My non-married, non-birthing status has finally morphed into "The Enemy".  It's sort of always been implied that something just ain't right with me not having a man, a shiny ring, a baby on my tit and stretchmarks proving I'm worthy, but since I've turned 30, those whispers apparently have turned into oh-then-maybe-she's-a-husband-stealer. 

The man I used to work for, a man who I love as my own father, has been forbidden to go anywhere with me alone again.  Apparently, his wife thinks there's something going on there because god forbid we hang out (like we always have).  Let me give you a little background.  I've known his family (wife included!) for about 15 years...I was best friends with his daughter...they paid for me to go on family vacations with them...they called me by their last name...I was in their weddings and at their baby showers and there for every single birthday...I am, essentially, another kid.   But now?  Now that I'm a woman and still not married?  I must be after something.  WTFFFFF??

There's always a stigma surrounding older, single, childless ladies.  What is this about?  Is it so bad to not want to get married and have kids that when you make that choice, there's something fundamentally wrong with you?  And before you say something about me having a girlfriend - yeah, well, that just happens to be.  It's the same whether I'm dating guys or girls. 

"You've NEVER been married?" 

"You don't have kids? What?! You don't WANT kids?" 

"WHY, GOD, WHY?!"

At my 10-year reunion, I was surrounded by all those people I went to school with, and every single one of them had at least one child.  Most had more.  And, ya know, whatever floats your boat.  But stop feeling sorry for me for not having a diamond or a backwards carseat.  If I have my way, I will never have those things, thankyouverymuch.  That is my choice.  Leave me alone about it. 

Even advertisers market to married couples - most of them with kids.  Next time you watch tv, pay attention to the commercials.  All those actors (unless it's for beer or something great like that) have on wedding rings.  And they make sure you see that - it's amazing what they know your subconscious picks up.  Hi, I'm single and I buy Windex, too.  I need shorts and matresses and Can't Believe It's Not Butter.  I spend money, advertisers - I spend lots of money.  Hi, over here! I'm right here!!  It's me, the crazy one without the husband!!

I often relate to the girls on (early) Sex and the City, spending money on baby showers and buying everyone wedding gifts and wondering when MY shower is going to be.  Where's my "I'm single and doing just fine" shower?  What about my "look, ma, no birthing hips" party? 

But, I suppose not having to do all that stuff is my party.  Maybe it's its own reward. 

I just wish I could register at Pottery Barn for it.  Or at least get me a little Target action.

God'a'mighty!

There have been some pretty bad commercials (BK king, anyone?) lately, but this Juicy Fruit atrocity just takes the cake. Does this creep the living bejeezus out of anyone else??  Everytime it plays, I feel like running far, far away whilst screaming at the top of my lungs.

Mom101, was this one of yours??  If so, you're SO getting smacked.

----------------

I also haven't had a chance to introduce my lovely new renter, Chatty B Tawkin  Go check her out!! NOW!

Today, I had lunch with a girl I grew up with, whom I hadn't seen in a few years other than a quick hug at a funeral last year.

As she talked about her second marriage, her upcoming trip to Egypt, her plan to (starting in 2 years, of course) to have two children and then adopt a third, and the loss of her beloved dog and then that of her mother, I couldn't help but think about how fast life goes on.

As I was watching her talk and laugh and rehash old memories, I noticed the fine lines that have somehow settled around her eyes since the last time I saw her.  Wrinkles. Crow's feet! To me, she'll always be that 15-year-old cheerleader who uses too much hairspray and who always has the cool car (and who, by the way, wouldn't have given ME the time of day back then).

When I got back into my car, I pulled down the visor and looked at my own face. And there they were - just as prominent as hers, perhaps even more.  I have wrinkles around my eyes and mouth.  Where the hell did these come from?!  I look in the mirror every single day, sometimes quite closely.  Was I just blocking this out before?  I found my first gray hair about a year ago, but it was the only one - it was a fluke, a practical joke.  Right?

Yes, I know I'm not old.  I'll only be 31 this year.  And I'm having the time of my life - 30 has been the best year yet, and I imagine it's just going to get better.  But I also notice the little extra time it takes me to stand up from a squat. I notice how long it takes my back to move correctly after a night of dancing. I notice how there are more and more things I can say "yeah, I can't get away with wearing that shit anymore".  And, now, (ack!!) I notice wrinkles (wrinkles!!) on my face.

It's not growing older that bothers me, per se.  It's noticing that the me I finally got comfortable with being is changing yet again.  It's knowing that I still feel 22, but 22-year-olds see me as an older lady.  They call me ma'am.  MA'AM - me - the girl who, not-so-long ago snuck out of my parents' house and took a hit of LSD and stayed out past curfew with my skater boyfriend. 

