My Christmas List I am asking Santa (AKA Dad) for one thing this year.... One simple thing.

All I want this year is a Fairy God Mother.

Granted, the woman will have her work cut out for her- so she will probably have to be a well paid fairy god mother. But I am sure that since my father is Santa Claus, this can be arranged.

So when I get my fairy god mother, the woman will need a list of things to do, so she can be efficient.... So for your reading pleasure- I have written one. The list is as follows.

1) Clean my bedroom, posthaste.

2) Reorganize my thought pattern and make it slightly more sensible.

3) Place hexes on a few certain people who cause me greif over and over and over again.

4) Fix it to where I get free downloads from ITunes. Forever.

5) Quadruple my costume jewelry collection

6) Create a toe nail polish that judges the colors you are wearing, and changes to match perfectly

7) Repaint the walls that I have scuffed up.

8) Install a rotating shoe rack filled with the seasons finest.

9) Brush my teeth for me, after I fall asleep- (I find brushing your teeth at night quite mundane)

10) Drive me to and from school daily.

11) Create my very own personal barrell of whiskey.

12) Build and manage an idiots jail- in which I decide who gets locked up and for how long...


And after she is done with my list, I think I will share my fairy god mother. I will loan my fairy god mother to June twice a week, because I love her. I shall allow FGM to conjure up a new woman for Styles to rail... and I shall allow the FGM to conjure up a personal assistant for the Scotty Pants- so he has more time to be less productive.

Who knows where one can get a Fairy Godmother? Do they have them for hire on Monster.com?  ¶ 11:54 PM 1 comments

  Santa Claus is coming to town. I have an announcement to make:

My father thinks he is Santa Claus. Nay nay, My father is Santa Claus.

My dad is a jolly man, with a large belly, and hair as white as the snow. Christmas is something that the man has never taken lightly. I always thought that it was normal to have wooden cut outs of Santa, Ms. Claus, the sleigh, nine reindeer, a toy house, and two elves in your yard... I also thought that it was normal to own every ornament that Hallmark has produced over the years. Hell, I even thought it was normal for LGB trains to be running through your house through the holiday season. The years flew by, and his christmas addiction got worse, he expanded my cozy little department 56 village from 14 homes to a city of ninety one pieces. His christmas CD collection now takes up a 200 disc CD changer... and I kid you not, they broke an artificial tree because they overweighted it with ornaments. We don't just have one avent calendar for our household.... We have one for every room. And how many tubs of christmas adornments do we have? Honestly, probably 40... Maybe more. We have two attics and an outdoor shed devoted to the season.

Why- you may ask do I think my father is Santa?

The evidence is simple, since childhood- it is my belief that he was in training to be Santa. Since these jobs are hard to come by, he has always blended into corporate america.... And then he got his chance. The dad got a job offer in Virginia (which I now know to be a cover for his true work location of The North Pole) in which he has several employees (also known as elves) at his disposal. How are they all paid you ask? The state of Virginia has kindly agreed to pick up the tab, and they call Santa's workshop 'Virginia Museum of Natural History.'

My father has made a few changes to the Santa regime... He has traded his Sleigh in for a Crown Victoria (no worries- it has a police cruiser package so he will still be able to make it around the world in one night.) and since reindeer are quite irritable creatures, and he really doesn't need them to pull the crown vic... He has nine tiny dauchunds... Also- just so you know, my father prefers hot tea to hot cocoa. So when you are leaving the christmas snacks out- a tea bag of Earl Grey and some home made cookies will be just fine.

So, now you know. My father is Santa Claus. You can leave your wishlists in the comment box, and I will be sure to pass it on to the big man himself.  ¶ 11:48 PM 2 comments

  Sometimes I just need a little support. I know that I am the rock for most people in my life. I know that I don't really cry- and if I am crying it is generally best to step out of my tyranical path. I know that I don't show emotion in a manner most people see fit. I don't feel comfortable being weak, and so I put on the bravest face I can in all situations. I know all of this, and until recently I thought that the people closest to me understood that about me.

