Daily Diatribes

I’m done with you people.  Do you think I blog for my health??  That I blog because I have some desire to pen my innermost thoughts for immortality?  Hell no.  I blog because I am a nasty, vain person and I want people to interact with me and tell me how wonderful I am.  This is why Don is my favorite; he gets it!

Aside from Renee and Allison, you are all on the list!  The naughty list.  Right up there with Habib.  I wrote two brilliant, insightful posts in one day and I got NOTHING in return.  NOTHING!  NADA!  ZIP!  ZILCH!  Other bloggers get 45 comments on their lame ass posts about their navel lint.  I write about the very real problem of Fairy Discrimination and I get NOTHING!!!!

I am done with you!  I can’t go on like this.  I have to have some feedback, so I am turning to stand up comedy.  People throwing eggs at me is preferable to the silence of these pages.

I don’t get paid to blog.  I get nothing but the satisfaction of reading my comments and feeling “they like me…they REALLY like me!”  So when I get no comments and I feel no like, I get discouraged.  That’s fine.  I’m a big girl.  I can take it.  But I am done sharing with you.  No more stories like MA asking me the other day if Daddy had STD’s, presumably because she found the condoms in his nightstand.  Nope, forget about it.  We’re through.

I’m going camping with my girl scouts tonight and I am not going to tell you ANYTHING!!  There might be a real live, genuine bitch slapping and you will never know!  Because I’m keeping it all to myself.  Maybe if you’re lucky, you’ll catch my HBO special.

Besides my electronic problems, Girl Scout activities have been keeping me away. Saturday, I took my Brownie troop to camp for a Fairy Tea Party. No, there were no gay men there as far as I could tell, just lots of wholesome, crunchy girl scout leaders. Frankly, I think a gay man or two would have jazzed it up, but no one asked me.

The tea party was about as bad as you probably think it was. The girls learned about table manners and telephone manners and every day manners. I wriggled and stretched and yawned and generally tried to keep from chewing my arm off out of sheer boredom.

But what I really want to address is an issue I became aware of that day. It pains me to write this, but I witnessed the Girl Scouts practicing actual discrimination. At the end of the day, after our wholesome “tea”, which consisted of Hawaiian punch, pink cupcakes and chips and dip, the girls were given their recognitions for participation. These included two patches and a fairy.

This is where the discrimination began. Everyone knows fairies should be colorless. But no, each leader was handed a bag of fairies in shades of blue, purple and pink. You can imagine what happened next. One bossy Brownie declared Blue to be the desired color for fairies. This set off a frenzy of trading as girls tried to lose the unfortunate pink and purple fairies. Do you see why a gay man might have been helpful here??

How could the Girl Scout organization create such a situation? I mean clearly, this was an episode ripe for discrimination. How did the pink and purple fairies feel as they were thrown back into the bag, left to languish as their superior blue counterparts were snatched up by little girls? Well, ok you’re right, they were probably feeling pretty damn lucky, but THAT’S NOT THE POINT!!

How do you think MLK Jr would have felt about this blatant discrimination? What would JESUS DO? Jesus loved the little fairies, pink and purple, black and blue…you all know the song!! Of course my child, spoiled rotten goddess that she is, was not fortunate enough to get a blue fairy. I would like to tell you she handled it gracefully. I would like to report that she cradled the sad purple fairy she got close to her heart and soothed it gently, telling it it was as good as any stupid blue fairy.

Unfortunately, the child has not earned the goddess moniker for nothing. “BUT I WANT A BLUE FAIRY MUMMY,” she cried as her troop mates each managed to score the coveted blue fairy. It had already been a long day and I still had the thirty minute ride home to face. A daydream bubble formed above my head and I saw me cruising down the highway as the goddess howled in the backseat “I’TS NOT FAIR…..I DIDN’T GET A BLUE FAIRY….I HATE YOU MOMMY….I HATE GIRL SCOUTS…..WAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!” I saw my knuckles whiten on the steering wheel and saw myself driving the whole carful of Brownies through the guardrail, plunging us to the rocks below. Heard the goddess still screaming as we plummeted “A BLUE FAIRY MUMMY…I WANT A BLUE FAIRY………”

Normally I am the most hard ass of mothers. I will callously look at a child and say “fine don’t eat it….starve to death….more for me….” and dismiss him or her. But on this day, the arrow on my mommy meter was way up in the red, boiling zone. I was done for. The thought of listening to her complain all the way home about the grievous injustice perpetrated upon her was more than I could bear.

