Key Issues

First Day of School!

Tomorrow.

Miss Priss will be starting the fourth grade.

She's got the new hairdo, the freshly manicured nails, and several Limited Too outfits, among other ensembles. She also already has a sassy mouth, and spends entirely too much time on the phone.

Yes, she is ridiculously spoiled by the standards in which I was raised.

But then... I felt deprived! It wasn't justified perhaps, but feelings often aren't. Nonetheless, I did not have stylish clothes, I never saw the inside of a hair salon, and I had NO extracurricular activities, save snapping green beans out of my mother's garden.

I enjoy giving my girl the things that I wished for as a child. And I'm hoping that I've instilled enough character in her to prevent her from rotting to the core as a result. This, mind you, has not been a job that I have taken lightly.

For example, she must appreciate her niceties, or they have a tendency to disappear. So she was sure to thank me for her new clothes, even offering to assist in the laundering responsibilities.

And although her excess energy has been scattered and unnerving (at best) over the summer, she is very good to channel it for the sake of academia, being a habitual rule follower, a minder of the ma'ams, pleases, and thank you's, and a straight A student.

And so, after studying my own line of conjecture, I have reached the conclusion that I'm doing okay, even if she seems to be a total PRISS at times!

After all, there are two types of parents: 1. Those who want more for their children than they had growing up... more affection, more stuff, more smarts, more character, more confidence, etc. AND 2. Those who want NO MORE for their child than they had growing up. What was good enough for them ought to be good enough for their kid.

And I hate the latter. Because, unfortunately, time has not stood still... What kind of insecure, back woods, selfish piece of shit would want NO MORE for their child than they had growing up, you ask? I have seen the demons, and I've fed, clothed and loved their children.

So I think many of us err on the side of spoiling. And, while I loathe the philosophy that spits out undisciplined, unmannered brats, the other extreme is beyond loathing.

Another ten years... And given her personality, there is no doubt in my mind that she will give me a full report as to how well I've done with this whole parenting thing.

I can't wait.

Girls Rule. Boys Drool.

My New Orleans pictures suck. I'm not happy with my fancy shmancy camera right now.

But, I must say the ones I took turned out monumentally more crisp than any of the ones I entrusted to one of the fellas to snap.

Oh Yeah! I have proof!

So seven of us, four fellas, three belles, were on the prowl in Nola. I felt the need to document the scene.

First, I took a pic of the four fellas:

Then, I grabbed one of them - honestly, do not remember which one! - to snap the pic of the ladies. Results follow:

Uh huh. As I was saying, girls excel, boys smell...

What Next?

Yesterday I was feeling stale and under-stimulated. So, I decided to do what I always do when faced with such boredom: Go over to Jack's and see if I can't start some trouble.

So I found this post, and I know you ADHD turkeys aren't going to read it, so allow me to provide you with his summary paragraph:

If anyone misses my point, here it is in plain words: Those who burn the flag of the United States have a better understanding of the significance of that flag than the yahoos who wear the flag as a cape, being in their own feeble minds "patriotic" when an American wins an athletic competition.

I tried to cause trouble, even left a comment, then he left one, then I took it offline:

I don't think either party mentioned put near as much thought into their action as you have. Most people are idiots with no freaking clue how to express honor, patriotism, frustration, discontent, or any other emotion for that matter.

The wearer and the burner alike. They're like friggin three year olds. Throwing the toy he hates, perhaps as it may have a negative association such as nap time, and drooling all over the toy he adores, perhaps because it reminds him of his mother.

It is natural to both resist responsibility and support history. You and I may not like the slobber deposit all over the things that we appreciate, but we aren't three, and we aren't idiots.

I think the hippy freak and the redneck bastard are both idiots. Neither thinks outside the box, both are impressionable to a fault, and either are fickle enough to turn on a dime.

So, what does my tried and true debating adversary go and do? Oh, I'll tell ya... He agrees with me! What?

"In a rarity we should treasure, I agree with you completely, both in your original comment, and in what you wrote below," says he.

I'm thrown askew. Off balance. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. Uneasy.

Perhaps a redneck bastard or a hippy freak will leave a hateful comment and restore balance to my bleak, under-stimulated existence.

