Why I’m Crazy

I know I'm not sane, but I try not to let it get me down.

I guess it's just one of those things that I have come to accept over the years.

Usually, I try not to talk too much in public, or around strangers, for fear of saying the wrong thing and coming across as 'odd'.

That's one of the reasons why I don't drink.

Last time I got REALLY drunk, I cornered some guy at a party and gave him a long lecture about his subconscious mind, and how he needed to think positive thoughts.

I kept telling him that he was beautiful, and that he just needed to love himself.

He told me that I was the nicest drunk girl he'd ever met.

Unfortunately, he also thought I was after him, when really I was just trying to give him some therapy.

Still to this day, every time I see him he gets this big grin, like, 'Yeah, drunk girl thinks I'm cute.'

Actually, drunk girl thinks you need better self esteem, thank you.

I've made myself look pretty stupid while I was drunk, and that's the truth.

I also have a slight fear of returning to see my dentist, since I made myself look pretty stupid there too, while I was high on nitrous oxide.

They just sent me a post card to tell me that I am now due for a tooth cleaning.

But I don't know if I want to go back there after what happened last time.

One of my old fillings had popped out and so I had made an emergency appointment to see the dentist.

When I got there, they were already slightly disgusted with me because I had exaggerated the condition of my tooth in order to get an emergency appointment.

I told the receptionist that I was pretty sure there was no tooth left, and that it was oozing green stuff.

In all actuality, all I had was a little hole in the side of my tooth, so the dental hygienist didn't seem to think I was as bad off as I thought I was.

I still needed a filling, but I panicked really badly when the dentist tried to give me the shot of novican that he seemed to think I needed for my tooth.

I told the dentist that instead of giving me a shot, I'd much rather just go it with no pain killer, or maybe I'd accept a little nitrous oxide.

The dentist told me that that was the 'man's way' of getting your teeth filled.

I told him that I didn't care about that, but there was no way I was getting a shot because shots hurt too bad.

So he gave me nitrous oxide. And I don't know what happened to me, but I had just finished reading, 'The Tao of Physics' so I felt inclined to ask the dentist questions about the nature of personal reality.

I asked him stuff like, "If everything was really is energy, where does the gas mask end, and my face began?"

The dentist said he didn't know.

Then, since I was high I think, I asked him if he ever thought about what thoughts were.

"Are thoughts energy?" I asked, "And if so, if they are, they must add to the collective energy of the world. Don't you think? And if so, clearly, thoughts help to shape your personal reality."

I was so high; it was like I was drunk.

The dentist asked me if I would be ok to drive home.

I told him I thought I would be, but that the nitrous oxide incident would remind me always of why I shouldn't drink.

I'm too weird sober. I don't need to drink. I just get really strange.

I Don’t like The Randomness of Life

Well, I just watched the most disturbing episode of 'Forensics Files' ever.

This guy named Bob got married to this evil woman whose name I can't remember.

After they had been married for two months, Bob made his new wife the sole beneficiary of his life insurance policy in the event of his death.

The very next day, his wife began adding rat poison to Bob's tea.

The hair analysis that the scientists did on poor Bob's hair indicated that he had been slowly poisoned for over a year before he was finally made so ill that he had to go to the hospital.

There, in the hospital, his wife came to visit him, and while she stayed in his room, she added a large amount of rat poison to his soda, in order to finish him off.

Then, when they pulled the plug on Bob, his wife insisted on staying in the room in order to watch him die.

The most disturbing part of the whole show was the fact that this woman decided to kill her husband so soon.

She didn't even wait to see if she liked him, she just cut right to the chase and killed him at the very beginning.

I think two months is still the 'honeymoon' stage of being married, too.

The whole time, I just kept thinking to myself, "Why did this have to happen to Bob? Was it just bad luck? Or was there a point?"

Do you think there was a higher purpose, or a greater plan, that God had for Bob regarding the rat poisoning death? Or do you think it was just totally random and Bob just married the wrong person?

It's very frightening to think that Bob was just in the wrong place at the wrong time when he met his wife.

After I saw that disturbing show, I then watched another one where these people were trying to hire a hit man to kill their son.

Unfortunately, these people did not contact a real hit man, but rather, an undercover police officer.

Once again, I was reminded of the randomness of life.

How is it that some people can contact a real hit man, and then other people accidentally contact the police when they want to put the hit on someone?

Is life just totally random?

Is there a point to anything?

And is it safe for anyone to take a life insurance policy out on themselves?

I'm not just talking about married people, if you're married then a life insurance policy is obviously some sort of a death sentence, so I would never get one.

But is it safe to take a life insurance policy out on yourself at all?

I am beginning to think that you should never trust anyone with large sums of money in the event of your death.

I think when it comes to life insurance, anything more than what is needed to cover funeral costs is a really bad idea.

Life insurance really isn't the point though; it's the creepy randomness of life that is the real issue.

If you knew who the real hit man was, or if your wife would feed you poison, then you'd make better life choices.

You wouldn't take risks that would never work out for you if you knew how to make safe decisions.

If you knew, 100%, that if you married Betty or Sarah, or Dave, or Joe, that they wouldn't kill you at a later time, then it would be safer to get married.

If you knew where to go in order to find real help, real services, and real advice—and not just con artists and the cops, this world would be a much better place.

What Are You talking About?

I just read in Star Magazine, page 94, that the singer Lilly Allen has been banished from the United State because she lost her passport.

What are they talking about?

We don't "banish" people from the USA.

If she really wants to come into this country, all she has to so is fly into Mexico and then walk up.

That's what I'd do if they ever tried to banish me if I was a famous foreign person.

They've even got water stands all set up in the desert for people like her.

She could walk through the desert while MTV filmed her journey.

I'll bet it would be great publicity for her tour.

Then, once she gets here, all she has to do is nip on over to that state (I can't remember which state it is now) that's giving ID's and voters' registration cards out to illegal immigrants, and get herself all signed up as a resident.

Once she can vote, then they can't kick her out. There's no possible way.

Lily Allen can become the face for all the Illegal aliens in our country.

She's rich too, so I'll bet she could afford to run ads on TV devoted to her cause.

I mean, I really just don't understand how Lily Allen could possibly have been banished.

We have illegal aliens marching for their rights, and yet, they're not going to let a famous singer come into the country to go on tour because she 'lost' her passport?

You know what I really think about this issue, don't you?

I think whoever told this Lily Allen person that she couldn't go on tour here because of her passport issues just doesn't like her singing.

And you have to admit, to have the power to refuse to allow Lily Allen into the country because you don't like her, is just awesome.

If I had the power to banish famous people, and tell them that they are 'illegal' for whatever reason I made up, I'd do it.

I'd ban Madonna, that's for sure. I think she's pretensions. She's living in England now anyway, but I'd get her if she ever came back.

If Madonna ever tried to come back here, and I was in charge, I'd just rip her social security card right up in front of her and then just be like, "Too bad. I guess you aren't a citizen here anymore."

For all you Bush haters out there, I'll bet we could plant phony evidence claiming that Bush was actually born in Canada, and then get him deported as well.

It would be fun to watch him get deported on the news.

I'll bet he'd be madder than hell.

"I'm an American. My dad was the president!"

Then we could all just be like, "That's not what it says on your birth certificate, you cannuck."

Maybe we could get rid of Britney Spears the same way?

Why doesn't anyone ever think of these things but me?

