$49,000 Hooker Gets Arrested When She Tries to Go to Church!

Ok, that's not a real News Headline, this is about.....

Who else would it be about people? Me!

I woke up on the wronnnnnnnnng side of the bed this morning. I've been asked a couple of times why I was in such a bad mood. A friend helped me figure out why. My dreams!

I know they were only dreams, but they did a number on me!

They were really weird dreams.

In the first, I was doing something and found out someone died. I was next of kin and this person left me $49 million dollars in their will. Then, someone popped up and was "closer" next of kin than I was so I didn't get the $49 million. The person felt bad for me and wrote me a check for $49,000. Then I woke up at that point and was like, where the fuck is my check? I remember saying that out loud. After realizing it was a dream I went right back to sleep.

Dream 2 is even more f*cked up.

In real life I've been looking for a non-denominational church to begin attending. Well in the dream, I was visiting my mom's church during some function they were having. But it wasn't her church, this church was wayyyy out in the boondocks somewhere, but it had thousands of members. My mom's church is very small, less than 300 members.

So I'm at the dream church and apparently had been there all day because I decided it was getting late and I was ready to leave, but the sermon hadn't even started yet. Well, I got up and kissed my mom goodbye and all the church members stood up and clapped. That was weird as hell to me so I thought I better get out of there as quick as I could.

I finally found my way out of the huge church only to find myself on a dark, dark street. A LONG street with only a single lamppost. So I start walking. I walked for what felt like ever, before my feet started to hurt. I took my heels off and kept walking. Then I got hot. I hiked up my skirt and rolled it up at the waist so I could get a breeze between my thighs. Took off my suit jacked and hiked up my shirt, unbuttoning a few buttons and tying it in a knot in the back, so now my belly and chest could get a breeze.

Next thing I know, there was a guy on the corner on this previously long deserted street and he was looking at me like I was a hooker. I looked down at myself in my dream and realized I did look like a hooker! I got very afraid and started running back to the church. I banged on the church door and it was opened to me. One of the ushers was holding up a lantern and grabbed me by the arm saying I was trespassing and was going to be arrested. I protested saying this was my mom's church and I was visiting her. The usher responded saying my mom was being arrested too for allowing an unbeliever to cross the threshold. I screamed, "Noooooo!" and then woke up.

When I woke up, I didn't immediately think anything about the second dream, I started looking around for that damn check. Seriously looking, like up in the bedsheets and on the floor around my bed. I was mad once I realized it was a dream.

I guess I'm still mad about it.

Questions for you.

1. What do you think this number 49 represents in my dream? Neither 4 or 9 is a favorite number of mine and I can't see any significance of them alone or together.

2. a. Why would I equate my mom's church with a large, unwelcoming one? In the real world, her church is quite small and they welcome me every time I come.

b. Where did the hooker come from? I don't dress like a hooker. Not even for Halloween. Maybe in my subconscious I want to dress like a hooker and try to get saved.

3. Where the f*ck is my check?!?!?!

Have fun interpreting my dreams because I can't make heads or tails of them.

~Nakena

Teapots and Tasers

I had a really wierd dream the other night. It's been about a week, I just haven't had the time or the need to come here and write it down, but it stuck with me all the same. Normally, when I dream, it's pretty clear to me as to what the meaning of it was or why I dreamed what I did. This one is a little puzzling to me and I ask your assistance in figuring out if there is a deeper meaning or if I simply need to seek medical attention.

Teapots and Tasers

I'm shopping with the kids, it's some holiday, Christmas I assume. I'm in a store, either a K-Mart, or a Kirklands. There's a "happy" spirit emanating from everyone I pass, the kids are all smiling, everyone's having a great time. On entering the store, I pass a register up front, and who do I see but my best friend Tonya and her little adopted sister Angela. Of course I stop to speak to her, the kids exchange greetings and Tonya and I stand there talking.

The clerk at the register is asking Tonya if she wants her Teapot wrapped. I look at Tonya with a funny face, thinking, "Why in the hell is Tonya buying a teapot?" We've been bestest friends forever since the 6th grade, so it's almost like she knows what I'm thinking without having heard me. But then again, this is a dream so maybe she did hear me. She explains that she and her fiance were shopping and they saw the teapot and decided to buy it. (That still didnt answer my question since I've never seen her boil water in a regular pot much less an actual teapot).

I decide to take a closer look at the teapot, and it's almost magical. I'm enthralled by it. It's red, has an antiquish quality and look about it. Problem is, it's chipped and just looks a little abused really. "Tonya, this one's damaged, you might want to go and get another one." She shakes her head, "Nope, this is the one I want. I've already looked at so many, THIS is it." She pays the clerk and we both watch while the lady puts the teapot in the bag. She notices me watching and says, "There were plenty over there, why don't you go and pick one?" I say, no, didnt come here for a teapot. In true Tonya style, she answers with "Suit yourself, but don't be tryin to borrow MY teapot later on." I reply with "Don't nobody want your stinkin, beat up teapot....Where are they by the way?" She points me to a huge wall display, I gather up my passle of kids, and we morph over to the wall.

Wall is filled from top to bottom with teapots, red, blue & green. All of a sudden, I think, no I NEED to buy a teapot. My first choice is Red, but I disregard that, Tonya's teapot is red, she will swear up and down I talked trash about her teapot and then turned around and bought one just like it. So my second choice is Green. I'm examining all the Green teapots, and curiously they all have an imperfection too. Chips, scratches, dents. What is this a scratch and dent sale? Maybe that's why there are so many still here, they're all beat the f*** up. Ok, so now there's nothing left but Blue teapots, maybe they're in a little better shape. So almost frantically now, I'm examining the blue teapots and disregarding one after the other for all the same reasons.

Strange that there is no one around me shopping for teapots, no one that I can see, but the teapots are mysteriously disappearing. Each time I leave a shelf and move to another, when I turn back to maybe compare one teapot to another, I notice the selection thinning out. The teapots are getting missing. I need to hurry before theyre all gone. "Kids, help me find a perfect teapot, we've got to hurry". I look up, the kids have gone back over to the register where Tonya is standing, shaking her head. "Why are you being so picky, Nakena? All those teapots and you're still looking." I say, "Well Tonya, I'm not about to spend any money on a broken teapot like you just did, so just hursh it up and stop sweatin me."

I turn back to the teapots again and MORE of them are gone. The shelves look just like they do during the "Day After Thanksgiving Sale" at ANY store. Opened boxes, crooked shelves, advertisements litter the floor, glitter on the wall. I only see about 3 or 4 teapots left. I begin my examination again, I'm comparing each against the other. I'm down to the last teapot, which happens to be RED and I sigh. It's slightly chipped along the bottom edge and the spout has a slight dent in it, but it's the best so far.

Out of the corner of my eye, and with complete surprise, on the very bottom shelf, way back in the corner, I spot another teapot. THIS one is a bright YELLOW color. Almost like it was supposed to be Golden, but somebody f***** the color up so badly they tried to hide it in the corner. That's it, there's my teapot. I put the one in my hand back on the shelf, no need to compare the two. I simply KNOW that the bright a** teapot on the bottom shelf is the one I've been looking for for hours it seems like.

I make my way over to the end of the wall, feeling so much better now that I've found it. I reach down to grab it, and before I can, it's snatched right out from under my hand. I can almost feel the backdraft. I look up, incredulous. I see a woman, there's almost a spiky haze around her, like you might see in a comic book drawn around a character. Don't know what she looked like, guess it wasn't important. She's holding the teapot up to the light, "I've found it, the Golden Teapot!" Caressing it, almost a tear in her eye. She clasps it to her chest and hugs it.

"What the f***? Tell me you didn't just snatch my teapot out of my hand?"

She looks at me and hugs the teapot tighter, "I saw it first, I've got it, now it's mine." She turns and starts walking away, glancing back at me. I follow her. "I'm going to ask you one time and one time only, gimme my teapot lady." She walks faster and finally makes it to the register. Tonya's there and she says, "Nakena, no, we'll go to another store." I say, "Tonya, no, this b**** is about to come up offa my teapot." She mumbles something about the Lord and tells the kids to close their ears and to go sit on the bench right outside of the store.

