Moms are Butt Dust

I haven't found anything funny or even cute to write about this week and I'm certain you don't want another "Tiger Story" this soon lol, so I'm posting a great email from my best friend Debbi. I love you, woman! You always know just how to make my day and make me smile. I have, however, posted a cute pic of my boy, Tigez as I found him this morning...C~ had him all wrapped up cuz he was on the sofa shivering his widdle fuzzy bum off.

"Why God made moms" answers given by elementary school age children to the
following questions:

Why did God make mothers?
1. She's the only one who knows where the scotch tape is.
2. Mostly to clean the house.
3. To help us out of there when we were getting born.

How did God make mothers?
1. He used dirt, just like for the rest of us.
2. Magic plus super powers and a lot of stirring.
3. God made my Mom just the same like he made me. He just used bigger parts.

What ingredients are mothers made of?
1. God makes mothers out of clouds and angel hair and everything nice in
the world and one dab of mean.
2. They had to get their start from men's bones. Then they mostly use
string, I think.

Why did God give you your mother and not some other Mom?
1. We're related.
2. God knew she likes me a lot more than other people's moms like me.

What kind of little girl was your Mom?
1. My Mom has always been my Mom and none of that other stuff.
2. I don't know because I wasn't there, but my guess would be pretty bossy.
3. They say she used to be nice.

What did Mom need to know about dad before she married him?
1. His last name.
2. She had to know his background. Like is he a crook? Does he get drunk on beer?
3. Does he make at least $800 a year? Did he say NO to drugs and YES to chores?

Why did your Mom marry your dad?
1. My dad makes the best spaghetti in the world. And my Mom eats a lot
2. She got too old to do anything else with him.
3. My grandma says that Mom didn't have her thinking cap on.

Who's the boss at your house?
1. Mom doesn't want to be boss, but she has to because dad's such a goof ball.
2. Mom. You can tell by room inspection. She sees the stuff under the bed
3. I guess Mom is, but only because she has a lot more to do than dad.

What's the difference between moms and dads?
1. Moms work at work & work at home, & dads just go to work at work
2. Moms know how to talk to teachers without scaring them.
3. Dads are taller & stronger, but moms have all the real power 'cause
that's who you got to ask if you want to sleep over at your friend's.
4. Moms have magic, they make you feel better without medicine.

What does your Mom do in her spare time?
1. Mothers don't do spare time.
2. To hear her tell it, she pays bills all day long.

What would it take to make your Mom perfect?
1. On the inside she's already perfect. Outside, I think some kind of plastic surgery.
2. Diet ? you know, her hair. I'd diet, maybe blue

If you could change one thing about your Mom, what would it be?
1. She has this weird thing about me keeping my room clean. I'd get rid of that.
2. I'd make my Mom smarter. Then she would know it was my sister who did it and not me.
3. I would like for her to get rid of those invisible eyes on her back.

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THE MOMMY TEST
I was out walking with my 4 year old daughter. She picked up something off
the ground and started to put it in her mouth. I took the item away from
her and I asked her not to do that. "Why?" my daughter asked. "Because
it's been laying outside, you don't know where it's been, it's dirty and
probably has germs" I replied. At this point, my daughter looked at me
with total admiration and asked, "Wow! How do you know all this stuff?"
"Uh," ...I was thinking quickly, "All moms know this stuff. It's on the
Mommy Test. You have to know it, or they don't let you be a Mommy." We
walked along in silence for 2 or 3 minutes, but she was evidently
pondering this new information. "OH...I get it!" she beamed, "So if you
don't pass the test you have to be the daddy" "Exactly" I replied back
with a big smile on my face and joy in my heart. When you're finished
laughing, send this to a Mom.
==================================================
This is too cute....
"Dear Lord," the preacher began with arms extended and a rapturous look on
his upturned face, "without you we are but dust..." He would have
continued, but at that moment one very obedient little girl (who was
listening carefully) leaned over to her mother and asked quite audibly in
her shrill little girl voice, "Mommy, WHAT is butt dust?" Church was
pretty much over at that point...

Souf Cackalacky, how I do miss thee

I shall be forever grateful to my parents for raising me in The South, and I just know you're gonna ask why, too. Why? Mostly so I can fuck with peoples heads. Especially now that I use the internet so much using "southern speak" can be quite fun. Perhaps we should term it "Typing in the Vernacular" of one's origins.