Contest!

Can you use the words snatch, fuck, stiff, wicked, pulse and cock ALL in the same paragraph?

Oh wait... It's been done.

(And without even mentioning a member of the opposite sex. Impressive.)

Still No Pics

My pics aren't digital...dammit. And it's killing me. But, as I've spent the week trying to acclimate back to the boring existence which is not a New Orleans blog meet, I haven't found the time to develop my film.

I'm guessing that most of the REALLY good group shots have the Shoester in them, so I'm thinking she needs to get over this internet shyness of hers and Let. Us. Post!

Hey, I used to be shy about my image hitting cyberspace... But, uh, nobody fucking asked me! However, I do so enjoy her chipmunk-giggling ass, that I will respect her wishes, assuming I am unable to persuade.

I'm also wondering if I captured a shot of the Velocibum. No, not this bum. I mean a real live one, one of the many that the Vdaddy seemed to attract, bum magnet that he is... And even as I wonder if that is why he is so popular among bloggers, I must draw a distinction.

This isn't literary embellishment. Whether walking down Bourbon Street, or attempting to brunch on an outdoor patio, he'd have them lining up. In the latter case, it was a sidewalk adjacent our table. Pressing his face atop the gap in the wrought iron fencing, the man looked almost cherubic when he wasn't slurring.

I was hoping that I had managed to capture that on film. But naw. Prolly not. Since after the Velocideity spoke to him, the guy rushed in, and the brunch table inhabitants spread like vexed ants.

I felt a little guilty about that, particularly after I found out who the guy really was. But hey, I wasn't prepared! Nobody told me this crazy man was gonna be there!

Heh, sorry Yabu, didn't mean to leave you out of the "rules" post. Must be because the rules don't apply to the sweetest partayin' fool I've ever met. It wouldn't have been the same without you, as you set the momentum and took some killah shots!

(Now I know what them fools were doing without me Saturday night!)

Blogmeet Rules

1. Do NOT be late to the airport when carpooling with my gurrl, the Blightess. She is a woman on a mission, and she will flat throw the POTUS under the bus if he gets between her and a blogmeet! (To her credit, she did ease up a bit on the 25 minute delay cursings, as we were afforded a front row view of Airforce One taking off directly in front of our plane. Very cool. We shall have pics soon.)

2. Do NOT make fun of Joe Dirt when he upgrades his ticket to biz class and gets stuck by an elderly lady who can talk nonstop for over an hour.... in FIVE languages, AHAHAHA!!!!!!!, so much for "No hablo..."

3. Do NOT tell this man or his loverly wife that you only got three hours of sleep and that you need a nap. He will look at you as though you have five heads, and SHE will melt you down with dimples and bright blue eyes. There is no fighting this couple. Just go easy on yourself, and give in.

4. Do NOT bother trying to get comfortable in the tire swings at Margaritaville. They suck, as the tilt is not optimal for the human behind, but I love the idea. And I gave Jason the bartender my url, and he PROMISED to comment. Helloooo... Jason? I also gave him a few other urls. Hey, they was swingin' with me; surely they don't mind.

5. Do have a conversation with a local blogger. She might actually be nice and tell you how NOT to look like a retarded tourist, besides new blood is always exciting to us creatures of the night. Speaking of new blood, I met a new honey in person for the first time in Nola, and he is a good 'un. Always great to meet someone who's been hanging out faceless on the blogroll for a while.

6. Do show cleavage to the honeys on the balconies for premo beadage. Do NOT take your shirt off and rub your nipples with wetted fingers, not even for the cutie with the red mohawk.

7. Do talk dirty in Swedish to Roy, the handsome carriage driver, because I'm betting he's waited his whole life to hear someone of the opposite sex utter those very words!

8. Do buy something pink, frilly, and emasculating to spring on the guys once they've had one too many.

9. Do buy something freaky for the freaky. When dealing with deities, it is best to come bearing gifts.

10. Do SHARE your compromising photos! Hey, it's Nola! These things are to be expected. And, hey, these pics prove that you are more than simply the sweetheart, the charmer AND the intellectual that we all know and love...you are also a SUPAH-STUD!