The funny thing about me is that I don't trust most people, I really don't. When I decide to trust someone, I invest in them. I give them all that I can, because I trust them, and I trust that they won't hurt me.

Yesterday, someone I have trusted since infancy hurt me. Hurt does not even begin to cover or convey my emotions. I feel like I lost a part of my heart, and my brain. On two occasions today, my eyes welled up with tears- and there I was, crying. Crying because one of those people who should never NEVER hurt me- shattered my feelings. Shattered my heart.

This person has been on a warpath with me lately. I am wrong because I say what I think, I am wrong because I don't support life decisions, I am wrong because I am 'Jaded.'

So how does said person decide to teach me a lesson? Stab me in the back, dispute my life choices, and make me more jaded.

Writing the title to this blog is something that is very diffifult for me to admit. I need support. I need help. I need to be loved.

I know that most of you people out in cyber land have no idea what is going on, or for that matter- what the hell I am talking about. But I guess I just needed to throw out a little 'Truthball of destruction' as
Scotty likes to call it.  ¶ 8:40 PM 3 comments

  Who wants leftovers?!?!?!? Yeah, I don't want any leftovers either... But maybe you want our leftovers...

I am convinced that they inject turkey with something that retards digestion... I am working on proving this theory- but that is for another time and another day.

Today, I will share with you some of the things I am thankful for...

I am thankful for the usual stuff- family (crazy as they may be), a warm home, a tolerable job, and of course Jack Daniels.

I am also thankful for some other stuff, as pictured below.

I am thankful that my hair is no longer red, pink, and orange. Isn't it exotic?!?

I am thankful for my bestest friend in the whole wide world.
(and I am also thankful for the fact that she allows me to steal all of her good pajamas and t shirts :) )

And most of all, I am thankful for the fun that we have together. I am thankful for the crazy things we convince each other to say and do.
I made her this hat to go to work in tomorrow, so if you see someone walking around Highland Park in a Newspaper hat, It is just June. She isn't homeless or crazy... Well, maybe not homeless.

I have also added several vocabulary words to my vocabulary, I know that you all will be thankful that I am retiring some of the old ones. The new ones are as follows:
Abhorrent, abominable, loathsome, unconformable vile, and shameless,

I hope your thanksgiving was as memorable as mine. Maybe by tomorrow I will have digested everything that was offered today.  ¶ 12:15 AM 2 comments

  The early bird gets the worm. That is what they say, but in my case, I am not up to get the proverbial worm- moreover I am up because of these damn nightmares.

For one, my hair got into an argument with some very red hair color and thus... The hair color won. Some of the hair troops tried to hang on, thus getting only partially beaten- those are pink and orange. Not to worry, the super hero hairdresser that is June "the bitch" Cleaver shall be rectifying the problem tonight after work. Which means, dear children, that until around 10 PM tonight, I shall be scaring small children. My appologies.

My second nightmare was an actual nightmare. My inner psychee is informing me that I have a stalker on the prowl. So if you folks know of any stalkers that are stalking me, please let them know that my inner psychee is on to them and they can stop.

Today is a day packed full of events, I am supposed to meet Scotty for some light shopping... But seeing as how my hair scares me when I see it in a mirror, the plans will have to be moved to somewhere with less mirrors.

After my outing with the Scott, heigh ho heigh ho it is off to work I go. Always a thrill. I am sure that I will return with interesting stories from the mecca of itallian food.

Then I was supposed to go see RENT, but the hair is far more important, so that will happen instead- thus moving my movie going experience to Turkeyday.

Ya'all have a safe and Happy Thanksgiving. May you eat all that you want tomorrow, and never be popping at the seams full (and never gain a poind.)  ¶ 7:03 AM 1 comments

  Big and Tall I have a daily pondering... Big and Tall stores, are they really only for the portly folk? I frequented one yesterday, and I saw nothing for the Tall and Skinny, but plenty for the short and portly. It is my opinion that the name of the big and tall store is very misleading... Soooooooo WHERE do the exceptionally tall shop?

