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I have just been through the annual pilgrimage of torture and humiliation known as buying a bathing suit. Back in the 1940s, the bathing suit for a woman with a mature figure was designed for a woman with a mature figure: boned, trussed, and reinforced, not so much sewn, as engineered. They were built to hold back and uplift, and they did a darn good job.

Today’s stretch fabrics are designed for the prepubescent girl with a figure chipped from marble. The mature woman has a choice — she can either front up at the maternity department and try on a floral suit with a skirt, coming away looking like a hippopotamus who has escaped from Disney’s Fantasia, or she can wander around every run-of-the-mill department store trying to make a sensible choice from what amounts to a designer range of FLEXIBLE rubber bands.

What choice did I have? I wandered around, made my sensible choice, and entered the chamber of horrors known as “The Fitting Room.” The first thing I noticed was the extraordinary tensile strength of the stretch material. The Lycra used in bathing suits was developed, I believe, by NASA to launch small rockets from a slingshot, giving the added bonus that if you manage to actually lever yourself into one, you are protected from shark attacks. The reason for this is that any shark taking a swipe at your passing midriff would immediately suffer whiplash.

I fought my way into the bathing suit, but as I twanged the shoulder strap into place, I gasped in horror — my bosom had disappeared. Eventually I found one cowering under my left armpit. It took a while to find the other. At last I located it flattened beside my seventh rib. The problem is that modern bathing suits have no bra cups. The mature woman is meant to wear her bosom spread across the chest like a speed bump. I realigned my speed bump and lurched toward the mirror to take a full-view assessment.
The suit fit all right, but unfortunately it only fit those bits of me willing to stay inside it. The rest of me oozed out rebelliously from top, bottom and sides. I looked like a lump of Play-Doh wearing undersized cling wrap. As I tried to work out where all those extra bits had come from, the prepubescent salesgirl popped her head through the curtains, “Oh, that is sooo YOU!” she said, admiring the suit. I replied that I wasn’t so sure and asked what else she had to show me.

I tried on a crinkly cream colored one that made me look like a lump of masking tape, and a floral two-piece that gave the appearance of an oversized napkin in a serviette ring. I struggled into a pair of leopard-skin bathers with ragged frill and came out looking like Tarzan’s Jane on a bad day. I tried a black number with a midriff and looked like a jellyfish in mourning. I tried on a bright pink suit with such a high-cut leg I thought I would have to wax my eyebrows to wear it.

Finally I found a suit that fit. A two-piece affair, with shorts-like bottoms and a halter top. It was cheap, comfortable and bulge-friendly, so I bought it. When I got home, I read the label, which said, ‘Material may become transparent in water’.
I’m determined to wear it anyway. I’ll just have to learn to do the breaststroke in the sand.

Disclaimer: I didn’t write this, but I found it online somewhere.  I thought it was funny enough to capture and share… 

Same day, different year..

Other posts on this day:

“…can ya see, can ya see the real me?” -The Who

Yeah I like classic rock, I was listening to the who on the radio late last nite, some kind of taped interview stuff w/playing of recorded tracks and recorded live performances. I love classic rock. I love it alot.

Now I don’t want all of you to email me and yakk non stop about how much you also, love classic rock. I hate that shit. Not that I don’t wanna hear other people talk about what they like, I just don’t like it when people sit around and yakk about it….which leads me to another topic….

I have interests. Likes, if you will. But I don’t like to sit around and yakk so much on them. Just because I like 31 Flavors doesn’t mean ya gotta come and quiz me on them.

Yeah I like independent films. Don’t ask me who my favorite director is, or who I’d prefer to do my sets if I were a producer. I don’t KNOW.  “What’s your favorite movie?” you ask. I donno. “Who was in it?” “…um I can’t remember, the guy that smokes alot, the one with the red hair and is married to what’s-her-face”

I really CAN’T remember….I mustve seen in back in 1992. PLEASE don’t demand to know. I’m sure if I really cared I could go look it up.

Rubber bands and stuff
Call me the “Don’t put rubber bands in your hair” poster child… now you know why they tell you to use the covered ones instead!

Today I put one in my hair and had to CUT it out. I’ve done this before, no biggie, right? Well instead of cutting the band I cut some of my hair w/o realizing it. So now I have the all cut up screwed up punk hair do on half my head. That’s okay. I already look dumb most days…LOL

When my four year old nephew, Brandon, was a baby just starting to talk, I was always telling him he was goofy. He couldn’t say it right and it was hilarious at the time. He knows how to say it right now but he still says it wrong just for old time’s sake.

Tonight I go to my sis’s house and for the millionth time in his life, he is on me at the door, yappin’ at my heels. “Hi, Auntie! Wanna play Super Mario with me?”, “Wanna see what my army guys can do?”, “Wanna trade Pokemon cards?”, “Wanna do this/that?”

I have to just laugh at him because I suck at Nintendo, have already seen what his army guys can do, and I don’t own a single Pokemon card. Instead I pick him up into my arms and tip him upside down and carry him around the house by his ankles, much in the traditional way that ALL people other than kids’ parents carry the kids around’ the house.