The first time I ever read anything written in vernacular was Mark Twain's Huckleberry Finn. At first, it was a bit difficult, but found out soon enough that if I read it aloud to myself it made far more sense. So I took to reading it aloud out in the middle of a field sitting on a rock. Hey! There was no one out there to judge me or laugh at me either. Lately my accent seems to have become much more muddied. Generally speaking I do not have much of an accent and if someone were to peg it then they'd be off a bit since I tend to sound typically midwestern. But I think it's because I have always had somewhat lazy speech in that I took on the sounds of those I spoke to most often, which served to temper my southern dialect when I lived in New Orleans.

Also, when I was a teenager visiting a friend in Chicago, I'll never forget my humiliation at being teased mercilessly. All everyone wanted me to do was say "ya'll". It made me start looking a bit harder at my accent and what would make me "normal" if I spoke differently. So I learned to speak more slowly, which lowered the pitch as well as, made me far more conscious of the sounds coming out of my mouth. It quickly made short shrift of my accent and I sounded more like the people on tv.

Until recently, the only time I sounded southern was when first woke up, was overtired or sick or had been drinking. Then something happened. I started "hearing" myself speak as I wrote forum posts, emails, and blog posts. The weird thing was that I was hearing a southern accent, NOT my normal one. So, ya know whut? Feck it! Then came typing in vernacular. ack! Considering that I keep in touch with a lot of people via instant messenger it just started happnin' while I wuz chattin' awnlahn. whut thuh fuuuuuucckkk?

Hey-ulh fahrr! Dayum! It's gawt me! HEP ME HEP ME! I cain't stop eet!
*Hell fire! Damn! It's got me! Help me help me melp me! I can't stop it!*

No matter where I am or where I go in life I shall henceforth be true to my farkin' suthun sef, Ya'll.

*btw, I grew up in South Carolina, otherwise known as Souf Cackalacky and by Gawd I am a Gamecok Fan.......my blood runneth crimson and black forevah.

Speaking of Gamecocks, perhaps next time I'll write about all the innuendo laden USC Bumper stickers like my personal favorite " You can't lick our Cocks", etc... and about fond memories of 1980's college football when Joe Morrison was king of Black Magic and his Fire Ant Defense ruled the South.

Postcards from the edge

Otherwise known as The Spit Brigade in my house. I have finally gone and done IT! I attempted to remove most of the calculus from Tiger's teeth. The manky smell emanating from his mouth finally got to me this morning and I could no longer deal.

As most of you know, I was a dental hygienist in my former life back in the USA, so I am equipped with the skillz and the majority of the tools. I say majority because I no longer possess the several thousand dollars worth of implements of my trade. I cannot say where they went, only that when I left America they were sitting there ready to be shipped with the rest of my things and they never made it here. I have my suspicions, but no proof, but considering how much they would be worth at a local flea market back home, I can only guess. But, I digress.

While Tiger was having his morning snooze on the sofa I saw my chance to strike as he's pretty calm and laid back, but this was a first attempt and I wasn't sure how he'd react to my fingers in his mouth. Considering that he absolutely hates having his teeth brushed I was fairly certain all would not go as planned. But what the heck, it wouldn't hurt to try. I pulled out the few instruments and selected what I thought most appropriate and sat beside him.

I took a quick peek to seek out the most offending calculus, readied and steadied my hands on an instrument I'd not held in well over a year (Damn, but I'm good lol). Hrmmm, perhaps I spoke too quickly. I succeeded in removing a few bits of the most unsightly stuff and decided to move onto a canine I found particulary discoloured and hoarding the worst of the lot. Tiger's eye opened and he peered at me whilst I perused the tooth, seeking the best angle to use. I struck quietly, gently, and sccrrrrraaaaaape...off came a bit so I went at it again and I'll be damned it he didn't freakin sneeze!

The next thing I knew, I was looking down at a broken instrument! HOLY SHIT!!!!!!! Where did the end go? FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! His gum has blood on it, just a thin trickle, but holy crapola! What did I do?????? My poor boy!

Frantically I searched around his head, in his mouth, probed his gums, fearing the worst...the instrument could have broken off underneath his gums and might need to be surgically retrieved. Oh! Damnit!