It's realizing that this is it.  This is it.

And, so, tomorrow I'm going to sign up for more dance classes, even though I probably should be saving the money for a rainy day.  I love the dancing more than I've loved anything in awhile - and I only have this one chance to do it. 

And so do you.

So go, lovely bloggies, go...dance while you can.

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may
Old Time is still a-flying
And this same flower that smiles today
Tomorrow will be dying.

While I was watching "So You Think You Can Dance":

Midget : I love dancing.

Show Host : How long have you been dancing?

Midget : Since I was small.

Me: BWWAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!

I have nothing of import to say today, so I thought I'd share a few pictures.  I told Kevin many moons ago I'd post some cemetary pictures for him and I never did.  I don't want him to think I'm a liar.  Because I'm not.

(that's a lie)

I took the first set in Tulsa...the second set came from New Orleans.  Read on to see 'em.

(See how all the pictures from Tulsa are off-center and kinda dorky?  Yeah, that's great. I was being all "I'm pretending to be an artist."  Heh - sorry.)

New Orleans

I was watching Ham on the Street the other night and they had some guy chasing a chicken.  Long story - just know it was funny shtuff.  Anyway, that sparked a memory and I thought I'd share with you, my lovely internets.

When I was about 4-years-old, we lived next door to some people who raised chickens.  I was playing outside and saw one of the hens corralling about six cute little chicks around the yard.  I watched as she herded them together and then went pecking a few feet away.

I sat and made a mental note of her pattern and decided if I could catch the hen with her back turned, I could chase her away and catch the babies so I could play with them.  I mean, come on, they were SO cuddly-looking!  So I grabbed a laundry basket and prepared to make my move.

As soon as she went off on her own, I ran like wild toward the birds.  Mom went one way - babies went the other.  My plan had worked!  I was catching up to the little chickies when I heard it : screetching like a banshee behind me.   It was like slow-motion.  As I was running, I turned my head to see her...momma hen was right on my tail, her wings spread out, her head down, her beak open in what looked to me like a razor-sharp death trap.  It hadn't occurred to me that she might try and protect her babies.

As I whipped back around, I screamed from the pit of my soul, tears bursting from my eyes.  I was going to die by a beak in the throat, I knew it.  I moved as fast as my little legs would carry me and made a wide u-turn back toward the house.  My mom heard my ruckus and flung open the front door to see me, running full-speed with a laundry basket in my hands, squawking like a freak.  I remember screaming "CHICKEN!!! CHICKEN!!!!!!!!" and running to her so she could save my life. 

Once I was hiding behind her, she asked me what was going on.  I turned to point at the death-chicken running after me, but she wasn't there.  She was in the yard, pecking away happily with her babies like nothing ever happened.  It was all a ploy!  She'd fooled me, the bitch!

But I never did chase birds again.  That fat ol' hen taught me a lesson I couldn't have learned any other way.

Anyone up for KFC?

I've seen this one a few places and love the idea. I eventually stole it from Kathleen.  So...here's a sorta meme.  Steal it if you wish.

List up to ten (10) things you want to say to ten (10) different people. Do not state who these people are. Do not confirm or deny any ‘comment speculation’.

1. I forgave you a long time ago. 
2. You don't think anyone knows - but I saw you do it.
3. I was wrong. 
4. I love that I'm smarter than you.
5. I think you're perfect - and that scares me.
6. I cried in front of you - but I'm just a good liar. 
7. I think it was all a mistake.
8. It was me. 
9. You truly inspire me. Thank you. 
10. I feel sorry for you, but it's your own fault.

I just read one of the funniest posts ever.  Before you click, make sure you're sitting down.  And don't take a drink of anything.  And, like, don't be easily embarrassed about pubic hair discussion.  And make sure to read the comments - they're just as funny!

Freaking. Hilarious. No wonder they call you the Queen.

Obviously, we're still having issues with MySQL (whatever the hell that even means).  When it's down, you guys can't comment and I can't post.  The last two times it was down, it was down for 12 hours each time.  YAY!  Brilliant service!

I keep getting "why haven't you switched from Yahoo Hosting yet?"  Let me explain (I'll TRY...unless my site goes down again).

When you sign up for Yahoo Hosting, they already have MovableType and WordPress installed.  All you have to do is name your blog and start typing.  Good fun, yeah?  Well, what they don't tell you (besides that they have about 70% downtime) is that if you ever switch hosts, their files in MovableType aren't the same as the files in NORMAL MovableType, so the mixing of the two equals a site that doesn't work at all.  When you move from this hell, you have to manually rebuild every file, every post, every comment.  And that equals CRAP.

