Friday, March 14, 2008


Tonight, I went to a St. Patrick's Day party at the house of the man with flat feet.

I went because of the gossipy rumors that surround this man and his bobble head girlfriend whom most of us dislike for her snideness at the rest of us for having the privilege of living with him and supporting him at the same time. She is in her very late 30's, close to 40 and he is just 29.

Anyway, the point is, much of these get togethers with these people are the same-drink, drink, drink.

I sat there and was served four differing green drinks, which after the sip of the first, the alchohol could have pickled me just fine if I was dead.

I was dressed very casually in a black sweat suit adorned with fake diamonds along my hips and down the front of the top along both zipper runs with a dangling silver star- and also having silver stars dangling from the zippers on ass pockets. It was, of course, in conservative silver adorned taste.

I haphazardly put on some foundation with an almost fleshy colored pink cream eyeshadow with a palish pink Dior lipstick.

My hair is slightly curled, but it was not holding the tiny curls I made with the tiny slender curling iron, despite being shellacked with hairspray.

The length of my hair is now almost past my ass, and because of the winter, it is either china girl straight to a certain extent or thick with long waves running throughout. Tonight it was thick.

I wore it much like Morticia Adams, parted in the middle, and it naturally made the waves around my forehead and face before it cascades down past my bosom to my hips.

Upon arrival at the house, drink was in full swing. I said my greetings and decided to grab a plate of corned beef that was sliced veil thick, a wedge of cabbage and split boiled red potatoes. I dolloped spicy mustard on the side. I was drinking a diet coke with ice that made the soda taste not so good.

As I was picking up a plastic white dinner plate, this man, who had on those sleek geeky glasses being worn by the NYC types, who has a head of completely white hair with some sort of weird ass spikes on top, decides he will speak with me.

How I despise a man who decides to flirt with you while you are piling food on your plate.

The un-artful requests for an introduction makes me want to gag. He looked gay to me, but his flirting was making it an odd combination. He was not very tall and slender. Not my type.

I respond to his request for an introduction in the blandest manner I can muster because my host is near, and he jumps into introducing us by getting up to make the introduction that was already accomplished.

I managed to get away because Trudy, the mother of my host, approached and we were happy to see each other, like two school girls.

Throughout the night, this wimpy guy, believing himself dashing and debonair, would saunter over to me to "toast" my drink, or say hello. I was managing quite nicely to avoid him.

When Trudy and her husband were leaving, I decided to depart as well.

The wimpy guy comes over and re-asks me my name. He had already questioned where I lived and announced we lived close to each other. I corrected him by pointing out that he was not listening to what I said, since we did not live near each other. He attempted for the third time that night to converse with me by stating that I looked so familiar to him. He switched gears and asked me what I did for a living. I told him and he believed he automatically could use my services.

By this time, Trudy and the bobble head noticed the imposition but viewed it as an opportunity for encouragement. They did their best to endear him to me, which required zero effort and when they realized this, they attempted to make me import interest to him.

I told him I had to leave and get my coat.

He was persistent. For the second time that night he complimented my hair and stated it would be hard to forget the mane I sport. I cringed. And, as usual, I laughed so I did not have to respond at all.

"And now that I have seen your smile, it is something I cannot forget" he offered as he observed me put on my coat.

I wished right then and there I had a puke pot handy.

Ignoring him, I headed out the door in relief, hoping I would not see him ever again.

Two Faced

This is the face of a baby born in India who is now being worshipped as a "god" because of the duality of her appearance.

You can read the story here on Fox News.

I wonder if all her eyes can see, if both her noses inhale for her and if she can use both mouths.

Thursday, March 13, 2008


Ok, another gym post, but it is because I can't stand these two.