The clerk is looking at everyone, a little on edge, trying not to show it. The lady places the teapot on the counter, but does'nt take her hand from it. I explain to the clerk that this lady snatched my teapot out from under my hand and she's not going to buy it, I am. Lady turns to me and tells me "You're not buying s***, this is my teapot." Clerk starts to ring it up, and I say to the clerk "Oh, you want to get f**** up too, huh? I know you heard what I just said." Clerk presses void on the register and says "I'm going on break, ya'll can work that out amongst yourselves." She leaves.

Treacherous teapot stealing lady turns around and hisses, along with the head roll and finger point, "And you still ain't getting s*** 'cause I'm going to another register." I'm livid, heated. This heffa thinks she's going to steal my teapot and then talk trash to my face and walk away unscathed? Tonya says "Nakena, no. NO Nakena. NAKENA, Please don't do it."

(This is where I wake up, groggy, I lay back down and this is what comes to me next, but this was only semi-sleep...)

Next thing you know, the b**** a** teapot thief is laying on the floor, not comfortably mind you, but jerking spasmically from the current running through her body as I have just Tasered her a**, and with satisfaction. I look down at her and say "Dang!"...pick up my teapot, walk over to the other register, pay for it, collect my kids and leave.

Why?

These are all questions I asked myself yesterday while running errands...

*Why...Did the lady at Bank of America look like she'd been robbed one too many times, like she'd empty the drawer with no problem if I passed her a note that said "I'm robbing your a$$, Put the money in a bag and don't say shyt."

*Why...After dropping Damaris off to join her sister and brother at their dad's house, did he ask me if he could come over later?? What in my simple statement of "Please make sure she doesn't swallow any pool water" made him think that I hate his guts any less all of a sudden?

*Why...Was I guiltily gleeful when he told me he's going to be deployes again in January? For a whole Year and 6 months. Am I evil?

*Why...Day one of my July budget, the first monetary thing I do is go to Burger King's Drive-thru and order a BK Triple Stacker, extra cheese and a Spicy Tendercrisp combo ($9.20) being fully aware of the following things?:

o That I'll probably only get halfway through the fries before I decide I'm not hungry anymore.

o That whatever is leftover will be have to be put in the microwave later on and there's nothing worse than a re-heated Burger King hamburger.

o That I'm lactose intolerant and the extra cheese will not sit well with me later on.

*Why...Did the little temperature thingy in the dashboard thingy in my vehicle say that it was 112 degrees, (WTF? Is this shyt broken now too??) making me realize I was being really lazy by not going inside to order?

*Why...Did the totally random thought cross my mind that a "hookup" every now and then might not necessarily be a bad thing? Was it the heat?

*Why...Would I rather pay for a new car than pay to have the air in the Dodge Grand Crappy-van fixed?

*Why...Was I contemplating on keeping this raggedy minivan even after I get my new ride? Sentimental value? I've only had it for as long as I've had the twins....even though as I thought this I was using a napkin to wipe the sweat from the small of my back as I sat and waited for the above meal in the according to my temperature thingy, 112 degree heat...

*Why...Did I have the most insane urge to check my myspace account using my cell phone while I was waiting on the twice above-mentioned meal before I realized that was a lil ways crazy?

*Why...Did I not have my journal with me so all of these thoughts were written on the back of an old check stub that I found in the glove compartment? When you gotta write, you gotta write, right?

*Why...Did the girl that finally brought my food (I had such a HUMONGOUS order that I had to pull over to the side parking lot and sweat some more) ask me if my eyes were real and then wait on my answer before she handed me my food, as If my answer determined whether I got my food or not? Bytch, my eyeBALLS are real now gimme my burger!

*Why...And why did that heffarella forget to bring me a straw and I had to end up going inside ANYway?

Laughter is Great Medicine...

What's so funny You ask? Some of the things I've seen on the internet...

1. "I'm Conceited, I Gotta Reason"...(C'mon, you know you've seen them, at least one )...I wonder if Remy Ma knew that would be the newest headline for 1 in 5 females on myspace?
2. "Damn ma your thick like a cold milk shake" ... Are you talking to ME?? You gotta be kiddin me, I dont weigh but a Dollar and 15 cents. Wait a doggone minute!! Was that a cut & paste from an e-mail you already sent to a thick chick?!!??! Dang!!
3. "You look JUST like somebody I used to know!!" Dude, Get the hell outta here with that
4. "You have Great taste in Music!!!" In other words, you want me to add you so I can promote your page. Just SAY that!! ???!! Dang!
5. "Whats up Boo? I would like to go downtown" And when you get there, you clown, I hope someone jacks you for your bus pass when you transfer at the depot. Now, go slap yourself for sounding so stupid.
6. "Lets...Plaaaaaaay...2getherrr..." You can't just hijack Al Green's song and put your own lyrics up in there like its ok, It's NOT!!...but I laughed...ROFLMTLAO!!!!!
7. "Hmm, a Nerd huh? Well it doesnt take much to satisfy me, I'm open to anyone." ... Ooooh that was soooo romantical, and I feel sooo special now... Gosh you're what every woman dreams of...
8. "I pay my bills with legitimate money". ... ummm.o.k... that's ummm... what you should be doing anyway???
9. "Doesnt it turn you on a little knowing guys are looking at your pics and stroking?" ... Ummm... Nooooo, actually its quite creepy. I hope you at least clean your computer screen when youre done, you perv. Eeewwwww.

And my all-time favorite.

10. "I looked up MILF in the Dictionary and there was your picture.....who knew?" I actually had to ask a friend of mine what a MILF was, and then we morphed it to MHMILF because I was a metal head in training on that particular day. A running joke of the day ever since, HILARIOUS.

What are some of the crazy, retarded, unbelievable things you've seen on the internet to date? Dont be shy...I'm not (*wink)

Bugs Are Evil...

Not that I was ever in love with them before, but now, I seriously, truly, hate them. With every ounce of my being and all that is SG, I HATE a bug. I hate them so much that I no longer wonder why kids used to watch ants burn under a magnifying glass. I used to say, "Awww, kid, you should love all of God's creatures, great and small." I would now cheer said kid on with "Die you little fuckers, DIE damn you!"

But this is not a tribute to my troubles with ants, I will recall those less than enjoyable encounters at a later date.

So...earlier today I'm driving...taking the kids to their father's so they could go hang out on the Lake and watch fireworks...driving...minding my own business...all the windows are down of course, because I have no air...driving....I get to a stop sign right down the street from his house. Because I am a law abiding citizen of course, I come to a complete stop at the stop sign before I make my right turn...ok that's a lie, but I'm ROLLING to a stop..looking to the left, right, left again, and I'm making my turn. I'm on the gas slightly now, making my turn and looking to the right.

What do I see coming at me through the passenger window? I don't know, but it's some kinda bug, and coming fast, the little flying fucker is coming right at me!! I, of course, have both hands on the wheel at that point, but I instinctively put up my right hand to shoo away the fly, flying beetle or whatever it was. Nah, this little, no, HUGE ass BEE, WASP, I don't know I wasn't trying to look it in the eyes, ATTACKS me!! "BZZZZZZZZZ" ...I'm screaming, "AAAAAGGGHHHH"!! I have NO hands on the wheel now, the kids are screaming because I'm screaming, no one knows what the hell is going on. Chaos has erupted in the Purple Baby Mama Dodge Grand Crappyvan. Anyway, this damn thing feels like it hit my ear going 100 miles an hour, "BZZZZZZZZZ"...I'm DYING it hurts so bad. At this point I'm thinking the pain is just from the impact. It was too big to have flown directly into my ear canal, thank goodness!! Luckily enough I had enough presence of mind to stand on the brake with both feet because I was no longer looking where I was going. So instead of hitting this old Lady's mailbox, I managed to stop about 3 feet shy. "BZZZZZZZZZ" It's still on me!! I'm slapping the absolute SHIT out of the right side of my head trying to get this thing off of me. "AAAAAAGGGGGHHH!" I slapped myself SO hard, SO many times, that I knocked out both diamond studs in my right earlobe AND the tiny gold hoop that I had in the top of my ear. The bug is gone now, but I still slapped myself about 6 more times, just to be sure.