So, because of the hassle, I thought it might be worth it to just stick around and deal with a little downtime and deleted posts and lose a few readers....rather than shut my site down and lose ALL my readers.  But, I'm over that...that's what I'm going to do now.

I have a friend (who I love and want to have his asian babies) who is going to move my site for me soon.  He's in the process of moving his, too...so I'll let ya know when the switch is going down.  He may have found a way to make it quick and painless.  But if not, I might be down for months and months.  (Ok, not really...)

Bear with me.  And comment.....NOW!   Oh crap, you missed your shot.  Loser.

Thanks for hanging around, though, you few that are left.  I love you losers beautiful people.

When I was growing up, I spent most of my time either locked away in my room with my nose in a book (or if I didn't have one of those, my big ol' dictionary), sitting outside playing with bugs, or, when forced, going out for sports that I was HORRIBLE at.  The sports obviously weren't my idea - more of a "oh my god, this girl is going to grow up and murder someone if she keeps this up" reaction from my parents. So they put me in anything that would get me out of the house and I hated it.

They got one thing right, though - they enrolled me in dance class.  I LOVED it.  I took tap lessons for about five years...and then jazz for one.  I only stopped dancing when my teacher moved out of town.  And, since we lived in a small town, there were no others around.  So I reluctantly went back to testing out all the other sports, all of which made my coaches and parents cringe.

I always wanted to start dance again and, if you've been reading my blog for any amount of time, you know I recently did.  I finished East Coast Swing 1, am 3/4 done with East Coast Swing 2, and did an all-day workshop this weekend.  LOVING every minute of it. Next month, I'm continuing with the next East Coast Swing class and am starting Salsa and perhaps even West Coast Swing. 

Could I say I love it anymore than I already have?

So, it's no wonder anything dance-related has always curled my toes.  I saw STOMP live and about leapt onto the stage to hump the dancers' legs.  Any musical I see and there's a dance routine, I get all ooky and squirm in my seat, wanting to be up there dancing around like a fairy with 'em.  Anyone wearing tap shoes for any reason?  Come. To. Momma.

I about tinkled on myself when I heard about FOX's So You Think You Can Dance, and I watched every episode on the floor in front of the tv like a child on Saturday mornings.  I had the DVR remote ready to rewind in case I missed any step.  I yelled and cheered and danced along (not very well, of course) and (she embarrassingly admits) called in for my favorites every week.  And, DUH, I predicted the winner long before the end.

I just heard the second season starts on Thursday 8/7c!  EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!

I think I need to go change my undies now...

I've seen this all over the freaking place lately, so you've probably already done it.  If not, steal away.  I decided to steal it from Brandon, though. 

How-to : Simple - go to google and type in your name and "needs" and list your top ten :

• Chase needs no wildcards
• Chase needs a haircut  - D'OH!!
• Chase needs to grow - as long as it's not around the waist, ok.
• Chase needs more money now - HELLS YEAH
• Chase needs help with his homework - and I apparently need to find my penis
• Chase needs money to buy his bus pass to Canada - Eh?
• Chase needs to confirm personal data
• Chase needs to process checks - stupid bank
• Chase needs a solution - what IS the meaning of life?
• Chase needs a gym now - HEY. It's only because you said I should grow.

Today Shellie and I had lunch the way the rich folks do.  We got dressed up all nice, wore our best shoes, best jewlery, most expensive perfume, did our hair perfectly - and dined in pure elegance.  We were proper and stunning and everything was exquisite.

Well, ok, not so much all that stuff.

We wore what we slept in, threw on some flip flops, didn't comb our hair, hadn't quite put on deodorant yet, and went to Lowes to buy $2 polish dogs from the vendor, and then munched on them on the drive home, spilling cheese on the seats. 

And that, my friends, is how we live it up in Tulsa, Oklahoma. 

Jealous?

*UPDATE*

For dinner, we went to an arena football game and had popcorn and greasy pizza.

Not only are we classy broads, we have ONLY our health on our minds.

...MySQL stops working and I can't do anything with my blog.

It makes me REALLY happy!! 

I think you can leave comments now.  I think....

...this feelin' insiiiiiiide.

Yeah. Sorry.  I must be channelling Elton John this morning.  Earlier I felt the need to wear stupid glasses and hump a man. Odd.

What's really funny, though?  In all seriousness?

The feeling you get when someone you dated for a year and a half comes up to you and gives you a big hug, smelling like you remember, feeling like you remember, hugging you so gently like you remember....and you have to say "congratulations on getting married this weekend."

That was me - last night. 

