A Little About Me
|
Posted:Jun 21, 2009 9:29 am
Last Updated:Dec 2, 2015 7:21 pm
16277 Views
|
I am an alien. I've always felt out of place on this planet and I've put this down to the fact that I must have been stranded here due to some gross intergalactic clerical error. So while I wait for my mothership I record my observations on "Life, the Universe and Everything."
I don't write serious and meaningful. If it isn't amusing to me in some way, you won't find it here. Who wants to listen to rants and raves and groans and moans? I save that for my friends in person. (That probably explains why I don't have many.)
I've lived in 5 countries and 6 states. Any self respecting scout alien in an outpost needs to experience as many cultures as possible. And I have come to the conclusion that humans are weird, mixed up, unbalanced, beautiful, funny and magnificent. In my time here, I have adopted the "weird, mixed up, and unbalanced" parts perfectly.
So that is what I write about.
If you're a standard member and can't view profiles, you can see mine in this blog post. PROFILE AND PICS
Feel free to introduce yourself here. If you would like it to stay private please say so in your message and I will leave it pending. Otherwise it will be open to public consumption. Standards can email me privately this way also.
|
|
|
23
Comments
, 1 Pending
|
|
OLD AGE AND EXERCISE
|
Posted:Sep 10, 2011 6:49 pm
Last Updated:Jun 9, 2012 5:31 pm
12316 Views
|
Obviously I caught some kind of nasty virus that interfered with my brain function and ability to reason like a sane human being. I decided to go for a walk today. A WALK. Like….actually OUTDOORS….. What the hell was I thinking?
After practically no exercise since I quit going to the gym over a year ago, I decided to go to the park to re-introduce myself to a heathy lifestyle with some speed walking. Shouldn’t be too big a deal I figure. I’ve seen the park….I drive along side it almost every day. I’m thinking …a mile tops. I’ve got my music (what is it about an unashamed, badly singing woman that freaks people out so?) So anyway I set off walking. And I am here to tell you, it stopped being fun about a quarter of the way in.
I got to the end of the one side and turned the corner and instead of a nice parallel path back on the other side I saw instead, an endless stretch of path disappearing off into the mists of the horizon! Apparently the park isn’t a nice even rectangular shape. Who the hell built it like that for crying out loud. And why didn’t they put some kind of warning at the entrance? Well being as stubborn as a mule with an attitude problem, I refused to give in or slow my speed. So I just sang more loudly and with each passing yard, progressively more off-key. And the distance people kept putting between me and them as they passed grew, to the point where they were actually stepping off the path into the grass to avoid me.
When I got to the half way point, the park started going uphill. WTF? Who builds a walking path on a hill? What kind of crazy foolishness is that? I mean seriously! I was close to passing out by that point and not even the sight of the hot, sweaty, bare-chested, muscle bulging Adonis who passed me 87 times to my one lap, was enough to keep the smile on my face anymore. In fact I was wishing I had thought to put a post-it on my back requesting a call to 911 should anyone find me planted face down. A *distinct* possibility at that point.
I finally made it to the end and when I checked the mile marker (why didn’t I think of that at the start?) it was a mere 3 miles! I still think the ‘0’ after the “3” fell off the sign. I was still two blocks from home however and the possibility of being arrested for clamoring through people’s back yards, was an infinitely more attractive proposition than taking the long route along the road. I was sorely tempted. (with the emphasis on sorely.)
Seriously I thought exercise was supposed to make you feel great? I think that’s just for younguns. Old people should avoid it like the plague. It drove me to drugs. I had to take painkillers for my ankles and knees, antacids for heartburn and aspirin for the impending heart attack. My fingers are swollen like fat sausages. My arms hurt. Huh? The only weight I was carrying was my cell phone. Stupid stupid idea for a Sunday afternoon. I need to do that crap on a Friday evening so I have all weekend to recover. But maybe I shall get over this virus before then and all with be right with the world again.
|
|
|
4
Comments
|
|
REDNECK ROMANCE
|
Posted:Jun 15, 2010 10:23 am
Last Updated:May 21, 2013 9:08 pm
13549 Views
|
I know I haven’t blogged in a while. I have been caught up in the whirling chaos that is my life. But I came across something that I absolutely had to share.
Those of you who know me and have read my blogs before, know of my antipathy towards FL. My family lives there and perpetually nags me to move back there. I adore my family but having escaped once from the conglomeration of unappealing characteristics of the state, I try to limit my brushes with FL to short visits that I can recover from with a self pampering treatment course of Krispy Kremes and a few sessions of therapy.