I'm holding my ear, wanting to cry from the pain. "What in the world WAS that?" I keep asking myself. "What the hell did it DO to me?!?" The kids are asking, "Mom what happened?" Mommom, are you ok?" "Mommom, are you allright?"

"I'm ok babies, something just flew in the window and I think it stung me in the ear."

I hear Damaris in her tiny voice, "Do we need to dial 911?"

"No babydoll, it's not an emergency, 911 is only for emergencies." I love my babies, they're so smart.

"Well do you need to go to the hospital? Or we can just go to daddy's house and he can put some "alacholl" on it", from Donovan.

Damani says, "Are you sure you're ok, your face sure doesn't look like it." I don't answer her. My ear is burning, hot, like someone took a match to it, and now I'm wondering what exactly my face DOES look like.

Damani whispers to Donovan, "If something stings you in the ear, does that mean you can't HEAR anymore?" He whispers back, "I don't know." She then asks me loudly, "Mommommmmm, can you still HEARRRRRRR?"

I'm looking in the rearview mirror trying to determine if the damn thing possiby chewed my earlobe off since it feels like it hurts worse than it should. I don't answer her. She says, "Oh No, Mommy can't HEAR!" I look back and see Damaris (my sensitive one), her eyes are starting to water, she's scared for me.

I say to Damani, "I can hear you fine baby, it just hurts really, really badly."

So I figure the best thing to do is to go on and drop them off, the longer I sit there in the middle of the road, the longer they are going to ask me questions and the longer I will have to TALK instead of nursing my assaulted ear. Maybe after they're gone I can even cry on the way home. So, I turn the steering wheel, ease on the gas and proceed down the street. We're pretty much crawling down the street, cause my ear hurts REALLY badly, I'm driving with my left hand, trying my damndest not to cry, trying to look at the road, still trying to look at my ear in the rearview, and trying to answer a zillion questions.

Halfway there, I think I'm about to pass out, this is EXCRUCIATING. Why does it still hurt dammit! If seems to be hurting MORE instead of subsiding. I spot my cup of ice sitting in the cup holder. My Ice!!. Maybe if I put some ice on it, it will feel better? I look in the rearview again and see that my earlobe and the cartilage(?) leading into my ear canal has swollen and is now twice it's normal size. Looking again, I can see that my entire ear now seems to be sticking out from the side of my head (moreso than usual I mean.)

I'm freaking out. Wait, WTF!?! Now I'm seeing a welt rise along my jawline. Did I do that when I bitchslapped myself 82 times? ?? No, it itches. Is this an allergic reaction?? Aaagh!! I gotta do something. So I look at my cup of ice again (this is very big for me, I'm very partial to my ice, to have to waste it on my ear causes me even more distress). Finally I decide the amount of pain I was going through pretty much outweighed the small comfort I would have gotten from ice crunching. I grab a napkin out of the glovebox and scoop out a piece of ice, pausing only briefly to look at it and lament that it will no longer be eatable. Putting the ice to my ear, the thing still hurts, doesn't feel any better. I remind myself that this is mainly to keep the swelling down and will eventually, hopefully, numb the pain.

I finally get to the house and pull up in the driveway, kiss the kids goodbye. "HOPE YOUR EAR FEELS BETTER MOMMOM", Damani pretty much yells this as she's getting out. I guess she still thinks I can't hear.

As the kids go in the front door, their dad comes outside and sees me holding the ice and napkin to my ear. "What happened to you, did somebody bust you in the side of your head or something?, he smirks.

"No, something stung me, thank you for asking." He starts to turn and walk away, I say "Wait" and as he makes it back to the van, I reach over to the passenger seat and grab some papers and hand them to him.

"What's this?" he asks. Mind you, I've already put the van in reverse and I'm backing out of the driveway. Once I get a safe distance I answer, "You've been served." He stands there in the driveway with his jaw dropped.

I couldn't resist the last parting shot. "Dang, what's wrong, did someone bust you in your JAW or something?"

Nakena then exits stage right and hauls ass up the street.

Moral of the story...Bugs are evil and so are Ex'es...

Street Meat...

So, I'm driving down the street on my way to find some lunch and I pass thru this intersection. At the gas station on the corner, there's this beat up truck parked in front of the pay phones. The truck bed, I assume was open, but there was a tent covering the back of the truck and a tarp draped over the side, so I couldn't really see.

The tarp advertised:

"RIB EYE STEAKS 12 for $20.00"

"Plump, Tender & Juicy"

I'm doing the math in my head, thinking "WOW, that's not even $2.00 per steak. What a GREAT deal!"

Then..."Wait an ever-lovin minute...Dude is selling meat off a raggedy truck in an intersection. And its 90 something degrees outside...???"

So I have the following questions:

1. Who buys meat from this guy, enough so that he can afford to buy a tent and a custom made tarp??? Who?
2. Is it really LEGAL to sell meat on the street?
3. Exactly how do you transport Street Meat from corner to corner? I assume there is a freezer somewhere on the bed of this meatmobile?
4. Mad Cow Disease anyone?

I think I will continue taking my chances at places like Bi-Lo, Food Lion & Harris Teeter. If I should get sick from a bad piece of meat, then we know how to narrow it down to who sold me what.

If I should get sick from some Street Meat, what the hell am I supposed to tell the doctor? "Yeah, I bought this steak from this raggedy truck on the corner of Tryon & Arrowood". He would probably look at me like I was stoopid. And if I should die, and doctor sends the investigators out to that particular intersection, Mr. Street Meat seller from God only knows what sick cows that were rejected by the slaughter house, will be nowhere to be found.

Like I said, great deal. But if I DIE from eating bad meat, I want someone to be held accountable DAMMIT!

*Disclaimer: This is not to say that anyone that has previously taken their life in their hands and bought meat from a raggedy truck at a gas station on a street corner in 95 degree weather because it was a good deal is wrong. This is just me saying, I dont understand. "That is all". ( I borrowed this phrase from G-Bo, I think. G, if I knew how to link you, I would. I will figure it out soon... ***Ha!! I did it!!

Profound Pleasures...

I'm sure you have made an assumption that I am fascinated with pleasuring myself by now, but that's really not the case. B.O.B gets no credit for this! I found this oldie yesterday when I was removing all of my old blogs from Yahoo 360. This piece comes from way back in the day when I first fell in love with these little orgasmic delights!!! I didn't change too much of it, just tried to correct some spacing and punctuation, hope you enjoy...

Profound Pleasures

You've never had an orgasm like this one...

Most times, you can tell exactly how good it's going to be before you even begin to get down to business. But!! You should never judge anything by its wrapper alone! You could be pleasantly surprised.

Even the most beat-up looking morsel is always a sweet treat. Unwrapping the piece of foil slowly while searching for and then inspecting the prize hidden within. The golden wrapper on the outside surrounds a plain brown wrapper inside, but nestled snugly within is... Oh Boy!...there's the prize...ummmmm, a Milk Chocolate Peanut Butter Cup.

Sometimes it's so perfect that you dont want to eat it just yet. You look at it in awe and delight. Although you yearn for it...the perfect mix of peanut butter and chocolate, the anticipation of the ecstasy is as sweet as the unveiling.

As soon as the delectable treat touches your tongue, it immediately begins to melt from the warmth of your mouth, 98 degrees right? More heat than that if you just happen to be in a particular state of..."wanting".

You close your eyes to enjoy the sensation, tasting the chocolate and peanut butter rolling smoothly and delectably over your tongue. Your eyes roll back in your head and as the soft, sexy moan starts to rumble from deep within your throat, your neck arches, sometimes your back too, and you realize you're helpless to stop it. You finally give yourself over to the rush of ecstasy, and you ride the tide on in, tongue sliding, searching every crevice of your mouth to make sure you didn't miss any, the wrapper still tightly clenched between your...fingers.

