December 24, 2009

autopilot leads to certain death

I recently read The White Tiger by Aravind Adiga. It's an excellent read if you haven't bothered to check it out yet. I thoroughly enjoyed it. The author has a dark humor that wins. The storyline builds well. The main character catches; he charms you. You know what he's capable of to begin with and so when he first reaches out to touch you, you're repulsed...but then he talks, weaves his story and soothes you and you're mesmerized. He reels you in totally.

to state what i just said with a bit more eloquence, I'll use David Martin's review from The Independent of London:
A dazzling narrative...An Indian novel that explodes the cliches--ornamental prose, the scent of saffron--associated with that phrase and a thrilling ride through a rising global power...Caught up in Balram's world--and his wonderful turn of phrase--the pages turn themselves. Brimming with idiosyncrasy, sarcastic, cunning and often hilarious, Balram is reminiscent of the endless talkers that populate the novels of the great Czech novelist Bohumil Hrabal. Inventing such a character is no small feat for a first time novelist.

I think perhaps I loved this book for all the reasons above but also because I could relate so much to the character. He's labeled a white tiger as a child--an exceptionally rare creature in his environment. Living in this small town with my views and my style, I certainly know this well. I feel, quite often, like I stick out like a sore thumb. But even more than that, something Balram talks about really hit home with the way I feel lately. He sees a white tiger in the zoo who paces his cage repetitively. If you've ever seen animals in small cages like this, you know they do just that....pace it. Back and forth. Back and forth. Balram states he knows that this repetition helps the tiger hypnotize himself into a state of calm so that he may deal with being caged.

Fuck, do I ever know that feeling. I live in a small town in rural South Georgia. I'm not religious. I'm not prejudiced. I work and go to school and have tattoos and short hair. I don't wear jeans and flip flops everywhere I go. My accent isn't the thickest and I don't care for atv riding or jet skiing or country music. It's just crazy to think I ended up so together in the face of such narrow mindedness. But here I am still. I haven't gotten out. It's like this place is my own prison...I'm stuck at least for the time being, but the last several months have been the hardest on me as far as realizing just how much I feel this sort of claustrophobic panic about living here.

I've paced through the years.... gotten into a routine and settling. Get up, go to work, drag through the day, go home, clean and take care of supper, etc. It was that way even when i was married. That routine hypnotized me into believing that everything here was everything I wanted. It was trickery...smoke and mirrors. In the past few months, I have woken the fuck up. And for good reason. Let's recap the last 4 years. I got married, I bought a house, changed jobs, had a baby, lost my dad to cancer before we really had a chance to make amends, got divorced after some very unhappy months, totally did a 180 on a very important political issue after a lot of soul searching...god, what a journey, graduated, applied for grad school, lost my grandfather, and more... My point here is that it's hard to pace, to stick to a routine when you have so much going on. Impossible. My autopiloted spin through life was fucked and I want out of here...this shithole area I was born into. I want out break out of this life I was born into much like Balram except I'd really rather not kill anyone to get out of it.

As Balram quotes, "I was looking for the key for years, but the door was always open."

This isn't my cage, my prison. The door is just waiting for me to turn that knob

read the book motherfuckers. you can buy it here

A Lesson on Wrapping

This is a quick how to guide on achieving wrapping perfection.

1. Be full of spirits. No, not holiday spirit or Christmas spirit...I mean booze. Straight with no chaser is preferable and likely to result in the best looking packages.

2. Don't give a shit about the outcome. When you're uptight about perfect creases and straight lines, you're just going to be disappointed with the end product anyway. Fuck it. That's the attitude you ought to have. It's what's inside the paper that matters anyway. If you wrap a can of sardines in gorgeous packaging, the receiver of the sardines is still going to wish you a horrible, slow death.

3. Rush through. What's the point of taking a half hour to wrap one gift when the giftee is going to rip apart that anal retentive job you did in about half a second? This is time that could be better spent drinking in preparation for dealing with your family.

4. Forget bags. Wrap every crazy shaped lumpy thing you can find. The asymmetrical shapes always lead to the best results.

5. When possible use off holiday paper such as Valentine hearts or perhaps newspapers (the comics are especially wonderful) or the illustrated pages of kids books you can find in thrift stores that have been colored on and "slightly used". The tackier these presents look, the better off you are in the end. If the person is into comic books, it is always a good idea to buy one they've really been wanting and use the pages to wrap a cheap dollar store gift. It will warm them to the core.