That is all I have for now, so lets look at our new surroundings. Isn't it beautiful?!? Big ups to champsound!  ¶ 8:31 AM 5 comments

  New Topic In the interest of calming the proverbial sea, I have decided to shift gears midday....

Lets look at my new babies!
Alas, my new brown shoes. Purdy!!!
Alas, my new black shoes. B-E-A-U-tiful
And the apple of my eye, my brand new camel colored pea coat from Banana Republic, that I got for a steal of a 75% off.

Love them, love them as you love me.... They are my babies.  ¶ 11:24 AM 5 comments

  A swiss cheese filter is good enough for me. I am going to piss my brother smooth the fuck off with this one... But he pissed me smooth the fuck off with the 'infinite wisdom' that he offered me last night.

For those of you that have not yet figured it out, I am known for my infamous 'acid tounge and swiss cheese filter' and that basically means I don't hold much back... If I think it, I probably say it. If I say it, I usually mean it. It works for me. I LIKE IT!

Last night, my brother came downstairs, and informed me that I had hurt his former dating associates feelings with some comment that I had left on his blog 127 days ago... And that she had read my blog and I may have hurt her feelings with that too. He then told me that I should "taste my words before I spit them out." And then he told me that he may be able to handle what I say, my mother may be able to handle what I say, June "the bitch" Cleaver may be able to handle what I say, but the rest of the world cannot.

NEWS FLASH: I DON'T CARE!!!!!

If you don't like my commentary, then I suppose you won't be making frequent visits to my blog, But in the interest of fairness, we will take a vote, If you would like to hear all about puppies, kitties, rainbows, and butterflies- you just let me know in the comments section. I will be happy to oblige.  ¶ 8:00 AM 6 comments

  I sold my soul to the devil for a lousy $35, and some gossip. In my way home from the elusive University of North Texas... I stopped by my place of half employment in order to request off for Mark's Christmas Party. Standing there, staring at the schedule with a very perplexed look on his face was my un-boss, AKA the devil. I approach him and say 'Give me December 2nd off.' (just like that, without pleases and thank you's- because he is the devil and I don't feel that he deserves my politeness) and he says "If you will work tonight..." So I did.

What did I get out of this evening? Lets see. I learned to make pretzels out of pizza dough, I reviewed the book '1001 must see movies before you die', I played with my new IPOD, I made a couple of stromboli's (which- shockingly enough- is not the easiest thing one has ever done), I found out that said devil boss's "wife and kid" are not his wife and kid- they are truthfully his girlfriend of three months and her son...

Oh, and I waited on five tables. I made a whopping $35, and found out lots of juicy gossip about my co workers...

What an eventful evening.

For those of you keeping up... Today is the day of the Great American Smoke Out... Wish me luck.  ¶ 7:52 AM 2 comments

  She said it.... I went to dinner with my girl Bobbye last night, and I inspired her to write this:


Cinderella lied to us. There should be a Betty Ford center for girls where they deprogram them by strapping them into an electric chair playing "Someday my Prince Will Come" and hitting them over the head while saying "Nobody's coming, Nobody's coming"
--Kiss My Tiara; Susan Jane Gilman

This entry is for a dear friend of mine.

A friend who married someone who she thought was her prince charming. Someone who helped with household chores, someone who did sweet and thoughtful things for her, someone who showered her with lavish gifts and was everything she ever dreamed of until....

... they got married.

He now does charming things like - bringing her a Cosmo (a magazine no self respecting girl over the age of 16 reads) to brighten her day, giving her Carnations (editors note: only buy a girl carnations if you WANT to see you're $3.24 go down the garbage disposal) to say he's sorry, giving her two containers of Godiva Hot Chocolate at the expense of $20.00 plus shipping from 1800flowers.com for her birthday and.... treating himself to a a trip to Vegas with his guy friends while noting that the two of them had once planned to go there together.

... she's now wondering if the diamonds in her wedding rings are CZ's.

