Sunday, September 13, 2009
Thursday, April 9, 2009
I remember back in 1982, when I first encountered the boy who was to become my biggest crush. Ah yes, those years bring back fond memories of Boy George blue eyeshadow spread lovingly across my whole entire eye, highlighted with more eyeshadow in silver, blue eyeliner and accented with Wet n' Wild's sunsatin pink lipstick - on my lips, not my eye. I also had a really poor version of a Farrah Fawcet flip. Never really could get it totally down, but I sure gave it a try. My crush wore a dog collar - enough said.
How did I actually begin talking to a guy with a dog collar? One who kind of scared me? Here's how it went down.
Biology teacher: There's a blood pressure screening today in the student center. If you go, you will get extra credit.
Me: Awesome - extra credit.
I went to stand in line for said screening and standing next to me was an older guy - a sophomore to my freshman if you will. I think he may have begun talking to me because back then, I was painfully shy. Plus he was one of those "punk rockers" and wore a dog collar. But something about him. In spite of his animal attire, or perhaps because of it, his animal magnetism was at a peak. I was instantly attracted to him and unbeknownst to him, stayed that way for many, many years.
Other than the occasional nod now and then in the halls, our paths didn't really cross until my junior year- his senior. And yep, cupid wasn't just shooting arrows at me. He was actually using one of those tranquilizing blow darts and would nail me square in the throat - every time. Cupid never missed - ever.
But still ... nothing happened.
Then one weird day in summer, after high school was over, this girl named Sophia called me and asked if I wanted to have lunch with her and someone else. I don't remember who it was. "OK," I thought. I don't know why she'd call me since we weren't really friends, but the three of us had lunch. While eating, she asked if I wanted to go out with said crush. Ah, duh. Nothing ever happened.
Fast forward another year or so. I ran into him at a lot of parties. He was one of the cool guys at all the parties. I'd run into him at parties in the woods, peoples houses, peoples yards. If there was a party, he was there. I could sit with him for hours and we would talk and talk. But .... nothing happened.
One day, at a party at his house, we sat down for hours again and just hung out. He said we should go out some time (Jesus, Mary and Joseph - finally). Of course I said, "Oh ya, I was going to say the same thing (yeah, right)." After all, this is the one guy I wanted to on a date with before I died. He was my dream date. One problem, he was my friend's ex-boyfriend - and that's a whole other story.
Well after that party, we were inseparable. I even transferred colleges to be with him. Although thanks to him, I refocused and went back to school. Thanks Crush.
About a little more than a year later, we became engaged. He asked my dad for my hand in marriage, in the kitchen of my parent's house. Little did/do they know, with the help of my scheming mom, we secretly recorded the conversation on one of those big tape recorders circa 1990'ish. I pretended like I'd forgotten something in the kitchen, pushed the play and record buttons and walked out - my secret mission was complete.
He did ask me to marry him, but we never did get married. Truthfully, I think he got cold feet or just realized I wasn't the girl for him. He went off to school in Europe and left me behind. I'll never forget when he said, "I'm going this semester, you go when you want." And off he did. I was hurt. We'd planned on going off on this adventure together. But ... nothing happened.
But to this day, he remains my biggest crush - unless of course you included my current irrational crush on James Franco.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
- Perhaps he was lonely and the alligator somehow filled an emotional void. Loneliness can make people do all sorts of crazy things. Drunk dialing for one. After all, many of us get lonely at certain points in our lives and try to hide our pain. Maybe everyone should have an alligator to see us through those rough times.
- Maybe he was raising the alligator for a belt and wanted to watch it grow to the perfect length. What better way to have a "green" belt. After all, the alligator would be loved and fed well - at least one would hope seeing that it's in someone's pants.
- Perhaps he wanted to put a little spin on a used up pick-up line. "Hey baby, wanna see my alligator?" Enough said there.
- Or maybe the dude is just plain weird and was getting' his freak on with the poor alligator.
Which reminds me of another article I read in the paper about a year ago. Seems a dude, who lived in a rural area, use to go to a bar many a night. On his way home from said bar, he'd make a pit stop at the local sheep farm. Well the farmer kept hearing this commotion night after night but by the time he got outside he didn't see anything unusual. Since none of the sheep were visibly harmed he figured it couldn't be a predator. So one night he decided to stay up and wait for whatever or in this case whomever was coming around and messing with his sheep. Well low and behold, this barfly shows up and gets busted with his pants down. He told the police that he just - and I quote - "couldn't resist them." So I guess on the brighter side of things, better to have an alligator in your pocket than get busted lovin' a couple of sheep.
pics: random pics off the internet.