Your end results should be similar to this:

December 23, 2009

i'm dreaming of a white trash christmas

16 oz. peanut butter
6 oz. semisweet chocolate chips
1 stick butter
12 oz rice chex or golden grahams cereal
16 oz dry roasted nuts or substitute
15 oz raisins
1 box 10x confectioners' sugar
1 white plastic trash bag.

melt butter, peanut butter, and chocolate together on low heat stirring frequently until creamy. mix cereal, raisins, and nuts in large pan. pour creamy mixture over dry mix and toss gently to coat. pour confectioners' sugar into trash bag then add mixture. close the bag, shake until coated and eat your trash. merry my ass is going to spread holidays.

Internet Dating for the Fearless

If you drive about a mile or so from my yard, you'll pass the pleasant stench of a dairy farm. It's devastatingly rural in these here parts which makes it insanely hard to meet anyone. In fact, I'm having a sign made for me to wear when I venture into town for supplies. It's going to read:


(my tits are big enough that wearing such a long statement is, in fact, conceivable)

However, considering the small percentage of people who are actually literate around here, I don't really know how much good it's actually going to do me. What I'm left with then is the wonderful world of Internet dating. Men (and sometimes women) who would never dare talk to me in a public place will say any and every thing imaginable when able to hide behind a computer screen. All women who spend any time on the Internet know this. It's not news. However, I do manage to find a diamond in the rough from time to time, thank fuck. Usually between a couple messages and a bit of texting, I can figure out who's good to meet and who would be a waste of my time. Alas, I am not perfect by any stretch of the imagination and so sometimes, I misjudge or perhaps my desire to get laid overrides my good sensibilities. It's highly likely that it's the latter. I'm an honest girl.

It's rare that I actually consider a whole Ted Bundy kind of deal. The actual occurrence of such a psychopath is really very rare. I travel long distances alone. I'm used to being on my own and I really don't pay attention to the fact that being female is supposed to make me more vulnerable. So, I meet whoever I see fit. eh.

I met Mike on an online dating sight. 99% of the people I end up meeting contact me first. Rarely do I actually read a profile or see someone and make the first move, but such was the case with this one. He was cute. He lived nearby in Tallahassee. He didn't seem too dim, so I wrote him a condescending email about the picture he had of his vehicle on his profile. He took it in stride and messaged me back. I gave him my number, we text over the weekend, and I asked him to meet me in a park that Monday evening.

He agreed. Smart boy.

We met up at the park as arranged. He looked like his pics. Even cuter I guess. He made me laugh some. We talked about tattoos and music since he plays the drums. Musicians are always wicked hot, no? He had shitty tattoos but fuck it. I got a rundown on the fact that he'd been in a motocross accident which almost ripped his arm off. nasty scars. discussion of pain treatment following description of the injuries started setting off red flags. but...what do i know about long term pain? i figured, for the time being, i'd give him the benefit of the doubt.

this very gorgeous park has a train trussel running right over the lake. i love it. rephrase: i love looking at it. the scenery is yay. however, this buffoon drags me up to said tracks and we cross over like something out of the fucking lost boys. i totally caved to the peer pressure and eased my way across holding onto him with one hand and carrying my heels in the other. not as romantic as it sounds. trust me. he did help me down the other side so i wouldn't bust my ass...hand on my waist and all that. somehow images of being squished by an oncoming train sort of ruined the warmth of the moment. i heard a car horn and nearly peed myself halfway over the fucker. i kid not. not quite a red flag...but certainly not helpful.

we sat in his truck and talked for a bit. i found out he'd just gotten out of REHAB when he moved to this area. he was living with his aunt. he bowled on a seniors league every wed night. i help death row offenders, you know, so rehab is not a big shocker. i try not to judge, but rehab and a senior bowling team? oh no. red flag 2.

we made a store run really quick for candy and drinks. then headed back to the park. we got out and headed back through a wooded area to a table. i caught up to him and pulled him in for a kiss. i have no shame. i mean, he was cute and my mood is always improved by candy. we went back to his truck for music and ahem talking.... now... during all the time we were texting and shit, we talked metal. i like metal. he text that he had no rap on his ipod like it was some sort of golden ticket. i start looking through said ipod. i'm sure you can guess what i found. lots of rap. no big deal if that's what you like... i'm not that sort of dickhead music nazi, but be honest about what you like, you know? flag number 3.

we made out some more and he made a joke like a lot of guys do about serial killers on the internet and i joked back. i always do. it alleviates some of the tension that comes with meeting someone on the freako internet. unless you take the joke too far. he took the joke way too far and i sort of got this little naggy feeling saying 'hey,' but he's also a splendid kisser so i ignored it. then that fucker put on a song--mid make out session--by eminem about strangling a girl and whatnot. he sort of sang along. it all made me quite uncomfortable and i just sort of looked at him oddly.