What's sad is that every girl has been there. Every girl grew up watching princess after princess ride off into the sunset with her prince charming. Prince Charming was always handsome, well groomed and chivilrous. He always fell in love with the Princess the instant he saw her and didn't mind a bit about important matters like language barriers (Pocohontus), drug abuse (tell me Sleeping Beauty slept all those years without medicinal aid), socio-economic backgoud differences (Cinderella), cultrual barriers (like the Little Mermaid instantly adapted to life on land away from her family), or questionable past behavior (let's not forget that Snow White lived with SEVEN other men - all at once).

And as for the princesses - they didn't do a thing but patiently wait for their prince to come. They didn't work. (Some of the lesser fortunate princesses had to clean but they were usually assisted by small woodland animals or fairies.) They didn't have to deal with stess (afterall tears are just calling cards for fairy godmothers).They didn't date around to try and find the prince that was best suited for him. They simply watied for the first Prince that happened to come their way. Occasionally they might burst into a song about the Prince (eg: Someday My Prince Will Come), but mostly they just waited.

So as little girs we waited. And waited. And waited. Then the first prince came along. We realized that unlike our childhood idols the first prince wasn't going to do the trick. We kicked Cinderella to the curb and embraced the princess whose name none of us know - the princess who kissed the frog that turned into a prince.

So we started kissing frogs. We lived by the motto "if at first you don't suceed try, try again".

The problem is that most of us keep trying with the same frog. We're determined that this frog is our prince.

But he is not your frog. He is in fact, from hell. So in order to make you feel you feel better, I will take you to the Pink Mexican Food Restaurant. Because we all know that no one feels more like a princess than when she's surrounded by pink. -Bobbye

Sometimes you need a champion of the cause... Sometimes you just need for someone to be just as enraged as you... And for that I say thank you to my dear friend Bobbye, thanks for the evening of pink... And thank you for pointing out that Prince Charming is... dead.  ¶ 2:32 PM 3 comments

  Family For the last day of my birthday celebration, I will share with you the greatest gift that I have ever recieved for any birthday- ever.

The gift: My family.

I was born into the typical American Family. A mom, a dad, my big brother, and then there was me.

My mom is the best, she was always at our annoying children events (gymnastics, football, ballet, whatever...) and now that we are all grown up, she allows our weirdness, and laughs at it. She is not without her quarks- but that is what makes her so amusing. We have all of these patio glasses that we drink out of on a daily basis... They are the full gammett of colors- blue, pink, yellow, clear, green, and the elusive purple. The woman loves her purple glass, and since there is only one of them- you best not be caught with your beverage in it... That is HER purple glass. Know it. Love it. It is hilarious.

My dad- oh my dad. When we were little, he was the man in charge of making lunches, cooking dinner, and getting us to and from school. You could always count on a Lunchable or a PB and J sandwich that had so much peanutbutter on it, you would choke after one bite... And for dinner, two words would send us kids running- not to the table- but out the door and into the woods... "Clay Pot." My father loved to cook in this dreaded clay pot. He would throw all kinds of shit in there and bake it for, oh, six hours... When that thing came out of the oven, it definately was not recognizable any more. But we lived, we covered it with ketchup... Lots of Ketchup.

And my brother, oh my brother. My brother is Mister Hairbrained scheme himself. Believe it or not, I am the quiet child. I am the calm one. ((gasp)) This boy has been looking for trouble since he popped out of the womb. He is the man behind so many phrases- including my childhood nickname "reccari" (all one word.) And this is also the boy whom my Uncle used as his personal bartender at the ripe young age of four. Brent would take my uncles glass and have instruction on where to fill the rum and where to fill the coke... And when he got back, he got the old breathalizer (my uncle smelled his breath) to make sure he had not taken a sip. This is also the big brother who said that if I wanted to be in his 'club' I had to crawl across the concrete on my hands and knees... Did I mention that the concrete had a plethora of broken bottles all over it? Yep. Got ten stitches from that adventure and I didn't ever rat him out until a couple of months ago. I am such a good sister.

So happy last day of my birthday celebration to me... Thank god I come from such an awesome family.