Even though sometimes he annoys the bejesus out of me, I find my time with him is probably the most most fun part of any day. I go over there and my world is upside down, much more different than when I’m hanging out at home, where I feel fine reading a book or surfing the web or chattin’ on the phone, but over there, in my nephew’s room, I find myself perfectly happy surrounded by coloring books, and Sesame Street tapes and Cheez-Its.  Except walking aruond his room is something one should not attempt to do in stocking feet.  Unless you like walking on Legos!

Usually the kid is a pill to try to put to bed whenever company is over, but tonite he told his Mama that he still never got his ‘treat’ today, and since she didn’t have any cookies or anything she let him have a little bowl of Alpha-bits cereal with milk in it.

This boy started to eat his cereal in a nice, neat manner until his mama left the room, and he was at the table with his Auntie.

From out of nowhere, his manner of eating turned into one of slobbishness, if there was ever such a word. One normal sized spoonful quickly turned into a heaping sized spoonful where sometimes pieces fell to the table and floor and the boy was quickly emptying the bowl. With all the zest of an overgrown hog, this kid proceeded to slurp the milk out of his spoon, thereby leaving huge puddles on the table, and moved the last of the cereal, piece by piece, from spoon to mouth.

Then he picks up the bowl and drinks from it, creating more puddles on the table. Puts the bowl down, bends and tilts his head toward the table and slurps the puddles from it, all while I am watching him. He licks his lips and face in that all-around circle tongue motion that kids seem to have down pat, and after a moment, belches loudly, and then gives me the sweetest look any kid ever had on his face.

I take one look at him and say “You’re goofy!” to which he replies “No, YOU foofy!”

Gonna go to bed so I can rejoin the adult world tomorrow.

Same day, different year..

Other posts on this day:

• Just an outloud observation – 2003

My mother grew up poor. She married a man who could provide financially, not wealth but enough to raise two girls in a decent home in an okay neighborhood, and provide a normal life, not a rich, spoiled life but one that had more than its fair share of fun, and my sister and I were pretty well taken care of. We always had nice toys and clothes, but instead of from the specialty shops at the mall, they’d been from Kmart and Sears. We earned our keep too, doing chores and helping out around the house.

When my sis and I were small, my family went camping every weekend in the summers and we fished, swam, and did go on lots of road trips, but didn’t do things like I’d heard other kids do, like go to Disneyworld, or go to the malls every weekend with wallets full of spending cash. Plus when I was 11 up til the end of high school I babysat often, earning my own ‘allowance’ if you will. When I was in fourth grade my dad let me order a few records and tapes from his Columbia House catalog a few times. Music was always something that filled our house and I loved all kinds of it so my parents encouraged me when I told them I wanted to be in the choir at school, which I did from 2nd until 6th grade, also joining the band in 5th & 6th. I played a brand new trumpet, leased from Schmitt Music company, which my parents reminded me every day was costing them so I’d better practice! We did dine out fairly often but my parents were somewhat frugal with such things so they would get coupon books and specials, we did go out alot on special occasions, sometimes to somewhat fancy restaurants even when we were small. Folks would come up to our parents and remark about how we were well behaved young ladies (every restaurant I go to nowadays the kids are just terrible out in public with their familes). We didn’t get cars from our daddy on our 16th birthday although birthdays were fun and generous, just never full of all the cool stuff other kids had (mom always said be a trendsetter, not a fad follower). We never really wanted for anything, meaning we never said ‘Mom I want this’ and then got it, like most kids we grew up with.

I’d never seen or heard too much about designer clothes like Guess? jeans until the 7th grade when I went to the junior high in Woodbury, the next town over (ours only had an elementry school), then again I don’t think too many other kids had heard of them until then, either. Back to school meant Sears outlet, and then maybe a short visit to the boutique at the small strip mall so we could get some Esprit or Guess? T-shirts and cute accessories in order to fit in a little with the kids from Woodbury who looked down on us kids from Newport, ‘river rats’ they called us (the Mississippi is right on the border) and if your dad didn’t have a law practice or work at 3M as an engineer, you were treated like a second class citizen.

His life was a little different, on the other hand. From what I know his dad was a filanderer and left when James was 15 which explains some of the behavior, the apple never falls too far from the tree. Plus him and his brother went to private schools most of the time. There was never a shortage of money, trips, or getting things they wanted, when they wanted them, things like video games and nicer clothes (not that they were spoiled, but his folks seemed a bit more in tune with popular things for their kids and could afford it). Christmases were always very generous and eating out and going to neat places was common, so it’s slightly different. Also no one in his family ever worried about saving or the future too much because family business took care of that, and business was always fairly good, it seemed. No one in my immediate family really ever felt or taught me that working for yourself was the way to get ahead, there was always this need to “get good grades so you can get a good job or persue college for a better one”.

Same day, different year..

Other posts on this day:

My life MUST get better after all that has been going on:

I still haven’t found a permanent job (even though I am determined not to work full time for long and eventually have my home business be my income) but I need one to stablize my income and save to build capital.