"i'm kidding! for real, j. kidding. seriously. i'm sorry if i took the joke too far, girl."

red flags were flying all around at that point.

okay so i blew him in the back of the truck anyway. i figured if i was going to die, i'd at least have some fun first.

Guaranteed Ways to Get in her Panties Now!!

so you've met a foxy lady on the wonderful world wide web and really want to make sure you get to meet her? well, i have some tips and tricks for you that will ensure your success in meeting the little lass as well as working your way right into her petticoats or thongs...whatever the slut's wearing.

1. Just to avoid any confusion later, be sure to always ask right at the start of your interactions, "so, do you like anal?" because that's always the first thing a girl wants to talk shoving something up her ass before you even know her name. to ensure a fast meetup, ask her to spread her cheeks in front of the bathroom mirror and take pics of her asshole for you. quickest way to a girl's heart? yep. you all know it already....through her asshole.

2. ask for her bra size. i mean, because we all know that knowing a 2 digit number and a letter will determine whether or not her tits are nice. so what if she's already sent you pics of her topless 47 still need to have that fucking size, buddy.

3. be sure to ask the following, "the question is, baby, are you sure you can handle this dick?" she'll be a bit flustered at your manliness, but she'll absolutely say, "you know i can. every inch." at this point, you should remind her, "yo, i been dicking ladies since i was 10. i got mad skillz, so i hope you prepared to get FUCKED." I'm tingling just thinking about such an exchange.

4. describe your going down skills in graphic detail including the fact that you can keep your tongue working her for hours...because we always believe that and we always fall for it even though it's really not what we want in a sexual encounter. once you promise all those hours of the same thing, you change our minds about that whole needing dick thing. all of a sudden, we just need you to eat us all night long.

5. after she gets ready for you two to go out, look at her with puppy dog eyes and say, "wow, you look great tonight, babe. almost worth the 45 minutes you spent getting ready."

6. if possible, show up with hickeys on your neck. if need be, use the vaccuum cleaner to give yourself some. women thrive on jealousy and love for you to make them compete for your affections.

7. do talk about your time in prison while you two are at dinner. joke about murdering her or tossing her body out to the alligators. that will surely get her panties wet. it is more than appropriate to sing song lyrics to her detailing rape, murder, and mayhem. instill a little fear in her. we totally dig men that scare the piss out of us.

8. it's always wise to discuss your drug habits as well. it's like a 3 punch combo--be an asshole, have a criminal record, have a drug problem. It's irresistable. If you don't have one of the components of this combo, simply lie. Fabrication is acceptable.

9. Once you two are making out heavily, look at her, sigh a little, and say, "god you look just like my ex." She'll look wary for a minute, so at this point you should say, " oh but, you know, way better."

10. after you blow your wad down her throat, refuse to kiss her until she brushes her teeth. this will drive her wild and will definitely get her to part her knees. this right here truly is your golden ticket to pussyville.
December 22, 2009

Female to English Dictionary Part 1

I think we've all realized at some point that even when men and women technically speak the same language, we don't. We don't get each other. We don't use the same phrases to mean the same things. We are totally clueless when it comes to breaking down that code, too.... so to make it a bit easier, or not, here are some exact definitions of the female language.

  • I don't care. Do whatever you what. (declarative statement indicating possible future harm). Meaning: A.) I'm done with this conversation and for all I care, you can die. B.) If you really do whatever it is you want to do, I will deny you sex for as long as I can stand it. C.) Make the right choice. As in, do what I think is best for you because obviously you have no clue.
  • Not tonight, baby. I am tired/have a headache/have to get up early/feel like I'm going to vomit/etc. (untrue statement indicating lack of enthusiasm for your genitals). Meaning: A.) Your bore me and I'd have a better time masturbating in the shower in the morning. B.) I'm pissed off at you and have chosen denial of sex as punishment (note-this is never true for girls like me. i'd be punishing myself more than you. i'd never want to cause myself more harm than you). C.) I'm pissed off enough that I'd rather blow the smelly bum down the street that get anywhere near you right now unless I plan on helping you bond with John Bobbit.
  • I need to go on a diet. (loaded question). Meaning: A.) Do I need to lose a few pounds? B.) You find me repulsive don't you? There is no successful approach to answering these questions. The truth pisses us off and we can always smell a lie. And, come on... let's face it. If we're asking, then yes, our fat ass needs to go on a diet. (protective, untruthful statement). Meaning: I think you're getting chubby. I'm not as attracted to you and you really can't stand to lose any inches off your cock by gaining more weight, so rather than hurt your feelings since you're such a fucking woman about shit, I'm putting the whole house on a diet.
  • I love your mom!!! She is such a character! (outright lie). Meaning: A.) I'd love to stab that black hearted bitch in the eye with the biggest knife I can get my hands on rather than get another contrite look from her across the dinner table. B.) I could probably actually get along with the demon who spawned you if only she were mute.
  • It's not small! It's really a good size. (inside joke of which you are not a party). Meaning: A.) HAHAHAHAHAHAHA. HA. oh my god. HAHAHAHA. B.) You used to be so much hotter. Then you took your pants off. C.) I knew I shouldn't have bought that huge of a dildo....