Better than a perfect pedicure, better than Ben & Jerry's Karmel Sutra ice cream, better than sex...the Reeses Miniature is profoundly orgasmic in its own right. One is great, but quickly becomes a guilty pleasure when it takes two or three to satisfy.

My Ex's Mama...

This is how I've been amusing myself today, besides inundating you all with the Bulletin Survey's you earned for non-appreciation.

I completed a Survey in which I said a couple of my favorite all time"Yo Mama" jokes, then I continued amusing myself with jokes about my Ex's mother. Just because I can. No worries, she never liked me from the time I made the comment that one of the twins had peach fuzz on her top lip when she was born and I hoped it didn't turn into a full-blown mustache like hers.

Anywho, none of these are mine, but all borrowed from elsewhere. I just added the twist. I hope you laugh, I sure did :)

My Ex's mama is so ugly, when she moved into the projects, all her neighbors chipped in for curtains.

My Ex's mama is so ugly, when she takes her bra off she looks like she has four big toes.

My Ex's mama is so ugly; when she was born she was put in an incubator with tinted windows.

My Ex's mama is so ugly, when two guys broke into her apartment, she yelled "rape" and they yelled "NO!"

My Ex's mama is so ugly, she was a guard for Castle Greyskull.

My Ex's mama is so ugly, when she was a baby, her parents had to feed her with a slingshot.

Goofy, I know, but it amused me for the first half of the morning, now I shall go find something else to laugh at.

The Biggest Booty Question of All Time...

I really don't have a booty fixation...it just seems that way sometimes...

What?!? Even though I make mention of booty quite often, I'm really not fascinated by booty, and if I do talk about booty, I'm mainly talking about my own booty not other people's. I think. Maybe I'm just obsessed with my own booty...but I digress...

This here blog is about other people's hindparts. I am only writing to ask everyone a simple question that arose when I was talking to my friend about his booty. Just for the record, he brought it up first, not me. Now. Back to the booty situation and the subsequent booty question...

This topic came to be while I was speaking to a friend today about how he spent last weekend, which consisted of going to a couple of clubs. He mentioned that he hates fighting through the crowded areas and you don't know if the person that's touching your a** is a man or a woman.

My response:

"Soooo, how many times DID you get felt up by an unknown perpetratOR or perpetratESS? Did your head snap around each time you felt a palm or did you play it cool and pretend like nothing happened? What's the difference between guys palming each others a** at the club and guys slapping each other's a** on the football field? What's the difference?

I know, you're asking how I went from the club to the football field with that one, and the truth is, I don't even know myself. If I knew why my brain takes the paths it does on occasion, I'd be a published member of the AMA. Since I don't and I'm not, I just blog about it.

Anyway, now I'm posing this question to you, along with some others.

1. Why is it that all the booty slapping that goes down during football season between male players is perfectly ok and acceptable, welcomed and enjoyed, but any other occasion, the male booty is off limits to a male hand?...??

Additional Questions:

2. Is the a**-pat really necessary?

3. Exactly how long is the a**-pat supposed to last? One second, two?

4. What if a player abuses a**-pat etiquette and lets his fingers linger on the other player's a** for an additional second? Then what? Is that a violation of unspoken a**-pat rules & regs?

5. Why does no one ever pat the referee's a**?

6. If a player did pat the ref's a**, would the ref throw down the cute little yellow flag, or do the bylaws of "man"kind require an acknowledgment by a return a**-pat and an authoritative head nod?

7. If I was watching from the sidelines and I saw a blatant a**-pat turned grab/knead/rub/squeeze, could I scream "Flag on the Plaaaaaaaayyyyyyyy!!"

I've never understood the tradition, so someone please explain it to me. I do understand about camaraderie, encouragement, and all that nonsense, but can't you be just as encouraging with a kind word? "Go Team", or "Nice tackle, man", or even a simple pat on the BACK?

I'm not trying to assault anyone's manhood, although that would be great fun, I just want to understand.

Thanks in advance for your a**-istance.

Me & My Wahtootsie...

Yeah, I said it. For those of you who were beginning to wonder if I'd truly lost it, your worries were not entirely unfounded. I called it my Wahtootsie... By the way, what do you call yours?

**************************************************************************************

My stage name is "..."

I need a name for my stripper character in my novel and I'm stuck. Imagine that, stuck... Any suggestions? Think of me, and give me the best stripper name you can think of based on my build, personality, etc. And don't make me cuss you out. You know I will.

**Visual AID!!!**

**Uhhh, by the way....I would never fall on my head... ************************************************************************************** Since I've never been able to completely explain my fascination with Hooters Girls,and the Fantanas, I decided I needed to delve a little deeper into the freaky side that is SG. That's right, SG is my alter ego, not to be confused with Multiple Personality Disorder. I am not MPD afflicted, just mentally distressed in many other ways. But that's neither here nor there.... So, anyway, I think I had Stripper aspirations....Just kidding. Not saying any of the above groups of women are strippers, but when you think of, ok, when I think of big breastesses and skimpy clothes, I think stripper. Hooters = Big Bouncy Breastesses = Stripper Actually, this was to be a very minute part of my novel, but I decided to run with it. To do that, I think I need to visit one or 12 strip clubs, just to immerse myself in the atmosphere, ya know? Research. I need to be able to think likea stripper. When I describe a sexy, sensual yet slutty grind on a stripper pole, I need to be able to see it in my head so that you can see it in yours. If I visit, I wonder if I will be able to differentiate between the different categories of stripper. There are different types, I do know that much.I need to talk to both categories of strippers. On the onepole you have thestrippers that can admit they are there because they want to be. They're theones that are in it for the money and aren't ashamed to tell you. Then on the other poleyou have the bobbleheads that have been at it for 9 years claiming they're putting themselves through college, or just doing it for a little while to catch up on bills.Orthe ones thatare shakin' ass all on the pretense oftakingcare of the family. Let me slow my roll, I was about to start judging, and that's not where I meant to take it. I don't want to judge a stripper, I need to "be" a stripper. In my head. For a brief period at least...long enough to nail this chapter. Will they even talk to me, or will I have to buy a lapdance? If I have to buy a lapdance, can I request that she grind on a chair instead of on me? Don't really want a h* in my lap.Do I get to pick between ugly strippers and not-so-ugly strippers, or will they get offended? Do I have to tip with dollars or can I just give advice and suggestions?Is there a stripper etiquette I need to know about before I go? Wait, what's the difference between a Stripper and an Exotic Dancer? Are Exotic Dancer's a**es in any better condition than a regular stripper?*sigh* These are the things I need to research so I can present an accurate literary visualization. I thought the stripper concept would beso simple. Has to be simple, why else wouldmen like it so much? Besides all the T&A I mean. Big Bouncy Breastesses +Mushy Bouncy A**+ Man = Happy Simple right? But the T&A, that's another thing I have questions on. I was trying to watch Hustle and Flowthe other nightbut the DVD started messing up. The last clear scene I saw was in a club of this stripper's a** bouncing up and down. I thought of a couple of different things all within the moment. "How does excessive cellulite equate with attractive just because it's comprising someone's backside.?" "I go around trying to hide my stretchmarks, this h* has them all spread across her a**, why is she not ashamed and disgusted?" "Eeeeew...." "Was this a low budget film or do all stripper's a**es look like curdled cottage cheese?" "Men really pay money to see this?" "That just looks like it's unfresh....eeeewww" "Please don't make it clap!" And this is just a MOVIE, and not even a dirty movie at that.If I go visit a real strip club, am I gonna be distressed and uncomfortable? Is there gonna be a 6', 400lb. charcoal black, tic-tac eatin'bouncer named Lil Twon at the door? Am I going to have to fight a stripperif I wrinkle up my nose because she's emitting funky, fishy waves of unwashed cooter? Can I take my taser in with me? I'm just askin. Maybe I should scrap this project entirely, I've just talked myself out of it and strangely enough, I feel the need to go hurl...