It was a mix of 'thank god it's not me' and 'why is it not me?'  A mix of 'I hope you're happy' and 'why couldn't we be happy?'  I don't regret leaving him.  I'm quite happy with that choice.  But then, you can't help but wonder - what went wrong?

Could it be that he was immature and unfaithful and guarded and waaaay too secretive? 

Yeah...that coulda been it.

Really, though? Congrats on your marriage, in case you ever read this.  It's a little bittersweet knowing you will be walking down the aisle tomorrow.  I wouldn't have married you.  But it would have meant something special to me to get the chance to tell you no.

It's that time of year again, folks! 

Time for my neighbor lady to close her blinds and not dare open them again until about October.  Why?  Because if she leans over her kitchen sink and looks out that window?  Yep, she can see my winter-paled boobs floating around in my pool like oversized bobbers.  Sorry, lady.

The guys came yesterday and opened our pool and I can't wait to dive in!  The temperature right now is probably around 50 degrees, but hey, it's a start.  I can at least lay out near it.

I need to have a big ol' pool party before I move to Dallas, huh?  How's about we have BlogParty '06 at my house before we leave?  You're all invited.  We'll grill and swim and drink and I swear I'll wear a full bathing suit this one time.  WOOT!  Let's do it!

(heh. I said do it.)

(I also said woot. You're welcome, Karl.)

GIRL!  I finally got you on here!!

Everyone, say a big fat hello to TRICIA. I finally got her booty in my rental spot. Yay!  I've rented from this lady before and she's super nice. She also has two mottos, both of which I can 100% relate to : live life to the fullest and don't have any regrets.  AMEN, SISTAH!!

Plus, she lives in Canada.  Maybe, if you're really lucky, she'll sneak in an "eh?" for ya.  Go see!

If you'd like, also go check out the other bidders this week.  Sorry, everyone, I promised Tricia, like, a million years ago. 

• Tales of the Opiated Sherpa
• Texas RV Travel
• The Ethel Experience
• Full Metal Photographer

I don't want to bum you guys out everyday. And I'm actually in a pretty darn good mood today.  SO, I wanted to share with you my new blogging venture.

I always say that I'm not into the whole celebrity thing, but somehow tend to know all the hubub that's going on in Hollywood - and even add in my own tidbits.  I've played around with that on this blog a little (Teri Hatcher's vagina, Miller Lyte McCaughnehheheyayyhaydhayy, etc) and thought it was just down right fun.

So I've started another blog.  Late Night Chase!  (Isn't that name clever?) In case you miss the night-time talkies (Letterman, Leno & Conan - and sometimes ET & Access Hollywood!), you can read up over there and see if you missed anything funny, stupid, or dang interesting.  I post it as soon as I see it, folks.  I'm just that special. 

So, yeah.  Go see.  Tell all your friends.  Blogroll me.  Bring me an egg mcmuffin.

Things are slowly returning to normal here, though the house isn't nearly the home it used to be. It's sleepy and quiet, like an overcast day.  It's hard to walk into a room without seeing a reminder of the void, and my head hasn't quite figured out if that's a good or bad thing. I want to remember - but I don't want to remember. I want to forget - but I don't ever want to forget. 

Instead, I try to take solace in Moxie - the one beagle left. Sometimes I twirl her ear with my finger like I did his, and close my eyes, pretending it's Malachi instead.  I feel like I'm cheating her - like I'm a lover fantasizing about kissing someone else.  I cringe when one of us accidentally calls her by the wrong name.  I think to myself that I don't love her the way I loved Malachi - and I fear that she knows that. I don't want her to know that.  I don't want it to be that way - we love all our children equally, right?

I keep bobbing into the guilt stage.  What if...? What if...?  I don't like the what if's - they plague me with their whispered taunts.  I know better than to listen to them, but they bully me into submission anyway.  What if...?

I see all the wonderful things about him. I remember all the faces he made, all the barks and howls and dream whimpers he sounded.  And then I see his strained face at the end, feel the weight of his limp body, hear the click of his toenails on the car door as we rushed to the vet.  I don't want to remember.  But I don't ever want to forget.

About an hour before he died, he was sitting on my chest, just looking around, his face a blank slate.  Every once in awhile, he'd catch my eye and stare into me and I could see a flicker of my Malachi - the real Malachi.  I would grab his face with both hands and say to him "come back to me, baby".  And then his eyes flickered again and his expression faded. 

I will always see that face.  I will always feel that stare.  I will always beg : come back to me.

I don't ever want to forget. 