On another note- Go visit Scotty Pants's blog. I guest blogged for him and I want some damn comments!  ¶ 9:54 AM 0 comments

  And now for a trivial rant by yours truly... I just threw away the pumpkin that the brother had carved for Haloween.... Yeah, I know, repugnant that it was out until today, but that is just the way we roll around here sometimes.

But who had the genius idea that it was fun and festive to cut faces into a piece of fruit?!? Then, I would like to know who had the idea that we should display them for all to see?!? Then, we must leave them to get all mushy and moldy- WHY?!? OH WHY?!?

I must state that this 'throw the rotting pumpkin away' experience was not as truly stomach turning than the last time... Last time I carved a lovely pumpkin in Florida, with a witch flying over the moon. In Florida, pumpkins rot in two seconds flat due to the high humidity and heat... So I think it had been on our porch for two days when gnats started swarming around the rotting orange fruit that we decided to cut up.... We left it there for another week or two, waiting for the gnats to go away, they never did. So we had to trek from the back of the apartment complex all the way to the dumpster with gnats accompanying us the whole damn way. It was FOUL.

And now for a trivial thought by yours truly:
Why is it that I bother eating organic food when I go out and partake in the spirits on the weekends? I wonder why no one makes organic whiskey...??? Maybe I shall be the one to make an organic distillery- I wonder if there is a market for that...  ¶ 12:01 AM 3 comments

  Sick of Me yet?!? Two days left of birthday celebrations.... So today, I will tell you of the fun of Saturday Night... Then I will share a couple of pictures with you.

Saturday evening- We had dinner at The Cheesecake Factory and then went to Urban Cowboy. Drunken Debachery does not even begin to cover it. From our configurations, June and I had about one bottle of white wine, 2 Jack and Diets, 2 shots of Jose, 3 beers, 1 shot of Southern Comfort, and 1 buttery nipple... Each. Note that there will be no pictures, because we were too drunk to work a digital camera. Ace going to us.

Highlights of the night include meeting the Mysterious Bryan, hearing EYB play, seeing all of my former sorority sisters, and copious amouts of fun.. Lowlights of the night include drunken dialies, hanging out with a hairless wonder (which I dont remember- but SOME people won't let me forget), and the fact that I thought I was going to have my feet amputated the next day.

But oh, sweeeeeeeet jesus, were we drunk. I know we took a cab to get home, but I don't remember the car ride. I remember leaving the bar, and then I remember waking up with June "the bitch" Cleaver- all cuddled up on the couch. Which was weired. But whatever. We are weired.

This is the cake that my mommy made me:


And this is the Brother and June:

(P.S.- I am taking votes on whether the brother should shave his face... Feel Free to weigh in.)

AND I got an I pod nano, cool IPOD accessories, and a CHI iron for my birthday!!!!!!!!!!!! Yay!!!!!  ¶ 1:31 PM 4 comments

  Sunday Funday Two Score and four years ago, in the weee hours of the mornin' I made my debut... On Friday, November the 13th.... That explains a lot.

My mother, AKA The Incredible Hulkette, and her obscene pain tolerance (that has gotten her through a perforated ulcer that was allowing stomach acid to dump on her internal organs while she was complaining of a "twinge" in in her stomach..) were pressed to the test. I was born back labor breech, the doc reached up into my mother to turn me around, and I turned back around- all of this with only a mere shot of demerol.

In my little acrobatic stunt, I managed to wrap the cord around my neck- No worries, I have hulkette genes.

I was a little shit even before I was born, and had the parents thinkin' they were getting a boy. My name was supposed to be Scott. And then I arrived- debuting as the Diva Extroidinaire.... Causing my father to leave my mother at the hospital well after checkout time, because he and my Francie (grandma) were dousing everything that stood still in pink eyelit fabric- so it would be adequately decorated for all that is me.

And twenty four years have passed, and it is still the same as it was all that time ago. Happy Birthday to me.  ¶ 11:50 AM 1 comments

  ...You cannot relive the past--- but you can damn sure try The birthday celebration kicked off last night with a bang.