I snatched the offending pink fairy out of her tiny fist and marched into the office where the head honcho was distributing fairies. “For the love of God and all that is holy, can I PLEASE SWITCH THIS FOR A BLUE FAIRY???? SO I DON’T HAVE TO LISTEN TO THE WHINING ALL THE WAY HOME?????!!!!!”

The lady was nice enough to trade me a blue fairy for a purple fairy. I stalked back to the goddess, threw it at her and snarled “I don’t want to hear another word, understand?????”

She nodded mutely, gazing at her blue fairy adoringly. As we marched out to the parking lot, I heard another child in the background wailing about her pink fairy. I sympathized. I really did. But I was loading up my Brownies and their blue fairies and getting out while the getting was good. And I will be writing a strongly worded letter to the Girl Scouts advising them of their discrimination problem!!

There are several reasons I have not been blogging lately. Mostly, it’s because the HOA has conspired with Habib to keep me silent. I know it’s true because I have seen them together. I am not safe anywhere so I must be constantly on the move. My internet has not been working this week and neither has my cell phone. I know they know I know so I must be constantly vigilant or they will silence me forever.

I spent an hour on the phone yesterday with “THE NEW AT&T” trying to figure out why my modem wasn’t working….AGAIN! This time I spoke with a woman in Central America who was raised in Australia and had the strangest accent I have ever heard. It was kind of like talking to Fidel Castro channeling the Crocodile Hunter (may he rest in peace). It took an hour of me entering meaningless strings of numbers into the computer before I finally thought to ask her “should I unplug my router?” She was shocked I had a router. Evidently this was question 3 on the list of QUESTIONS TECHNICIANS ARE SUPPOSED TO ASK and she skipped it. Once I unplugged the router, the problem was solved.

Then she asked me if I wanted to fix the router problem. I asked how long it would take and she replied “Fifteen minutes if everything goes right.” “You know what,” I said, “the router is for my husband’s computer. My computer works fine now. If he wants to call you and spend an hour of quality time with you, great. So I’m going to say goodbye.”

I then got in my car and headed out to run errands. I called Nancy to share my internet story. Only she couldn’t hear me. Because now my cell phone was conspiring against me. It’s no coincidence that my service is provided by THE NEW AT&T. Very sinister and ominous if you ask me. For the last week my phone has been doing this. I can hear the person I called just fine and he/she cannot hear a word I’m saying. I believe Habib is trying to isolate me from my supporters. But I persevere and simply turn the power on and off until the freakin’ phone works again.

I am going to have to go underground. They are watching me. The HOA is jealous of my power. Habib wants to kill me. They only WISH they could wield the influence I do. Still, their spies are everywhere. Just the other day, I drove up to the STOP sign and there sat a squirrel in the middle of the road, calmly nibbling his nuts. He eyed me in disdain, daring me to run over him with my two ton SUV. I honked and I swear he made a rude gesture at me before he scampered off, presumably to report my movements to the HOA president.

As I write this, I am looking over my shoulder because I fear for my life. How long before an acorn bomb is launched through my window? Or my brake lines are nibbled through? I cannot sleep and I wish I couldn’t eat, but unfortunately, that’s never a problem. If I should disappear suddenly, seek the squirrels! They will lead you to the conspirators!! I have to go now. Because they’re out there. Watching me. Waiting. Scrambling my phone signal and disrupting my internet service. Bastards!

Perhaps you are fortunate enough to live in a neighborhood with a Homeowners Association. Or maybe you live at Guantanamo Bay. It’s really the same thing. While I am appreciative of our HOA and the time they dedicate to preserving our life, liberty and property values, I have to admit, I find them a wee bit intense.

My husband served on the board for three years when we first moved to the neighborhood. Idiot goes to sign the neighborhood covenants and ends up volunteering to be the treasurer. Then they wouldn’t let him quit because he was so good at it. During his term, he doubled the annual dues from $50 to $100. He might as well have raised them to $1,000,000 for all the furor it caused.