Nothing says "Happy Monday" like a visit from the Google Search Fairy.  Here are some of my recent visitors.  (Hi, welcome to Taste the World! You freaks.)

inspector gadget porn - You're my kind of guy. How's about giving me your digits?  Go, go, gadget sicko!

zit on cheek video - Ew. I don't think I've seen that one. And, um, oh yeah...no thanks.

fat girls deep throating - Pappy, was that you?

changing stinky poopy pull up story - You might wanna try one of the mommy bloggers. Beagles don't wear pull-ups.  (Though NOT a bad idea)

peeing outside of tailgate - Errrrrrr. I can't say I've ever done that. And if I did...you don't have pics, do you?

petrified dinosaur shit - Seriously, I was number one for that search at one point. Now I've been knocked down to #6. Waaaaaaa!!

give gizzards a chance - Mmmmm. Yeah, MUCH better than peace.

kristen, boy, cock, inches, kid, archive - What the??  Kristen, is there something you're not telling me? 

--------------------------------

Speaking of freaks, don't forget to go say hi to my gal, Deb. She fixed her site after I yelled at her. Good girl.  GO SAY HI NOW.

In trying to focus on remembering the good stuff, how's about this?

Things I Never Thought I'd Say To A Dog....But I Did:

Hey! Don't eat my box!

I like playing with your big boobies.

Eww...Malachi, put your weenie back in your pants.

Now, you can't fit both your balls into your mouth at the same time.

Why are my panties on your head?

Hey, look! One of your nipples is black!

Um. Get your anus outta my face.

Hehe. You're licking my boobie.

No, I will not make out with you. Keep your tongue out of my mouth, please.

I haven't been around the last couple of days because my 7-year-old beagle, Malachi, had been acting strange and feeling sick.  We couldn't figure out what was wrong with him - until it was too late.  He died early this morning from what they're saying was an infection in his brain.

Looking back over the last 2 days of his life, I can see that he knew he was dying.  And he was trying to let me know. 

He was really clingy - anywhere I would go, he would be right next to me.  If I was sitting down, he would be in my lap. If I was standing up, he wanted to be held.  And that wasn't normal Malachi. He also tried to go quietly under the house and die alone, like dogs do, but when I showed up under there with a flash light and his leash, he lovingly followed me out.

Last night, for 2 hours straight, he was sitting/laying on my chest and staring at me in the face.  He refused to be more than 6 inches away. I was crying because I didn't know how to help him feel better, and he kept gently sticking his nose up to my tears - not licking them...just letting me know he knew.

If I wasn't holding him, he was fidgeting, pacing, circling, non-stop movement.  If I held him, he relaxed every muscle.  For about 15 minutes, I rocked him and then I sat down, holding him to my chest like a child.  That's where he died...in my arms.

He went limp and started having massive seizures after that, at 1:30am - and just never came out of it.  At 4am, the vet called and said he'd stopped breathing and they were doing it for him. His heart was still beating, but just barely.  At 4:20, after still no response to medication and the vet saying he had no visible brain function left, we had them put him down.  They put my baby boy down...my beloved child of 7 years...my heart.

I'm going to miss every single thing about that dog.  The way his toenails sounded on the wooden floors.  The way he stretched under the covers every morning.  The way he hogged every inch of the bed.  The games just he and I knew how to play. The way he arched his head back and howled in protest when I left him in the car for 5 seconds. The blonde lining that was just beginning to appear around the edge of his floppy ears.  Bee-hugs. That stupid pink ball that always smelled of slobber. 

The boy was my beating heart.  And I'm officially broken.

Malachi : 10/29/1999 - 5/12/2006

Ya know, I would normally say I don't play favorites, but I sure did this week with who my new renter is. Everyone has heard me yackin' about this one before...one of my favorite ladies on the blogosphere : DEB!!!!

This is the nutjob sweetheart I'll be meeting and playing around with in California in July. I can't wait!

Go check out Deb's blog, "This is NOT the Life I Pictured".  Even though her template is jacked up right now and you have to scroll to see content (wtf Deb?) and she has a disturbing picture of a deformed giraffe (wtf Deb?!?), the blog really is fantabulous.  As Lloyd from Dumb & Dumber says, "I.like.it.a.lot."

So, do as I say and check her out.   (But, um, guys...not in THAT way...she's married.)

***In giving Deb the bid this week, I once again had to deny Tricia...that's three times now!  ACK! So, please, go pay her a visit too.  Next week, she's gonna be my renter.  But go now anyway.

We went to a friend's birthday party last night.  There was one guy there - and about 20 lesbians. 

Shellie and I don't normally socialize. And we certainly don't go to lesbian parties. There's just always drama draping the air, like at any moment it could burst and someone would take off their flannel and strangle their ex who is sleeping with her friend's ex's ex twice removed.  Or something.  Anyway.  We just don't get out much.