I look at them and I think freaking ass waifs. They are young, probably under 20. One is chunkier than the other, in a jock-ish sort of way who always has an almost severe pony tail she sports. The other, the more slender and feminate, wears her hair in different hair do's depending on which machine she is working, so it ranges from drippy down to oh so thrown together in a pony tail bun-you know the kind, you start to make a bun and then pull a long tail out of its middle and leave it there.

These two can't exercise unless they share machines, and trade off while talking like idiots. If they were talking trash, maybe I would be mildly entertained. But they don't.

While the jock-ish one exercises with more vigor, the slender one prefers to twirl her hair between her fingers, because at this time she is not actually on a machine; she is usually near one or leaning on one, while she profers her pearls of wisdom or is receiving them from the jock-ish one.

They have the most annoying habit of stopping in the middle of using the machines to contemplate what jewel of information the other may have just imparted to them. They both do it; and they would do themselves much good if they could produce and process information that does not make them look up for a while and then roll their eyes trying to figure out what was just told to them.

So while this is all going on, it interrupts my routine because I cannot do the circuit in the order I would like. When I go out of order, then they end up going out of order and it goes on and on, with each of them following the other with hair twirling and in depth conversation only those two nitwits can sustain.

Earlier tonight, they became my workout buddies. They were everywhere, in unison. When they were not chatting with each other, one would work the machine and the other would stand guard like a moronic statuette with the blank stare.

Finally one of them realized the spinning class was starting without them.

Oh, the joy of such small miracles.

Toilet Trouble

I cannot believe this news item from today. I just can't. I posted the story below. You can find the story here.

Who the hell can sit on a toilet for TWO, not one, but two YEARS? And her ass skin grew around the toilet seat. AND her boyfriend brought her food and water for two years like it was normal, before deciding to call the police to pry her and the toilet seat out of the bathroom.

And the neighbor, was not surprised. Why? I can't get over why she never left the toilet to begin with and how she still had a boyfriend who accomodated her.

The stench must have been unbearable.

I wonder if she and the boyfriend had any kind of sex. Yeah, that is what I thought. Eww.

Up Date: They lived in a trailer; the Sheriff now assumes they both had diminished capacity even though the boyfriend worked in an antique store ( the irony: trailer dweller selling antiques) and wants to charge him with mistreatment of a dependent adult. You can read it here.


Kansas Police: Woman Pried From Boyfriend's Toilet After Sitting on It for 2 Years

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

Deputies say a woman in western Kansas became stuck on her boyfriend's toilet after sitting on it for two years.

Ness County Sheriff Bryan Whipple said it appeared the 35-year-old Ness City woman's skin had grown around the seat. She initially refused emergency medical services but was finally convinced by responders and her boyfriend that she needed to be checked out at a hospital.

"We pried the toilet seat off with a pry bar and the seat went with her to the hospital," Whipple said. "The hospital removed it."

Whipple said investigators planned to present their report Wednesday to the county attorney, who will determine whether any charges should be filed against the woman's 36-year-old boyfriend.

"She was not glued. She was not tied. She was just physically stuck by her body," Whipple said. "It is hard to imagine. ... I still have a hard time imagining it myself."

He told investigators he brought his girlfriend food and water, and asked her every day to come out of the bathroom.

"And her reply would be, `Maybe tomorrow,"' Whipple said. "According to him, she did not want to leave the bathroom."

The boyfriend called police on Feb. 27 to report that "there was something wrong with his girlfriend," Whipple said, adding that he never explained why it took him two years to call.

Police found the clothed woman sitting on the toilet, her sweat pants down to her mid-thigh. She was "somewhat disoriented," and her legs looked like they had atrophied, Whipple said.

"She said that she didn't need any help, that she was OK and did not want to leave," he said.

She was taken to a hospital in Wichita, about 150 miles southeast of Ness City. Whipple said she has refused to cooperate with medical providers or law enforcement investigators.

Authorities said they did not know if she was mentally or physically disabled.

Police have declined to release the couple's names, but the house where authorities say the incident happened is listed in public records as the residence of Kory McFarren. No one answered his home phone number.