There's quite a few 'actual' foreign celebrities I think we should kick out too.

'Posh Spice' from the Spice Girls, and her husband David Bekham, the soccer player, they need to be deported.

I think we should get rid of Russell Crowe too.

Man, I wish I was' Dictator For Life' of this country, there would some major changes around here, that's for sure.

The Saddest Movie Out there.

I just watched, 'Blow' which is the saddest movie I think I've ever seen.

In Blow, there's this drug lord, played by Johnny Depp, who just keeps getting screwed over.

First, he made a fortune selling marijuana, but then his horrible mother called the cops on him and had him sent to prison.

While in prison, this guy made friends with another convict, and they got the idea of selling the cocaine they got from Columbia in the States.

The movie is really sad because every time the main character turns around, somebody screws him over.

His fiancée dies, tragically, from cancer. That was really sad.

Then, after that, he marries this horrible Columbian woman, who just wants his money.

Then, his friend betrays him, and he gets cut out of the drug dealing loop.

And he started off looking like Johnny Depp, and quite attractive, until he was beaten by these Columbian drug lords, and then he just starts to look bad.

His nose got all twisted, and he got really fat.

That movie makes me cry every time I watch it.

There are only two movies I've ever seen that have made me cry.

One was 'Braveheart', when they killed William Wallace. And the other sad movie is 'Blow'.

I just get weepy every time I watch that damn movie.

Towards the end, this poor guy loses all the money he was keeping in a bank in Columbia, and then he gets busted by the Feds too, and has to go to prison.

When he finally gets out, he tries to make some money by doing only one more major drug business negotiation so that he can somehow get full custody of his daughter and then move way.

But instead of it working out for him, his friends just set him up and then sent him to prison for the rest of his life.

You know, I don't care if someone is a drug lord, if they are your friend, you can't screw them over like that just to save your own ass.

By the end of the movie, Johnny Depp looks like hell. All he wants, in the end, is for his daughter to visit him, but she won't do it.

You know, I'd go see my dad if he was in prison right now. Especially if all he went in for was being a drug dealer.

I'd go visit my dad no matter where he lived.

That movie just makes me so sad.

It's one of the most depressing movies out there, for sure.

Oops!

So I went to my step cousin's wedding reception, and while I was there, I made a giant error.

Not only did I accidentally knock several glass lids onto the floor (luckily they didn't break) I also forgot an important fact.

There is this lady who I know, who was married to her cousin at one time.

However, I forgot that important fact this afternoon.

So, I was sitting at the table, eating a burger and talking to this woman who seemed nice enough.

She informed me that she was the bride's great aunt.

I was like, "Well that's nice. Good for you. Blah, blah, blah, etc. . . etc."

Then, later, the lady in question and her new husband, informed me that the woman who I had been talking to is 'odd'.

She is rather off, they said.

Not nasty, but not all that nice.

Not sane, but not insane.

So I was just like, "Well, she seemed alright to me."

Then the lady in question leaned in and told me that woman was her ex husband's mother.

So I was just like, "What are you talking about? I thought she told me she was your aunt."

"She is." The lady said, and then looked away.

And I was just like, "Oh yeah, right, I forgot, your cousin is your ex. Moving right along. . . . "

I was just trying to keep who was who in check. You know, in order to determine who's the aunt, who's the grandma, and things like that.

But sometimes, it's important to remember that you can offend and make people feel mighty uncomfortable on accident doing things like that.

You have to remember the details. How people are related, and in what ways is no laughing matter sometimes.

I should keep an index card of all the things I need to remember so that I can have better manners in the future.

Your diaper is not a pocket

Nikki came over and tried to give me a piece of bread this afternoon.

I instinctively told, "No, thank you!"

She looked kind of hurt.

"Are you sure?" She asked me.

Feeling a little guilty, I accepted the bread, and with some misgivings, I ate it too.

However, there was a time when I learned the hard way not to accept food from little children.

When was Nikki was about two (She's four now) I was her 'eating buddy'.

Every time I'd come over to visit, she'd see me, squeal, and then run to the refrigerator to get a pudding.

Then she's find two spoons, and she and I would eat together, as best buddies.

This went on for quite some time, and I'd pretty much eat anything she brought me.

Until one day, when she had just turned three, she came over to me and said,

"Hi Barbie, would you like a cracker?"

"Of course I would," I said.

Then, she pulled a cracker from out of her diaper and handed it to me.

My mind flashed back to all the times I'd eaten things she'd handed to me without even thinking twice about it.

I stared at the cracker for a long while, before finally asking her what else she had stored in her diaper.

She proudly pulled out a necklace, half a bag of M&Ms, six peanut butter crackers, and a small doll.

Never again after that particular afternoon did I accept food from Nikki.

Sure, if she brings me a bag of chips, I will eat chips with her.

If I watch her open a bag of candy, I will eat the candy with her.

But never again will I blindly accept a cracker, or anything else for that matter, from a very small child.

I personally think too, that if your kid thinks their diaper is nothing but a large pocket for them to store things in, it's time to start thinking about potty training them.

And that's the truth.

Bad Drivers

Thinking about all the bad drivers in the world gets me to thinking about Margaret.
I was in the car once with Margaret when she hit a gas pump.

All these people came running out of the gas station, so Margaret just threw her car into reverse, and then got the Hell out of there.

We just went to a different gas station.

Margaret is a better driver now than she once was. She used to be so bad, we all thought she'd die driving, for sure.

Once, she was trying to back out of her driveway, and she accidentally hit her husband's truck.

She also kept leaving her glasses on the hood of her car, and then backing over them.

She went through four pairs of glasses because she kept running them over.

Once, she had so many points on her license for speeding and swerving around that she almost went to jail.

For a while, she had to go down and pay a speeding ticket fine at least once a month.

Whenever the cops pull her over, they always check to see if she is wearing shoes, because they have it written down somewhere that she drives barefoot.

The greatest thing about Margaret is that she gets in the car with me when I'm driving, and she bitches about how I brake the car, and what speed I'm going, etc. . . .

I don't complain when she's driving.

I just repeat my mantra, and try to go to my 'special place'—the garden of my mind.

Sometimes, I imagine that I am on a beach, drinking Iced Tea, and watching the waves roll in.

The best story about Margaret's driving, I think, is the time the cops pulled her over for drunk driving when she was sober.

I guess she was doing about 20 miles under the speed limit, and swerving from one lane to the next.

She claims that she was trying to drink hot tea in a travel cup, and that's why she was swerving so badly.

I guess the cops turned on their siren, but she just kept driving because she didn't think they were trying to pull her over.

They followed her for a long time, until another cop car came to block her. Then she pulled off to the side of the road.

The cop had her walk a straight line, and she passed because she wasn't drunk. Then he made her sing her ABC's, and touch her nose.

The cop became more and more upset because he was sure that she was drunk.

"How can you drive that badly sober?" The cop asked her, becoming irate.

He asked for permission to search her car, and went digging through her vehicle looking for drugs and alcohol.

When he found nothing, he got even more upset.

Margaret said he was screaming and his face was turning red.

She became afraid that he was going to plant drugs on her, just so he could arrest her for something.

The cops who had been called for back up told the other cop who wanted to arrest Margaret to let her go, and that she really was just a bad driver.

Margaret came to my house to tell me about this incident, stunned at what had happened.

"Do you really think they would have planted drugs on me, Barbie?" She asked me.