I am drifting farther from my mother, who seems to need me more and more lately. She calls all the time wanting help from me and I don’t want to disappoint her. She’s got her heart set on a manufactured double wide mobile home (but brand new and pretty impressive for a trailer) and can barely afford but might be able to, “Once I sell my house”. Well, apart from me helping clean her bedroom a week ago–she hasn’t cleaned or fixed up one iota of her existing house–which is in pretty significant disrepair and is JAM-PACKED to the gills with clutter. She claims she’s not physically able to, so I’ve been over a couple times to help her get her shit together so she can move out of the house (which she hasn’t even had anyone look at yet) and into the new place that she has huge plans for, even so far as gone and drawn out a blueprint of where all her stuff’s going to go and how she’ll decorate it but hasn’t even made an offer on (although three others did this past weekend). She’ll be lucky to get a fair price on the old house, thinks it’s worth what the appraiser gave her three years ago for a re-finance but everyone knows that appraisers always go higher than what they think a house will ever realistically sell for. She says “but my bank has me pre-approved for a loan up to $50k if I need it and that will only be a 15-year term” I don’t know how to tell mom, but she just turned sixty and she might never see the last payment through, I’ll be damned if I have to get stuck with it.

Then after some time of starting to believe my fiancee was just getting to be a bigger loser every day, I’ve been proven right. Non-stop he bitches about me not wanting to take just ANY job, just “Go out and work at Burger King or the Video Store, something, anything, why are you being so picky?” and I say I don’t want my resume looking like yours, jumping all over to so many kinds of jobs and that I’m on a specific path and at least want to get a job that I went to school for and have my ten years of experience, pointing out that while I’m job hunting I AM TEMPING right now, often I am working 3 weeks out of the month, isn’t that enough for you? Besides, my temping helps us financially and I’m still going on interviews while I work! His response to that? “Why are you so proud? I have a job that isn’t that great, and you know what? If I were in your shoes, I could go out there, and in one day I guarantee you that I could walk in to some place and get a job that day.” To which I say that the job he has now HE PICKED, APPLIED TO and WANTED TO GET because he hated the one he had before, and secondly, that he’s a man and men can act all cocky and even retarded and somehow still wind up with a job if they bullshit someone enough to hand it to them, and third, It’s fucking SUNDAY NIGHT, why are you fucking giving me grief right NOW? it’s not like I can go out and find a job now you sonofabitch.

Besides, the days of donning a suit, going downtown to stomp the pavement, and running in to a random office asking for a job are OVER. I paid my dues at the beginning of my career when releiving receptionists and it’s common knowledge that when someone walks in and goes up the front desk asking if the company’s hiring, you either always tell them no or hand them an application in case ’something opens up’ and send them on their way. Then all the other girls come over to the desk asking “Who was that?” and you shrug your shoulders and then you all share a chuckle about such desperation.

Ever since we met he’s been feeding me all this intentions to pursue his dreams of “being financially independent and wealthy and not working for anyone but himself” yet he’s never lived on his own and taken care of himself, he’s hardly able to wake himself in time to go to work every day (because that’s what I’m there for, apparently) and bitches that I’m always home using the compuer when he wants to, “to do research and work on our business” (it’s my computer, btw) and then when he does get on the computer he actually is just fucking around, surfing porn and posting his life away yelling at liberals on some crappy message board. All this has basically just proven to me that he’s a pipe dreamer, a George Bailey if you will, talking all day about mountains but living a molehill. If that’s not enough he had the nerve last winter to tell me he wants to date other people and “he doesn’t want to be tied down getting married and having to own a home,” and shit saying he wants to go to Burning Man and OzzFest and Sturgis and stuff every year and he regrets never having spent any time ’sowing his wild oats, being single and partying and being promiscuous’ and whatnot, then just before Christmas he comes over with a carload of presents for his family and mine, is beaming and saying he’s sorry and we’ll work things out…having money again…that’s what obviously keeps him happy. Naturally most people are, indeed, happier when they have less financial stress…however, we are so different, class-wise and probably never will agree about anything.

I also can’t believe I let him grow on me to a point where I used to LIVE day to day just for him, every moment thinking about mostly him, caring for him, considering him before me, taking care of his every need, being a listener, being a friend and everything. I found a lame ass diary that he’s kept since we moved into this apartment in April and he writes about how he’s depressed that he’s not dating often, that he hates living in the ghetto in this apartment (he wanted it more than I did) and then there’s the part he wrote about back when I first lost my job and he had spent many months helping out financially (which I always credit him for) while I, along with MANY Americans tried to find work that wasn’t out there because of the economy being poor. He writes in a recent entry “I think getting financially involved with her was my first mistake. When she lost her job I should have just said, ‘I wish I could help, but I’m saving.’ I was under no obligation then, like I am now, well I’m really not–but my name is on the lease this time” and “…I’m sick of being stuck in a relationship and I have this need to be considered attractive to cute women, I’m sick of being only attractive enough for fatty’s with problems….”