Mind you, this is no slum we live in. The median home price is probably around $400,000 I would guess, if not higher. But that extra $50 per year….YEAR….evidently posed a huge financial strain for some of the neighbors. Guess they might have had to forego a round of golf at the club or skip the maid service for a week. The day to day horrors of suburban living are much more arduous than you can imagine!

Anyway, the HOA is basically comprised of nice old ladies who have retired and apparently have nothing to do other than spy on the neighbors and listen to their police scanners. I am not complaining because someone has to do it and I’m glad it is not me. I like to spy on the neighbors in an unofficial capacity and gossip about them with Nancy. But these ladies approach it quite seriously.

A few months ago, I got an email regarding a possible pervert sighting in another neighborhood. I wasn’t sure whether it was true or not, but I went ahead and emailed it on to our homeowner email box. I figure it never hurts to remind people that perverts are lurking everywhere (Don), waiting to snatch your child at any time. The president of the HOA emailed me back and informed me she had contacted the county sheriff’s office and that “Chris” had not heard anything about it, so she wasn’t going to forward my email to the homeowners. I was flabbergasted. The woman is on a first name basis with the county sheriff. Perhaps you might be forming a picture of her in your mind.

Around Christmas, someone ran over a mailbox and didn’t stop and offer to pay for repairs. As Nancy says, the driver probably figured it wasn’t smart to call the cops and wait for them, since they tend to be a bit sticky about drinking and driving. Our HOA was outraged. Something must be done!! Someone must pay!! So an investigation was launched.

By that afternoon, a partial description of the vehicle was circulating, along with promises of amnesty if the culprit would turn himself/herself in. Apparently, the neighborhood CSI department had gone to the scene and reconstructed the crime, and was able to determine the color, make, model and ethnicity of the driver from examining a few chips of paint left on the mailbox. They even had a suspect.

Well I was on tenterhooks. It was like a crime drama unfolding in my very own backyard, only the actors weren’t all that great looking and the crime itself was pretty boring. It’s not like dismembered body parts had turned up in the yard or anything fun like that.

Believe it or not, by that evening, the perp had sheepishly turned himself in and offered to pay for the damages. I’m telling you, our HOA is a powerful syndicate. Don’t run over a mailbox in my neighborhood, or you just might wake up next to a severed horse’s head.

The whole point of this rambling entry is last week I received the following email with the Subject Line reading: BE ON THE LOOKOUT!!

Email that was sent on February 14tToday, between 4:30 PM and 6:00 PM the driver of an unknown vehicle lost control of their automobile as they made the sharp curve from the main entrance.

The driver entered our yard and uprooted a large shrub, uprooted a 14 foot crepe myrtle that is now laying across our driveway. The vehicle crossed our side driveway and onto our upper lawn. The vehicle’s broken right side view mirror was found laying on the sidewalk to our front entrance at the base of the huge oak tree that is in the center of our sidewalk. The entire mirror was ripped from the vehicle and also pieces of possibly a headlight or a fog light. The driver must have lost control of the automobile but hastily backed up and after discovering the driveway was blocked by the downed tree, went across the sidewalk taking out several shrubs on it ways and must have continued heading west.

The sheriff’s department is searching for this vehicle. If anyone, sees a dark vehicle missing a right side mirror, etc. please contact us.

This makes the 4th accident on our property as a result of speeding or drunk driving. The parking area that the vehicle crossed is used by family and friends and we have 2 small granddaughters who could have easily been in that parking area as their parents were getting them into their car.

Thanks for passing this along to all the Homeowners.

Follow up Email sent February 15th

The search for the vehicle that destroyed our yard on Thursday between 5 and 6pm is now narrowed down.

From the parts left in our yard from the vehicle. The make and model of the vehicle has been determined.

Make: Nissan

Model: xterra (either SUV or pick up)

Year: 2006

Color: dray gray

The vehicle will be missing a right hand side mirror and there will be damage to the passenger’s side of the vehicle. The County Sheriff’s office has all the information and they are investigating the incident.

Thanks for passing this along to the neighbors. If anyone sees a car of this description, please contact me or the County Sheriff’s office.