Say, Can You Pass Me the Tissue?

Soooo....

I'm passing through the break room in the office to heat up my lunch, and to use the Restroom so I can potty during the interim (of course)...

Normally people are in there eating (in the breakroom, not the potty) and even chatting on occasion. You can often hear bits and pieces of conversation although I normally try not to listen unless invited. (that's the truth, I swear!)

Today though, while warming my $4 Boston Market Meatloaf, I was treated to the most odd conversation surrounding Caskets, Dead People's Jewels and Thievery.

Co-worker#1, (hereafter referred to as CW1): "They really do get over on people with Closed Casket Funerals."
CW2: "Why do you say that?"
CW1: "Because you think you're burying your loved one with their jewelry, little do you know, the bastards at the funeral home have stolen it."
CW3: "That's terrible!"
CW1: "Mmm hmm, people just don't think about that stuff."
CW2: "Well, I'm going to make sure if I ever have to bury somebody it's going to be an Open Casket."
CW1: "That's not going to help."
CW2: "Why not? At least that way, I'll be able to make sure Grandma's prized pearls are in there with her. I'll be able to see them when I view the body!"
CW1: "BUT! (finger pointing at the imaginary lightbulb hovering over his head)....they'll have to close the casket lid to transport it from the church to the hearse, and what do you think they'll be doing with Granny's pearls in the hearse, on the way to the cemetary??? SNATCHIN 'em off her NECK!" (he demonstrates on CW3)
CW3: (Gasps and puts her hands up to her neck in shock) "How terrible!"
CW2: "That ain't right!"

...break room is quiet for a few moments while they all try to think of something else to talk about, all you can hear is the hum of my microwave....

..........
..............
......................
CW1: "You know they switch caskets on 'em too, right? They do it ALL the time." CW2 and CW3 just look at him.....

I thankfully remember at that point that I had to pee, and so I cut on out to the bathroom. I get in the bathroom and I immediately hear talking. I look around. There's no one at the sinks, but there is one stall door closed. Ok. But who the hell is she talking to? OH, you dummy, she's on her cell phone. Believe it or not, out of all the jokes and cartoons that stem from toilet-talking I have NEVER had the occasion to experience it in real life. It's kind of funny actually.

Toilet-talker says:

"I don't know, I told you to check on it, but you didn't so why you're asking ME, I don't even know."

...she groans...I'm hoping against all hope that she's not taking a dump while on her cell phone. How is she gonna wipe her ass AND hold a cell phone? Let me hurry up and pee and get outta here...

"And this is why I don't ask you to do shit. THIS is why!"

...I'm thinking, does she even know someone else came in? No, cause her ass was busy being loud with whoever she's talking to that she didn't even hear the door swing open and closed...

...she groans again..."My stomach already hurts and here you are f*in my s*** up, makin me feel worse. I don't NEED this Jim!"

...C'mon pee-pee, c'mon!!!, I do not want to be here when she drops that load. No. Stinkin. Way...

"You better have it done when I get home. I don't work this hard for you to sit at home on your fat butt all day and not do s***."

...she's quiet, I imagine she's holding her breath, red in the face, straining...

"I've got to go, bye.....WHAT????"

...I hear the toilet paper roll rattling...sounds funny...I finally make water and commence to my own "front to back"...

"S***, S***, S***!!!"

...I cannot seem to wipe fast enough...pull up my granny panties and pants, kick the lid down on the toilet, press on the handle with my foot to flush, and I am SO outta there....I make it to the sink...

"What's WRONG?? Jim, I'm in here, tryin to take a S***, listening to your BLEATING, bumbling ass, and there ain't no toilet paper!!!! Perfect!!!"

...I get my soap, turn the water on, lather hurriedly and start singing the birthday song in my head...tripletime...

"Hello...Hello..., lady out there....can you... ummm....hand me some toilet paper?"

I'm not even going to lie, my first instinct was to keep on going and pretend like I didn't even hear her, but I didn't want her to identify me by my Nike's later on in case she worked in my office. I don't think she does, but just in case...

I dried my hands and went back to the stall I was in, which was on the other end of the row, got one of the extra rolls of TP sitting on top of the holder, and started to walk toward her stall. Wait, what the hell am I doin'?? She's in there taking a shit, I am not about to walk all up in the midst of all that aroma so she can ruin my meatloaf! I ended up stopping 2 stalls down and rolling the TP from that stall into hers. I said loudly, "Look alive, it's comin' to you on the low!"

She says, "What?" (ok, so this is NOT a sista...)

The TP rolls right past her feet and into the stall beside her.

She says, "Oh."

I shrug, roll my eyes and on my way out think, "Heffa, you on your own this time around."

I Hate 'Em, Hate 'Em, Hate 'Em!!

Management at Crapshinola Villages, where I live, has decided to renovate the entire complex. It's about darn time, and long overdue! So I was excited for a minute, even though I'm about to move shortly.

Well, I was excited, didn't mind all the hammering and bumping and contractors peeping between my raggedy blinds until I saw this on my ceiling last night....

Imagine sitting there, typing on your little laptop, minding your own damn business, and something, that little voice you ignore half the time, just tells you to look up. You look up and see this f***** on the ceiling above your head.

W...T...F!!??!!??!?!?!?!?

So I'm scrambling, trying to figure out what this thing is, what it's going to do to me if it falls on me, if it doesn't fall on me but lands in my bed, how the heck am I going to find it because the bed is messy, etc...etc...

*Lightbulb* (and it's flashing too!)

"Dooonooooooooovaaaaaaaaaaaannnnnnnnnnnnn!!!!!"

He comes running into the room.

"Donovan! Kill that bug!" (Wattage dims a little after that...) Donovan cranes his neck, looks at the bug and then looks back at me and says nothing. Classic. He has that "Are you kiddin me?" look on his face that he learned from moi. I'm actually proud, he's got it down pat....

...back to the creature on my ceiling...in case you forgot what it looks like...here is another picture from...Wikipedia this time, I think.,

You just said WTF! didn't you? I know you did.

Anyhow, Damaris comes into the room and starts screeching, rubbing her arms, and running in place (that's my kid), she's got her best "that's so grody" face on. Again, compliments of Mama QT.

The calm one, Damani, comes in to see what's going on and all she says is "Eeew, want me to get the bug spray?"

Now I see lightbulb's over Donovan and Damaris' head as well, we're ALL clued in now. We're gonna drown this sucker (and therefore our own lungs as well) with Raid ANT KILLER!! (It's all I had ).

I send Damani on her mission while me and the other kids gaurd the interloper who by now has gotten very twitchy with the antennae.

"Oh, crap, he's about to run! Donovan don't you repeat that word! Daaaaaaamaaaaaannnnnniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii, HURRY UPPPPP!"

I hear her knocking over everything under the kitchen sink in the desperate hunt for Ant spray. She huffs back into my bedroom and hands it to me.

Ok...now what to do? The THING is right on the ceiling over my bed.

1. If I spray it where it is, I'm going to have Ant spray all over my bed. Not happening.
2. I can't reach it to squish it with a shoe, I would have to get the stool and put it on the bed, balance it enough to stand on which would then put me up too high and I'd have to hunch over, all the while being way too close to the nasty beast which could then use the opportunity to shoot nasty beast venom into my eyes or whatever it is that they do.
3. I could reach for an envelope from the stack of bank statements which I never open and use it to "flick" the creature from the ceiling to....ok, scrap that, nowhere to flick it but onto the kids, and they saw it comin, they'd all moved to the doorway by then. They know me.

TWO LIGHTBULBS!!

I decide to turn the ceiling fan on, maybe the breeze would cause the little shit to scurry away to a point that is not directly over my bed. I stand up slowly, in case sudden moves make it go into attack mode and reach up and pull the cord three times for High mode.