My mother constantly asks me why I hate FL so much. As other people do. They just don’t understand. If you are really interested you can see one of my previous FL rants here. NASA TODAY BRAIN SURGEON TOMORROW. If not, then I’ll just quote a paragraph from one...
“FL has the reputation for being the sunshine state. But it rains. EVERY day. Yes there are beaches but also 28,000 people on them. As well as sharks cruising for a midday snack. Give me a pool any day. Nobody ever died from someone peeing in a pool, which is about as dangerous as pool swimming gets. The mosquitoes are large enough to pick you up and carry you away as fast food takeout. High cost of living, low pay, a marked lack of teeth (in the old AND the young), a dearth of history, culture, interesting architecture and always being a minimum of 20 minutes from the nearest loaf of bread... just about rounds up the tally score for avoiding the place. Suffice it to say, FL is not on my list of places to be for periods longer than it takes to exchange Christmas gifts with family.”
But my number one reason for not wanting to live in FL is that I am terrified of falling for a FL redneck. And making little redneck babies. Yes it’s true. I am that shallow. Because I have to tell you, living there, the odds would be extremely high that whoever I met would be a camouflage wearing, pick-up truck (with 6 dogs in the back) driving, mud bogging, snipe hunting, toothless tobacco chewing, genuine FL redneck. Now the rest of this post might mortally offend some of you who may actually identify with it. So please don’t get your panties in a bunch. We all have different tastes and I appreciate that you might find this beautiful. All I have to say about that though is...take more of those little yellow pills...
My mother is an artist. She recently got a commission from a dude who wanted a romantic gift for his girlfriend to give to her for her birthday. A beautiful portrait on canvas? Maybe a study of fruit? Or a breathtaking landscape? All of which, my supremely talented mother can turn out in magnificence. No. He had his own ideas for this gift. I know that everyone has a different concept of romance. But seriously... On what planet, and without the aid of pharmaceutical products, could anyone other than a redneck think that having your girlfriend's face painted on the stripped bare skull of a deer would make a romantic gift that would get her feeling all warm and fuzzy and in the mood for some nookie? Of course all things considered...there are many redneck women in FL also. Some of them built like Hulk Hogan (complete with the facial hair) that might find such a gift appealing.
But what if it’s contagious? I just can’t risk it. So I have informed my mom that this was the final straw. The final nail in the coffin of her dreams of me ever moving back to FL.
I submit the picture she sent me as evidence. For those of you not stoned, I am sure you will agree with me. For those of you that have some redneck in you...she accepts Paypal and all major credit cards but you have to bring your own skull.
.
|
|
|
4
Comments
|
|
TWATTER STATUS UPDATES
|
Posted:Mar 25, 2010 6:56 pm
Last Updated:May 21, 2013 9:30 pm
13662 Views
|
It is the dawn of the future at FriendFinder-x. Yesiree folks.they strive to bring us cutting edge technology for our dime. Today I noticed that we now have status boxes which we can edit. No more having to go to the twitterplace of the evilfaceplace to announce our every change of underwear. Thats right folks. A FF has provided us with the very same tool right here for our convenience. Up-to-the-minute Twatter updates on our very own profiles. With one very slight hiccup. Minor really...all things considered...The updates are subject to the same approval process as profiles.
Thats right. Obsolete and outdated updates. So in order for your up-to-the-minute status update to be current, you need to plug in what you will be doing/thinking 24 hours from now. Tune in next week to find out what I will be eating for breakfast in the morning. Im not quite sure where these twatterings will display as mine has been pending for a mere 5 hours so far. (Addendum: It has now been 12 hours.)
I am starting to believe this update feature doesn't actually post anywhere. They have invested all that programming time and cost so that we may update ourselves with outdated notes. Thank you A FF!! I was at a loss before you took me in hand and gave me a convenient place to jot down what is on my mind. No more trying to remember my grocery list....I can just go to A FF's status feature to plan my weekly excursion. No more trying to remember where I left my car keys. I merely have to log in and jot down where I put them when I get home, where it will be stored safely until my next trip out. However did I manage before, without A FF to remind me of what I was thinking about??
Surely the bright spark who came up with this idea is deserving of the Window Licker award of the year!
What will you twatter about?
.
|
|
|
3
Comments
|
|
PLAYING FACEBOOKVILLE
|
Posted:Mar 23, 2010 10:40 am
Last Updated:May 21, 2013 9:11 pm
12841 Views
|
Face-book fever. Yes we�ve all caught it. We�ve all given in. I held out for as long as I could before I finally gave in to peer pressure and made an account at the evilfaceplace. But I HATE it! How has something so annoying become so popular??