11. Do NOT feel like a class A LLLoser if you passed out before sundown on either one or BOTH evenings. You are the stuff legends are made of. Besides, the town knows no time. And yet, if someone is busting her sweet ass trying to walk yo butt back to the hotel because she happens to have developed an affection for yo silly ass, do refrain from napping all spontaneous-like all over the sidewalk, okay?!

12. Do NOT forgot to thank the makers... In this case, two excellent friends, Sam and Christina. Thank you SO much for insisting I attend. I have picked a bit here, but only to refrain from being overly sappy. At any gathering, seating didn't matter. That is how much everyone enjoyed one another. I can not thank you two enough! I wouldn't have been there if not for you.

13. If you missed it this time, do NOT miss it next year!

Buh-bye!

I'm goin' to a blogmeet! I'm going to a blogmeet!
Nanananabooboo...

I don't get out much, okay? And I've never been to New Orleans!

I will see you on Monday. What? Think I've slacked this week? Recall, I wrote 1700 words worth of fiction last week. I'm still whipped.

But I would like to thank you guys for your encouraging comments on that effort. I feel honored that the tried and trues have hung around, while I've cut my blog time in half over the summer.

School starts soon, and I intend to make up for lost time...making a pest of myself even.

I hope everyone has a martini weekend. Mine will be pineapple.

My Pet Spider

I did not ask for a pet spider, but I got one.

This mentally challenged spider decided that it would be a good idea to live in this cave - aka a rear view mirror - alongside my car.

Initial evidence of the intruder was supplied a few days ago, as I was cocooned in webbing upon attempting to open my car door. The web was spun from the dogwood next to the drive to the driver's door of my over-sized, gas-guzzling SUV.

No spider in sight though. Where'd the little eight-legged freak go? I hate losing sight of the enemy. If I can't lay eyes on him, he could be anywhere. Like...my hair, or worse, bra.

So the next morning, I returned to scene of the crime. Had to. I needed the transportation. But, I took my time in the driveway, fully inspecting the area first. And sure enough, the tenacious beast had built another web in the exact same spot.

It was tragic really. It was a perfectly beautiful, fully-formed web, with the the eight-legged dumbass parked front and center.

Now, I may not like the little nasty creepy-crawly, but I can respect the hard work. And that web was the result of some fine craftsmanship.

Still, I had to go to work. So, I crawled in through the passenger door, put it in reverse, and admittedly intrigued, I watched the web spread until it reached breaking point. Then I paused to see what the devastated and now homeless spider would do.

Three seconds later, the nimble beast had climbed the remains of the ruin and returned to the comforts of the SUV cave. Huh. That's when I realized that the little fucker wasn't homeless after all.

But could he hang on?

Apparently so. Pushing 80mph on a country road didn't shake him.

But would he stay there in waiting all day while I worked? Was he stooopid?

Yar. He was.

I'm guessing he held on for the ride home that day as well, because the next morning, I had another web. Same location. Same craftsmanship.

Unbelievable.

I am happy to report though, that as of today, tenacious spidey has either caught on and given up, or the creature lies decaying in my rear view mirror.

Somebody Hurt A Furbaby

Some jackass threw someone else's pet off of a roof.

$5000 in vet bills later, Wampi is making a slow recovery. Who would go into that kind of debt to save a cat?

I would.

My cat has been a member of the family for ten years. She is the most loving companion, and I will be broken-hearted when she goes. I will be homicidal if anyone intervenes to speed up the process.

Next paycheck - as given my weekend plans, this one is spent and then some - Wampi gets a contribution from me. I hope a few of you guys will feel the urge to lend a hand as well.

Source: GOC

Am I A Republican?

"Heh, ye-ahh...," many of you are thinking.

But if one can occasionally question their faith, why not their political affiliation? The Republican party isn't what it once was. The Democratic party isn't what it once was.

The once strong-minded and independent U.S. population is now saturated with those who seek more and more guidance, down to their incomes and moral decisions, in addition to the areas for which our government was actually established. And it grows. And those of you who have read me for any length of time know that I HATE THAT. And for that reason, I've held to the right, despite the idiocy that often encroaches upon my space.