These people don’t mess around! If you are stupid enough to uproot someone’s crepe myrtle, you better make damn sure you get out of the car and clean up the debris. Otherwise, they will find you. They have their ways….Muahahahahahahahaha!!!!!!

And then we get this email:

We now have eye witnesses.

BE ON THE LOOKOUT FOR:

Nissan PICKUP -

Color: Grey

Year 2006

Visible damage: Missing right hand side mirror

Possible flat tire or debris lodged under frame of truck

DIRECTION IT WAS HEADED AFTER DAMAGE: Turned left

If you see this truck or have any information, please reply via Email.

Eye-witnesses!! Underlined!!! Probably the sophisticated spy cameras mounted on camouflaged (HOW IN THE HELL DO YOU SPELL THIS WORD???) poles, monitoring everyone’s movement provided the evidence. We don’t have a gate at our subdivision entrance, just armed guards, smoking unfiltered cigarettes, carrying machine guns and politely asking to “SEE YOUR PAPERS COMRADE” before they let you through.

The destruction of mailboxes in my neighborhood is considered an intolerable act and suspects will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law, including, but not limited to: hanging; castration; beheading; mutilation; imprisonment; or all of the above. I am glad the HOA cares, but sheesh….it was just a mailbox people! Ok, I would have been mad about the tree, but still, if you’re stupid enough to live on the main drag through the neighborhood, you have to expect things like this are going to happen.

I am going out now. I have to get my papers in order. I have been harboring one of the mailbox fugitives in my basement and I am part of the underground railroad system, working to get him to a rehab center where he can learn how to slow down when entering a curve. Or at least learn how to avoid mailboxes!!!

I am not meant to be on the internet. The forces of the universe are conspiring to keep me from surfing the ‘net. And that damn Habib is behind it all.

Sunday night, my modem stopped working. Yep, once again, I was without an internet connection. This, despite switching to “the New AT&T” and dumping Charter and its evil minions forever. By yesterday morning, my despair had reached a fever pitch. No email, no up to the minute updates on Britney Spears and certainly, no blogging! And I didn’t have a big enough chunk of time to sit on hold all day waiting for Hakeem (Habib’s AT&T counterpart) to tell me why he couldn’t fix my modem.

But by yesterday afternoon, it could wait no longer. The physical symptoms of withdrawal had reduced me to a helpless, quivering mass. With trepidation, I dialed the number and waited. First, I had to go through the automated operator. She helpfully instructed me to do things like unplug and replug the modem (DUH) and sprinkle chicken blood on the hard drive. When that didn’t work, I was grudgingly transferred to a living person.

“AT&T this Jesse how may I help you?” chirped a voice.

“Hakeem?” I asked haltingly, unsure what to make of the voice on the other line.

“No, this is Jesse,” he answered. “How can I help you?”

“Jesse, what is your physical location?” I asked daringly.

“I’m in Birmingham,” he replied fearfully, obviously mistaking me for a deranged, machete wielding maniac. Well, ok, he wasn’t far off the mark, but I was THRILLED to hear he was a resident of the same continent, nay, the same CITY, as myself!!

And within minutes, he had fixed the problem. It was a simple matter of entering my username and password because the modem was no longer recognizing me. Somehow, that piece of news didn’t surprise me at all. Of course the modem no longer recognized me. Habib has been up to his old tricks and somehow got to my modem. I’m going to have to change the modem’s identity and enroll it in a protection program so Habib cannot get to it!!

Today, I can’t log onto AOL and get my mail. Every time I try, I get an error message. But I shall blog on, Habib!! As long as there is life in these fingers of mine, I shall fearlessly tell the world of your evil!! I am the lone voice of reason in the great desert of the internet, Habib! May your camel become constipated and stomp upon your dates!!

My family is very lazy.  We are all of us content to step over heaps of junk and wind our way through a maze of dirty clothes without ever being bothered to pick anything up off the ground.  It’s too much trouble and we all have a high threshhold for clutter.

My in-laws celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary last weekend and we hosted a gathering at our home Friday night.  My husband’s family is from Wisconsin, so beer was a must.  A couple of cases were placed out on the deck to stay cool and to be readily available to the thirsty crowd.  Of course when everyone left, the beer stayed on the deck because no one could be bothered to put it away.