What's that? Next to Tiger, on his Teddy Bear lay the offending piece, oh thank heavens! Apparently when he sneezed, his tooth hit the instrument and broke it clean off and the piece went flying a few inches away to land on Teddy. Now I'm shaking that it's all over and disaster hasn't occurred. I stood up and shook myself. Looked back at my hands and thought, hrmmmm. Let's go for the other teeth I can get to. So I did. Poor boy. He has to put up with so much from me. But now, his teeth are somewhat clean and I don't feel like a totally inept mama.

He needs to chew more bones but I can't get him to. He just loses interest after awhile and leaves them for the ants to strip away all the good bits left. I'll have to come up with some other solution.

As I said earlier, poor boy. Yesterday he had to have a bath and have his ears cleaned. He has boy dog ears, aka very dirty ears. He hates getting bathed because the tub is slippery, he hates having his ears probed but I cannot stand the goop that builds up in them because he insists on lying and rolling in dirt. Somedays I really want a girl dog. Tasha was always so clean. I miss that. The only time she would get herself dirty on purpose was when she felt she was dirty enough and needed a bath, which she loved, so she's get in something to make herself dirtier so I'd bathe her straight away.

Every Morning it's the Same Damn Thing

It is, I swear. We have one bathroom in this ancient house of ours. And for some unknown reason, I must lawyas be the second one in the shower. Our morning conversations generally goes something like this: C~, "You could get in first". Me, "Yeah, I could, but I NEED for you to go first so I can finish my coffee". C~, "Yeah, well, I NEED for you to be ready to get in the shower as soon as I get out". Me, "Yeah, ok, sure". I am thinking the whole time, hehehe, he don't know I took a shower about half an hour before he got home, washed my hair, it looks pretty decent so I don't NEED a shower this mornin'.

Ok, yes, I always shower either right before bed, or right before work in the morning. The only time I do both is when it's a hot, sweaty night, know what I mean? We have to conserve water, so I am doing my part, whilst liberally using lots of anti-perspirant. Just so you know....we do shower everyday, and when I work where there's gross flying spit, I will shower as SOON as I get home....that's just nasty! But I didn't work yesterday, so there!

I have a temp job for the next 3 days. It's working with kids in a school today and Thursday, hrmmmm maybe I should've reconsidered. Nah, I should be ok, but I'll betcha I have a massive headache by noon. Note to self: take painkillers to work. Actually, Aussie kids are pretty well mannered, so we should have fun. It's good to have a change of pace.

Tata....can't wait to come back and complain about the little buggers later.

My drugs are better than your drugs

Ahhhh the smell of Autumn is in the air....I think. Or at least it would be if I could smell right now. Damn Autumn! Here in Brisvegas Autumn is heralded by cooler nights and damp air, so I have the beginnings of a cold and ear infection. All at once I knew I would have need of the glorious Sigma Pharmaceutical Company and their greatest invention: Chemists' Own Cold & Flu DAY/NIGHT Tablets. Talk about truly awesome stuff. It has, of course, Day-time non-drowsy formula tabs with Pseudophedrine 30mg, Paracetemol 500mg, and Codeine Phosphate 9mg. Night-Time Tablets For Rest with Chlorpheniramine Maleate 2mg, Pseudophedrine 30mg, and Paracetemol 500mg.

For those without a slew of knowledge in the chemistry field, Paracetemol is the evil twin of acetaminophen (aka Tylenol). They just had to mess with our poor heads and call it something different, didn't they? Everyone else seems to know that pseudophedrine is the stuff they make crystal meth out of. I just found out when I tried to buy out the entire supply from the chemist lol. How would I know? I don't make drugs in a lab under my house! I just wanna take the stuff that makes my nose stop dripping fluid so I can breathe again. Apparently they regulate this stuff pretty heavily....but we can buy codeine over the counter? Huh? Ok I may be confused about the whys and wherefors, but could honestly care less as long as the ears, eyes and nose are clear, k?

Now, those of us in the Land Down Under know how cool it is to be able to buy codeine over the counter. Most American travellers discover this when they leave the continental US and need the chemist, generally for montezuma's revenge, but that's beside the point. By the way everyone in the English speaking world, except Americans, call a pharmacist's shop a chemist. Though they have pharmacies here, too, which is a little weird. But anywho, I shall be stuffing my pie-hole with tons of these little tablets til the cows come home or my nose stops dripping, whichever comes first. It certainly doesn't hurt to have a little extra kick from the codeine fairy to get rid of the monstrous headache either.