I went to meet an old friend for drinks up in Denton after working with Giz Master Zero (Thanks Bryan!!!!)- and man did I deserve those beverages.

I finished the monotanous task that I call work-- got my bag 'o magic-- and slinked into the bathroom to begin the metamorphasis from waitress at local itallian dive to diva extroidanaire.

I emerged from the bathroom looking splendid, smelling like a rose (or J'Adore) and with every last hair in place. GMZ saw me and his jaw dropped. He was speechless. I gave a non chalante good bye and headed out.

I met the old school frat boys at the Denton Dive, and drank only like the old school boys know how...
Jagermeister (Jager blasters to be exact), and beer, lots of beer, lots and lots of beer. And a little whiskey
to top it off.

And the drunkenness ensued- And the fucked up frat boy compliments followed (from a frat boy nicknamed fat chad 'hey, you have nice tits, have I ever seen them?' me: "No." him: 'I would like to sleep between them tonight if you will let me' Me: 'No.')

Good times.

But this morning, my voice resembles an eighty year old who picked up the cigarettes at the ripe young age of five and has not put them down yet...

Which brings me to my next point:

My Birthday present to myself. I will be ceasing smoking on November 17th (The day of the Great American Smokeout)

So wish me luck, give me support, and pardon my bitchiness.  ¶ 2:57 PM 3 comments

  Let the obnoxious behavior begin. Today, Thursday November 10 begins my week of birthday celebration...

The executive decree has been issued that my birthday is more important than one simple day, and in order to pay homage to all that is me, I have decided to stretch the celebration to seven glorious days.

So today is the day that the fun begins... It will end on Wednesday, November 16.

For those of you keeping up, The actual arrival date of me was November 13, one score and four years ago.

The story of my birth will be saved for tomorrow... I know, the anticipation is killing you.

Here are the plans so far:
Today- I have to work with the 'most unpleasant'(Sidebar- I am looking for a heinous nickname for the 'most unpleasant'-- suggestions would be greatly appreciated), but in order to make the event more... eventful... I have come up with a series of rude things to work into the conversation. I am such a bitch. After work, I will begin the celebration with a pitcher of beer and an old amigo.

Tomorrow- Birthday Lunch with an old friend.

Saturday- The day of most importance. Dinner at 'The Cheesecake Factory' and then off to 'Urban Cowboy' to hear my favorite Texas band... Ya'all come join us. I plan on rekindeling my love affair with Jose Cuervo.

Sunday- AKA Sunday Funday. Brunch with the family, recovery, and the typical TV (Isn't ABC the best for putting my favorite shows on my birthday?)

Monday- Shopping day. Can't leave the birthday dough sitting in the pocket for too long now can we?!?

Tuesday- Birthday celebrations with Pink Novicaine/Moon Blonde herself at the VELVET HOOKAH! (I've never been, so this is tres exciting for me.)

Wednesday- TBA.

So that is what I have for the high holy week, also referred to as my birthday.  ¶ 9:20 AM 3 comments

  This Girl will sleep with anything. I woke up this morning, and I realized that my bed should be surrounded with caution tape.

I could have died last night- due to the weapons I slept with.

Always, I have my three pillows, my power puff girls blanket, and my remote controls.

Last night, we had a few guests: ten file folders, a roll of stickers, nail clippers, my computer, a pair of scissors, and the most disturbing guest of all: a razor blade. A RAZOR BLADE!!!!!

So while everyone else slept with god knows who in their bed last night, I slept with the Power Puff Girls and a Razor blade.

On the agenda today: remove all weapons from the bed.  ¶ 9:05 AM 1 comments

  Feeling the Ass Spread. OK- Seriously...

I was laying in my bed last night, and I swear I could feel my fat cells getting bigger.

I am serious.

Stop Laughing.

For the past few months, I have been eating high protein cereal bars, lean meat, vegetables, and whole grain shit (AKA cardboard)

A couple of weeks ago, I snapped. If I didn't get some good old fashioned bleached bread product, some high fat cake, and fried food- I thought I was going to lose my mind.