I signed up a year ago and immediately all those old school friends that I had forgotten and lost touch with, either accidentally or deliberately, started popping up. Not to mention all my brothers ex girlfriends, of which there are MANY, all trying to track him down. It�s like being 16 and my brother�s social secretary all over again.
Then came the questions. �So!.....When are you going to settle down, get married and have ?� (Why isn�t there a facebook application for stabbing someone between the eyes?)
I felt so old and lost. Everyone I knew back then seems to have established a "normal suburban lifestyle." And they rejoice in showing it off to all and sundry on the evilfaceplace. Really, do I *need* to get up-to-the-minute updates on your �s grades at school, your hubby�s promotion, your new kitchen, how many times you urinated that day, and how you spend every minute of your work day not actually working.
NO! Read my lips. I....Don�t....Care....
I also don�t care about your chicken coops and your harvest of eggs, how many tomatoes you picked, the new fence you built or how many mobsters you shot. Yes I know you worked very hard to get there and you�re awfully proud. But I promise you that the rest of us (ME) would rather you contain your enthusiasm and not share! And while we�re on the subject...virtual pokes, pillow fights, mugs of beer, hugs, roses, and 8 billion cause requests, really don�t do anything for me. No I won�t be sending them back to you either. Yes I know I�m a terrible face-book friend.
And what�s with all the 5-question personality tests? Is it really imperative for me to find out that I am a blue M&M (the flirty yum yum) or 63% bitchy, 16% sweet and 21% confused?? How did we manage before face-book was there to break these things down for us?? There are over 100 ignored requests on my page. I wonder how many can stack up before their servers have a meltdown?
I logged in yesterday and was instantly reminded why I had avoided doing so for the last 6 months. I was blitzed with updates about my �friends� that I could really have done without. I�m not sure which was the most irritating.
*My room mate from college who was the class clown back then, with pics of himself standing with Mel Gibson, the star from Avatar and various producers.
*My ex, blissfully happy with the girl he hooked up with immediately after we split, complete with pics of them and their cute cuddly kittens.
*Assorted high school friends with their happy wives, husbands and 2.3
And the coup de grace....
*The guy I was madly in love with 12 years ago who asked me out twice and stood me up twice, now happy and in love with his gay boyfriend.
But at least I know deep down, that the whole face-book fa�ade is really just that. Another application for a virtual reality that doesn�t really exist. I�m sure the happily married couples haven�t had sex in 3 months. The eldest honor roll is in therapy for maiming the next door neighbor�s while the younger one wets the bed. The trophy wife is on Xanax and the successful husband works late to avoid going home. At least this is what I am telling myself so I don�t feel like I got the virtual shaft. So here is my next facebookville status message to all my married and settled down friends...
I�m single, I like to party, when I leave tasty snacks in the kitchen, they are still there when I return, and I can fuck who I want, when I want...and DO!
So bite me Facebookville!
.
|
|
|
0
Comments
|
|
WHY ITS BEST TO GO COMMANDO AS YOU GET OLDER
|
Posted:Mar 8, 2010 1:58 pm
Last Updated:May 21, 2013 9:15 pm
14300 Views
|
I seem to be writing a lot of posts lately about how forgetful and absent minded I have become recently. Putting my clothes on inside out, forgetting bleaching dye in my hair, losing important documents, hiding valuables from myself...It could just be coincidental but more likely, it is that old age is sneaking up on me and not being overly discreet about it.
My latest old-timers moment was this past weekend. A girl friend and I decided to go to a club this past Saturday. As usual, we were late leaving the house, so I figured I could finish up getting dressed in the car. (I was the passenger as she won’t let me drive. See previous driving posts.) I had run out to the car with my shoes, thigh highs and underwear in my hands. I managed to get them all on but couldn’t hike my panties all the way up thanks to my safety conscious habit of wearing my seat belt at all times. I figured I would just pull them all the way up once we got to where we were going and I could take the belt off. When we arrived, it was so crowded there was not a single parking space to be found. We finally relented and pulled up in front of the club entrance for valet parking. See where this is going? I didn’t. (sigh)
I launched myself out of the car in front of the huge crowd standing outside the club wondering why I couldn’t walk very well. I looked down just in time to see my panties sliding from my knees to my ankles to the grand applause and cheering of my audience. I knelt down grabbed my underwear and leaped back into the car, hiked my dress up to my waist and started maneuvering my panties into place just as the valet attendant hopped in the driver's side and shouted “Whooooaaaa.”