"If that's what it would take to get you off the roadways, I think so." I said.

She got mad at me for my lack of empathy, but really, some people should not be out driving.

There is no shame in taking public transportation.

If you drive that badly, save everyone some trouble and just take the bus.

The Most Harrowing Trip of My Life

went out with Aimee this evening.

She drove, and sometimes, her driving scares me a little bit.

It scares me mostly just because she likes to turn in front of oncoming traffic.

The drive was getting so scary, in fact, that it got me reminiscing about how when I was a little girl, my Dad used to scare the hell out of me whenever he was driving.

He used to fall asleep when driving sometimes, and we'd have to scream and wake him up. He also sped a lot.

He had to eventually get insurance coverage from a shady insurance place due to the many points he had on his driver's license.

What made it worse, however, was that my dad had a real bad heart, and he was convinced the whole time I was growing up that he could die at any minute.

His favorite time to remind you of the fact that he could die at any minute was when he was driving down the expressway, going about 90 miles an hour.

He'd turn suddenly, clutch his chest with one hand, look you right in the eye, and say, "You know I could die at any minute, right?"

I was always sure dad was going to die while driving, and take his passengers out with him.

I remember the most frightening drive, however, happened when I was pretty old.

I think it was a year before my father passed away.

He had asked us if we would go to Detroit with him in order to hear a politician who he was campaigning for give a speech.

I told him that I would love to go, and so I spent the night over at his house, and he woke me up at five o'clock in the morning the next day for our trip.

My brother Josh, my baby brother Dougie, and I, piled into the car, put on our seat belts, and had hopes of going back to sleep and then waking up again when we were in Detroit.

Unfortunately, there had been an ice storm in the night, and the roads were covered in a thick sheeting of frozen rain water.

Dad also had just taken his heart medicine, and he claimed he was seeing double because his medicine hadn't kicked in yet.

The doctors had also prescribed another medication to him for his heart that had caused him to break out into an itchy rash.
Later, I cured his rash myself by providing him with a certain lotion that cleared it up.

However, this was before I had cured his rash, and so he still itched.

Anyway, he jumped on the highway, and started driving at about 90 miles per hour.

The roads were so slick that cars whose drivers had lost control of their vehicles lined the ditch alongside the highway.

My dad kept shaking his head, because he said he was seeing double, and then he'd roll his window down and stick his head out the window because he found it refreshing.

His back itched, because of the rash, and so he kept rubbing his back on the seat trying to get to the itch, shaking his head in order to get rid of his double vision, and then sticking his head out the window.

He performed these actions all while going 90 miles per hour down the iced over highway and swerving dangerously near the cars that had landed in the ditch.

I sat in the front seat, in a kind of frozen terror, sure that I would die.

I looked in the backseat where my brother Josh was, and took note of the fact that he had simply covered his face with his hat.

I poked him awake and asked him if he was scared.

"Scared?" He asked, "What are you talking about? I'm not looking."

"Don't you want to know what we hit that killed you?" I asked him. "After we're dead, don't you want to know what ended it all?"

"Hell no," Josh said, "I wanna go out blind. I don't care what dad hits. When I'm dead I'm dead."

I finally couldn't take it anymore, and so I moved into the backseat with my two brothers.

I piled the pillows that I had found in the back all around me, and held my brother Dougie, in order to comfort him.

To calm myself, I just kept chanting, "Death is but a door. Time is but a window. I'll be back." Over and over again.

My little brother Dougie, who was about six at the time, asked me if I thought we were going to die.

I told him that we would only die if it was our time to go and meet the angels.

With nothing but sheer luck helping him, and the fact that my dad had some sort a guardian angel protecting him, we actually made it to Detroit.

When I got out of the car, I laid down on pavement in the parking lot, and I thanked God for my life.

I remember, after I quit shaking, I looked up from the ground at my brother Josh and I asked him, I said, "Do you think that God kept us alive through that trip because we have important work to do on the Earth?"

"Yes," Josh said, "We must have some sort of a destiny. Or a life plan, since we made it here alive."

And I was just like, "That's gotta be the truth. Maybe we're supposed to cure cancer."

That trip was the closest I think I've ever come to dying.

It made me appreciate life so much more, because I have looked death right in the eye, and somehow, I still made it to Detroit.

Number One and Number Two

You know, I have never been able to bring myself to order a number one or a number two value meal at McDonalds.

I just can't do it.

When kids are little, I have heard them refer to their 'elimination' processes in the manner of number one being urine, and number two being feces.

And so, since McDonalds and Burger King and other fast food places in general do have a reputation for selling people, "Shitty food" I can't understand why they would refer to any food stuff on their menus with numbers like that.

I have never tried a number one or a number two at McDonalds or Burger King or any other place.

Once, I went through the drive through at McDonalds, and I was going to try to order a number two, because if I recall correctly, it doesn't look like a bad value meal.

However, I started sniggering when I tried to get the words out.
I was like, "Hi, I'll have a, heh heh heh." Then I started giggling. "Ha ha ha. A number. . . a number. . . . . uhhhhhhhhhhh."

Finally, I just got a "number seven."

I'll bet the person working the fast food window thought I was retarded.

I just kept thinking to myself, "Hi I'd like to order some shit."

I mean, a number two. Ha! ha!

I wonder if there's anyone else in this world who just couldn't ever bring themselves to order a number two at a fast food restaurant, or if I'm the only person out there with this problem.

I wonder if the number ones and the number twos are always the worst selling value meals at every restaurant.

I wonder if this is a sign that I really am incredibly immature.

If you can roll through a McDonalds drive through and order a number two with a straight face, does that mean that you are a 'real grown up'?

I'll bet a true adult can go into any fast food place and order a number two. without thinking anything of it. They'd just take their sandwich and leave.

They wouldn't be thinking stuff to themselves like,
"Yeah, why don't you sell me some shit? At least you're honest. Why don't you super size my number two while you're at it? Or make it a king size. Or a supreme. Do you think you could put some sour cream and some tomatoes on my number two?"

I'll bet some people, ESPECIALLY health food people, think that every thing on the menu at fast food places are 'number twos anyway."

Man, I really do need to become more mature and stop being such a dork.

I should go to McDonalds right now and order a number two. That would be a sure sign that I was a true adult, and not just a big, overgrown, twelve year old.

Bras

You know, I used to spend a lot of time trying to convince my future sister-in-law that she needed to wear a bra.

She just won't wear one, and I don't know why.

She doesn't care at all.

She used to wear a t-shirt that had a big hole in it, and a caption across the front that said, "Made you look", and sometimes her boob would pop out of the hole.

I said to her, "Dude, you if don't start wearing a bra, you're gonna be playing hacky sack with those giant breasts of yours because they will eventually reach your ankles.

I even took her bra shopping once, but she didn't 'like' any of the bras.

She finally let me buy her a shirt that had a built in bra, but when she got home, she took the underwires out of the shirt because they were 'uncomfortable.'

Look, I'm not talking about a girl with small breast here. I'm talking about a girl with GIGANTIC breasts.

If you are over a certain cups size, than you have to wear a bra. It's the law.

Now me, I wear a bra all the time. I even sleep in a bra. I slather on breast firming cream. . .
There's no way in hell I'm ever getting saggy boobs. I refuse to go down that road.

If my breasts ever even slightly start to sag, I'm getting them removed and then I'm having implants put in instead.