Just thought I'd share *grin*

Secrets

I was just reading Sister Mary Lisa's latest postand it brought to mind this latest email from my friend Debbi. It was pretty cute and I wanted to share. Plus I haven't had anything interesting happen to me lately to really talk about.

"Lord, I have a problem."

God asks, "What's the problem, Eve?"

"I know that you created me and provided this beautiful garden and all of these wonderful animals as well as that hilarious, comedic snake, but I'm just not happy."

God replies, "And why is that, Eve?"

"Lord, I am lonely, and I'm sick to death of apples."

"Well, Eve, in that case, I have a solution. I shall create a man for you."

"Man? What is that, Lord?"

"Man is a flawed creature with many bad traits. He'll lie, cheat and be vain; all in all, he'll give you a hard time. But he'll be bigger, faster and will like to hunt and kill things.

I'll create him in such a way that he will satisfy your physical needs. He will be witless and will revel in childish things like fighting and kicking a ball about. He won't be as smart as you, so he will also need your advice to think properly."

"Sounds great," says Eve, with ironically raised eyebrows, "but what's the catch, Lord?"

"Well" says God, "you can have him on one condition."

"And what's that, Lord?"

"As I said, he'll be proud, arrogant and self absorbed, so you'll have to let him believe that I made him first. And it will have to be our little secret. . . . . . .

. . . . . . you know, woman to woman.”

Dog Food for Thought

Yes, Yes. I'm still around. I've just taken a break from the net for a few days to gather my thoughts and try to get my head straight. I AM ok. Really. It's a bit better now that I quit my job on Tuesday. It just wasn't going anywhere and it's a long story and doesn't bear repeating.


Anywho, I'd wanted to do something to gross a few people out. LOL just kidding. Actually, I'd been thinking of topics and the one that keeps rolling around in my head is about Tiger. He's keeping me sane right now. I love him so much, even though it's only been 5 1/2 weeks. A lot of people make a big to-do over feeding their dogs. I know I did when living "back home" in America...Lexington, South Carolina and New Orleans, Louisiana to be exact. I had German shepherds that really had a lot of allergies and stuff, AND I wanted them to be healthy, a healthy dog from the inside out...which means good food. I started off with what's called a "natural diet"; raw meat, veggies, lots of vitamins and minerals, etc. It wasn't so expensive at the time until meat prices went way up. Then I found Nutro, which was "ok" for my dogs, but not great, as Tasha started having gum problems. THey had plenty of raw meaty beef bones to chew, and nothing but brushing her teeth with chlorhexidine ( a chemical used for gum disease treatment in humans - and dogs) worked. Then I found Natural Balance, and when I was in the States a 15 kg bag (35lbs roughly) cost $35. Great stuff! It had everything I'd been feeding in the natural diet and cheaper, too.


Here in Australia a Dr. Billinghurst came up with the BARF Diet sounds nasty huh? It stands for Biologically Appropriate Raw Foods. It comes in pre-formed patties or bulk that you can weigh on your own. I do the pre-formed, just easier that way. It comes frozen and when thawed can tend to smell a bit, ESPECIALLY if it's roo. Yes 'roo as in kangaroo! Aussies are the only country in the world that eats its national symbol LMAO! Kangaroos are seen as pests and can be ; with the drought at disastrous proportions the poor devils don't have enough to eat, so the herds are culled for human and animal consumption. When you think about it, it makes sense. There is no need to farm them like cows, there are too many for the land to support so we are actually preventing starvation of the wonderful creatures.Anyway, the patties also come in lamb, chicken, pork, beef, and combination; it includes veggies, vitamins, minerals, and so forth. 1 patty for each 12 kgs and it's recommended to feed with "kibble" or dry dog food. Now here's the shocker. Natural Balance is not so readily available here, we order it shipping is only like $7 or something like that, it's not even as good as the Natural Balance back home and it costs....wait for it.....$69.00 per 15 kg bag. uh huh. Now those of you who have dogs in America, I'm sure you've seen the Science Diet in large bags at the vet...they cost what? About 40 bucks or so? Here they are over $100. Talk about unbelievable prices!