So I ate copious amounts of the previously mentioned food- and it was soooo GOOODDDDDD.

But I swear, I could feel the fat cells engorging last night. So I must say goodbye to the high fat food,

Goodbye old friends.

Hello High protein, high fiber.

Hello Spinach and egg whites.

Hello low fat soy crumbles.

But I will be damned if I am giving up my alcohol.  ¶ 8:39 AM 3 comments

  Because U Love It.... And I did too. What did I do Sunday? What's that you ask? Yes, that was us sitting on the patio of BULI causing a ruccuss, entertaining the masses on Cedar Springs, being way too loud for our own good, and making our coffee event last over four hours.

For those of you not familliar with what the hell I am talking about, in the good old gayberhood, there is a good old coffe shop, and it's good old name is BULI. It is rather entertaining- and this good old girl decided to meet a couple of good old boys in order to partake in non alcoholic beverages. So there we were, Mr. Pants (AKA Scott), Salty Pretzel Twist, and yours truly.

The conversation flowed like alcohol does at a free bar, we all learned something new about one another, and we had a damn blast. So with that, I have decided to create a top ten list from yesterday...

Top Ten Conversation Highlights of Yesterday:

10) Mr. Pants got his play dough taken away from him as a child because he did naughty things to it. OK, really it was because he would lick it to keep the brothers away from it- but the first way I put it was far more entertaining.

9) In order to rectify the lack of playdough in Mr. Pants's life- Salty and I have decided to host a playdough playing, Talk Sex with Sue Johansen watching potluck at The Pants's house.

8) Mr. Pants likes it rough... What, you don't believe me? Just check out the black eye. OK, you caught me again- the black eye was from rugby... Or some rough full contact sport.

7) It is fun to go to the bathroom with Barbie.

6) I learned that if you chose to partake in the whole homo hanky code, it is impairative to stay away from the fur, the maroon, and the ziplock baggies.

5)Salty Pretzel Twist has earned his name of twisted. He came up with some wicked cruelties for his first round of my favorite "Would you rather" game. (His question for the pants was 'would you rather saw off both of your hands with a piano wire or have an all night long orgi with Liberachi and Lawrence Welk- in old age?')

4) The Pants called me a 'Diva extrordinaire' and then decided I was a 'Princess in Training,' which is OH SOOOOOO WRONG!!!

3) The pants met up with an old friend- er- acquaintance...

2) Incedentally, this said 'old acquaintance' had recieved some birthday spankin's from our good old friend on the streets of the gayberhood... (Raise of eyebrows goes here)

and the Number one thing I learned yesterday.....

1)When you put three people who are naturally a bit eclectic together add just a touch of caffiene to the mix, and blend well, and you get entertainment to the maximum.  ¶ 8:43 AM 5 comments

  Every Saturday morning, I feel compelled to fnd a new web site that I cannot live without... I have done it again with the Slogan Generator.

And for your reading pleasure, I will share my slogans, for all of my various alias names.

- Men can't help acting on Ms. S'Ghetti.

-Ms. S'Ghetti is good for you.

-You are in good hands with Ms. S'Ghetti.

-Shake the bottle wake the [Insert birth first name]!

-Naughty, but [Insert birth first, middle, and last name].

And here is one for June:
-The Best Part of Waking Up is June The Bitch Cleaver in Your Cup.

So amusing for me. I hope it is as good for you as it was for me.  ¶ 9:38 AM 1 comments

  My own personal hell. You know, I am fairly certain that if we all had our own personal hell, the night I had would be, say, the sixth ring of hell.

I wait tables every Thursday and Friday night at this little mom and pop itallian restaurant in Fort Worth. I love the people, the owners are my buddies- and if I have to wait tables, this is the only place that I will do it.

For all of you that have paid the pentance of being a waiter, you will understand the ferocious beast that I dealt with tonight.

It is a small restaurant, only twenty tables... So I am the only server on Thursday. All in all it is usually A OK because all of the tables are never full...