I can't understand why everyone doesn't feel the same way as I feel about this issue.

I don't want to act like a certain person who I know, and start to claim that I know everything about breasts, or how to prevent your breast from sagging--or even that saggy boobs are somehow 'bad'--I'm just saying, it can be prevented.

Why go all 'National Geographic' if you haven't got to?

Anyone who wears anything larger than an A cup should be wearing a bra.
And if you're bigger than a C, then you have to wear a bra and that is THAT.
My brother's girlfriend wears a DD. A DOUBLE D!!!!!! Now that she's breastfeeding, she wears a G. A G!!!!!!!!

She needs to wear a bra! She needs to strap her mammoth breasts down, or else I'm telling you, eventually, they won't be round.

They will be long, like socks.
Big round boobs go long like socks if you don't wear a bra.

I would never let that happen to me.
I keep my boobs strapped in. They're not flopping around.

I don't understand why everyone doesn't feel the same way as I do about this issue.

I know that I haven't got all the answers, and I know that I'm not always right.

But dammit all, I think I know what I'm talking about when it comes to the prevention of sagging breasts.

I'm no expert, but I still say, wear a bra all the time, don't jump around for no good reason, use the firming cream, don't gain or lose any weight, and then you will never get saggy boobs.

Remember: An ounce of prevention is better than a pound of cure

An Exciting New Discovery

I just found out that you can go on social security/disability for being retarded.

I'll bet all you have to do is fail an IQ test administered by the state.

Forget about studying to pass stupid, hard tests. Screw that, I'm gonna go down and fail that IQ test.

It can't be that hard to fail an IQ test. Anyone can fail an IQ test if they try.

All you have to do in order to fail an IQ test, is circle the wrong answer every time you happen to know the right answer, and then just circle the worst 'guess' for the questions you don't know the right answer to anyway.

It's impossible not to fail a test if you try.

I feel like a damn genius over here for coming up with this plan.

I mean, how do they keep the people who might score above an 80 on an IQ test from going down and attempting to fail the test so that they can become certified?

That's why this is so brilliant. Anyone can fail the test.

You can't fail FAILING the test!

I'm going to make an appointment on Monday to see about going down to fail the IQ test, and whatever other tests they may give to me.

Then, after I prove to the authorities that I am profoundly retarded, I'm going to go live in a home.

I'll bet I could get in, for sure. And I'll bet I'd like living in a home better than where I live now.

I'm ready to move almost anywhere else. I think I might have Aimee convinced that we need to get an apartment together.

But if not, a home would be all right as well.

And do you know what else would be cool?

It would be cool if you went down and became a member of Mensa, and then, after which, you went down and became certified as being retarded and then went on disability.

You know, they investigate disability claims, and so it would be interesting to see how long it would take you to get busted if you were also a 'certified genius.'

I wonder if you could argue that you are an idiot savant?

Another thing too, that is probably true, is that since they watch people who go on disability for having physical ailments, they would probably watch someone who went on disability for being retarded.

What this means, of course, is that once you went on the disability for being retarded, if you were lying, then you'd have to make sure no one caught you doing anything that might not be in keeping with your real IQ score.

You probably wouldn't be off at the library, checking out books, because that would suspicious behavior. As would opening up a accounting business. Or publishing a book.

What's more is that, you probably couldn't get into Grad school.

Although, I guess it's still possible that you could go to Grad school, as long as you went and got an MBA Ha! Ha! Ha! (I'm just joking, bad joke)

I really do think it might be true though, that it would be discrimination to refuse to allow any particular group of individuals into a public school, so I might be able to go off the Grad school even if I did live in a home

I might have to research my life options living as someone who has failed the 'state certified IQ test', just to see what kinds of things I will no longer be able to do in the future.

My new life philosophy is now 'Aim Low Grasshopper—but don't hit your foot.'

I'm (mostly) joking with this post. If anyone knows any retarded people, please don't take any offence. . . . .
I know that being retarded is a serious condition and that it isn't funny.

I know because my roomate is retarded. Ha! Ha! (Joke)

6 O’clock in the morning

Well, I was awoken from a deep sleep very early this morning at the sound of the baby screeching.

I guess I must have more maternal instinct then I thought I did, since I can't believe I'd ever wake up for something like a baby screaming.

But Ocean, Bekki's baby, has only two regular cries.

One is the cry she makes when she is uncomfortable and needs some food or her diaper changed.

And the other is a high pitched screech she makes when you've done something to piss her off.

I personally get the high pitched screech a lot, because I piss the baby off a lot.

She doesn't think I'm competent, and I'm always trying to put her down, or get her to take a nap.

The cry that woke me up, however, was more of a pathetic whimpering.

It was a frightening, sad cry.

A cry that something was desperately amiss.

I jumped from my bed and ran out to investigate the situation, where I soon found Bekki comforting her whimpering baby.

It seems that baby, who is too lazy to crawl, for some reason did some sort of a butt wiggle/pelvic thrust up Bekki's bed.

Once she got to the top of the mattress, she stuck her head in the gap between the mattress and the wall, where she got her head stuck.

Her head was stuck and she couldn't pull it back out.

I guess it was the fear of having her head stuck like that that caused her to make that pathetic cry of distress.

She looked all shaken and freaked out.

When I found out what had caused the distress cry, I started laughing.

Then Bekki started laughing too, because you know, it really was funny.

I mean come on? Who gets their head stuck between the mattress and the wall?

Someone is gonna get that guy, for sure

I'll tell you the truth; I'm a pacifist at heart.

I'm a bug advocate. I stand up for the spiders of this world. I don't even like to squash mosquitoes.

I don't kill things.

I'm nonviolent.

I'd be out there saving the squirrels and the chipmunks if I thought they needed my help.

However, there's this guy who roller blades down the middle of the road with these ski poles, and I don't think he's going to live very long.

I mean, when me, Barbie, the girl who wants to save the spiders from harm, would like to strike you down, than somebody is gonna get you for sure.

There I was, driving down the road right? Going about 5 miles an hour because I'm trapped behind this guy on roller blades.

You can't pass him because it's a no passing zone, going up a hill, and he's rolling down the middle of the roadway on his roller blades, so what are you supposed to do? Pass him on the grass?

The whole time I'm following this asshole I'm thinking to myself stuff like, "I'm gonna hit this guy. It's all over for you, buddy. I'm gonna strike you down with my car, and then speed away into the night."

I even started looking around to see if any neighbor people were out of their houses, just to see if the coast was clear.

I was checking to see if anyone was looking before I attempted to try my hit and run.

I even though to myself, "Do it dude, do it while there's time."

But I could bring myself to step on the accelerator. I wanted to, but I didn't.

I thought of prison, and how convicts hide weapons in their rectums, and then I went back to looking for neighbor people, because you never know if the coast is really clear or not.

Look, I don't even squash mosquitoes, but I'd run that asshole on the roller blades over in about a second if I thought I could get away with it.

In my fantasy, I thought I'd first run him over, then I'd throw my car into reverse and back over him, then I'd drive backwards down the street so that no one who witnessed the 'hit and run' would see my plate.

While I followed behind that idiot, I was even began daydreaming about what color I'd repaint my car after the 'accident.'

If that's the sort of thing good old nonviolent Barbie is thinking while you roller blade at 5 m/hr in front of her car, than someone else really will kill you.