lessons on love

"THERE YOU ARE!!!!!!!!" she squeals and runs down to my end of the counter. "How ARE you?" she asks like i haven't seen her in ages. In actuality, we just spoke a couple days before. Even though i know this is all fake for my benefit, i still like all the excitement over little ol' me.

"I'm good"

"well, you look good. i think i'm going to die. i can't breathe. ugh. my face is just packed full of mucus. it hurts. am i talking too loud? i can't hear. i'm just full of it. i'm not really crazy," she laughs. i laugh, too. i'm not sure what's funny, but she is definitely crazy and i am going to humor her. i always do. "tell me something. what can i take to keep me from dying?"

"claritin d is probably your best bet. anything with sudafed really."

"i've got that. my boyfriend's out there waiting on me. oh who cares? let him wait. he loves me. he's rich."

this woman is 52. she dyes her hair black. she's wearing a shirt with elephants on it that even my grandma wouldn't put on. her hair isn't combed. she says she looks like she's homeless and i agree. i don't tell her that...i tell her she looks fine. then she sticks her tongue out at the pharmacist on duty. "god, what's her problem? is she stuck up or what?"

"no personality," i say. "she was born without one and no one wanted to chance surgery so they left her without."

she laughs. "you're bad," she winks. "ooooh, lookit at all your buttons, i'm going to get some buttons so i can be just like you. 'chick with brains' definitely fits you."

"it's my flair. ever seen that movie officespace? i love it. i have like 19 pieces i think. see this one?" i show her the blue one on my lab coat lapel that says "you know, there's a pill for that" she laughs and asks where i get them from. i lean in conspiratorially and in an almost whisper, "i got that one in a sex shop."

"i went to one of those last night! with my boyfriend! oh my god. i can't tell you in front of everyone. what kind of music do you listen to? name some of your bands. i want to listen to what you listen to and get buttons and be just like you."

"baroness is my favorite right now."

"my son loves them."

"he knows baroness?"

"he knows them all."

"you should bring him up here so we can talk music"

"i'll do that. how old are you?"


"god, i'm old enough to be your grandmother. but at least i don't act 52. you're my favorite up here. this is like a social occasion for me. this is better than church."

i laugh. this is actually funny to me. she pays for her medicine and uses the restroom then returns.

"at the sex shop, i bought something that goes (she lowers her voice) in your ass. i didn't pay for it. he picked it out. i've never done anything like that before but boy was it fun."

i really laugh at this. i love random crazy person shit.

"what else do you listen to?"

i show her my janis joplin flair.

"oh my god! i have her biography. i've read it a hundred times. have you read it? it's sooooo good."

"no, never have."

"i'll bring you my copy. i've had it since i was 17. it'll be a christmas present."

"oh awesome. i'll love that."

"you know, you're a bright girl. and i'm intelligent. obviously. i like that you do your own thing. intelligent people are eccentric aren't they? i'm not crazy....just eccentric."

i agree with her... intelligent people often do have an eccentric streak and that's fine. she's not a stupid woman by any stretch of the imagination. she is, however, a bit more than eccentric. i like her some days. some days it's too much.

"my boyfriend's waiting. i should get out there to him before he breaks up with me. listen, honey... divorce was good for you. everyone should get married and divorced once. it builds character. teaches you a lot of lessons." i nod in agreement. "but if you ever get remarried or anything, you shouldn't...and i'm not gay. i'm bi is the rumor and i don't mind that rumor, but if you ever get remarried, i hope you know that love won't get you through. first of all, make sure he has lots of money. my boyfriend is loaded (i laugh here mostly because she does NOT look like her boyfriend is loaded unless by loaded she means fucked up). second of all, never forget that first thing i told you. money." she laughs and i join in. this shit is priceless.

she really sent me the book.

i think i'm gonna take her out one day just to see what happens.

and it begins

well, well, well...

here we are.

this is the start. i almost feel like i should apologize ahead of time.


about me. not really.

dear you,

i don't talk about my child or being a mom. i don't talk about my garden. i won't mention my craftiness (often) or how much i save each week with coupons. if you're looking for that sort of thing, you're in the wrong place.

instead, let's abandon the tethers of domestication for a moment and remember what it's like to laugh at vulgarity and the world at large.



talk amongst ourselves

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