We got our friend a gift from Pottery Barn, some incense sticks and oil and stuff that smelled of hibiscus.  On the way to the party, Shellie said, "They're going to look at this box and say POTTERY BARN?!  What the....that's not a chainsaw!"

That's my girl.  We always try to pinpoint the worst stereotypes in everyone. When we got there, we didn't have to try anymore...the did a pretty good job of it themselves. 

There were a couple ladies there who, if you didn't know better, you would have said to yourself 'that is a woman?'  There were also the ladies who you would ever imagine were gay, unless you had a very finely tuned gaydar.  We had the couple who had been dating for a month who were getting ready to move in with one another. We had the girl in flannel and cowboy boots and a 10-gallon hat who pulled up in a pickup truck bigger than my house. We had the "oh my god, did you hear what _____ said to ____?!"  We had platters of cheese and glasses of wine (this breed of lesbian is always classy).  We had a tub of beer (for the other breed).  We had the couple who sat in their car, arguing. We had the girl who hooted at the girl walking by wearing all pink. We had the inside jokes that were made so obvious, everyone knew what was being said : 'yeah, you crossed MY border last year...ha ha ha...we'll keep that one to ourselves though...ha ha ha...hugs'.

.YAWN.

We ducked out of there after 2 beers (we must be that breed) and way too much cheese (or, we could be that breed).  We drove away, laughing, glad to be going back to seclusion and glad an ex of an ex of an ex didn't show up like it was rumored.

I did make sure to announce to my friend a warning that anything that happens at the party MAY end up on my blog.  But, ya know, I don't think she really believed me.

Shellie and I have this thing where we always try to pooch out our bellies as far as they'll go and then flaunt around spouting how friggin' hot we're looking.  I'm not gonna lie - it ain't pretty.

Yesterday, I was standing in front of the mirror as Shellie was doing her hair and I lifted up my shirt and grabbed my belly saying, "wooohooooo!!"  Yes, I'm quite proud.  She stopped what she was doing, turned to face me, and looked up saying, "was your stomach always that big? I don't remember it being so fat before."

I put down my shirt and pretended to pout.  I said, "Maybe I'm just bloated?"

Her response?  "Yeah, bloated with chips and salsa."

So today I got back on the hooch xanax Weight Watchers wagon.  For real this time, too - we even went to a meeting, where the leader was one notch too cheerful as she was talking about jogging around the block.   Jog?  Me?  HAH!  I have a lot to teach this one.

So, I get 22 points a day (in real language, this translates into 'not enough to feed a small pigeon') and we're supposed to get 1-2 points worth of exercise a day. I wonder how many activity points blogging is?  Because, ya know, I could do that all day.  What?? I type fast, so my fingers really MOVE!

*sigh*  I need a Snickers.

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Don't forget to go visit my sexpot renter, T.  I've been a horrible landlord this week - not enough pimping out my tenants!  (I was gonna say ho...but I don't know her well enough yet...she might beat me up.)

I'll be 31 in a few months, and I'm still not ready to grow up.  Not even close.

I don't mean maturity level because, let's face it, I'll always be a 12-year-old in that department. I mean I'm not ready to be an adult.  At 31, most people have gone through school, have a career that they're at least advancing in, and are ready to settle down.

I do have a job - hell, I own my own business.  But the only reason I do it?  Because I know what I'm doing and, honestly, I'm too scared to try anything else.  I realized the other day that I've never once gone on a job interview.  I started painting when I was 18, and here I am, 12 years later, still doing it. 

But I couldn't care less about it. I say I like it, but really, it's because it's easy for me, I get to work alone, and I don't have to wake up at 6am.  I'm moving to Dallas by the end of the year and I'm just dropping it.  I'm going to go work a job paying squat in an industry I won't care about just because it's normal for people to have a job, and, oh yeah, those credit cards ain't gonna pay for themselves. And I probably WILL have to get up at 6am.  Yikes.

I have been trying to get my degree since 1996.  I just can't get into it - I can't finish a semester because it just gets tiresome.  I don't care enough.  I go from "I'm gonna get my degree!!!!!!" to "what would I even use it for??"   I don't want a career.  I have no drive to say I have a good-paying job or that I got a promotion or that I was named employee of the decade.  I honestly can't picture myself having a "real job."  Ever.  I have about 25 hours left to get my bachelor's.  That's it.  But I'm simply bored with the idea and can't physically make myself go to class.

The only thing I want to do?  Of course, write.  But I can't really get into that either.  I get all gung-ho and go for about 2 days, thinking I've finally made a breakthrough, and then I come right back to "eh, I'll do it later."  What is it that I can't pick up steam for anything in my life?  Not even the ONLY thing in the world that I want?  I've talked about this before, but the more I think about it, the more I realize it's not just a moodswing..it's most of my life. 