Last week, Lulu, the world’s dumbest Golden Retriever puppy, tore open one of the cases and spent an afternoon batting cans of beer around.  Did we pick it up?? Hell no.  After all, cans of beer on the deck are in keeping with the hillbilly image we are currently promoting.  We simply stepped around the beer cans whenever we went outisde.  Which is almost never because it’s too cold right now.  So the cans rolled around on the deck and we went about our business and it was all good.

Until Monday night when Napoleon opened the door to let the two Golden Retrievers in the house.  As he opened the door, we all heard a loud hissing noise.  He jumped back, startled.  I cringed on the couch.  The goddess screamed “It’s a raccoon!!!!”  My children are terrified of raccoons, ever since the night they encountered one on the deck snarling, and with glowing red eyes.

The dogs were on the deck running around and it only took us a few seconds to realize the hissing was not, in fact a raccoon, but a can of beer Lulu the uber-idiot had punctured.  Beer was spraying up in a fountain, coating the dogs with its malty goodness.  Napoleon grabbed Lulu by the collar and hustled her indoors, but Kirby, the old and senile golden, stood there lapping up the beer like a dying dog.

We got him in the house too and they both shook, spraying beer everywhere.  The kids found this hilarious, although I was less than amused.  The goddess literally thought this was the funniest thing she had ever seen in her whole life. 

In fact, she was still talking about it the next day.  “I can’t believe the beer spouted and Kirby drank it,” she giggled.  “I can’t wait to go to school and tell everyone.”

Whoa.  Now that’s the last thing I need is for the goddess to go to school and tell her friends about our geyser of beer.  Somehow, I don’t think that would win us any admirers.

“Don’t tell anyone that,” I said sharply.

“But why??” she asked plaintively.

“Because I don’t want your friends to think we sit around and drink beer all day,” I told her.  Even if it is true that my hubby works up a powerful thirst when he’s workin’ on his truck!  “I mean it,” I said.  “This better not show up in your news today!”

She looked sad, so I relented.  “I’ll tell you what,” I said, “you can say it was Pepsi instead of beer.  How’s that?”

She perked right up and agreed.  Sure enough, the news for yesterday afternoon contained a full account of the “Pepsi” spewing all over the dogs and the deck:  “Did you know last night my dog explodid some pepsi?”  This was a lot less contentious than “Did you know last night the dog exploded some Bud Light and my dad got real mad but she’s his favrit huntin’ dog, so he shot the other dog instead?”  I read an op-ed piece today criticizing journalists who alter the news to suit their purposes, but sometimes a little editing goes a long way!!

My diamond quest is not going well.  My husband is immune to the rational arguments regarding my deep-rooted psychological need for a larger diamond.  In fact, he is quite angry with me over what he considers to be my grossly inaccurate depiction of his beloved truck in these pages.  Let’s face it:  if the house is on fire, the children and I will die in our beds while he risks his life trying to push the hunk of junk out of the garage to safety.

My case has been further damaged by a small incident on Saturday night.  The lovely MA was invited to a bash by one of her schoolmates.  It was an over the top birthday party, complete with dancing and DJ.  The time was from 7 to 10.  MA was pumped and ready to go dance the night away.  I was somewhat less enthusiastic, having spent the evening before engaged in drinking multiple cosmopolitans and playing a charming card game called “Asshole”.  But I rallied myself and took her off to the party.

When I got home, my husband had disappeared himself into the bedroom under the pretense of needing to lay down with the goddess so she would go to sleep.  The goddess can put herself to sleep just fine.  It was a clever ruse, designed to get him out of going to get MA.  Sure enough, 9:30 rolled around and he was snoring in the bedroom, showing no signs of getting up to go fetch our daughter.

Bleary eyed, I dragged myself down the stairs and got in my truck.  Now to give him credit, he had spent the entire day cleaning the garage, and it looked lovely.  It was swept and clean and everything was put away neatly.  As I backed out of the garage, I noticed he had moved the basketball goal to the other side of the driveway.  As I was backing up and pondering this, I backed straight into the “Jedclampettmobile”. 