The case has been the buzz Ness City, said James Ellis, a neighbor.

"I don't think anybody can make any sense out of it," he said.

Ellis said he had known the woman since she was a child but that he had not seen her for at least six years.

He said she had a tough childhood after her mother died at a young age and apparently was usually kept inside the house as she grew up. At one time the woman worked for a long-term care facility, he said, but he did not know what kind of work she did there.

"It really doesn't surprise me," Ellis said of the bathroom incident. "What surprises me is somebody wasn't called in a bit earlier."

Monday, March 10, 2008

Gym People

Being a member of the gym, club or whatever you call that sweaty establishment has disgusted me.

Yes, I hate going. Yes, I hate the damned sweating. Yes, I hate that the damned place is never cold in the summer or hot in the winter, but what I hate more, and yes hate is a strong word, but I use it often and loosely, regardless, is the gym people.

Yeah, that is what I call them. They make me sick.

When you go often enough as I have managed as of late, there are the annoying regulars.

One in particular is this lady. I cannot tell her age, but she is most likely 55 or older. I don't think she knows it either, which is OK, but she does absolutely nothing to help herself.

I am an irregular attender of the gym and she is there more often when I show up than not.

I can't tell if she had a bad tan (it is winter, I know), a bad dye job substituting for a tan, or that is her real skin color. She makes it worse by wearing dark blue and black. It makes her look darker. She wears shorts so you can get a good look at her almost slender, bumpy thighs. Her hair is coarse and straw like, not good qualities when your hair is a deeper black than India Ink.

But the worst indescretions occurs in the ladies' locker room. She walks around naked.

Can I go to the sink to wash off the sweat that was pouring from me after 30-40 minutes of doing the arc trainer? Yes, I can, but as soon as I look into the mirror, there she is bent over, naked, with her boobs swinging. I mean those suckers have got to be real, they jiggle like jello while pointing straight down. I guess it was important to be bent over once you get out of the shower and have to crouch in the shower aisle.

Today, I walked in after the arc trainer and there she is, reaching up for something on the wall, naked, now with her boobs, which of course where a different color than the rest of her, sticking straight out and looking like a tiny cone.

I don't know if I can handle being grossed out on every gym day.

Modesty is certainly lacking in the locker room and I feel captive, not being able to do anything about it at all.

Today my concerns where dwarfed by a severely overweight from the waist down woman with a delicate and tiny head. She was shellacking her hair in order to go and languish on the tread mill.


Sunday, March 2, 2008

Liar, Liar Pants on Fire

Ah. It is Sunday. I am tired, as usual. So I rose and made myself a tea how I like it-without sugar and a dollop of skim.

Checking the RSS feeds to see who updated what and wondering why am I reading the ridiculous blog of a Pioneer Woman, I carouse around the news sites.

Apparently I am a liar. Did not know it, either. What I read on the internet was pretty stupid in itself and probably an age old debate: women are liars. And it is written by a woman as if it would gloss over.

So, we lie about everything, what we spend, our infidelity, our bad mothering, and about how smart our kids are. See the pattern? The focus of lying stems for being married.

And to balance out the debate, men are also liars, but only because they want to assure that in terms of sex, the bird in the hand won't leave
because of the bird in the bush, marriage not being a factor in the least.
Lying is something that is as pervasive among us as the air we breathe, unfortunately. We have all lied and been lied to, but not all lies make us a liar. The rigidity of the standard is what perplexes most and puts the rest of us into the pot. Some people preferred to be lied to and there others who speak the mean truth regardless of its effect.

To be sure, to not tell a lie would make us a social outcast for no one would want to be around us reminding them of their faults. To never lie would cause an injustice to those who need it most, and to not agree with that concept would also lend approval to the slavery of the south or the Holocaust.

So when is a lie a lie? I don't know. The complexity for me lies in it's application.