Tiger weighs about 34kgs or 74.8 lbs. So, he gets 2 patties per day, I feed him twice a day, plus about 1/2 cup or so of kibble, depends on his activity level. He is all lean muscle, greyhounds have very little fat on their bodies and retired greys tend to weigh a bit more when they get off the track since they start to put on a bit more weight, but it's really fat. They are supposed to look skinny, ok? Believe it or not, greyhounds don't do much. They are called the 45 mph couch potato for a reason. They have their little "zoomies" around the yard lasting just a few minutes per day (Tiger only does his about 3x per week), and then they sleep. That's pretty much all they do. I think I read somewhere that the avg. grey sleeps about 22 hours per day. Not much going on when you compare that to any other dog is it?

I won't get into the muzzling issue very far, except to say this, sometimes it IS for their own safety...this is one reason why: greys have very thin skin, it tears easily, doesn't heal very fast, and they can play very rough with each other. It's not unusual for grey owners to come home to what looks like a bloodbath in their home just because some happy dog wagged his tail and kept banging it against the walls til it bleeds (imagine a wagging tail spraying blood everywhere). Not that it happens often really, bit it can and does.

Greyhounds extremely loving creatures, they can look fierce because they do something really unusual for dogs, they grin. It's really funny looking, too. I found a pick of someone else's hound just to show you.

This is a pic of Cody, ain't that just a darlin' grin? Cutest thing I ever saw.

So here’s what I was trying to get around to showing you. The BARF in the bowl mixed with kibble. Looks kinda gross, but Tiges luuuuurrves it. This is the lamb, not that you can tell the difference when it's all just mush anyway.

Oh yeah and my freezer, too. It’s the size of a bar fridge but only the top shelf has food for us in it.

Suffering

This past week I've been suffering from depression, for me it's been fairly severe. I guess one could tell from my posts the last couple of weeks. Yesterday it kind of came to a head, I got upset, cried for a few hours and went to bed early.


I am still not "over" this feeling. I won't be for some time and I know it. It WILL get better, I know that, too. I've been here before. The question is, how long will it be til it is better. That's a question I cannot answer. I'm functional. I can still laugh, just not much, often, or loudly. Depression. It runs in my family just like it does in many others. I've witnessed it from mild to severe and it's not pretty, but it is manageable. For me, it makes me introspective and sometimes dangerously so. I become overly self-critical and it ends up paralysing me. The good thing is this: I won't wallow in it, I won't allow it to make me non-functional because I have others that depend on me. I have my husband and my dog and that is all I need to keep me going. When I was alone with just two dogs and it hit me, they were enough to see me through. A dog is like a balm for my soul. They fill a void inside me that no other person can ever fill. To someone that has never loved an animal like that, then you won't understand, but many will.


Right now, I feel abandoned. I feel completely and utterly alone. I can count on one hand how many times my mothe has called me in the last year and a half that I've been here in Australia. My father has called exactly once, and that was only at my great-grandmother's request that he specifically call me to tell me she was in the emergency room (Granny Sox turned 100 last October). She is my oldest living relative and I was informed by my great-aunt just before I moved here that I am Granny's favorite...this is something that I never, ever knew. Never even considered....ever, that I might be someone's favorite ANYTHING. I know this rambles a bit, sorry. I do miss my family, no matter what they have done to me, or put me through...they are my family and always will be. Yes, I function better when I'm farther away from them, but it still hurts when they expect ME to be the one that always calls or writes. Neither of my sisters have ever called me here. The first 6 months I received a few emails from my youngest sister, but that's it. Her excuse is that she and her husband have "other priorities" for their money. What she doesn't realise is that I know how much money they make, and my husband and I make less than half that, yet I still find a couple of dollars for a phone call on a birthday or a card on a holiday.


I expected many friends not to keep up. Apparently, friends are the first to fall by the wayside for expats. I did not expect my own family to treat me as if I do not exist. It hurts a great deal to know that I make the time to keep up with their schedules, to see when my family will all be together, so I can make 1 phone call to say hello to everyone, and they can't return the favour. I feel like I need to be grateful for the little bit of attention they DO give me. Why should I be? I guess it's because we (me and my sisters) were always told how ungrateful we were as kids, and even grown-ups. I'll never forget the time middle sis finally exploded at being told that a few years ago and she let loose a tirade that finally shut the parents up once and for all about the ungrateful garbage...because it isn't true...we always were grateful for what we had, which wasn't much, but we did have what we needed.