Not tonight. Every seat in the house was taken. Two of the cooks called in sick (did I mention there are only three?) and so there we were- with a restaurant full of hungry and bitchy people... Me and my buddy David taking on the mass of hysteria,

My head was spinning, I was making drinks, filling drinks, making salads, tossing pizzas, running food, and all in all running my ass off.

Most of the customers were very cordial... But there are always a few, A bitchy mother and her two bratty kids who were LITERALLY climbing the walls... Throwing shit all around.... and acting like little gangsters. Good god, I hope karma bites them on the ass...

I finally made my way out of the weeds, and I look down at my white shirt- The battle wounds were ferocious, I looked like I had been shot a million times, and I was bleeding spaghetti sauce.

Fuck needing new shoes- after tonight... I need new feet. And maybe a new brain.  ¶ 12:06 AM 3 comments

  PTDD Sad News, I suffer from a medical disorder- newly named by an aspiring psychiatrist. The name: Post Traumatic Dress Disorder- PTDD for short. The precursors include staring at a closet full of clothes and seeing nothing, trying on thousands of outfits- only to not like anything, or feeling a general apathy toward all pieces of clothing.

The symptoms are a bedroom floor filled with all of the clothing rejects, general apathy toward the 2005 Fall line of clothing in the stores, dry mouth from all of the yelling about the lack of corture, and all around crankiness.

It is advised that if you run into one with PTDD, you lightly console them, hand them a Diet Coke to quench their thirst, and quickly move out of their way for they are highly likely to, well, rip your head off.

The saddest part of this whole problem is there are no cures. One must wait for a new, and better, season of clothes to hit the local malls before relief is experienced.

Yes, it is official, I have too much time on my hands... But at least I have named the condition that I suffer from.  ¶ 8:50 AM 4 comments

  Water, Water, everywhere- but not a drop to drink. I went to the shoe store this evening...

I didn't just go to any shoe store, I went to DSW shoe warehouse- the mecca of women's shoes. I need shoes, and seriously this time. I need brown and black fall shoes... Seriously.

And what happened? I came out empty handed!!!!!!

Nothing, not a pair of shoes- Not a purse- Hell, not even a pair of socks!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Some of you may not understand the gravity of this situation, but this is like a Gordan's fisherman coming home with no fish- no shrimp- nothing. NOTHING!

This has me very upset, and quite distracted. I can't eat. I can't sleep. All I can do is think of the fact that I went to the Holy land of shoes and came back with nothing.

I need someone to cheer me up. Tell me a joke. Tell me a happy story. Make me happy.

I know there are more serious things to be losing sleep over, like the war in Iraq and the Avian flu and the Pakistani earthquakes. But, you see- I think this may need to go on the CNN ticker tape.

I can see it scrolling across the screen now: S'Ghetti went to DSW shoe warehouse and came out empty handed. Talk about Black Tuesday.  ¶ 12:09 AM 1 comments

  Big Brothers After posting pictures of my haloween fun, this lovely comment came up:

Anonymous said...
Jesus, you're complaining because a guy actually called you? Take what you can get. You have a bad attitude and it's pretty obvious from the pics that you've got a good head start on losing your looks. Get pregnant, trap the dude and be glad if the loveless marriage lasts 5 years.

Monday, October 31, 2005 10:12:02 PM

And my big brother said this:
Fuck you asshole that is my sister, wishing you were here cause I could use a stress reliever. As in your Goddamned face to destroy, respect her or don't comment asshole. Got it?

My favorite part of this is he isn't kidding, not even a little bit. My big brother gets agitated when a straight boy wants to play pool with me, much less says something less than pleasant.

If Anonymous feels so comfortable ripping on the way I look and act, I propose that anonymous submits a picture for all of us to rip on. I mean, judging from the comment, their attitude is not too much better than my glowingly warm and sweet one. :)

Moral of the story: Fuck with me and fuck with my 6'7" brother, who used to play pro hockey and had a reputation as being a fighter. Oh and did I mention he has friends, who aren't much smaller than him? And oh yes, some are bigger.  ¶ 9:12 AM 6 comments