At this point, I can see some of you shaking your heads and wondering just how in the Hell I managed to run into his truck.  I say let’s place blame where it belongs:  squarely on my husband.  I offer this piece of evidence for your consideration.  He moved the basketball goal from the LEFT side of the driveway, where it has resided for the last four years, to the RIGHT side of the drive.  Had he purchased me the brand new, sparkly diamond and placed it on my LEFT hand, I would have been so engrossed in staring at how prettily it sparkled that I would not have been looking out the RIGHT side of the truck.  I would have been backing up the regular way and so I would have seen the “Jedclampettmobile” and thus avoided backing into it.  That’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it!!

As soon as I felt the thump, my heart plunged right into my pinky toe.  My husband does not appreciate it when I back my truck into things.  Long time readers will recall the time I scraped the passenger side mirror off while backing out of the garage.  He was not amused.  And for me to damage his new toy, his most prized possession….well, I knew there would be no forgiveness.  So I threw the car into Drive, roared off and forgot about it.

Until the next morning when he went downstairs to start the car and noticed his truck had been pushed forward a foot or so.  I was upstairs putting the finishing touches on my coiffure, when he thundered up the stairs.  “JENNIFER,” he bellowed. 

“WHAT????”  I bellowed back.

He was somewhat conciliatory because I think he was not ready to face the reality of my transgression.  “Now I know this is going to piss you off, but did you…”

“hit your truck?” I finished for him calmly.  “Yes, as a matter of fact I did.”

He closed his eyes and I could see he was struggling to control himself.  “WHEN?” he finally managed to gasp.

“Last night….when I was going to get MA,” I told him.  “I’m sorry, but it was late and I was tired and why did you move the basketball goal anyway?”

His eyes snapped open.  “What the hell does that have to do with anything?” he asked.

“If you hadn’t moved the basketball goal then I wouldn’t have been staring at it wondering why it was on the wrong side and I would have seen your truck,” I told him.  What a doofus; any sensible person could figure that out.

He gave up.  “I can’t believe you hit my truck,” he muttered.

“Like anyone would notice another dent in that heap anyway,” I said to him.  “Besides, now you have even MORE to fix on it.  Won’t that be fun?”  I gave him a bright smile and got into the car so we could go to church.  Where I could say a prayer to God for my husband NOT to see the dent in my bumper where I hit his truck!

Needless to say, the BAD (Big Ass Diamond) campaign is floundering.  Considering how hard I rammed his truck, I don’t think he is going to be rushing right out to buy me a piece of jewelry.  New glasses maybe, but jewelry…not so much!

Ok, I sat down to write a post.  Unfortunately, I had to Log In.  For some reason, my site no longer remembers me and I have to log in every time.  That’s how unremarkable I am; even the computer doesn’t remember me.  I have a problem remembering user names and passwords.  This is the computer age and I need a user name and a password to use the stupid toilet these days.  There are an awful lot of user name/password combos in my head.  Consequently,  remembering the one for this site takes a few minutes of tinkering.

After trying several combos, the site popped up and I clicked “write a post” so I could begin chronicling the humorous thoughts in my head.  Only problem is they had been displaced in my password quest.  I now have no idea what I was going to say when I sat down at this computer.  I am sure it was wildly witty and insightful.  Probably it was the post that would lead to my eventually being award the Pulitzer Prize for bloggers.  But it’s gone, lost in the swirling gray matter of my brain.

I wish I was exaggerating.  I wish this was the humorous post I had intended to write, but it’s not.  Literally, I have no idea what I was going to write.  I don’t think it was about my children.  It wasn’t about my husband and his stupid 1964 Ford 100 pickup truck he just bought and parked in our front yard up on blocks, causing us to look exactly like the Beverly Hillbillies.  Hold on….have to get some more tobacky for my pipe.  I’m sure I wasn’t going to chronicle here how he refused to buy me the new diamond ring I found yesterday on sale for 1/2 price that is twice as big as my current engagement ring.  Although that certainly is very blogworthy.

Let’s explore that thought for a minute.  He goes and buys a rusty hulk of a truck that doesn’t even run and parks it in the driveway.  Parks it there the same day we get a chirpy email from the Nazi SS….uh, I mean our Homeowner’s Association reminding us if we put up signs of any type in our yard, the secret police will remove them and firebomb our house.  I can only imagine what they think of Jethro’s truck.  It’s like a Chance card in Monopoly:  park rusty truck in front yard, everyone lose $20,000 of house value.