It takes a lot of nerve to roller blade down the middle of the road going about 5 miles per hour. I predict someone hits him.

I have no idea who is going to hit this guy. But I bet a dollar that eventually, he'll get taken out.

The speed limit on that road is 55 miles per hour. He was going 5 miles per hour.

That's not fast enough.

The road is hilly, it's not flat.

That guy better stop skating down the middle of the road with ski poles if he wants to keep safe.

Someone will get him.

I'm sure of this.

Video Games and Violence on TV

I've taken a lot of college classes. More, actually, than I technically needed to take.
After a while, you start seeing the same stuff over and over again. I've seen several of the same videos shown in different classes.

I've read recountings of the same information in different textbooks.

The authors may change, but the information generally remains the same.

One of the things I hated reading about most when I took a social science class was violence caused by video games and watching TV.

Look, I don't care how many social scientists research this topic, video games and TV do not cause people to become violent.

People are naturally violent.

All you have to do is look at a history book for about five seconds and you will realize that people were violent way before they ever invented video games and TV.

Do you think the Ancient Romans were staying up late watching horror movies before they went and watched gladiators fight to the death?

Maybe they watched something really bad, like, "Faces of Death" before they got the idea of feeding Christians to lions, too.

That has to be the case for sure, the ancient Romans were so violent because of too much TV.

I once read an account about how when Cortés and his conquistador buddies were down raping and enslaving the Aztec Indians of what is now Mexico, they cut a little Indian boys head off and played kick ball with it.

Do you think the conquistadors got that idea from a video game?

Our founding fathers, those bastard puritans, used to kill and torture the Indian population native to North America too.

Do you think those bible thumping morons got their ideas from playing a Sega Geneses?

No.

Why? Because electricity, television, and video games HADN'T BEEN INVENTED YET.

Social science researchers need to take some history classes. That's what they need to do.

Our people, the human race, burned women at the stake for practicing 'witchcraft'.

PEOPLE, who were around WAY BEFORE TV used to go to public hangings for entertainment. These people would heckle and throw things at the people who were being put to death!

PEOPLE ARE VIOLENT!

We're less violent then we used to be, that's for sure. We're actually making progress.

Don't be an ass and think that violent video games and movies could 'desensitize' youngsters to violent acts.

BULLSHIT. If these youngsters want to sublimate their violent tendencies into a healthy aggression towards their opponent in a video game than that is actually a wonderful outlet for their natural violence.

PEOPLE ARE VIOLENT.

THEY ALWAYS HAVE BEEN.

IT IS NOT THE FAULT OF TV OR VIDEO GAMES.

What pisses me off the most is that these social scientist get grants to study that kind of bullshit too.

A waste of money if there ever was one.

I gotta get some food

You know, I was laying on my bed with my arms folded up under me, and I was at such an angle so that I could really feel my ribs under my arm.

So much so, in fact, that I got to thinking about one of those big sides of ribs that you can buy at the grocery store.

I was making myself hungry, feeling my ribs like that, and I got to wondering that if I was ever eaten by cannibals, would I be quality meat?

If cannibals ate me, would I be tasty? It's a hard question to answer, but worth asking.

It's a true fact that animals have a different flavor to their meat depending on what it is that they feed off of.

For instance, reports from people who have eaten rats living in New York City inform us of that fact that city rats are stringy and taste like garbage.

However, rats that feed off sugar cane in Jamaica have been reported to have a sweet flavor.

So clearly, a large portion of whether or not a rat is good to eat depends largely on where it hails from, and what the rat eats as its daily diet.

Because of this discrepancy in rat flavor, it makes me wonder what types of people a cannibal would look for when they were looking to score some dinner.

Cannibal tribes have told anthropologists that humans taste like pork.

In fact, humans are often referred to as 'long boned pork' in native circles.

If people taste like pork, it stands to reason that the same type of a diet pigs are given would produce relatively good meat in a human.

Since pigs mostly eat slop, I have to assume that most any human diet would probably be adequate when taking the flavor of human meat into consideration.

People who are strong and lean would most likely be tough and stringy.

However, a person who was over weight would probably produce fatty meat, although, the meat would probably be tender.

Since I don't eat very much anymore and I think I'm dying from starvation, I'll bet if someone cooked me and ate me, I'd be stringy.

I'm not very active though, so I bet I would relatively tender.

I'll bet I would be a tender, stringy meat. I might possibly be gamey too, since I am technically a wild animal.

I was looking the baby over, and I'll bet she'd be tender—like veal.

It's more than likely that her milk fed diet would produce a sweet meat, I'll bet.

I wonder what types of people cannibals usually look for?

I wonder if vegetarians are better to cook and eat, or if meat eaters have a better flavor?

I wonder if smoking cigarettes would affect the flavor of a person's meat?

These are good questions.

It's too bad the only cannibal I personally know of is Jeffrey Dahmer.

Jeffrey Dahmer gave cannibalism a bad name though.

I wouldn't want to ask someone like that how best to cook a human.

It would be far better to go and ask native peoples from cannibal tribes these questions.

Urban Sprawl

Urban sprawl really pisses me off. I can think of very few things that makes me angrier.
I actually had the privilege of watching the same documentary on urban sprawl on two separate occasions in two different classes.

I watched the video once in a sociology class, and then once again in an economics class.

Incidentally, the program was a PBS presentation. So I could have simply stayed at home and watched public television and would have been just as educated.

It's particularly tragic that I paid to watch the video, what with the tuition it costs to take a college course, when in all actually, I didn't even need to pay for the cost of cable TV in order to educate myself.

I could have done it for free.

Anyway, I digress.

The PBS documentary I saw twice was all about how the racial polarity of Detroit contributed to the god awful problem of urban sprawl Michigan now suffers from.

It seems as though, black people, in search of employment, migrated from the south to the north in droves, hoping to find work in the automobile industry.

As the black people moved into the city, however, the white people concluded that they didn't want to associate themselves with their new neighbors and so went about moving out of the cities and into the suburbs.

As more and more white people left the city, the funding the city once had dropped and the cities services began to decline. After the rich, the middle class white people began infiltrating the rich white areas, followed later by more affluent blacks.

This, of course, caused the racist white people to simply continue moving further out into the country side.

Meanwhile, the city these people had all abandoned began to become
ghetto like, with only poor people who could not afford to leave left behind.

Highways, and the automobile were also to blame for the urban sprawl that our nation is hell bent on ruining itself with, but in Michigan, our decimation of the country side has a great deal to do with racism.

It is also a true fact that it has long been noted by foreign peoples that Americans harbor some strange and queer hatred for trees. From day one our 'founding fathers' were out raping the land.

It is probably the case that the ignorance and hubris of the American people that would eventual cause the decimation of the country side was easily predicted by the Indians the first day those dipshit pilgrims stepped foot onto Plymouth Rock.

Squanto should have let the Pilgrims starve to death. And that's a fact.

However, the fact that the Pilgrims lived when the Indians should have left those bible thumping, puritanical morons to die doesn't really have anything to do with what I was talking about.

I just have a real bad hate on for the Pilgrims and every time I think about them I get pissed.

Anyway, the point is, is that the way in which our cities are structured is almost exactly the opposite of most European cities.

In Europe, it is my understanding that the very rich and affluent live in the heart of the city. Culture abounds in the downtown areas, with people going off to the theater, concerts, museums. . . . .Libraries and schools are well within the distance of convenient public transportation.