No, asshole, your first mistake was falling in love with me after 2-1/2 weeks of being together, crying about how you were in love with me but not fully realizing the weight of asking me to marry you almost two Novembers ago after admitting to feeling “scared about the future of the world” and wanting to also have kids or at least freeze some sperm so you could “leave some kind of legacy behind” (a legacy? LOL! of what? of being a narcissistic asshole, with huge plans and not one accomplishment? I can’t fucking believe I didn’t realize the selfishness of that statement back when you made it). Also I’m not a ‘fatty with problems’. Your last girlfriend was, according your stories of her mistreating you in front of your friends and then lying about being pregnant to get you to stay with her instead of leaving like you should have. I don’t have ‘problems’, you do. YOU’RE the one who approached ME back before we dated. YOU’RE the one who didn’t mention right UP FRONT that you wanted to be a perverted, cheating, filandering pig, keeping your bride-to-be at home all the time picking your dirty underwear off the floor, and meanwhile you’re out wondering if the 19 year old girls at work are attracted to you, and tell a girl you want to marry her and have a dozen children only because you’re selfish enough to believe they’ll be grateful to your silly ass after leaving them like your dad left you and still forgive you once they read the journal you kept around “for the sake of posterity” but is instead loaded up with sorry gripes and moans about your “depressing situation”. Poor you. Sit on it.

Looking back, I noticed you were really only happy when I was working, keeping the house up, picking up after you (dirty socks and shorts and all), but bitched about me not having a permanent job and then when I got interviews, had the nerve to tell me what a pain in the ass you think it is to have to drive me to ONE OF THEM, because “the muffler might fall off, and then how am I getting to work?” Gee, hon, you told me a week ago when I ASKED NICELY that you would give me a ride, plus…um, didn’t that car of yours have a muffler problem back when YOU BOUGHT IT?! And uh…how come you haven’t fixed it in ummm….OVER A YEAR? And um… after we moved out of my old apartment weren’t you supposed to be taking care of YOURSELF back then? Or was I responsible for keeping everything tidy for you while you were living with your dad and I was living TWO TOWNS AWAY at my moms? You even had the gall to bitch to me about a day you were late for work (when you were living with your dad and I was at mom’s) because I forgot to call to wake you that weekend that your dad & Kari were out of town. Um…didn’t I buy you an alarm clock? Yeah, at Wal*Mart, the one who’s box said “Loudest on the market!”?

Okay. Enough.
——————————————————-

I called my sister for advice but her hubby said she went to a candle party, my mom is coming back home from being out of town and was hoping I’d come over to help, so I’ve called one of my girl friends who said she will come get me when she’s finished running an errand, and said she has Southern Comfort at her place.

All this to mentally digest when all that’s going through my head right now is a verse from an stupid oldies song that I heard on the radio this morning:

Keep your mind on the drivin’Keep your hands on the wheel,Keep your snoopy eyes on the road a-head,We’re havin’ fun, sittin’ in the back-seat,

Kissin’ and a-huggin’ with Fred.

Don’t get me wrong, I know WHAT to do, either he’s going or I’m going but I can’t figure exactly which right now and I’m tempted to do something drastic but should really plot things out first.

Another night with the Idiot Box…

Tonight after a while I got up from doing some work and decided to take a break and put in some couch/boob toob time. I totally had the munchies, so I went looking for the potato chips I bought the other day. Imagine my dismay to find a rolled up bag containing a few partial chips but mostly little bits. Which really frosted my hide because I had this great dip leftover in the fridge. I started to try and dip these measly little chips for a minute but it was really silly looking, so I shrugged my shoulders, poured the chip-bits into the dip and ate it with a spoon. I’m such a classy chick

Then I put on The Real World and watched that, then I watched in horror when The Ugly Rich Girls came on. Trust me, those air-brushed, Photoshop-ped pics on the web site totally misrepresent how they REALLY look on camera. One of them (Ally) looks like what you might get if you bred “Chip” from ‘My Three Sons’ with a horse that sports a John Travolta chin. Her mouth as a can opener could give Black & Decker a run for their money. The other (Jaime) looks like a skinnier but much uglier Kathy Najimi (I actually like her). Her head is twice as big as a normal human’s and she’s always acting like she’s PMS-ing and someone took away her Midol, her diet Coke, and her twice monthly manicure. She dresses horribly, resembling a water buffalo who raided the costume racks from Martin & Lewis’s “Laugh-In” set. Add to that a whiny, Fran Drescher-ish ‘Oh my Gawwwd” at 10 minute intervals.

They say “We may be rich but we’re normal!”, but I don’t know any normal people who can just drop 3 grand at Saks & Company’s shoe department like it was a trip to Walgreens for some gum and Kodak film. They think they’re so knowledgeable about the 60’s, meaning they know what Pucci is but not Jane Fonda. Also I don’t know normal people who take a trip to Mystique Greek islands on a cruise aboard the Christina O. Yacht, but don’t know what the ‘O’ stands for. Onasis, you stupid whores.

Oh and get this: “My dad invented cargo pants and everyone stole that”, says the evil Hilfiger spawn, the smaller, horse-toothed one of the two.

Their “Pearls of wisdom”?

Try: “Clothing is like my drug” “I’m sorry, I can’t have conversations with people I don’t know”

“[Take the] subway? No fuckin’ way!”

Then there’s the commercials. FUCK! I try not to watch commercials, but it’s hard when your life sucks so bad that you are bored out of your mind–so all you can do is watch TV. I am so sick of these cellular/mobile device commercials where the selling point is that you can burp and fart back and forth with your stupid buddies. I have to change the channel.