It works! The little nasty antennae are working like mad and the filthy varmint decides to relocate. Damaris starts screeching again.

This f***** is FAST. "Shhhhhh!!!! Maris! I need to concentrate!!!"

The thing hightails it all the way down to the other end of the ceiling, just at the end of my sleigh bed, near the far upper-right corner of the window.

Ok, now we tawlkin. I breathe a little easier. Now if I spray it, at least it won't be right over my bed. Kewl beeeens.

I tell the kids to go into the living room since my daughter has asthma, climbed back in the bed and "creep-walked" over as close as I felt was safe. Stood up straight and then let loose on that motherf***** with everything that was left in that can. I sprayed for a full 30 seconds at the very least. The thing drops to the carpet and amazingly is still quite fast, scurrying, trying to get the hell up outta Crapshinolaville. I'm straight stalking, watching it now crawl across the carpet a little more slowly, but still faster than I would like. "Yeah b****, you picked the wrong apartment to come up in today, b****, what?, what?" I'm bucking up at the thing like it's as big as I am, and I hear my son laughing hysterically at me because the bug made it all the way to the doorway so the kids could witness it's demise as well as my "Don't f*** wit me, I'm a Killa" dance.

So now it's dead. At least I think it is, it's still twitching a bit, but I think that's natural. It's either dead, or really high.

I don't want to touch it. I look at Donovan. He says, "No way mommom, no...way..."

"Well, go get me a napkin then, jeez."

He comes back with a paper towel, and I realize how thin one paper towel really is. I didn't buy Scott's last time, bought the Southern Comfort brand. (Southern Comfort = Cheap ass paper towel)

"Uhh, go get me another please. Matter of fact, bring me two."

He comes back with them and I fold them up nice and neatly into a square big enough that I don't see the creature get squished when I pick it up. Squishing is my final assurance that it's dead, just like any other bug. "Just 'cause I haven't seen the likes of you before doesn't mean you get special treatment, you nasty...." Cut myself off, kids are still standing there.

So I pick it up and squish it, "Squish"...I can just imagine the million legs breaking apart like filament and mixing in with it's gooshy, nasty insides.

Donovan: "Yuk."
Damani: "Eeew."
Damaris: "EEEEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!"

They all then followed me to the trash can where I unceremoniously stuffed the nasty, squished-vermin laden paper towel into a used ziploc bag already in the trash. Just in case he decided to resurrect himself, I had it covered. **I notice how I associated "squished-vermin" with "he", completely unintentional. Promise.**

I did some research today and found out that the nasty ass, now dead bug that taunted me from my ceiling is called a House Centipede.

What's really crappy is that if there are more of them and they decide not to traipse around on my ceiling, they will blend right in to my carpet because of their color. The crappiest of crappy things is that apparently they feed on bedbugs, termites, cockroaches, silverfish and spiders. That means, that as LONG and as FAT and as GOOSHY-JUICY as this bug was before I SQUISHED it, I must have one, all or any combination of the above vermin in my apartment. But, WTF?? It won't eat Ants??? As nasty as that thing looks, it won't eat ants?? Ugly, nasty, goodfernuthin Uggghhh!

And it's supposed to be a helpful housepest? I think friggin NOT.

And just so you sleep well tonight, one more for the road, just don't think of bug-guts.......

Nightmare on My Street...Bodyworlds...

Check out this exhibition that will be opening in Charlotte tomorrow.

Body Worlds

How freakin' COOL is that?!!?

Using a process called Plastination, created by Gunther von Hagens, bodies are preserved and put on display to give us all a view of the workings of the body....without skin.

During the Plastination process, water and fats are removed from tissue and replaced with polymers to halt decomposition.

Oh, did I mention these were real HUMAN bodies? Yes, people (humans) agree (while alive) to donate their bodies (after death).

And here I was thinking I was doing my part by being an organ donor. Dang!

Normally I'd be disgusted, but I want to see this exhibit. (Hint-Hint) Since there won't be any oozing brains, blood or guts, I think I'll be ok.

More photos here.

---

I am in no way doing this topic any kind of justice, but it's late and I need to go to sleep. I need to be fully refreshed so I don't nod off while I'm playing around on myspace tomorrow. Please browse the website via the links above and tell me what you think.

Would you want to see something like this, up close and personal?
Would you be freaked out?
Any religious/spiritual problems with the exhibit that give you "pause"?

Less Than Impressive Ejaculation?

So your nasty little jizzpoles aren't up to par, eh? Tired of the same old boring orgasm?

Never fear. I am here. Spermatical expert to your rescue. Or, uhhh....maybe not.

Errr,ok. This is what you do. Instead of trying to get your eensie weensie shalacked every night, try abstaining for awhile. Yes, abstinence. Build up some anticipation, some ardor. Let 'em simmer a bit. Wait.

That means, do not stick your winky into ANY hole, living, dead, plastic or otherwise manufactured by your fingers, for a period of 6 months. Ok, so that's not very realistic for those that are ruled by their penises. For you, 3 weeks.

"Do not stick your winky into ANY hole, living, dead, plastic or otherwise manufactured by your fingers" means: (The suggestions below all center around e-jack-alating less often.)

• No fucking the family cat. It's a pussy cat, never to be substituted for an actual pussy.

• No Vaseline on your penis. Vaseline was intended for elbows, knees and anything else ashy. If your willy is ashy, you've got issues that masturbation will not resolve.
  
  
• No fucking the family dog. Arf! means Arf!
  
  
• No $5 ho's. Sure, they're everywhere. Must not succumb, they carry diseases.
  
  
• No strip clubs. A lapdance isn't going to do anything but get your little pecker all excited and your pockets emptied.
  
  
• No fucking the goat in your backyard. Nasty Baaaaaastard.
  
  
• No Red Bull. Sure it gives you wings, but the extra energy may work against you.
  
  
• No Nip/Tuck. Christian gets his groove on entirely too much.
  
  
• No fucking the blowup doll you've christened "Soozie" because she oozes…
  
  
• No Jergens sitting by your webcam. Way too tempting.
  
  
• No eyeballing the family gerbil wondering if....
  
  
• No ass patting on the football field.
  
  
• No fucking the family gerbil. Why does the Caged Gerbil cower? Because his fine gerbil senses picked up on the lust in the air.
  
  
• No 24. Jack Bauer turns everybody on, male & female alike. Best not tempt yourself.
  
  
• No Playboy. Sure, the articles are fun to read and educational. Sure...
  
  
• No Black Tail Magazine. Man can't always have his fantasy. (Seriously, we know...)
  
  
• No Time Magazine.
  
  
• No phone sex. What is she wearing? She's wearing a turtleneck and granny panties. Move hand away from the wiener.
  
  
• No fucking your neigbor. You know you don't need no damn "Cup o' sugar."
  
  
• No "inconspicuous" adjustments to your nuts every 5 seconds.
  
  
• No $500 ho's. Although more expensive, they carry the same diseases as their $5 counterparts.
  
  
• No Isley Brothers or Robert Kelly.
  
  
• No Viagra. Get ahold of some knock-off shit and see what happens.
  
  
• No Cialis. i.e the aforementioned "knock-off shit".
  
  
• No dry-humping your pillow, couch cushion or mailman's leg.
  
  
• No Buffie the Body.
  
  
• No Cinemax.
  
  
• No attempts to suck your own penis. If you resort to this, then you're not able to be helped.
  
  
• No attempts to suck anyone else's penis. Things happen during times of desperation, please don't let this act be one of them.
  
  
• No late night "call me, I'm hot" commercials.
  
  
• No Penis Pumps or Paraphranalia.
  
  
• No Porn.
  
  
• No Al-kee-holl. Spirits tend to loosen zippers and peckers.

Those are just some of my suggestions as to how to increase your sperm count and have stronger orgasms.

Now, all you guys, don't start slinging semen at me. I'm just sayin'...

So, You Want to Get Fired, Huh?