I don't want a home, I don't want a family, I don't want a career.  I don't want to finish school. I don't want to have a plan. Because all that = responsibility.

I don't wanna grow up!  *pout*

How does one know when one's dog is addicted to pain medication? 

No, I mean besides them listening to Rush Limbaugh.  Let me show ya.

The last few days, Malachi has been acting strange. He's been mopey and clingy and not playing at all.  This is what he has looked like recently.  Not a happy doggy.

Poor pooch.  That's the saddest thing ever, yeah?

After seeing him yelp and hang his head down, we realized his neck was bothering him again. Several months ago, we found out he had a herniated disc in his neck - apparently a common ailment in beagles and weiner dogs (who knew?).  So he got pills and it got all better. Until this week.

We got him back on the pills today at 2pm.  By 6pm, he's become completely addicted.  He's officially a pill popper!  How do I know?  Let me show you the evidence.

Dialated pupils!!  I couldn't get a straight-on shot of him without crazy-eye. And I couldn't get him sit still very long to get a good picture. He was running like mad around the couch.

Constant cotton mouth.  Dog drinks a gallon an hour. And pees just as much. Grrr.

CHEESE.  Permacheese.  Look at that grin.  He's stoned off his ass.

Umm, helllllo?  Trying to break into the bottle?  If he could have said, "give me another pill, you bitch!!", he would have.

Threatening me!  Again with the eyes!  He's going to kill me in my sleep just to get more of the good stuff. 

I know what Malachi is addicted to, and of course what Bo is...now I just need to figure out Moxie's. I'm a little scared.

While watching The Aadam's Family today :

Me : Ooooh, can we have a moat?

S : Umm...what?

Me : When we have the house in Dallas built, we should put a moat around it.  You know so no.....um......telemarketers come around.   Or.....whatever they're called.

S : Jehovah's Witnesses.

From religion to cooter talk, we have it all here on Taste The World.  Pulitzer, here I come.

I'm watching Jay Leno right now and Teri Hatcher is on.  She's just spilling it - and making me gasp.  And I don't gasp at much.  So I had to share.

She's talking about catalogue shopping and mentions she finds one called "Time For Me" or "Just For Me" or something.  While flipping through the pages, she finds a machine, called the Kegelmaster 2000 that they claim is a vagina exerciser.  So, of course, she admits to buying a few.  ("So I bought five of them!")

Jay Leno : So, um, can you lift more than you used to...or....?

Teri Hatcher : I now have a very strong kitty cat.

Jay Leno : (!!!!!!)

Teri Hatcher : All the other 'desperate housewives' are married and stuff, but, like, when I get a boyfriend, he's gonna hit the jackpot!

I don't think the interview could have gone any better, personally.  I'm sure her P.R. people are going to be working overtime with this one.

I grew up with a strictly atheist father and a step-mother who went to a Church of God only on Mother's Day.  I, however, went to a Baptist church every Sunday from ages 7 - 15.  I don't think the church itself mattered to anyone...it was it being just a block from my house that placed me there.  But I believed.  Passionately.  I was a pro-life, anti-gay (HAHA), dress-wearing, hymn-singing Christian.  I cried with the crowd when people got saved, I opened my Bible and read along with the preacher's every word.  I was born again!

As I got older, the concept slowly morphed from "oh, Lord, you're my every breath" to "uhh...hmmmm."  By the time I was 15, I was simply...over it.  I officially lost my faith. And I didn't seem to miss it. Then, for the next 2-3 years (during my angst phase), I became very anti-faith.  I held the belief that all religion was just stupid and perhaps even out to get me. 

As I grew up and throughout my adulthood, though, I became utterly fascinated by religion. I love the concept of it all. It's just amazing to me what people believe based on this abstract gut feeling called faith.  To me, all religions (and even cults) are just straight up amazing.  Amazing in the way that takes my breath and all I can do is stare in awe-struck, respectful wonder. 

Another part of religion that floors me is that each one believes they are THE one. How many relgions/sects are there?  Countless numbers, I'm sure. And they ALL think, 'we are SO doing this the right way.'  And they've thought that way all throughout time.  And each one before them was simply primitive and misinformed.

For instance : the Greek stories of Zeus and Athena.  Silly, right? Zeus swallowing his pregnant wife and then Athena being born out of his forehead?  Does that even sound halfway probable?  Most these days would say no.  But what about the God of our time taking a rib out of Adam and creating Eve? And then a talking snake tempting Eve to eat an apple from a tree of knowledge?