I was one of those kids that didn't know my family was poor until I was about 13, and it came crashing down on me in a hard way. I overheard some "friends" talking about how my family lived in a mobile home...excuse me, trailer. But, see, I knew how my parents had sold their really nice house in the suburbs (but a really bad school district) to buy an over-priced bit of farmland with a mobile home on it just so their kids could grow up in a decent town and get a good public school education. My parents did finally build their home on that land, but a couple of years after I moved out. My parents sacrificed, my mom quit working to stay home with us. She endured quite a few miscarriages because she and dad always wanted a boy. Well, they got me and two other girls instead. A fact that helped me in some ways and hurt in many. I grew up being an over achiever. I could do anything boys could do, and I was better at it to boot. I learned to drive a tractor at 9. Yeah, smooth move on my part, cuz I had to cut 5 acres of grass every damn Saturday til I moved out. I learned to drive a stick shift at 12, in the snow (one of our few) and it was just after my youngest sister Jen was born. I'm the oldest, Erin is 7 yrs younger, then Jen is 12 (just a few months shy of 13) years younger.


Anyway, I was taught to change the oil and tyres on a car, and do pretty much anything a boy could do. Grandaddy took me fishing, even daddy took me hunting until the time I saved a wounded dove and wouldn't let the boys wring it's neck. I grew up in the country, but with the benefit of a decent education that I am continually grateful for. Except now, being here in Australia, that doesn't seem to be enough. I have failed two tests. Tests that I SHOULD have been able to pass. Heck I graduated at the top of my class in high school, as well as, college...I hink perhps maybe they teach things differently here. I still haven't figured it out...except to say that the information I was given to be able to study for those tests was woefully incomplete. That too weighs on me and makes me feel terribly inferior, not to mention, being an american on foreign soil where everything is so....foreign, so VERY different from America.


Honestly, the differences I've learned to live with and actually enjoy. It's a bit slower in terms of lifestyle...kind of like New Orleans was. But even down to the difference in cheese (it's yellow, not orange), the closest I can get to an American meal other than what I make at home is McDonald's. Even what I make at home tastes different because the ingredients have subtle taste differences. Again, those kinds of differences are the easiest to get over.


I am the owner of a yahoo group for Americans living here, and a few of the members have started getting a bit snarky because I (and the moderator) haven't allowed them to question the rules in the public forum. Even in a place where there is supposed to be support for each other, they insist on tearing each other, but mostly me, apart for the simple rules. Since when did the internet become a frickin democracy? That aside, I just ound out that my new job, or rather my new boss thinks that because he does things differently from any other dentist I've ever worked for, that I am far less qualified than he originlly thought. WTF? He does things differently. His assistants have never worked for any other dentist, well except for me, so he really has no way of knowing what other dentists do or what other assistants know, now does he? Honestly, he's a great guy, but he likes to make things terribly complex. For instance one of his procedures will have over a hundred separate steps (all written out in procedure sheets), when in reality all it takes is maybe 20 steps. I cannot fault his work for he is exceedingly thorough. He just makes things more difficult than need be. He doesn't understand that I learn by doing and learn from the mistakes; however, when I'm micromanaged, I get flustered and can't learn a damn thing. I don't mind him being a perfectionist...I'M ONE TOO! But don't screw with my learning curve and make me feel like a damn 12 year old that doesn't know my ass from a hole in the ground for fucks sake.


Sorry, this has been one long farkin whinge, hasn't it? Well, I feel a bit better for having gotten it out. I shall be back to my normal snarky smart-arsed self in no time. As I keep telling hubs, don't worry, I'm not to the wrist-slitting stage yet and never will be. 1) I have too great a will to live and, B) I'm too much of a coward to off myself. Said tongue-in-cheek so no one needs to call the men in little white coats on me, k?


Now, pardon my back whilst I go hug my dog and kiss my loving and extremely patient hubs.

How I feel

Right now, this is how I feel about work tomorrow.

*image borrowed from Mooselet*

My Blogs

I have, for the moment, decided to post everything HERE on blogger first and may or may not copy over to the wordpress blog to reflect what is here. If I make any changes, I will post it here first. Obviously there are a few pictures posted on the other blog that aren't over here, but that's cuz I was playing around trying to get some settings right...which still aren't to my liking, but wth. Slick sent me an email asking which blog to read, and quite rightly so lol. Read whichever suits your fancy, as I said, at the mo I'll be double posting.

Also, I THINK I have the links all done, but if I've linked to you here and not there it's most likely an oversight due to the fact that I was working on it kinda late and getting rushed to finish what I was doing by C~. So Imma blame HIM!