Ok, so he has the non-running truck, and I feel a certain sense of entitlement.  As in “you got your toy so where is mine?”  We were out running errands yesterday and I found my toy in the form of a princess cut solitaire with the sweetest little baguette cut diamonds on either side of it.  When I tried it on, it fit perfectly.  That alone smacks of Cosmic Karma since I am possessed of Large Knuckles and rings hardly ever fit me.  My daughter, who is 1/3 of my size, wears the same ring size.  Freakish.

Anyway, when I enquired about the price, the jeweler smiled and quoted a price that was HALF what was listed on the ring!  A deal!  A steal!!  I turned to my husband and demanded his credit card immediately.  He was not forthcoming with the credit card and when I demanded an explanation, he muttered “you don’t need it.”

I stared at him as demon rage began building up within me.  What, he NEEDED the rusty hunk of junk residing in my driveway????  When so questioned, he defended himself by saying our son would be driving soon, so we needed a third vehicle.  Let me poke a few holes in that theory:  our son is 14 and his license is off in the distant future and even if we DID need a third vehicle, it’s customary to purchase one that RUNS!!

My husband was adamant, so I handed my ring back to the jeweler and flounced out of the shop.  I am now engaged in a POWER SULK and am hoping I may yet prevail.  I deserve a BIG ASS DIAMOND just for being me!  Can you think of a better reason? 

Granted, there’s nothing wrong with my ring now, but it’s a wee bit on the smallish side.  When we got engaged, we sensibly invested in a Quality diamond, carefully considering the 4 C’s before we purchased.  Almost 17 years later, I recognize that Size Does Matter in the issue of diamonds. Who cares if the diamond is flawless???  Not once in last decade has anyone approached me with a jewler’s loupe and examined my ring!  So I want a BIGGER ONE!!  I want it to be visible from space!!  I’ll keep the old one and put it away for one of the children.  I’m as sentimental as the next person.  But I’m also sensible and Bling is my Thing!!

Anyway, I’m pretty sure I was not going to blog about this when I sat down at the computer.  I think I had in mind something else entirely.  But I do feel much better now I’ve gotten that all out of my system!  Not the Pulitzer winning blog to be sure, but it was a great purge!  Now I’m going to call the hubby and remind him my diamond is still languishing at the jewelry store.  Maybe I can wear him down!

I was on my way to vote this morning and I passed someone on a bicycle.  He was chugging along down the road with an exasperated driver hot on his wheels.  As I drove on, I pondered my hatred of those on two wheels.

Well, it’s obvious isn’t it??  People on bicycles are soooooooo smug, taking up road space that rightfully should be reserved for my gasoline sucking, ozone destroying SUV.  Oh sure, it’s all good and well to take a BIKE to work, but this is America PEOPLE!!  We have the God-Given, Constitutionally approved RIGHT to waste all of the natural resources we want.  This country is great for so many reasons, but at the root of the greatness is CONSUMPTION!!

The more I thought about it, the angrier I became.  How dare that cyclist try to make me feel badly about my SUV??  How dare he thumb his nose at me when he was wearing those silly spandex bike shorts that probably took an acre of rain forest and 300 underpaid villagers to make?  At least my SUV is an American made Gas Sucker!  And my 100% cotton sweat pants were made in Vietnam and there’s like,  almost no rainforest in Vietnam anyway! 

I’m glad that biker feels so good about himself.  I bet his heart pumped healthfully as he cycled, forcing red blood through his veins, keeping the plaque from building up in his arteries.  Well good for him!  My New Year’s resolution this year is to GAIN 150 pounds and become a monstrous drain on society, a bigger drain than I already am!  My goal is to hit 600 pounds and then draw Social Security disability because I’m too fat to work!  I’ll go spend my checks at Publix on cream puffs and Oreo’s, tooling up and down the aisles on my motorized scooter. They’ll have to cut through the roof of my house to lift me out with a crane when I die.  Isn’t America a GREAT country???