For crying out loud. I mean come on...it’s not like dealing with women sitting in the passenger seat commando, with their legs spread and their dress hiked up to their neck isn’t in his job description. It’s right there at the bottom, printed plain as day, “...and any other duties as required...”
Amidst all the cheers I climbed out of the car again and trotted up the steps into the club. Only to find that the panties I had chosen for my night out were too big for me anyway and kept slipping down. So I decided my best bet was to just get rid of the damn things and be done with it. Which I did, as I stood at the bar. Why not? Everybody had seen them already.
It is moments like that when I sometimes think I have the monopoly on “stupid.” But all you wonderful folk can benefit from my bimboesque moments. My pearl of wisdom for today is...as you get older...the less you have to keep track of, the better!
So say YES to commando!
.
|
|
|
4
Comments
|
|
ASS INDUCED PTSD
|
Posted:Mar 1, 2010 2:08 pm
Last Updated:Aug 5, 2012 7:16 am
13983 Views
|
This is a new twist on an old rant. The most blogged about topic on A FF. Yes the dreaded genitalia profile pics. But I am not here to discuss the ever present A FF penis, or the carnivorous vagina. No, today’s post is about the male Ass Shot.
I know all you straight folk with ass pics out there are probably going to get all jacked up over this but… is it just me that finds the “Ass Shot” a little gay?
Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not talking about the artistic shots of naked man meat draped enticingly over a bed, or leaning against a wall showing off your Adonis physique. I am referring instead to the pic of just ASS. I’m still trying to unearth the sexy factor. Especially with the hairy ones.
I was browsing profiles this week while eating brunch (Never a good idea) and wham! I had Hairy ASS in my face. I think I am now suffering from Hairy Ass PTSD. To be fair it wasn’t fully hairy. It appeared that an attempt had been made to shave it. But there was a horizontal line of fur running across the top of the ass like an Ass-Stache. Could he not reach it? For the love of God, the only thing worse than hairy ass is halfassed hairy ass.
I can only offer you guys this pearl of wisdom...
If you have a burning need to share your ass with the world, at least do us all a favor and have it pre-approved for public consumption.
I am not saying there is no hope for you hairy assed men. I have had very satisfying sexual encounters with a hirsute man or two. But there is a *reason* that hormones are released to flood the brain pre-sex. It’s a biological mechanism put in place by the powers that be, to ensure the survival of the species. Hormones have a mind numbing effect and interfere with rational thought and processing. It’s an essential tool in the copulation process. Press the right buttons, the floodgates open, oh the sweet effects of all those pheromones...All of a sudden, hairy asses and dangling man junk look attractive. But having that shit thrust upon you in an unsuspecting and unprotected moment can cause serious scarring.
But I digress... Back on topic. A final word…
Guys…Go with the artistic full body shot if you desire, but when it comes to the -in your face close-ups-, Just say NO to ass shots!!
(Post Script: I just noticed that my last post also mentioned ass hair. I had the close encounter with the hairy ass before writing both. I really *do* have PTSD. I wonder if ass hair trauma is covered under medical insurance?)
|
|
|
4
Comments
|
|
SAFE KEEPING AND SENILITY
|
Posted:Feb 28, 2010 9:32 am
Last Updated:May 11, 2010 4:52 pm
13203 Views
|
I know I know. It’s been forever since I blogged. Yes I am still alive. I’ve just had tons of life drama to deal with, none of which I could find a single amusing angle for. I thank those of you wonderfully kind and thoughtful readers who wrote me asking if the sky fell on my head. (Even if I was an ungrateful bugger and didn’t respond) I really did appreciate your thoughts. Things are still crazy, but my sense of humor is slowly creeping back so I’m going to attempt to pick up my interplanetary observations again.
So.
Last weekend I had an A FF chat party at my home. I invited the whole chat room, many of which I had never met. Out of 40 confirmees, 26 showed up. Not bad. Only one stalker and one panicked individual (who lasted three minutes) in the bunch. Even better. The party was great! Although it’s not the subject of today’s post. I am rambling. Focus.
Today’s post is about senility.
Prior to the party, I thought I ought to take certain precautions as I’d never met a number of the people coming. I decided to find a “safe” place for my wallet and jewelry. No problem dealing with a psychotic axe murder climbing in my bedroom window at a later date because he now has my address, but God forbid I lose the $10 I’ve been hoarding in my wallet for 3 weeks and the glob of tangled and broken jewelry I have been meaning to get fixed for the last 10 years. I am rambling again. See what happens when you take a break from blogging?