As you go further out of the city, the cultural opportunities begin to drop, the homes become less extravagant, and the incomes lower dramatically as you begin to approach the country side.

It is there in the country where the poor farmers live.

The poor farms raise animals in the fields, grow crops, and live off the land.

Here in America, people from the cities move out, thus abandoning the area altogether.

The rich leave behind the poor, and of course the poor have no money to
support much of anything, and so the schools become run down, the libraries are looted, and the abandoned theaters become 'crack houses'.

Slowly, more and more people find that they are forced to leave the city, due to violence and general degeneration, and so these people too follow in the footsteps of the rich.

Shocked and appalled at an encroachment of 'lesser people' into their area, the very rich then move further out.

Only of course to be followed at a later time by the rest of the people who must once again abandon their city.

Mean while, these idiots, who are retarded, roll over farmers, pave farm land, and piss every one off.

The way to go, of course, it to not be a racist asshole, and to stay in the city and stand your ground.

You should remain where you are and attempt to keep the quality of your city up to par rather than going and destroying the country side with your subdivisions.

These people who move their subdivisions out into the countryside are the ruination of the country.

Soon, the area I live in now at this time will no longer be 'country'.

Indeed, eventually, I predict that all of the United States of America will eventually be once sprawling, wretched city, with little pockets of farm land here and there that the god damn idiots forgot to roll over.

Urban sprawl pisses me off bad.

Controversial Topics Make a Brief Reappearance

You know, I don't believe in the death penalty.

And not because I think people shouldn't be killing other people either. I am well aware that sometimes killing someone really is your only option.

There are all sorts of different circumstances that could occur that may require killing another person. For instance, self defense comes to mind.

So, I'm not necessarily opposed to killing people per say.

What I'm against is killing people for punishment.

Why?

Because how do we know death is 'punishment' anyway?

Sure, every religion has its theories about what happens after death, but no one has got any actual proof.

There is absolutely not one single shred of evidence that killing someone is in anyway a punishment after that person is dead.

I'm sure waiting to be killed frightens people quite badly, of course. But after death, who knows what happens for sure?

No one who is currently alive knows this answer for a fact.

Of course, people have their theories. They have they're faith.

But they have no proof.

They have absolutely no physical evidence that they can present that says, "Hey, we know what's gonna happen to this serial killer after we kill him. We've photographic evidence and written statements about 'life on the other side'".

For all we know, criminals immediately become evil spirits after death, joining up with other evil spirits in order to become a force of evil that plagues our planet.

What's more is that, nice people die every day.

We don't conclude that people who die in what seem to be premature and untimely deaths are being 'punished'.

We call that 'God's will'.

What's more is that, why is it wrong to murder someone on your own initiative, but it's alright to kill someone if the State tells you its ok?

How does that make any sense at all?

If I got a one day pass from the Governor of my State to go on a shooting spree and kill all the 'bad people' would it really be alright to go killing people as long as I got permission first from the 'law'.

I would think murder would be murder no matter who gave me the go ahead.

This is a strange dichotomy that I can't wrap my mind around and I just cannot understand it.

I just can't help but to see strange double standards regarding this issue that do not appear to me to be quite fair.

Now I am aware that there are practical reasons for killing convicts.

It could be argued that tax payer money is saved by killing prisoners. However, tax payer money would also be saved by making prisoners work in slave camps, like I've suggested already millions of times.

We could save taxpayers a lot of money by stripping prisoners of the luxury items that they have, too.

And of course, if I was in charge, I'd strip them of pretty much everything.

For instance, I don't know why they keep giving convicts razors.

Those crazy idiots don't need any sharp objects.

Any person who could even potentially melt a toothbrush, stick a razor blade they pried from their safety razor into the heated plastic, and then hide their new 'weapon' in their rectum, does not need to shave that badly

I'm sorry, but if you do something like that, you don't get a razor anymore—end of discussion.

Hell, if you do something like that, I don't think I'd even give you another toothbrush.

In order to save on food costs, I am also a personal advocate of feeding all prisoners 'The Loaf', which Warden Thomas described in graphic detail on the Weekend Edition Saturday as a "Sort of a carrot-and stick approach to corrections. . . The carrots in this case are finely grated and mixed with wheat bread, fake cheese, spinach, beans, raisins and other ingredients and smells a little bit like the food they serve in the elephant cage at the National Zoo."
But how does it taste? "Blander than bland,"'

Why not just feed prisoners a balanced diet of vitamin enriched bread with a side of refuse and save everyone some money? That's what I think we should do anyway.

I for one don't think we should be spending a lot of money on convicts at all, so if we can bring the cost of keeping them down on the whole, killing them in order to save money really isn't a very good argument.

What's more is that, some convicts are innocent people. It's really bad when innocent people are put to death; only to have it found out later that they didn't commit the crime that they were charged with.

It's bad enough that innocent people have to sit and rot in prison cells while they desperately research law information pertaining to their case and curse their rotten attorneys or the bastards that set them up. But to kill them too as the 'ultimate punishment' seems really sad and wrong.

I'm just not for the death penalty. I don't think it's fair.

In most cases, I think being fed 'the loaf' everyday and working in a slave camp that I devised myself would be a fate worse than death anyway.

Prisoners would be lining up and asking people to shoot them in the head if I was in charge.

Food

You know, in a way it's kind of sad that people think it's so easy to manipulate me with food.

In some ways, people are even condescending about it.

Margaret called me and she was like, "Barbie, will you come over. I made a tuna noodle casserole."

Like, what? Do you think that just because you made a tuna noodle casserole I'm jumping up and down to get it?

If I show up to visit someone and they happen to be eating they're always like, "Got your psychic powers on, huh Barbie? Could you smell dinner from the road?"

Bah! I'm not that desperate for some food.

The people who I know will be stunned after I learn to cook for myself and they realize that they can no longer use food as a bargaining chip, or as a form of manipulation.

I'm not that desperate for a taco. I can get my own tacos anyway.

It's almost insulting, really, when you think about it.

"If you help me paint, I will make you some spaghetti."

"If you go shopping with me I'll buy you a sandwich."

Margaret used to think she could get me to go swimming at the YMCA for a taco. I have no idea where she even came up with the notion.

She'd call me constantly. "Wanna go to the Y? I'll buy you a taco."

And I was just, "No. I don't LIKE the Y."

"But Barbie, everyone knows you'd do anything for a taco."

I will not!

I hate the YMCA. The water there is not clean. The chlorine burns my skin.

I'm not going to the YMCA for a taco. Fuck you!

People think they can get me to do almost anything for food.

Where did people get this notion?

I'm not that easy to manipulate.

I don't care if you do have a tuna noodle casserole. It doesn't make any damn difference to me.

It's always the first thing people say to me too.

"Barbie I have (cookies, homemade bread, soup, etc etc) will you (come over, help me paint, watch my kids, go with me to the store etc etc)."

And people blame my bad moods on food too.

It is VERY condescending to be in the middle of a temper tantrum and have someone hand you a granola bar.

"Here Barbie, I know you're not REALLY mad, your blood sugar is just low. You just need some food."

Fuck you! My blood sugar is not low. I'm mad!

Condescending bastards who think I'll do anything for a taco. It's not true.
Just wait until I start cooking for myself. Then I'll have all kinds of food.

Little Kids

You know, I think little kids are in a constant 'high like' condition.