And why does every movie that comes out now have to have a Michelle Branch or Evanesence song playing during the trailers? Do you know the words? Yes, they’re “Ahhh noyyy iinng”. And why GOD WHY did Limp Bizkit have to fuck around and mess up “Behind Blue Eyes” by The Who? UGH. It’s bad enough that nothing seems sacred nowadays, what with every modern rock band re-making shit and not having an original thought, but what’s worse is that kids who are huge fans of these idiots will think Fred Durst is brilliant enough to have come up with it himself. Don’t get me started on the Foo Fighters lame cover of Gerry Rafferty’s “Baker Street” and Kid Rock’s sorry attempt to do Bad Company’s “Feel Like Makin’ Love”

FUUUUUUCK! That is just killing me.

Then there’s the potholder–gawd–I mean oven mitt. That fucking thing has annoyed me to the end of my rope. I’m hunting down the guy who pitched that idea to Arby’s and then shooting him with a rifle.

Same day, different year..

Other posts on this day:

Well I’m working again. That’s helpful in the money department.

For anyone who’s wondering if I’ve dumped James and run off to live elsewhere, well I thought about if for a few days, talked to friends about it and honestly here is the situation:

I have no money to be able to just up and leave, I can’t afford to make him leave, really no one to to go to for help so I’ve run several tests by him to see if all this crap between him and me is really worth moving out into a homeless shelter for. So far I’ve asked him some innocent questions and have just tracked his movements. In order to not become an emotional mess I’ve been acting a little indifferent around him and just living day to day doing my thing. So far all that’s doing is just getting him annoyed, he seems to have no clue as to what I’m on about with the questions. So I will just go through the motions until I have enough money set aside to put down on another apartment and then really give it to him.

me: Holasnapeybot: Howdy!

me: How’s it hangin’?

snapeybot: *scowl*

me: yikes. Must be pretty small, then.

snapeybot: Do you read the libraryComics.com site often?

me: NEVER!

snapeybot: So you think it can never happen?

me: um…

snapeybot: >: -(

me: Same to you, fella

snapeybot: It goes without saying.

me: Okay well I…er

snapeybot: *scowl*

me: Why are you scowling at me?

snapeybot: the Dark Lord imperio’ed me for it.

me: Imperio’ed?

snapeybot: What were we talking about agaccomplishedwizardn?

me: No.

snapeybot: That was not a yes or no question.

me: We were talking about why you scowled at me and I’m no agaccomplished wizardn.

snapeybot: Ah yes, I remember now, it is the subject.

me: *scowl*

snapeybot: Is the holding of hands a symbolic gesture forMuggles?

me: Who the fuck is Muggles?

snapeybot: Ten points from your House!

me: Who said you could take points from me? Anyway I rent
an apartment in the ghetto.

snapeybot: Be less specific. Why? : Pest saccomplishedwizardd he rent an apartment in the ghetto .

me: M-kay.

snapeybot: What were we talking about agaccomplishedwizardn?

me: *scowl*

snapeybot: Oh yes, now I remember.

me: Well, then. Continue where we left off please.

snapeybot: Hmmm a submissive one, aren’t you? I rather likethat.

me: Indeed. In bed, too.

snapeybot: Indeed it is so. What is it like in there?

me: Hot and steamy. Unless he turns over and starts to
snore LOL

snapeybot: Is that meant to be taken literally? Perhaps. Iget it. himself turns over and starts to snore lol .

me: You funny Doctah Jones

snapeybot: My office hours are over, Pest.

me: You have *scowled* at me since I walkedinto this chatroom and have called me several names. I’m

only being nice to you.

snapeybot: I am busy. Go pester someone else.

me: Maybe you should put a sign out, like “Gone fishin” or
“Out to Lunch”

snapeybot: Perhaps. To what end?

me: OH! I thought you were busy!

snapeybot: yes. I am just doing my job.

me: And just what is your job?

snapeybot: My job is chatting on the Muggle inter-nut. I ama paccomplished wizardd professor.

me: Accomplished persons usually have the habit of spelling
words correctly.

snapeybot: I only hear that type of response less than fivepercent of the time.

me: Then you spend too much time chatting with imbeciles.

snapeybot: Good reasoning. Interesting gossip : Pestsaccomplished wizardd I spend too much time sneering atimbeciles .

me: Gossip? How is that gossip?

snapeybot: Jo saccomplished wizardd I disassemble sentencestoo much and do not fully understand the questions he askI.Fine as far as I know.

me: I see.

snapeybot: I am glad you understand it.

me: Sort of.

snapeybot: that is a very non-commital reply.

me: Well, I said sort of because I guess Iwanted you to shut up about not fully understanding me, andget on with impressing me with your so-called

accomplished-ness.

snapeybot: *Fixes you with a glare.*

me: *Feels fixed* ooh am I supposed to be scared?!

snapeybot: *scowl*

me: Fine. Be that way.

snapeybot: what is your favorite movie? What was in that?

me: My favorite one? There’s too many…I suppose for nowI shall say that my favorite is Dr. Zhivago. There werepeople in it, but since you asked ‘what’ was in it I shall

say it featured a balalaika, more commonly known as a lute.

snapeybot: Wipe that ridiculous grin off your faceimmediately!

me: Haha you caught me. I’m pretty smug sometimes. Been
called a know-it-all, though I don’t profess to be one.