Back to safe keeping...
I realized this morning that my wallet was ‘missing.’ I vaguely remembered hiding it on Saturday before the guests arrived. I remember thinking “This is a really good spot...It will be safe here...No- one will think to look here.” It never occurred to me at the time, that would include me. It’s not that hard to outsmart yourself at 41. I should have learned this lesson well after my last “safe keeping” fiasco cost me $500 to replace my green card and social security card. I turned the place upside down looking in every nook and cranny. We’ve all done it. It’s no fun. I looked everywhere 3 or 4 times. I looked in all the obvious places like the oven (guaranteed to never be found), the vegetable crisper drawer, in the toaster... to no avail. The problem with living alone is you can’t use the “Someone” tactic to vent your frustration and start a war. It is always effective, although it works best when you live with just one other person. As in... staring into their face as you yell, “SOMEONE took my ass hair tweezers dammit!!!”
Admit it. You’ve been there.
I finally gave up and do what I always do when I have pressing stuff to take care of, I went into the chat room for mindless chat. And it suddenly hit me where I might have put it, so I went to look. No such luck. But on my way back I spied the ONE place I hadn’t torn apart in my frenzied search. YAAAAYYYY there it was. And what a fool I was for not having checked the bottom of the clothes hamper underneath all my dirty unmentionables FIRST. That’s where *everybody* hides their valuables, right???
So anyway...
(Tip for the day)
Once you get past a certain age, it is better to leave your shit out in the open than to put it away somewhere “safe.”
.
|
|
|
2
Comments
|
|
ADDICTION - THE FIRST STEP IS ADMISSION
|
Posted:Dec 2, 2009 7:54 pm
Last Updated:Feb 9, 2010 7:06 pm
14251 Views
|
I thought it was high time I addressed some of the weightier issues in life. So today I’m going to blog about addiction, and how it can totally jack up your life if you’re not careful. We all have vices of one kind or another. The extent to which we allow them to control us determines our level of addiction. I am shamefully unashamed to admit that along with being a blogaholic, I am also a chataholic. I have in fact spent 21 consecutive hours in chat. I am the reigning queen of chat in the TriState room. I’ll accept the accolades later. I justify this vice by arguing that it is cheap entertainment from the comfort of my own home in my fleece pajamas; and that it is actually marginally superior in intellectual content to reality TV. But the truth is that this level of addiction can be a dangerous thing. Thankfully I have it all under control. Or do I?
I decided that my hair needed a touch up this week. My natural color is dark brown but my preferred color tends towards light brown. To achieve light brown, I use whatever shade of blond is on sale. (I bet you see where this is going) I need two boxes to do a decent job on my hair, having enough hair to provide head rugs for a global alopecia convention. Unfortunately, I didn’t have two boxes of blond in the same shade. So I decided to use the ultra light platinum blond for the darker roots and the darker blond for the rest. So far so good. If I timed it right, it would all come out roughly the same shade. This is where the story derails a bit.
I sat down to chat.
An hour and a half later...(for you guys not educated in the intricacies of hair coloring procedures...20 minutes is the suggested time span), it suddenly re-entered my frame of reference that I still had harsh bleaching agents at work. I ran to the shower and quickly shampooed it out and then took a fearful look in the mirror. And was blinded. I could have directed traffic from outer space. Airplanes were diverting from their intended airports, homing in on the halogenic wattage of my hair as frantic air traffic controllers downed Xanax by the bottle.
It was way too late at night to run out for a box of rescue brown. I tore the house apart, usually I have some stashed away. No such luck. I had a lunch date the next day. Not enough time to go out in the morning to buy hair dye, color it and make it to the meet on time. What to do??? Panic!
And chat.
I went back into the chat room to share my tale of woe. We all discussed the various options available. It was a home remedy brainstorming think tank. Soy sauce and Rit fabric dye were thrown out there and I actually considered them both. Then someone googled and found an e-how article on the staining powers of coffee. Hey why not? Why let the fact that it is 3 am and you have no idea as to the validity of this method stop you? I only drink fru fru coffee as my ex used to call it. So I had Gevalia gourmet brews in cinnamon, mocha, raspberry and Irish crème to choose from. I settled on Irish Crème. I used the whole pack as I figured stronger would be better. Being lazy, I circumvented the instructions somewhat and threw the whole pack of grounds into a pot and boiled it on the stove.