It's like they're tripping on acid all the time.

Today, Nikki was jumping around shouting, "Spiders! Spiders! They're everywhere! There's spiders all over. Help!"

Like you know, if she was ten years older, she'd be medicated for doing some of the weird stuff she does.

I remember being little myself though, and I know now, looking back, that I wasn't 'all there.'

I don't think anyone is.

An ad came on TV today for 'The Secret of the Ooze' a Ninja Turtle Movie, and I turned to Bekki and I told her that when I was a kid, I thought I was going to grow up to marry Leonardo, the Ninja Turtle with the purple mask.

Bekki told me that she thought she'd grow up to marry Michelangelo.
I was kind of surprised to discover that someone else felt the same way I once did about a Ninja Turtle.

I remember thinking Leonardo was the most attractive Ninja Turtle because he wore a purple mask, and he had the best weapon.

I also though Splinter, the giant rat who was like the Ninja Turtle's leader, and father figure, was like, the Buddha.

I remember watching 'The Secret of The Ooze,' and thinking Splinter was so wise. I wanted to grow up to be a wise rat, and live in the sewer too. I'm not making this up.

I also remember being absolutely crushed when I wasn't allowed to go to a 'New Kids on the Block' concert because I was too little.

My heart was broken, and I thought I'd surely die over not ever being able to see 'The New Kids' live in concert.

I think I was like 6 or 7, and I remember I cried myself to sleep over that loss.

When you're a kid, life is just one surreal and bizarre experience after another. And you have no grasp on reality, whatsoever.

I remember going through the playboy collection that my mom got from my dad in the divorce (He took all her porcelain dolls, and she took his playboys) and trying to decide which playmate I was going to grow up to be.

I even tore pictures from out of the magazines and hung them on my walls.

Did I wan't to be Miss March? Or Miss April?

I remember thinking this was a major decision that I was going to have to make.

I also remember trying to decide if I wanted to grow up to be a blond, a brunette, or a red head.

I even thought I could grow up to be black. There was one particular black playmate in one of those playboy magazines who I remember thinking was the most beautiful woman in the world.

I remember thinking to myself, 'She so pretty, maybe I'd rather be Miss January when I grow up. I'll have to get darker skin, but that won't be a problem."

I had no grasp on reality at all.

Little kids are just out of it man. They don't know what's going on.

You buy them a happy meal, and they think you're some kind of a God.

If my 6 year old self could meet my 26 year old self, that little girl would be SO disappointed.

I can see her now, she's give me the third degree:

'Where's Leonardo?

What? He's not here? You mean you didn't marry a Ninja Turtle? What happened?

Did you ever even meet the Ninja Turtles?

No?! Why not?

Did you ever get to go to a New Kids concert?

No??!!!!! Never?! Why Not?!

What do you mean you don't live in the sewer?

What do you mean you're not miss January of 83'

WHAT WENT WRONG?????'

And I'd just have to be like, "I dunno kid, I just failed. I real sorry about that."

The Food where I live Is Getting Worse

Well, someone asked me what I had to eat for dinner yesterday.
I told them that E.J went out and shot a chicken, which he then gutted in the yard.

After which he deep fried it and then he deep fried some slices of potato.

The chicken was old though, or something, and it came out all stringy.

I tried to eat it, but I couldn't chew it.

It was gross, and I kept thinking about how it had just been shot.

I very discreetly threw my pieces of chicken into the garbage, and then covered the chicken pieces up with some more garbage.

Then, I waited for EJ to go to sleep and I ate a can of green beans. I didn't want him to think that I didn't appreciate dinner, but it was pretty bad.

People are starting to hear about this food dilemma I have and so they are beginning to bring me some food right here to the house.

I got two tacos on Thursday, and my mother sent me home with a pan full of soup after I visited her today, to hear all about why she is a gangster.

I'm not sure how Bekki and EJ are surviving on the food they eat. I myself have lost ten pounds and I've only been living here a few months.

I think I'm just gonna have to start cooking for myself. It's just how it's gonna have to be from now on.

I've got no problems buying food, but I guess there comes a time when you just have to step up to the plate and start making your own meals.

Either that, or else you starve to death—or you gotta eat whatever it is your roommate made. And it could be strange and weird food that they bring to you.

I've never had this problem before.

Of course, before I used to eat out a lot. But I need to save up my money now so eating out is out of the question.

I'm gonna get a cook book and I'm gonna start small. I can already make sandwiches and salads.

A make a mean grilled cheese. I can make tuna sandwiches too. And roast beef sandwiches. I can make tacos, and homemade spaghetti. I know how to make tuna noodle casserole, and macaroni and cheese from a box.

I can make anything from a box.

I can make Ramon noodles. And anything from a can.

I know this because I can read.

Yes it is true, life has deal me a blow.

I will now have to learn to cook for myself.

But I'm gonna do it. Why? Because I don't want to starve to death.

Post for my mom

I just watched an interview with someone called 'The Ice Man' on PBS.
The Ice Man killed people for fun.

The psychologist who conducted the interview seemed to think that it was due to unresolved feelings of hostility he had directed towards his father.

The Ice Man killed so may people that the Mafia finally contacted him and hired him as a hit man.

He made a lot of money, and had an ice cream business that he used as his cover, or something like that.

Anyway, the Ice Man was a real bad ass. And he wasn't in any gang.

And he didn't brag

He told of his different killings with a sober, stone like expression.

He was considered DEEPLY disturbed by the psychologist, with many personality disorders and unresolved issues from childhood.

Ever since I posted to my blog about how my mom thinks she's a gangster, she won't stop IMing me to inform me of her criminal past.

Look, if you're a real criminal you don't need to list your exploits.

And being a criminal does NOT make you cool.

It makes you a criminal.

Nothing makes you cool.

You can be a damn dork and be in a gang.

Nothing can make you cool or legitimate or worth loving. You are who you are, and you should embrace and accept that fact.

People are 'cool' when they are who they are and they are happy. No amount of criminal activities will make you 'cool'.

Even if you were a criminal, or are a criminal, it doesn't really matter.

It's what's on the inside that counts.

The Ice Man wasn't 'cool' because he killed all those people and put them in his freezer.

He just wasn't.

Plus, now he has to live in prison—which certainly is NOT cool.

Being in a gang does not make you cool.

Nothing can make you cool.

Wearing the right jeans, buying the right things, having the right job. . . . None of these things make you cool.

Likening yourself, loving yourself, accepting yourself, and then getting on with it and living a nice life will make you cool.

Being yourself and not caring what other people think of you makes you cool.

Bad News

Bad news, rap is no longer cool.

You heard it here first, folks. Gone are the days when getting huge subwoofers and blasting your stereo so loudly that the vibrations rattled your car apart was 'cool'.

Why is this the case, you ask?

Well, I'll tell you.

Rap is no longer cool because my mom has decided that 'Gangster Rap' is her favorite type of music.

She's been rolling around town listening to Snoop Dog, Too Short, and Fifty Cent.

She's got subwoofers in her trunk and if you get into her car she won't let you turn the rap music down.

I told her I'd go with to the store the other day , and when she showed up to the house, her car was rattling from the loud rap music. I just stood in the driveway until she agreed to turn her 'toons' down.

Then, when I was trying to talk to her, for no reason she just started rapping, only not really because she can't rap.