* for those of you that read the title BEFORE I fixed it, so sorry. See what happens before I can type properly? Which is most days before ...oh say noon. LOL

I did good for a Sunday morn

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The Prioress You scored 26% Cardinal, 51% Monk, 52% Lady, and 40% Knight!

You are a moral person and are also highly intellectual. You like your solitude but are also kind and helpful to those around you. Guided by a belief in the goodness of mankind you will likely be christened a saint after your life is over. You scored high as both the Lady and the Monk. You can try again to get a more precise description of either the Monk or the lady, or you can be happy that you're an individual.

My test tracked 4 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender: You scored higher than 99% on Cardinal You scored higher than 99% on Monk You scored higher than 99% on Lady You scored higher than 99% on Knight

New Blog

I have been wanting to play around with WordPress a bit, so when I couldn't sleep last night, I made myself a cute little start-up blog over there. I don't know if I will double post or what, but right now I'm just learning to play with the darn buttons. Blogger is pretty idiot proof, and WordPress ain't! So for now, I've made one measly little post to test things out. They don't have much of a selection of free backgrounds, and at this point I'm not ready to pay for type pad...which may be my ultimate goal, but not just yet...I'm thinking of getting the hubster to start blogging so I can justify the expense. I know that there are free templates to be had but I really do not know how to implement them, though I may try since I saw a couple over at Troll Baby that I liked.

What the Fark is an Asshat?

Ok, I've just recovered from laughing myself silly. I wanted to know what an asshat is. Iv'e heard that name drip from the hubbys lips a few times recently, then a few minutes ago I read it on a blog I frequent. So, I Googled it damnit! That picture above is the second thing that came up, the first was the wiki version. Basically an asshat is a much nicer term than asshole and refers to someone who has their head up their ass. I Like it! Well, now I have a cool term to replace my last favorite, which was fuckwit. I've used it MANY times over the last few years, and still enjoy it every single time. It gives me little shivers to call some asshat a fuckwit. How's that?

I never thought I'd write about being raped, but here it is....

I never thought I'd talk about this on the net, not in blog form, but I guess I'm going to have to now. I just finished an excruciating one about my own abuse as a child. I was reading a blog by a wonderful girl that was having a hard time because someone in her family was being attacked on her blog because of some physical as well as mental issues related to being raped when she was younger. This prompted me to have a read and see what was going on and I started thinking about it. This is yet another “adult issue” I have had to deal with myself.

At 19 I was raped. By someone I thought to be a friend. Granted he was much older (27 to my 19) and we’d gone out on 2 dates. For our 3^rd date he asked if I would like to go see an air show a couple of hours away from where we lived. Sure I wanted to go, but would we be coming back late at night, or what? He said he’d get us separate hotel rooms, but when we got there to check in, he said that there wasn’t one available, so we’d have to share. He volunteered to sleep on the sofa. Ok sure, whatever. Heck, I just wanted to go have a little fun; I figured he’d always been a gentleman so why would I think anything different this time? We went to the show and had a good time. Afterwards we went out for dinner and then to a local bar for a couple of drinks. Yes I was a minor, and yes I had a fake ID, but I wasn’t planning to have many drinks…I had 2, he had many, I lost count after 5 or 6. He said he was ready to leave and go get some sleep since we had an early checkout.

Back at the hotel, I went into the bathroom to brush my teeth and change into my pajamas (a long t-shirt style nightgown that came about mid-calf…with Mickey Mouse on it – not exactly sexy, ya know?). When I came out of the bathroom, I didn’t know what hit me, but I was lying face down with my face smothered in a pillow and he was on top of me, screaming, hitting me, biting me, calling all kinds of foul names….and raping me, sodomising me. I remember trying to scream, flailing about as much as I could since I was pinned down. I fought, but I wasn’t strong enough to do anything. I weighed all of 112 pounds at the time, I had no chance.

The next thing I knew, it was over. He was lying on his back passed out. I was scared and angry and hadn’t a clue as to what to do. I remember going into the shower and God only knows how long I was in there, but then I came out and dressed and walked. I walked the streets of Charleston until I found myself at The Battery and the sun was rising. I’d been wandering around for around 6 hours I guess. I walked back to the hotel, unlocked the door to the room and he was sitting there and he asked me where the hell I’d been. WTF? He supposedly had no memory of anything after dinner. I was in total shock. I didn’t know what to do, so I acted indifferent and told him to take me home. He did, we rode in total silence for 2 hours until he dropped me off. I do remember that much. The next thing I remember is finding out that I was pregnant. I’d been sick every since that day.