I've been quiet about politics lately, as I've burned out a bit, the cyclical regurgitation of the same issues harshing my mellow, and the bitching thereof sounding awfully whiny.

Maintaining my mellow is the hope that social security will not be robbed from my daughter's income. So, I've done nothing drastic, though I must admit: I have contemplated once or twice...

(And, I must admit, that is one hell of a "Dear John" letter.)

What's in a Name?

Many a weird name cross my desk, and I rarely give it much thought unless someone is cursed with a name like Harry Bottoms.

But the other day, after putting in phonecalls to both my bug man and my financier, I took notice of the fact that the former's last name is Roach, the latter's, Crook.

Bad omens?

I Resent That!

I was visiting Seagrove Beach last week, which we all know is the only reasonable place to stay if you want the proximity to Seaside Beach, Florida, home of The Truman Show, the fru fru shops, and the children running in the grass donned in Laura Ashley, while live jazz plays in the background.

Ah, picturesque. Too much class, one could argue, as thanks to the film and the urbanites, it has been over-discovered.

Meanwhile, 30 miles away, and a world apart, lies the hedonist haven of Panama City Beach, the place of my Spring Break '92, the Miracle Strip, and, reluctantly, the Redneck Riviera.

Now. That term seems to be making its way into the online dictionaries. How nice. BUT, must the entire emerald coast be damned for the sins of the seedy? I love both Seaside and Panama City Beach, but they are apples and oranges, which brings me to my title...

I'm Back!

Thanks to all of you who at least tried to get in and cover for me. Yes, I know, munu is rigged. Even if, especially if in fact, you are a munuvian.

I should have just left a glorious beach photo up in my absence. Speaking of...

No pictures yet....but the beach was beautiful. I needed that. I wanted an extra day, since tropical storm Cindy pissed on one of mine, but nooooo!, Dennis had to come along and screw up that little plan.

So, we manditorily evacuated on Friday, waited 2 hours to cross the intracoastal bridge, then continued to crawl along the highway, until we finally managed to get ahead of the evac traffic on the interstate.

It was a long drive, and it has been a long weekend, and I have spent the bulk of my time catching up on housework, laundry, life, your basic penance for having taken a week of leisure.

I must admit this: Even though Cindy killed a beach day, it was absolutely breathtaking to see the ocean throw a fit up close and personal. Beaches were closed Wednesday, but many of us still gathered on the boardwalk, snapping pics of the angry ocean, as it ate the beach tents that peeps were foolish enough to have left up the night before. And this storm was just a baby. I'll share the pics when I get them, but I'm sure they won't do the scene justice.

Another thing that no amount of film could capture: the 4th on the beach. Spectacular. If you've never seen thousands of kindred and spirited pyros simultaneously lighting an assortment of birthday candles for our country, with arguably one of the most beautiful backdrops imaginable, it needs to go on the "to do" list. Fireworks over the water, children with sparklers, the very spirited fellow who lit the cannon upside-down and blew a crater into the sand... Twice. Ahhh, does it get any better?

I hope everyone had an incredible holiday.

CLEARING THE PHLEGM FROM MY THROAT...

I can't believe I did a breaking and entering here. Actually, I was invited, but MuNu is freaky shit. Passwords doan work, imprimaturs are ignored, babies are tossed in the volcano.

Nice being here, though. Promised Key I would guest blog while she vacationed, and she would cover me next week whilst I did the same. But I not only been locked out, I've had no desire to blog.

Lately I put a post up, contemplate it for 4 or 5 hours, then pull it. I cannot please myself. I'm apparently too good for anyone, including myself. Sure sign of madness. Well, that and dandruff.

I have no compunction about slathering my idiocy on someone else's site, however. I love the idea of populating Key's with my insanity. It's comfy, for want of a better word. Smells better than my place. And I will take the full brunt of her approbation when she returns, full of spit and venom.

Key, I apologize. I'm usually much worse than this.

I do have stories of Chicken-Footed Ladies, and Boys with Golden Arms, and the Goat Man. I can do that, next time.

Meantime, I'm going to New Orleans.

On second thought, I may do the Goat Man anyway. Let me find my pictures.