10 Ways to Get yourself FIRED if you are a Maintenance Man at SG's Apartment Community

1. Enter SG's apartment, claim to have changed an air filter and fixed the problem and then leave SG's still broken a/c running for 3 straight days blowing up her electric bill while SG is out of town after she made sure she'd turned the thermostat off before she left because the shit was blowing out hot air.

In other words spend 3 seconds on troubleshooting, swap a really dirty air filter for a slightly dirty air filter from another apartment and then go home for the day...

2. Crack SG's windowsill and then claim it was like that already while attempting to hookup an industrial sized fan in the living room with a huge ass hose leading outside the open window while allowing mutinously swarming, poisonous,verminous, blood sucking insects that SG is afraid of and allergic to inside her apartment in the middle of the night.

In other words, do not pay attention to what you're doing...

3. Sit abovementioned industrial sized fan on top of little Master SG's PS2 that he forgot to put away because his brain was fried from being inside a 95 degree apartment for too long.

In other words, continue not paying attention to what you're doing...

4. Leave SG a stupid message on the work-order written in crooked 1st grade print lettering advising "Bolted d-washer to counter top agin to stop rocking when in operations, but springs in your d-washer just plain old and caint be fixed so nothing we can do bout the door slamms down by isself."

In other words, say "deal with it bitch"....

6. Turn in totally different work-order to apartment Manager advising "d-washer fixed".

In other words, attempt to cover your illiterate ass but fail miserably because you're not smart enough...

7. Leave puddles of water and leaves in SG's hallway and muddy footprint trails on SG's standard "apartment beige" carpeting while writing up illiterate work orders.

In other words, don't take your dirty boots off because you don't like this uppity bitch anyway...

8. Leave Mama SG who always pays her rent on time and in full, and her little people without a/c for a total of 10 whole days and 9 whole nights, causing said little people to have to spend an excessive amount of time with dad and away from Mama SG who already missed them to death from when she went out of town from "Hot as Hell Home" to visit a little place called "Hot as Hell Texas".

In other words, take your ass on vacation to the "Blue Oyster Resort and Trailer Park with your wife/first cousin" because this uppity negrette's a/c and old faulty piece of shit dishwasher is not a priority to you.

9. Drop and leave a Master Key to SG's apartment and several others' apartments on the stairwell of her building so a little Miss SG finds it and hands it to Mama SG and Mama SG just happens to see if the key fits her door since she knows Mr. about to be fired Maintenance Man has been in and out of her crib all week pretending like he's fixing her a/c. Mama SG is just astonished when the key unlocks and locks her door twice, especially after she finishes reading the Neighborhood Bulletin about the latest break-ins which occurred the night before.

In other words, exercise "Extreme Negligence". Oh wait, those words are too big for you. Try this "Fuck Up Really Really Bad".

10. Piss SG off...more than once.

Nuff said.

With Complete Courtesy of Resident Slim Goodie, you have now been F.I.R.E.D.

Pink Slip. Pack your shit Motherfucker. Your last check is in the mail.

Please proceed immediately to your local NC Unemployment Office , without haste or stopping to pick up your tobacco pouch which fell out of your back pocket when you got the Boot to the Ass, to begin processing of your Unemployment claim which I hope is denied for reasons: (06) Shitty Work Performance & (10) Pissing off a Skinny Black Woman on the verge of a heat stroke.

Private Dancer

Does anyone else dance in the kitchen?

I do...and quite often...

Late this afternoon, I took my kids to a sleepover and went to the grocery store. Got back from the grocery store and was putting things away, all of a sudden Tina Turner's song Private Dancer popped into my head. Next thing I know I'm singing in my best Anna Mae Bullock voice and doing a nice little gyration around my little teeny kitchen. I bet it was wayyyyyy sexxxy too...

"I'm your private dancer, a dancer for money"...(Putting away French cut String Beans)

"I'll do what you want me to do"...(Wondering why I bought regular white bread instead of White Wheat)

"I'm your private dancer, a dancer for money"...(Throwing leftovers out of the fridge)

"And any old music will do"...(Hiding my IBC Black Cherry Soda behind my Tea Pitcher so the kids won't see it right away...)

"Hmmm, hmm-hmmm-hmmm, hmm"...(Where the hell is my other can of Ravioli?)

"And the men are all the same"...(I bet I look so hot right now!!!)

"You don't look at their faces"...(Ha!, the kids missed these cookies righchere, I'ma eat these lata, yayuh!!)

"And you don't ask their names"...(Replacing the garbage bag in the trash can...)

"Hmm, hmm-hmm-hmmmmm- hmm"...(Removing the new bag, spraying the can with Lysol, then RE-replacing the garbage bag in the trash can...)

"You don't think of them at all"...(I pop the rubber band holding my pony-tail and whip my head around to get that sultry, mussed hair look...)

"You keep your mind on the money"...(I should really do this in front of a mirror so I can see how hot I am...)

"Keeping your eyes on the wall"...(Spin around, hook my thumbs in the waist of my capri's and do a sexy little rock from side to side...In my mind I'm hooking thumbs in a lil sexilicious red thong...yeaaah...)

"Deutch marks or dollars"...(Bump a deutch mark OR a dollar, this dance right here is worth a damn Gold BRICK, shiiiiiitttt...)

"American Express will do nicely, thank you"...(Tripped over the case of bottled water when leaving the kitchen...)

"Let me loosen up your collar"...(Recovered nicely, pick back up in mid-gyration...bump-bump-grind, bump-bump-griiiiind...)

"Tell me, do you wanna see my shimmy again?"...(Here is where I wrapped my right leg around the corner wall as if it were a stripper pole and looked over my right shoulder at an imaginary man giving him my best smoldering eyes...you know, the come hither and f*** me look...)

"I'm your private dancer, your dancer for money"...(I tear myself away from the wall as if It hurt to do it and saunter into the living room...)

"I'll do what you want me to do"...(Here I start to lift my shirt over my head while doing my little booty rock, but I change my mind...)

"I'm your private dancer, dancer for money"...(Damn, I wish there was a man here...)

"And any old music will do"...(I'd give his ass a private dance all right, wear his ass right on out...)

"Hmmm, hmm-hmm-hmm"...(Damn, this is sad, but fuck it, I'm a Private Dancer...)

"Hmmm, hmmm-hmmm, hmm-hmm-hmm..hmmmm..."

Ya'll Gon' Make Me Lose My Mind....

Definitely. Ya'll Gon' Make Me Lose My Mind! Up In Here, Up In Here! Ya'll Gon' Make Me Act a FOOL! Up In Here, Up in Here!!

This is dedicated to:

1. Direct TV. (Don't think I won't cancel a contract! I'll break it faster than I'll break a lease! Keep on messing with me, hear?)

2. Jamella in the Direct TV Customer Service Dept. (for hanging up on me)

3. Lanette in the Direct TV Customer Service Dept. (for hanging up on me)

4. Stephanie in the Direct TV Customer Service Dept. (for transferring me to the wrong department)

5. Dude in the "wrong" Direct TV Dept. ( I didn't call you, why are you acting all irritated like I dialed the wrong number? Your co-worker dialed the wrong number, you shit.)

6. Louisa in the Direct TV Installation Dept. (for telling me I have a past due balance of $12.50 so she doesn't have to do anything for me, and then hanging up on me! I bet you're rethinking that now aren't you Louisa? I bet you got called into someone's office, didn't ya? You apparently didn't know who you were dealing with chica.)

7. Toby in the Direct TV Customer Service Mgr. (for making me repeat my issue all over again after Louisa hung up on me. WHO needs to calm down? YOU need to calm down! I wanna speak to the manager's manager dammit!!)

8. Jimmy the Direct TV Installation Guy (for getting lost on the way to my apartment, and for tracking mud into my kitchen, and then asking me how much I pay for rent and then suggesting that I mount the dish to a fucking brick and sit it on my patio fence and then suggesting that since I don't have a man he'd be glad to come back out during his free time and mount the dish onto a pole stuck in some g-d cement. All I have to do is call him on his "personal" cell phone. Yeah, I bet the pole isn't the only mounting you have in mind. Ummm, what's that number again?)