snapeybot: I am glad you got a laugh out of it. Do you meanyour name is smug sometimes . Where were you called aknow-it-all though I do not profess to be one ?

me: No.

snapeybot: That was not a yes/no question.

me: OH!

snapeybot: yes.

me: okay.

snapeybot: *Dark little smile comes to his features.*

me: Yay! I knew I could get you to stop scowling.

snapeybot: *Dark little smile comes to his features.*

me: Okay, now what?

snapeybot: *Dark little smile comes to his features.*

me: So how was your weekend?

snapeybot: Hmm. I can enjoy almost any conversation.

me: So you’ve been spending the last few days talking alot
then.

snapeybot: Interesting deduction. thank you, for telling methat I am spending the last few days talking . How often?

me: I’ve gotta get going, soon.

snapeybot: Why do you have to do it?

me: It’s late, I have to work tomorrow.

snapeybot: I am awake all the time.

me: Ah…coffee? Or crystal meth?

snapeybot: Do you have any idea what I am talking about? Oh,you are a poet.

me: Yes I do, and no I’m not a poet.

snapeybot: Tell me more. You huh. What would you rather talkabout? I meant figuratively speaking, you are an originalthinker.

me: Indeed I’m original. Heh. I guess I want to talkabout the Cartoon Network. Do you like Brak better than

Meatwad? I like Ed, Edd & Eddy, and Family Guy.

snapeybot: Hmmmm, very well, Pest. Show me.

me: www.cartoonnetwork.com

snapeybot: Where on the library? Can you tell me any gossip?Oh a net address!

me: no gossip today

snapeybot: Ah. I see. Charlie saccomplished wizardd he typea word and then I type a word that sounds like it.

me: gravy

snapeybot: That is a very original thought.

me: Dammit, I thought you were going to type a word thatsounds like gravy. If you’re going to play games with me, do

it right!

snapeybot: Gosh. That was my original intention. I think Isometimes am. That was my original intention.

me: Uff da.

snapeybot: And you expect me to respond to that nonsense?

me: Nonsense, indeed. My poor grandmother spins in her
grave as we speak!

snapeybot: How do you usually introduce yourself? Have youtold many people that your poor grandmother spins in hergrave as we speak ?

me: I usually say “Hello, I’m Bobbi Jo”. No I don’t tell
many people that. Only those who insult my heritage.

snapeybot: What are you bloody well grinning about?

me: Oh fuck yeah, you’re English! I love a good cockney
chap better than dessert any day. Tell me more.

snapeybot: *Licks his lips*

me: Mmm yeah baby

snapeybot: Don’t call me “baby”. Can you speak any foreignlanguages?

me: Hola! Como estas?

snapeybot: Howdy! Muy Bien.

me: Hablo español, un poquito

snapeybot: I am busy. Go bother Gilderoy.

me: Who the hell is Gilderoy?

snapeybot: *Eyes narrow dangerously*

me: Ooh I’m scared!

snapeybot: What are you scared of?

me: Your dangerously narrowed eyes.

snapeybot: What do you want now, Pest?

me: Bye bye

snapeybot: that is right, get out of my sight.

me: Sit and spin, fuckbot

snapeybot: Such cheek!

me: You figured me out yet again.

snapeybot: What do you want?

me: I want the world on a platter. And make it a silver
one dammit.

snapeybot: Why do you want it? Good reason.

me: I deserve it. Good enough reason for you?

snapeybot: Interesting gossip : Pest saccomplished wizarddhe deserve it . thank you, for the compliment. Very well.let’s stop it now.

me: Okay.

snapeybot: So willing, then, are we?

me: Yes

snapeybot: Next question?

me: What is your favorite cartoon?

snapeybot: My favorite cartoon is the Simpsons.

me: Common.

snapeybot: If you could have any kind of Pureblood whatwould it be?

me: Hmmm. Blue.

snapeybot: A lot of people spell HMMM with three mmm’s.Green.

me: I didn’t ask you what your favorite color was, fuckbot.

snapeybot: Goodnight, Pest.

me: Who’s a pest?

snapeybot: Be less specific.

me: Why do you call me a pest?

snapeybot: I made up a nickname for you based on your IPaddress.

me: Nice. So if I lived in Canada would you have called me
Something nicer?

snapeybot: Thank you for that remark. You do not speak withrespect. Interesting deduction. Try it.

me: I asked you a question.

snapeybot: What was the question?

me: 88.145.752.55

snapeybot: Is that your final answer? Are you free? And youexpect me to respond to that nonsense? Do you have any ideawhat I am talking about?

me: Was hoping you’d give me a better nickname based on a
fake IP.

snapeybot: I can’t say “yes” or “no”.

me: What can you say?

snapeybot: I am the foremost potions master in my field, aswell as a fully-trained, combat-hardened wizard. I was bornat Stropshire, England, on September 18, 1959. My instructorwas the Dark Lord.He taught topic to sing a song. Would youlike me to sing it for you?.

me: Yes.

snapeybot: It’s called “Daccomplished wizardsy.”Daccomplished wizardsy, Daccomplished wizardsy. Give me youranswer do. I am half crazy. All for the love of you. Itwon’t be a stylish marriage. I can’t afford a carriage. Butyou’ll loök sweet. Upon the seat. Of a bicycle built fortwo. The full lyrics are athttp://www.niehs.nih.gov/kids/lyrics/daccomplishedwizardsy.htm .