I had no idea what to do. I was scared and alone, my family wouldn’t have anything to do with me since I’d moved away from home and quit going to their church. I had very little money and a shitty job waitressing. I talked to a friend who knew what had happened, she’s been raped, too, and knew what I was going through. Even though she was Catholic she sent me to talk to someone about an abortion, she understood that I couldn’t stay pregnant, I couldn’t give up a child, and I couldn’t raise a child born of rape. So I went to a local clinic and had it done. So much of what happened after that is lost to me and I don’t really care to remember too much anyway since I do know that when I did tell my parents about it, they blamed me, told me I mustn’t tell anyone because it would bring shame on all of us. They didn’t want their friends to know, they refused to help me see a therapist because they don’t believe in them. It took many years before I went to one; I dealt with it on my own the only way I knew…which, of course, wasn’t very healthy, but I survived.

I’ll finish the rest of this later; I just can’t go on with the memories right now.

I am ok now, I have seen a therapist and continue to do things to deal with the memories, but they are no longer daily intrusive thoughts, thank goodness. They only come now when I read about others going through the same thing.

Bad day at work? Nothing compares to this....

This afternoon I discovered that I could laugh again. Not a little chuckle, but a completely hysterical, worry my husband a bit kinda laugh. I received an email from an old friend in New Orleans a little while ago and I could barely get through reading it because I was laughing so hard that I could barely breathe, much less see the computer screen through my tears. Now before you read this, keep in mind that I do have an odd sense of humour, cuz hubs just read the email and said, "You laughed until you cried because of this? I could hear you laughing up the street, it sounded like you were in PAIN. I thought something was WRONG with you." Yeah ok, so maybe it's not all that funny, you be the judge.

This is even funnier when you realize it's real! Next time you have a
bad day at work think of this guy.
Rob is a commercial saturation diver for Global Divers in Louisiana.
He performs underwater repairs on offshore drilling rigs.
Below is an E-mail he sent to his sister. She then sent it to radio
station 103.2 on FM dial in Ft. Wayne, Indiana, who was
sponsoring a worst job experience contest. Needless to say, she won.

Hi Sue,
Just another note from your bottom-dwelling brother.
Last week I had a bad day at the office. I know you've been feeling
down lately at work, so I thought I would share my dilemma with you
to make you realize it's not so bad after all.
Before I can tell you what happened to me, I first must bore you
with a few technicalities of my job.
As you know, my office lies at the bottom of the sea. I wear a suit
to the office. It's a wet suit. This time of year the water is quite
cool. So what we do to keep warm is this: We have a diesel powered
industrial water heater. This $20,000 piece of equipment sucks the
water out of the sea. It heats it to a delightful temperature.
It then pumps it down to the diver through a garden hose, which is
taped to the air hose. Now this sounds like a darn good plan, and
I've used it several times with no complaints.
What I do, when I get to the bottom and start working, is take the
hose and stuff it down the back of my wet suit. This floods my whole
suit with warm water. It's like working in a Jacuzzi.
Everything was going well until all of a sudden, my butt started to
itch. So, of course, I scratched it. This only made things worse.
Within a few seconds my butt started to burn. I pulled the hose out
from my back, but the damage was done. In agony I realized what had
happened. The hot water machine had sucked up a jellyfish and pumped it into
my suit. Now, since I don't have any hair on my back, the jellyfish
couldn't stick to it however, the crack of my butt was not as
fortunate. When I scratched what I thought was an itch, I was actually grinding the jellyfish into the crack of my butt. I informed the dive supervisor of my dilemma over the communicator. His instructions were unclear due to the fact that he, along with five
other divers, were all laughing hysterically. Needless to say I aborted the dive. I was instructed to make three agonizing in-water decompression stops totaling thirty-five minutes before I could reach the surface to begin my chamber dry decompression.
When I arrived at the surface, I was wearing nothing but my brass
helmet. As I climbed out of the water, the medic, with tears of laughter
running down his face, handed me a tube of cream and told me to rub
it on my butt as soon as I got in the chamber. The cream put the fire out, but couldn't poop for two days because my butt was swollen shut.
So, next time you're having a bad day at work, think about how much
worse it would be if you had a jellyfish shoved up your butt.