I just wonder - how is it people can scoff at one story and then believe another that is just as strange?  How far does faith carry you before you start thinking to yourself "well, maybe THAT part was a little off" ?  My best friend said something about in the book of Revelations there were mentions of 7-headed dragons.  Now, I haven't read that, so I dunno, but when I laughed and said, "well, you don't believe they exist do you?" she, dead serious, told me YES, of course she does because it's in the Bible.  I felt bad for laughing because, hey, that's her faith.

Where do people draw the line in the stories between it totally happened and oh, that's just parable?  They teach the Bible as fact...but can/do logical minds believe every piece of information included in there? And if not, how do you justify to your faith not believing those bits and pieces?

Did Jonah really live inside the belly of a whale?  Did Noah really catch 2 of every animal on the planet? Did the red sea really part suddenly?  Did that snake really talk out loud?  Were there really giants in David's time?  When we die do we really go live in the sky or live in fire in the middle of the planet?

Curious.

I feel like I haven't posted a meaningful blog in forever. I've just been spouting torrents of crap.  But, because I love you guys so freakin' much, I'll offer you this...special...just for you.

More crap! Yay! Lucky biotches, the whole lot of ya.

I have a new (very NOT crappy) tenant this week. Everyone say hello to T.  She's got one of the hottest header banners on the blogosphere and, from what I gather, actually IS one of the hottest.  She has a post up right now about her funny Google searches - I love these posts!  I mean, if one can search for "gay snakeskin pants" and find her?  GOLDEN.  Go. Now.

Our move to Texas is chugging right along.  I flew down there for the day and my brother and I picked the house we're going to have built.  (When I say "we", I mean I helped pick, but he's paying for and is responsible for everything. Gotta love that!)  Since we decided to go with building new, our move has been postponed until December.  Can't wait!

Just a random note to anyone flying in the near future : if you're in the window seat, don't lean into the wall and read during turbulence. You might hit a huge air pocket and your head will embarassingly smash into the window twice in a row.  Just saying.

I, like about 10 million other people right now, am reading The DaVinci Code.  Have you guys read this yet?  What do you think?  I've just finished chapter 21.  So far, much more intriguing than I imagined. I'm actually glad I randomly bought it at the airport.

Everyone, say hi to Divine Calm today.  This is her post on "Mother May I".  I'm hanging out over at her blog today, so drop by and show me some love there. 

These posts are part of our May Blog Exchange on the theme Mother May I. Click around to read some of the other posts: Nancy, Vicki, Julie, Chase, Stacy, Christina, Jen, Mabel, TB, Mel, Izzy, Mayberry Mom, Amy, and Laurie. If you'd like to participate in the June Exchange, please email Kristen at kmei26 at yahoo.com. Enjoy!

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I was sixteen when a boy from choir asked me out for a date.  Flattered, but unsure whether my mom would allow me to go out on a date, I didn't give him a response right away.  He was a nice guy with tiny dreadlocks who always teased me about not having any rhythm.

I told my mom, who taught at my high school, about him later that night. She listened intently, but I was not prepared for her response.

"With this being your first dating experience, I don't think you are prepared to deal with the consequences of dating somebody who is black," she said.

"Are you trying to tell me that despite all of your preaching about people who look different on the
outside being the same on the inside that you don't want your white daughter dating a black guy?"

"Sweety, down the road when you are more experienced in the dating scene, you can date any person you want to.  However, right now, I just don't think you are prepared to deal with people's reactions toward a black man dating a white woman," my mom stated.

"I can't believe you would say such a thing!  You of all people," I screamed as I ran to my room and slammed the door.  I sobbed that my mom with one arm could be so racist.

Three weeks later, my best friend, who was a beautiful redhead, started dating a black basketball player at our high school.  One day, she came into my English class to drop off some homework to the teacher at the end of class. 

I was horrified to hear my teacher talking about her to another teacher as I was leaving the class. 

"Did you hear who she's dating?  Greg Moss.  She really should be dating somebody better than that," the teacher said while wrinkling her nose in disdain.

Knowing that Greg's reputation was good, I guessed the teacher was referring to something other than the fact that he played basketball.

After school, I told my mom about what I heard after English class.

"Mom, I can't believe that a teacher would be so hateful."

"I'm so sorry you had to hear that.  See, people can be really cruel, and I didn't want that sort of thing to happen to you the first time you date a boy.  When you are older, you will be better able to handle other people's prejudices." 

Since high school, I have dated African Americans, Persians, Indians, Latinos, and even conservative
white boys.  Although concerned about other people's reactions, my mom has never given me a hard time about my dating choices.  She especially likes my current Panamanian boyfriend.