a day so really, it's not very fair. To really do all the shit you wanted to do before the end of the world, you'd need a little notice and I didn't hear about this 666 crap until the day before yesterday. That's not enough time!!! I'm a planner. I like to have my schedule organized. You know, like: Breakfast at 8. Time with family from 8 - 10. Plagues of locust at 10:30. Floor of the Earth opening at Noon. Mass genocide 2pm until....
Happy 06-06-06, kids. It was nice knowin ya.
Yeah, you perverts, it's not what you think.
De is sick, kids. I think I have a tumor.
Anytime I have some unexplanable illness, I immediately think it's a tumor.
I daydream about what it would be like on my deathbed, saying goodbye to my loved ones, deciding which of my belongings go to whom.
It's not that I want to die but in this topsy-turvy world we live in, one should be prepared for the inevitable.
So, as much as I would love to regale you with more smut from the Skankerella files, I really need to concentrate on my tumor and be a total drama queen.
Don't worry, I'll be blogging on my deathbed. Isn't that what a good blogger would do?
You wanted more Skankerella.....
Dear De,
Guys are single-minded creatures most of the time; horny guys are SUPER single-minded.
I don't pretend to know a guys' mind but I can imagine that once he's in a sexual groove, he has a hard time (no pun intended) thinking of anything else.
Remember Hugo? When he and I were dating, it seemed I opened him to a virtual cornucopia of sexual positions and experiences. He didn't like doing it doggy style....until I came along.
I enjoy many sexual positions but nothing is better than the primal act of lovemaking when a hot guy is behind you driving you home with each manly thrust.
I just could not abide by a man who didn't want to do it like that.
Hugo learned quickly how good it could be, however. He learned TOO well.
Hugo had one of those headboards that doubled as a shelve with sliding doors and everything. The night before he put a large plastic cup of water on top of the headboard incase he woke up thirsty.
Your friend, Skankerella woke up a little horny and Hugo was...well...Huge-O. I rolled over and he took me from behind and within a few minutes the bed was shifting like a 9.0 on the Richter Scale.
We didn't think about that large cup of water on the headboard until it came crashing down on top of my head.
Now, my dear, you must understand that the one rule Skankerella has about sex is that you must NOT mess up the hair.
Do what you like to me but leave the hair alone!
But today, my hair was drenched and water ran down my back and shoulders and soaked the pillows.
Did Hugo stop to render aide, you ask?
No! He was in "the zone" and a hurricane whipping through the bedroom couldn't have stopped him.
When Hugo was finally spent, he collapsed on the bed putting his hands on the wet sheets and noticing my soaked, ruined hair at the same time.
"Wow, baby", he exclaimed, "I really put it to you good, didn't I? I've never seen you sweat like that!"
Men!
Kisses,
S