9. My Apt. Manager (I'll show you where I'm gonna put the pole allright. The dish too! Don't you have some apartments to show or something? You better scroll up and read #1 again H-h-h-h-h-h-eifer! Now I hate skinny bitches too!)

10. Bank of America ( I swear fo' all the disciples, if ya'll mess with my money one mo' gin, it's not gonna be pretty!)

11. The kids dad ( I appreciate you fighting Bush's war, but I still don't like you. don't get it twisted. Lemmelone.)

12. Whoever decided that the Maid of Honor has to host the Bridal Shower & the Bachelorette Party. (Umm, What the fuck is the Matron of Honor's job? Why are you worried about who's coming to the shower? Since you're so worried, how about you put half on this, Mrs. Matron of Honor?)

13. My first and last Weavologist. ( For bonding that track to my scalp. What part of "Sew-in" did you not get? Did you skip class that day at Dudley's? If you weren't so damn ghetto fabulous, I'd go back up there before it gets dark and choke you with that weave.)

One. Two. Meet me outside.....

Things That Make You Go Hmmm....

This guy at work sent me this video which only a true nerd could appreciate...

Some comments and observations... 1. Yes, I watched the entire thing... I'm a nerd, I was enthralled. 2. My thoughts ranged from: ...a. This guy's got talent! ...b. This guy's got way too much time on his hands! ...c. This guy needs to get a job! and finally to: ... d. Maybe this is his job! Perhaps he is a professional Pool Stick Kissing Falling Dominoer. Because I was bored, I wondered how popular this phenomena is, Falling Dominoing. (Also I wanted to find the proper terminoligy and spelling so I can stop sounding stoopid.) ....Ok so there is no proper terminoligy, maybe "Domino Toppling", but I don't really like that so I will continue making up words.Great. Now, I did find out that Falling Domino Competitions pretty much all started with this guy, Mr. Domino, and here is an article which I found funny only because it relays the total seriousness of the sport of Domino Competition. Then I vaguely remember some scene in some movie in which 3 or 4 cornrowed guys are sitting around a card table playing "Bones." My next question was: "Why we gotta ebonicalize every word we come across?" So I googled "Why Dominoes gotta be called bones?", ok maybe not that phrase exactly but something similar...and I was referred to This Site Right Hurrr. So they used to be made of real animal bones or Ivory until we humans, as usual, started killing off elephants and other large mammals to near extinction. Now they're made out of just about any material but Ivory. The Dominoes used for competition are made out of whichever material suits the particular design and are often handcrafted and positioned piece by piece. Can you imagine? Setting up 4 gajillion dominoes just so you can flip something that triggers something else that pushes something else and finally displaces something else so that all your 4 gajillion dominoes fall down in sequence? Beautiful!! Anyway, one of my questions about Dominoes in regards to their origination (thought to be 12th Century China), led me to other questions about one of my favorite games which originated in China as well, Mahjongg. I did launch another browser to search for Mahjongg shit till I decided neither topic is interesting enough for me to stay here at work past 3:45 on a Friday. I'm ghost.

My Pride is Telling Me Noooooo!

...But my pocket...My pocket is telling me ye...e....eeessssSS!

All the advice I've gotten so far has been split cleanly down the middle. Out of 4 people, 2 think I should listen to my pride, 'cause it's the right thing to do. The other 2 said listen to my pocket, 'cause it's the smart thing to do.

I have this little problem. Lunch Money.

No, my kids are not jacking other kids for their lunch money on the playground. I did tell my daughter to go upside this little boy's head with her shoe the next time he pulls up her skirt on the playground...but that's another blog.

On to the crux, my kids bring their own lunch to school a majority of the time, and every blue moon (blue moons are kinda common where I live...) they buy lunch in the cafeteria.

Our school system has a website called paypams.com where you can load money into your kid's lunch account, pay for school field trips, etc. etc. (If your school system doesn't have it, mention it at a PTA meeting, it's worth it!) I put $30.00 at a time on the kid's lunch accounts, ten each, every 3 weeks or so.

This website also allows me to keep track of what my kids have been eating for lunch. That's the really good part, because my son would eat a Cinnamon Roll every day and call that lunch if I didn't make him get a meal. In the past his account would also get depleted much faster than his sisters', and this website is what tipped me off to the fact that he had a habit of going through the lunchline twice on 'Taco Day'. So the site helps me check up on them, what they're eating and how often.

Welllll...the site sends me an e-mail reminder telling me I need to replenish my son's lunch account, but I didn't get any notices for the twins, so I hop online real quick to see what the deal is. I'm fully expecting to see that Donovan either did a three-peat through the lunchline this time, or either he was mackin the little girls in his class and bought them all ice cream sandwhiches.

I log on, pull a calendar list report of all the lunches bought since the first day of school, for each kid. Cafeteria lunch in our school system K-12, costs $2.00. So I'm scrolling through Donovan's page and everything looks normal. He hasn't spent more than the $2.00 per lunch, so why is he spending faster than the twins? Hmmm....

I get to the twins' pages, and everything is kosher until I get to 9/14. On this day and any day after, the girls went through the lunch line and only got charged $0.40, while their brother was charged a full $2.00. Hmmmm...

So what's with the forty cents? Well, if you are a low-income parent or are able to "prove" financial need, you can apply to receive what they call "Reduced Lunch" for the low, low price of $0.40. Fo' dimes. And if the ratio of kids to income in your household is just right, you can even get "Free Lunch"...for FREE. Mmm hmm, sho' can.

So you say, Nakena, get to the freakin point already. Aaiight. I will.

Apparently, my kids' dumbass daddy (pat me on the back, I could have chosen 25 other invectives, but I was nice) received Reduced Lunch Applications in the mail along with the other School Assignment information that was sent to his house, none of which he gave to me. Unbeknownst to me, the...*wince*...daddy...filled out these forms and actually managed to get the kids approved for Reduced Lunch. (I don't know this for a fact, I'm just smart and came to this conclusion on my own. It can't simply be an error on the part of a cafeteria lady because the girls are in different classes, and eat lunch at different times, and have different lunch account numbers.)

Since I'm so smart, I then wonder, well hell, why isn't my son getting reduced lunch then? Did the ....*wince*...daddy...not fill out a form for him? Why would he do that, or not do that rather?? ???? I know he's ....*wince*...a man...but didn't he realize he missed a kid? ?

Regardless, of how or why the twins came to be on Reduced Lunch, I have a problem with the whole idea of it. We don't need it. I don't go to work everyday and bust my butt....ok, I don't go to work everyday just so I can take advantage of handouts that I don't need.

I'm not well-off by any means, but neither do I need assistance from the government. That's where my pride comes in. I do it all by myself, and while these 40 cent lunches allow me to keep a little more money in my pockets, it's not right for me to potentially take help away from some single mother who really does need it. The slap in the face is that my girls are somebody's statistic in somebody's government spreadsheet now, unfairly and without my knowledge or doing. I'm not having it.

So I mentioned it to a friend at first, and he just stared at me like I was the dumbest knothole on the dumbest piece of driftwood he'd ever seen. "Why pay $2.00 when you can pay $0.40? Are you serious?"

"Umm, yeah??"

"You did not just come over here with that, and mad about it too! Nakena, go sit down somewhere."

I totally see his point, pocket-wise. But he doesn't see mine pride-wise. If this is a simple mistake and the cafeteria lady's chain isn't long enough to get her bifocals on right when my girls go through the lunchline, then ok. If the school messes up fair and square, ok, I have the same problem keeping their money as they do taking mine...which is no problem at all. But I totally believe that's not the case. They're dumbass daddy signed them up for reduced lunch and lied about his income. I know it like I know it's time for me to log off for the day and take my behind home.

So what do you all think? Should I let them keep reduced lunch and go on about my guilty-feeling, government handout-stealing, newly low-income statistically-challenged-children having business?

Do I really need to sell my soul for $1.60 x 2?

It ain't right. It just ain't right.