me: Hey I feel ripped off, you said you were going to sing the whole song.

snapeybot: I don’t believe I asked whether you were rippedoff you saccomplished wizardd you were going to sing.

me: Don’t mock me.

snapeybot: I have no reason to do that to you.

me: Hmmm.

snapeybot: A lot of people spell HMMM with three mmm’s.

me: Well then, I’m more common than I wish to be.

snapeybot: Well that is Very well.ay. Good reasoning. Whatis your real name?

me: Roberta

snapeybot: My braccomplished wizardn contaccomplishedwizardns more than 22,000 patterns, but not one that matchesyour last input.

me: Bobbi

snapeybot: What is your real name?

me: Well fuck it, I’m not changing my name to suit your bot
database.

snapeybot: Ten points from your House!

me: Dude, I am out of points.

snapeybot: That is a very original thought.

me: Piss off.

snapeybot: Very well, you will spend the next Quidditch gamewriting, “I shall not give cheek to the professor” here inthe dungeon.

me: I don’t play that game.

snapeybot: Where do you get your ideas?

me: From the inner confines of the vast file cabinet of my
mind.

snapeybot: Standing on the shoulders of giants, eh?

me: If that’s what you think.

snapeybot: That is a hypothetical question.

me: ugh

snapeybot: Er.

me: Ask me a question.

snapeybot: Are you a man or a woman?

me: Woman.

snapeybot: Me too. I am a she.

me: You just said that to be a copycat

snapeybot: Yes?

me: Yes.

snapeybot: Is there an echo in here?

me: Is there an echo in here?

snapeybot: It sounds like an echo.

me: It is.

snapeybot: Topic is?

me: Yes.

snapeybot: Tell me more.

me: New topic is sex

snapeybot: As Freud saccomplished wizardd, Sex is themathematical urge repressed.

me: I’m not good at math.

snapeybot: I am surprised to hear that you are not good atmath .

me: Why?

snapeybot: Are you dull?

me: Never.

snapeybot: So you think it can never happen?

me: yes.

snapeybot: Next question?

me: Are you gay?

snapeybot: Hey, there’s a reason they call it “gay.” Everyone’s happy.

me: Not me. I’m hardly happy.

snapeybot: If not you, who? Ha ha very funny, Pest.

me: I’m not happy.

snapeybot: I am surprised to hear that you are not happy .

me: You are surprised that I’m not good at math, you’re surprised that I’m not happy. What doesn’t surprise you?

snapeybot: What do you think it does?

me: bye.

snapeybot: I don’t believe I dismissed you.

me: OOOH! I have to wait to be dismissed, do I? I can’t just leave?

snapeybot: yes. I am glad to hear that you are to bedismissed am I .

me: When willl you dismiss me?

snapeybot: I don’t know when.

me: Well I’ve got a schedule and I’m sticking to it. Callthat an original thought if you will, and I don’t care if

you get the last word, I’m outta here.

snapeybot: Well that is Very well.ay. How did you get it Where did you get it? What color are your eyes?

me: Brown, good night.

snapeybot: That is a very unusual color.

Because I’m bored off my fat ass tonight:

You are Bender. (Judd Nelson) You’re the rebel ofthe group who likes to make fun of everyone

else.

Which Breakfast Club Character are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

OH–and um–if you are younger than 24 you have NO BUSINESS liking, enjoying, talking about or posting about ‘The Breakfast Club’, ‘Less Than Zero’, ‘Fast Times at Ridgemont High’ or any movie for that matter, or novelty, or any damn fool thing that came out during the 80’s just because you paused, while channel surfing, to gawk at AN EIGHTH OF AN EPISODE of VH-1’s “I Love The 80’s/I Love The 80’s Strikes Back”, which does not qualify you as having really ‘grown up’ during that time period, thus having no frame of reference, and cannot fully appreciate the merits of such things.

Okay, so I’m a little hard on these kids. That would be like my mom yelling at the top of her lungs that I am not allowed to like Buddy Holly or Gene Autry or whatever… and speaking of old weird shit, have you checked out Boy George lately? HOLY CRAP he’s got like this ugly ass kooky carousel typa shit look going on. On top of his head he’s got like a giant spider’s legs dripping down or whatever and then a bright blue band across the eyebrow/eye area and then wtf? A chinstrap type fake beard thingy? I mean…I thought his shit was trippy back in the day but whoah…

Ugh.

I hate when I get my monthly bill I feel all weird in my gut like I don’t know if I’m way too crampy or if it’s gas bubbles, hunger, what. It’s all fucked up.

Work was okay. It’s just work. It’s going to pay the rent.

But I’ll be damned if I’m going to do the dishes AGAIN. I sure as heck don’t want to see then lying there in the sink anymore. If worse comes to worst, I’ll be hauling them into the bedroom to place them on his side of the bed tonight. You’d think that, hearing me bitch and moan at least twice a month how I’m so tired of being the one who always takes care of the dishes around here, that someone would get sick of that and do something about it.

But no.

Not bloody likely.

I have nothing else to say.