And went back to chat.
Who knew that coffee paste would boil so quickly? It erupted and spread all over my stove top. Brown sludge was everywhere. It looked like the shit monster had exploded in my kitchen. The directions said to soak my hair in it fifteen times and then let it soak for 15 minutes without drying it with a towel.
Ok so back to chat.
No towel. My shirt was soaked in brown sludge. I had brown streaks dripping down my face and back. This was when I suddenly realized the folly of my laziness. Coffee grounds were EVERYWHERE. I should have brewed and filtered it like regular coffee. Because by everywhere, I mean the floor, the counters, the sinks, my bed, in between my toes, in my cleavage! And most of all in my HAIR. Pounds and pounds of it. It was now close to 5am and I had to wash my hair eight times to remove most of the offending grounds. By which time the subtle half shade of brown that the coffee had applied was also thoroughly washed out.
For my date I sported a very blond do, with the particularly bright areas dimmed marginally with a tube of mascara. Quite effective if not ideal. At least there were no car accidents or downed planes while I was out.
Chat tip # 37. Never let chat friends talk you into dumb stunts at 4 am.
P.S. My hair has now been returned to it’s normal non halogenic state.
And I am still addicted to chat.
.
|
|
|
3
Comments
|
|
HAPPY EVERYTHING!
|
Posted:Nov 29, 2009 7:10 pm
Last Updated:Mar 14, 2010 7:23 am
13435 Views
|
Every year it gets worse. We’ve all seen it. Have you ever played that childhood game of “Red Light Green Light 1-2-3?” Where you sneak up on the person counting, freeze when they turn around and try to reach them before they catch you? That’s Christmas. It moves. And when you turn around it freezes. Every year it gets closer and closer. It was October 3rd and I was out shopping in the stores. There large as life, right next to the Halloween display was a Christmas tree, decked out in full regalia! WHAT? I was hit by a multitude of emotions.
The first one being confusion. I had that strange sense of skewed reality you get when you are in a dream on the brink of waking up. Trying to figure out why it’s your man’s voice saying your name when it is quite clearly Brad Pitt in front of you naked calling you to bed. Ok...so maybe you men will need to rework that little scenario, but you get my point. My world shifted. Christmas on October 3rd?
Next I was outraged. How dare they? They can’t upset the natural order of things just to make an extra buck! I mean come on! I haven’t even thought about what Halloween costume I’m going to wear this year to work (Thinking maybe I should hang the French maids costume back up in the closet...and oh yeah the Xena Warrior princess get-up might not be so advisable either. People at work have such a limited sense of humor these days. But seriously, I feel like I am being rushed along in my holiday enjoyment before I’ve had a chance to even savor each one. And all because the commercial giants want us to reach into our pockets and throw all our money at them in a supreme gesture of idiocy and financial irresponsibility. (Ok so I’m a bit of a Christmas scrooge. Bah Humbug and all that.)
Next was panic. Yes an all out blinding gut wrenching panic. It takes a full year of recovery to emerge from the stress and poverty induced by Christmas. They can’t make it earlier. They just can’t! How can I afford my Halloween candy, Thanksgiving pumpkin pies and Hanukkah gifts for friends who you never knew were Jewish, if I’m shopping for gifts for 48 nieces and nephews, great aunts, and 2nd cousins twice removed related by 3rd marriage who bought you a teapot last year (sitting still boxed) and so you *have* to return the favor. And now Kwanzaa is the big thing. Have you noticed that all these holidays require multiple gifts for each person? Hanukkah and Kwanzaa stipulate a gift a day for a week! I sense some behind the scenes conniving with the retail monsters in the planning of these holidays.
Lastly was despair. Has another year flown past so quickly? Old age looms ever closer. Oh wait...I’m already getting there. (sigh) If this keeps up, pretty soon, my fantasy wish list for Sanata is going to be less about sybians and negligees and more about denture glue and snuggies.
So to end this madness, I have come up with a solution. For one mad insane week every year we celebrate everything. President’s Day, Martin Luther King Day, Valentines, St Patrick’s Day, Easter, Passover, Mothers Day , Memorial Day, Father’s Day, Solstices, July 4th, Labor Day, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Christmas, New Year.
Yes I know I forgot some. Shoot me.
But we should still keep the days off from work throughout the year. We’ll need them to aid in the recuperation process in order to be ready for the following year. What do you think?