Friday, March 6, 2009
There it was. A rat bastard beard. In my own defense, it wasn't a full beard. In fact it wasn't even a prepubescent boy's beard. It was really just one hair. But it was black and coarse and it was ridiculing me the way only a facial hair on a woman can. "Ha, ha, ha," it taunted me. "Go ahead and try to pull me out. I'll just grow back in stronger, thicker and longer than before."
I turned away and with quick Kung Fu action, grabbed my tweezers. As I was about to pluck out the tiny bastard, I stopped myself. What if I pull it out and two grow back in its place? You know, kind of like in the horror films when you kill a zombie and by doing so you add power to all the other living zombies? (Living zombies? Aren't they already dead?) I put down the tweezers and stepped away. I must call a friend. So I did.
I called my friend Melissa and told her about the devil on my face. Yes, the devil was sitting on my face.
She was sympathetic and said she understood. Then she said something that was equivalent to electroschock treatment. As I held the phone to my ear, it was as if she gave the silent nod to the person in charge of the electrical volt. Men-buzz-o-buzz-pause-buzzzzz zz zz. For a brief moment, I went hysterically blind. I couldn't see a thing. Everything went black.
Noooo. Menopause. Are you nuts? I'm going to be 41! Oh my God, I'm going to be 41! Can it be? Jesus, Mary and Joseph, am I having some freakish surge of testosterone in my body giving birth to my single haired beard? That's it. That beard is outta here. I grabbed my tweezers, positioned them and struck like a mongoose attacking a cobra. Ouch - damn that hurt. But he's gone - for today.
Why is it that we get beards? Aren't hot flashes, memory loss and dry skin bad enough? I already had a mustache (thanks Gram). Was I to be blessed with a matching beard too? Is this what they really mean when they say does the carpet (beard) match the drapes (mustache)? But I have to wonder, if women get the "lady beards," why don't the guys get "man boobs?" It would only seem fair. At least the playing field would be even.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
But my broken heart, staring back at me
With my eyes glistening with tears
all I have are memories to hold dear.
When I look into that mirror and all I see
Is a person who looks back in misery
The sparkle in her eyes now lying low
and I question why I still love him so.
When I see that mirror I simply know
That I have to look away or it won't go
The memories of a time way in the past
I should've known it wouldn't last
So I must smash that mirror today
Or this pain will just never go away
I need to free myself you see
Because all there's left is just me.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
I do still have my former's last name. I keep it only because I have children with this former man. I don't even particularly like this last name, but I use it, it's mine.
So here' s the problem that I'd like answered. The former now has a present wife(?). Although, to be honest, she sort of looks like a transvestite. Not one of those hot transvestites where you wonder why the dude dressed like a woman looks way hotter than you, but one of those trannys that you just look at and say, "who are you trying to fool?" It really wouldn't be so bad if she looked like/is a man if she had some sort of stellar personality. But truth be told, she IS a Jerry Springer guest - in fact she's all of them all rolled up into one. Loca to the max. For sake of gender arguement let's just call her Pat.
So back to the anniversay. Every year, for some unknown reason, I wish my 'form' a Happy Anniversary. We divorced in 1999 and I have just always said happy anniversary and he has always answered with a "uh, oh yeah, ok." So this year I sent him a text that simply said, happy anniversary. Nothing more, nothing less. I get a text back that says, "what the hell is that suppose to mean?" I looked at my phone and thought, well, what the hell is THAT supposed to mean. So I text back and said, "I'm joking ha ha ha." To make a long story short. Pat apparently had the 'forms' phone and went all ape shit on me telling me to "leave her husband alone -- bitch."
Wow. If we were on stage she'd probably throw a chair at me and rip my shirt. I would of course have to pull out her weave. Wouldn't that be something to see.
Turns out, my ex got all upset about her behavior and she knew what she was doing was wrong because she deleted all the nasty texts she had sent me. There were a few. They pretty much went like this, "blah blah bitch, blah blah blah fuck blah blah blah bitch." Because when you talk like that, you sound kind of stupid. So she may as well be talking like one of Charlie Brown's teachers. Wah wah wah - bitch.
to be continued . . .
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
My cat Aabagaa is in heat. She's walking around the house crying out for a man. I don't have the heart to tell her that there aren't any men around here. Last week, Ilsa was in heat and kept putting her head in a cardboard box. Sweetheart, if it was that easy, I'd walk around with a box on my head all day long. So anyway, Aabagaa is crying and crying and apparently has her eye on Darwin, an older, neutered gentleman and a bit on the small side. So she's rolling around on the floor, following him around, crying out to him. And he looks at her ... and runs away. She runs after him and starts rolling around on the floor again, rubbing against the table legs. This time he growls at her, but it's as if she's so focused she doesn't hear his protests. She continues rolling and crying. Finally he's had enough of her stalking and just full out slaps her in the head with his paw and takes off - and poor Aabagaa goes running after him.