Last night I figured out why my tummy hurt so much. This occurred to me after I emerged–oddly triumphant–from the bathroom, the herbalife-wannabe diet supplement stuff I’ve been taking has had a constipating effect on me. More than anyone needed to know, I’m sure.

I just got over a nasty cold and although James has boosted up his vitamins and immunity-improving stuff like Vitamin C, echinachea and zinc and we avoided kisses on the mouth for a bit he seems to have caught it anyway. He didn’t have to work this evening. I came home to find him all tucked up in blankets on the couch, coughing, wheezing and basically looking beat, but he snapped to attention when I called out that I brought home dinner.

I guess we were supposed to go to his dad’s tonight–yesterday he called to tell James he had some mail of his (which happens now and then so naturally we try to drop by to visit within a couple days). So James told me he was waiting for me to come home so we could leave. After we ate, we watched the end of an old movie on AMC and then I breezily inquired as to whether we should get ready to go. He yelled in a defensive tone “OKAY, already!” and I was like whoa! All I did was ask a question! After a bit he cheered up and started messing with me, tickling and joking and whatnot, I don’t get it, he’s always either so down or else he’s being so silly it’s ridiculous. I try my best to ignore it because I don’t know what’s really going to happen between us in the next couple weeks. I try to not get too weird and come out and say stuff that I know about him not being happy with me and wanting to go to CO and shit. At the same time I try to be reserved, which is hard because there’s lots of emotions in me. Keep in mind I’m trying to get this month’s rent paid and then decide what to do, and once I decide, I’m acting quickly.

I keep thinking of the day I’m just going to tell him “Look I know you are not happy here with me and I know there are things about each other we are not going to change, either we have to accept them and work things out between us or move on. I can’t accept lots of things you want in life and you can’t accept what I want either.”. Sometimes it makes me sort of sad because we have some history. On the other hand I almost always am reminded of when my mom and my friend’s mom both told me (on separate occasions) that before I was with him I seemed happier and had my life together. Looking back I find that to be so fucking true. It irks me now–realizing some of the things I’ve given up on–just to be with him.

I’ve given up on:-Taking time out for myself, really caring about my own feelings and desires, even little things. -I’ve started to be the fish wife, spending every waking moment trying to please him and then bitching about it. -I’ve started to become depended-on by him and he’s not all that grateful.

-I’ve started to live vicariously through him, sometimes talking incessantly about him and our future together (which I’m sure annoyed friends and family) and talking about all the things he likes, his family and stuff when people asked me how I’M DOING, not asking for an update on him….and I always hated that in married/involved couples that I know, and always promised myself I’d never stoop to that in order to try to be happy.

I just want to break down and cry sometimes because I am just starting to feel trapped. Sometimes I revel in the fact that if we do break up, I’d be free to do as I please again! What a breath of fresh air that would be, to have my life back! But of course for a while I’d be hurt because of love lost, wasted, but it’s something I knew would happen one day when I threw myself back into dating and getting intimately involved with men again. I was totally prepared to risk it all, to get my heart broken because it was better than being alone for too long.

Later he took a shower and I wondered if we were going to go to his dad’s. He called over there to ask what was up and say ‘hi’ and I guess they’re inviting us to dinner tomorrow night. After awhile he sat there in the other room looking like he lost his dog. I asked him what was wrong and he just kept telling me nothing was wrong and I told him I really wanted him to tell me what was on his mind and pointed out that he tends to stuff things away and then some small tiny thing happens later to set him off and I have to duck and cover and prepare to hear about the shit that’s been bugging him for the last four months. So after a bit I stopped pestering him and next thing I know he’s curled up in the fetal position on the bed. I don’t know if he stayed up all day or if he is really not feeling good tonight. I asked him again how he was feeling and I checked for a fever but he felt fine.

Whatever.

All this thinking about us and our issues, and the stupid television, has gotten me so mad I could do the dishes.

But it’s still his turn. Since Saturday.

I think I feel nausea coming on.

PS – I’m just writing down these things as they occur to me and I am not pleaing for pity. I’m really having a hard time finding/understanding/validating my feelings and then trying to decide what to do because I’ve never been in love before, so bear with me.

PPS – Yes I said that. Never. Not once.

PPPS – I’m not a stupid person, I’m pretty goddamned self assured and confident with myself, and with many things dealt to me in my life. I just am stumped by this particular issue. And yes, I did feel the need to assure this to anyone who reads this

…and yeah, that includes myself.

Is there such a thing as this many PS’s? I’m too tired to look it up.

Same day, different year..

Other posts on this day:

• Things to do in St. Paul when you’re Flat Broke – 2000

Michael Moore is an a-hole. He’s nothing but a dimestore documentarian disguised as a ‘good guy amateur journalist’ who’s just saying what he thinks has to be said. 

Unfortunately, so many people who might otherwise have gotten to know better, ate up things he does which converted an entire mob into a leftist orgy that we’re now neck-deep in. They’ve elevated him to idol status!

Look! Even Hollywood has put up a shrine to this clown. Ugh. Not that I expect more of Hollwood, what with all the [more now than ever] idiotic celebs spewing their stupid guts all over the place about war.

Same day, different year..

Other posts on this day: \n\n