.
|
|
|
3
Comments
|
|
SMILE - IT'S THE HOLIDAYS
|
Posted:Nov 25, 2009 10:43 pm
Last Updated:Jan 24, 2010 9:27 am
13861 Views
|
I took leave of my senses this evening. I had a psychotic break with reality for a moment. And paid dearly. What, you might wonder was this act of lunacy for which I was so cruelly punished? In a moment of blinding stupidity….I went to the store to do my grocery shopping...the night before Thanksgiving.
Unfortunately, there was a stampede of humanity also out with the same idea. In their defense, they probably all needed last minute essentials crucial to their Thanksgiving spreads. I however, had no such excuse. I don’t cook. My meal tomorrow will consist of instant mac and cheese and a can of corn. I really had no pressing need to expose myself to Extreme Shopping for the sake of a loaf of bread and some milk. But I wasn’t thinking. I should have known that it was a mistake when I was greeted in every aisle by a frantic grocery assistant yelling “Can I help you find anything?!?” I really wanted assistance locating my sanity but didn’t think that was to be found on the shelves. People either raced along the aisles wielding shopping carts with dangerous abandon, or they stood 5 deep in front of the shelves trying to decide between the 18 different varieties of green beans on offer. I was entirely unprepared and ill equipped for gladiator shopping. The basic essentials of helmet, knee and shin guards and full body padding that are usually required for black Friday public appearances are apparently useful the day before Thanksgiving also. Who knew?
And to make matters worse, I had to do the ‘cash out of shame’ in front of all those people with their fresh vegetables, and turkeys and fancy gourmet ingredients. I got several pitying looks as my 12 pack box of Ramen noodles, and my 6 pack carton of instant mac and cheese, canned soup and canned spaghetti Os (yes I still eat those) made their way down the cashier’s counter. Don’t hate. Somebody has to keep those manufacturers in business.
Now before you all give me your heartfelt sympathies for my Thanksgiving of deprivation, I will admit that I honestly prefer to spend my day at home watching movie marathons with my canned corn. My family lives in FL. So every year, I have to fend off well meaning friends who want to take me under their wing and adopt me for Thanksgiving. I love my friends dearly. But really, listening to 26 versions of great aunt Agatha’s favorite turkey soup recipes is bad enough when it’s your own great aunt Agatha. So I have developed a fail proof method for escaping such a fate. I now tell each friend that I am spending Thanksgiving with one f my other friends. It’s perfect. They stop feeling guilty and anxious. And I get to eat my instant mac and cheese and canned corn in peace.
Hope you all have a Wonderful Holiday! Eat, Drink and be Comatose!
|
|
|
2
Comments
|
|
69ing - A THING OF THE PAST
|
Posted:Nov 6, 2009 9:12 pm
Last Updated:Nov 27, 2009 10:01 am
15150 Views
|
.
If you’d like a little background to this post, you might want to check out THAT WOMAN DRIVER THAT EVERYONE TALKS ABOUT and
CAN SOMEBODY PLEASE GIVE THAT GIRL A CAMEL
Well my driving skills (or lack of them) have finally caught up with me. My insurance came up for renewal and they rather rudely informed me that they were declining the pleasure of my monthly check. I started looking around for quotes and got a shock right up there with a red hot poker up the ass. That final accident I had back in September apparently tipped the scales and me into the group of insurance untouchables. I’d been previously paying $69 for extremely good coverage with lots of perks, and now all the quotes I found for just basic state minimum coverage otherwise known as “we’ll take your money and laugh in your face if you ever make a claim” coverage is running around $300 a month. So basically, I am trading in 69ing for getting royally fucked. Minus the fun part.
.
The man on the phone said he could save me about $30 monthly if I joined a club called the “Farmers’ Bureau.” I had to ask him to repeat it about five times because I just couldn’t grasp it. I finally asked him “You mean as in cows and sheep Farmers’ Bureau? And he said yes. I thanked him for trying to save me money but asked if he had any other clubs that that might be a bit more useful to a 41 yr old urbanite spinster. He said no. But seriously….the Farmers’ Bureau? I was thinking more useful… along the lines of the "Elderly Red Hat Wearing Bingo Playing Sex Fiends."
I’m really starting to think that some people just have the “Fuck NO!” gene when it comes to driving. And I am carrying it in spades. Maybe I should convert to being Amish.
Considering my last 3 accidents were all in within the last year, I’m going to be paying these prices for the next 3 to 5 years. Anyone know any good bread and water recipes?
|
|
|
13
Comments
|
|
A FF'S GUARANTEE INDUCED PSYCHOSIS
|
Posted:Oct 30, 2009 9:23 pm
Last Updated:May 11, 2013 7:55 pm
14153 Views
|
I’ve had an interesting day on A FF today. I use the term interesting in the loosest possible sense. Entertaining. Much in the way of watching a dying beetle’s last trek or rubber necking on the highway to see a car wreck… kind of interesting.