There was an article in the paper just this morning that claims it costs more to take care of healthy, skinny people than fat ones.  Yep, it’s true.  Those damn skinny ass bitches suck up more resources living longer all because they want to look good in bathing suits!  Well guess what?  I’m perfectly happy in my beskirted, size 56 bathing suit!  I’m not going to bicycle.  Hell no, I’m going to get in my Suburban and use ten gallons of gas to drive to the Krispy Kreme and get a dozen donuts!  And get an extra dozen to eat on the ride home!

So good for you if you like to ride your bicycle.  It’s a free country and you can do what you want.  But you better get out of the way when my Suburban roars out of the driveway!  I am a woman with 450 pounds to gain and McDonald’s is calling my name!

My inbox is always cluttered with forwards.  I am sure everyone gets them.  I used to delete them without bothering to respond.  But lately I have begun to be offended by the misinformation perpetrated by the internet.  True, there is lots of great information out there, as well as porn for every possible taste.  But there is also a plethora of words and images planted by people to further their own agendas.  I, for one, dislike being manipulated in such a way.

The forwarder’s best friend is www.snopes.com.  These people have made it their life’s work to research forwards and either prove or disprove them.  They are the myth busters/ghost hunters of the internet.  I strongly encourage everyone to verify anything through Snopes before you send it.

That being said, here are some myths I can bust myself:

Bill Gates is NOT giving away part of his fortune to you if you forward an email.  Let’s be very clear on this:  Bill Gates is a genius.  This is why he is worth 972.3 billion dollars and thirty seven cents.  And because he is not stupid, he is NOT going to give away his money to you.  If you believe he is, that would make you the stupid one.

There is not a man hiding in the backseat of your car.  You should be so lucky.  I realize you haven’t gotten laid in a long time, but that is just too sad for you.  Instead of perpetuating this rumor, why don’t you try match.com?  Maybe you can meet a fellow paranoid schizophrenic and those disembodied voices can make beautiful music together.

Nothing bad is going to happen to you if you don’t forward the chain letter someone has just sent you.  Well, unless you send it to me.  In which case, I may appear on your doorstep and start whacking away with a machete when you answer.  Be careful what you send me; I bite.

Barack Obama is not a Muslim.  In fact, everyone knows he is a card carrying member of the little known sect devoted to worshipping the Flying Spaghetti Monster.  There is no Intelligent Design and no Evolution, only spaghetti!  Obama is a genuine “Pastafarian” and has no use for the other major religions of the world.  So when you go to vote, VOTE PASTA!!!

Also, I seriously doubt boycotting Citgo gasoline is going to hit Hugo Chavez all that hard.  I don’t think Hugo Chavez cares one way or the other.  He is too busy plotting his strategy for world domination.  And I would stop saying bad things about him if I were you.  He is a very scary man with a large army at his disposal.  I’d hate for you to wake up one morning with the Venezuelan military parked at your front door. 

If he does show up, maybe you can take him to Applebee’s with the free gift certificate you got for forwarding an email to 97 of your best friends and tying up their free time when they have to delete that BS.  Let’s get this straight once and for all:  NOTHING IN LIFE IS FREE.  IF IT SOUNDS TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE, IT IS.  Tatoo that on your forehead so next time you won’t be tempted to hit forward!

Aspartame is not going to kill you.  It is perfectly safe, I drink it all the &#)*$)@#(&*$()@#*$()@*)($&#)@(*$) time so I’m not sure why )@#*$)#*$@#)()@&$)@#*$_@($+@#($@*)$&() it gets such bad press.  Hold on, I have a twitch #$()*#)@($*()@#$*@#()$#*()$). 

I feel pretty confident in saying little Johnny is not doing a science fair project on how many internet signatures he can collect.  In fact, little Johnny is quite the smart ass, and he is laughing his head off every time one of you suckers signs and forwards.  I promise there is NO WAY to track how many people forward an email like this.  So why are you doing it?  Repeatedly?  Get a job!

Here’s what I want you to take away from this diatribe.  Just because you read it on the internet doesn’t make it true.  Often, a piece of a story is taken out of context and the information is manipulated to suit the needs of the sender.  So for heavens sake, use a little discretion and common sense when you forward something!  Or Hugo, the Flying Spaghetti Monster and I might just have to pay you a little visit!!