I haven’t arranged to meet anyone from this site in quite a while. Only one in the past year in fact. I decided it was time to make an attempt at being more social so I came out of my self-enforced hibernation.
I knew my new-found sociability was not off to the brightest possible starts this morning when I opened my email to almost having my eye poked out by not one but TWO cock shots in living color. Which were probably more impressive in relation to monitor size than actual body size. But I digress...
Those of you who have dared to read my long winded profile and survived the brutal hostility therein, know that I include a study guide that bludgeons certain points into the reader. Such as, no cock shots in email please, no graphic and descriptive sexual promises laid out in gory detail. No requests for instant hookups and no married men etc etc. To add insult to the cock shot injury, they were sent by a married man who claimed to have enjoyed my profile and so wanted to hookup ASAP for sex. I’m not sure which part of my profile he enjoyed. I think it was that tiny part that said I was only 5 miles away.
(Sigh)
Moving on to the next email in my box. No words that I could offer could come close to conveying even a faint flavor of its contents. So I shall let the original author have the floor. And I quote...
“Hi sexy baby,i`m six foot tall and i`m all Muscle i hope you like a hard man LOL..... I just want to make you happy ,we need to talk soon,i`m all the man you need and more, i want to take care of you for life if you want,i just want to make you happy over and over and over,i know how to keep it so hotttttttttttt in and out of the bed room ,turning you on and turning you out,we can just go out to get to know each other well,just take our time,your fantasy is my desire, let`s taste each other with a hot sensuous of pleasure and you will experienced the entire length of it will be so hottttttttttttttttttttt and hard for you,i will gang bang!!! your pussy a million time in one hot sleazy sensations!!!!! and you will all ways be sex crazed for more and more and more,the hottest sex experience that you desire for your life, you will all way`s cummmmmmmmm!!!!!!! with me, i just want you to know i can keep it very hot for you sexy baby,so let`s talk soon, i have so much more to tell you...............Big long wet hot sexy kisses, for you my loving baby bye.”
(Double sigh)
I should have quit while I was only two strikes for two. But being ever the optimist, I agreed to go on a date with a guy I had been communicating with for a while. This was a big step since I am convinced that there is something in the water in DE that is adversely affecting males on a genetic level. But I was determined to be social DAMMIT! So I got dolled up, and waited. And waited. And I was stood up. Since I have not received a telegram outlining his massive injuries, coma or subsequent death, he has been written off and a curse put on his seed for generations to come.
(Triple sigh)
I decided to try and salvage the last scraps of my sociability by going into a chat room. And for a moment it seemed as if I might be able to accomplish this. Then a guy asked me if I wanted to watch him naked on cam. Now I don’t have anything against the weenie wavers. It’s just not my thing. I like to get my perv on in private. So I said “No thank you, I like my naked men where I can reach them.” To which he replied incredulously…”So you’re telling me, that if I get naked on cam you won’t even peek?” I considered saying it in Mandarin but figured that only I would be amused. So instead I replied “Well the answer is STILL no, but would you like to go for a hat trick?” At which point he had a meltdown, and wigged out screaming like a little girl who had her Barbie jacked….and promptly called me an “Angry Lesbian.”
A fellow blogger on my watched list suggested that knitting may indeed turn out to be a more productive pastime than trying to find quality men in a zipcode where a visa isn’t necessary. I’m beginning to see her point. But maybe I will try to turn all this to my advantage. I’m actually considering a class action law suit against A FF for pain and suffering as I believe that their cast iron guarantee that men will get fucked within the first 30 days of their membership has seriously derailed many of them into blind delusion. A good lawyer could make it fly right?
If not….does anyone need a new scarf for the winter?
.
|
|
|
14
Comments
|
|
To link to this blog (Freedom4FunNow) use [blog Freedom4FunNow] in your messages.
|
|
|
| Sun |
Mon |
Tue |
Wed |
Thu |
Fri |
Sat |
| |
|
|
|
1
|
2
|
3
|
4
|
5
|
6
|
7
|
8
|
9
|
101
|
11
|
12
|
13
|
14
|
15
|
16
|
17
|
18
|
19
|
20
|
21
|
22
|
23
|
24
|
25
|
26
|
27
|
28
|
29
|
30
|
|
|