I was like, "Mom, I don't want to insult you, but would you please turn the music down when I'm in the car? I don't want to go deaf."

So she goes, "Are you a gangster, bitch you need to stop fronting. Don't even give a shit, but you need to stop fronting."

Or some dumb shit like that.

And I was just like, "What the hell is wrong with you?"

I'm starting to think it may be some sort of a mid life crisis that she's going through.

I told her that if she doesn't knock it off with the gangster rap that I was going to record her trying to rap, and then send a copy of the video to all the rappers in the world.

Then, I'm going to sit down and write a letter telling Snoop Dog, and all the rest, to tell them that rap has gone too main stream now to be 'cool'.

Indeed, it is true that when white women from little towns think they are 'balling' and that they 'live in a crib' there is a problem.

I mean, I told her that she wasn't even speaking the gangster talk properly, because she just wasn't.

We were in the store and while checking out the groceries we went to pick up, she said to me, right in front of the cashier, and I quote,

"Are you ready to bounce, dawg?"

And I was just like, "Bounce, you say?"

And then she said, "We have to get back to the crib. I'm gonna kick it with a forty."

So I said, "What?" This whole time the cashier was staring at us so I attempted to look confused.

So then she said, "Roll with dat."

I don't even know where she thinks she learned how to speak 'Ebonics' or whatever it's called that she's trying to mimic.

She lives in a small town. She's 46 years old.

She's never 'kicked it in the hood.'

I'm not making this up. I brought the topic up in an IM chat with her tonight, and here's what she said:
*******

My Mom: Terrible... damn dwag... as I roll to what... oops... I'm supposed to be OLD... what am I doing?

Me: I KNEW IT. THIS IS ALL PART OF A MIDLIFE CRISIS

My Mom: Dwag... you having a midlife crisis?

Me: Only if I'm going to die at 52
Which is a possibility
You never know when you're gonna die

My Mom: Right... well I never suggested you go bang with me.... so... midlife what?

Me: crisis

My Mom: Choking... yeah... right... you see me driving around in a red sports car... with some blonde dude with a pony tail blowing in the wind?

Me: No, but you think you live in a crib

My Mom: This is a muther fucking crib.... where you been?

Me: Not in the hood
Incidentally, the hood is a place that you have never been to either, friend

My Mom: Roll with that.

Me: Do you ever chill it with a forty?

My Mom: A forty of old english?
That would be fourty oz's of beer...

Me: There is no u in forty

My Mom: Right.. You ever hit an all night poker game.. and walk away.... with most of the take?
You ever deal pounds of pot... just to make some extra cash?

Me: No, I haven't

My Mom: Well... then... I'm so cute... and never hung in the hood.

Me: What are you talking about?
And may I post this part of the conversation to my blog?

My Mom: No... I have no interest in being busted by the feds... yeah... when you were little I banged

Me: You did not
This is going on my blog

My Mom: Oh god... you are so cute...I used to kick it.. I've been real good for years.

Me: That is not true
And anyway, 'kicking it' still doesn't mean that you ever lived in the hood

My Mom: Oh... as I laugh... whatever... and I never LIVED in the hood... I walked in and out...

Me: You did not

My Mom: Umm... right... you are totally correct... I never delt drugs... don't know no hookers... and I'm so sweet.

Me: What is wrong with you mom? You know I'm posting this to my blog, this is funny stuff.

My Mom: You are twenty six years old... you want me to LIE to you?

Me: Look, mom you never lived in the hood. You are not from any part of the city

My Mom: Laughing.... hey... do what you want to... I got busted into TWICE... hid it from you guys. South Lansing...

Me: Well, South Lansing is rough

My Mom: Nah... not too bad... less you piss off some gang members... oops.

Me: This getting really funny
This is gonna be a great blog post

My Mom: I never banged... just kicked it... and well can be mean. I'm not trying to be a hard ass... and no reason to do that for you... truth.. is hard.
shrug... and you think I'm a little old lady... roll with it. I was too candid anyway.

Me: You're having a midlife crisis and you're reacting oddly

My Mom: OOOOHHHH you better hope you aren't running a log... like I never went banging?

Me: No, I don't think you've ever gone banging

My Mom: You are delightful... and well raised.
I'm sure your mother is proud.

Me: Thank you
************
Does ANYONE else have to deal with weird crap like this, or is it just me?
9:39 PM - 4 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment - Edit - Remove

Shawshank Redemption

You know, the Shawshank Redemption is one of my favorite movies.
The movie helped to formulate my idea of what I imagined prison to be like, too.

I used to figure that if I was ever sent to prison, I'd have to wear a jumpsuit, or a uniform of some kind, and that I'd spend my days working at maybe a little license plate job and whittling.

I thought I'd research a lot of law information in the law library. I'd spend my days exercising and getting strong while I made life long friends.

That's why I now find it so disturbing to discover the fact that people in prison are all making homemade weapons out of razor blades and melted down toothbrushes and then hiding the weapons in their rectums while they wait to stab somebody.

What kinds of people are being sent to prison these days? My God, it wasn't like the Shawshank Redemption AT ALL.

Now don't get me wrong, prison, even in the Shawshank Redemption, was no cake walk. No one really wanted to live there, and there were scary, creepy people around. But my God, at least some of those people were cultured and intelligent.

The only way I'd ever make it prison is if I transferred to the 'Sensitive Needs' area of the prison.

The Sensitive Needs area of the prison is where they house anyone who the other prisoners might murder immediately.

They have to sort of keep some prisoners away from other prisoners, because some prisoners have committed crimes that will get them murdered.

There are certain things that you don't want to go to prison for. You also probably don't want to go to go to prison if you are 'soft', meaning that you aren't a hardened criminal.

I don't know what I would be sent to prison for, if I ever had to go, but I'll bet it would be for something stupid or sissy. I wouldn't be able to hold my own against the people with the 'Toothbrush knives."

So that means I'd have to hang out with the creepy people with the 'Sensitive Needs', otherwise, roving bands of frightening convicts would try to stab me with their homemade weapons.

Prison isn't the glamorous place that the movies make it out to be, not at all.

I've decided that I don't want to go. Back when I was younger, I thought a viable life path would be to go into a Post Office and wave a gun around. If you do that, they will send you to prison for a long time.

Then, I thought I'd study home correspondence courses, and get lots of different degrees.

I'd never have to worry about getting dressed because I'd a uniform, and they'd feed me three meals a day.

However, if roving gangs were gonna stab me with homemade weapons they had been hiding in their rectums, I'm afraid that after further consideration, I feel that all positive aspects I can think of regarding living in prison are far outweighed by the negatives.

Long live living on the 'Outside'!

TV

I don't know why some of you people are so down on watching TV.

I myself learn a great deal from watching television.

My name is Barbie, and I live in a small town, and if it wasn't for HBO and Showtime and Court TV and other cable channels, there would be all sorts of things going on in the world that I personally would never know anything about.

For instance, I just found out that people who go to prison often hide homemade weapons in their rectums.

That's why, when you're in prison, your rectum is often called your, 'Prison Wallet'.

I just watched a fascinating show on Court TV were this guy's job was to take x-rays of prisoners, and then to evaluate those same x-rays in order to see what types of things the prisoners were attempting to hide in their "wallets".

Fascinating stuff. I also learned that you can make a weapon out of a razor and a toothbrush. People in prison can make weapons out of almost anything, I guess.

But that's not all I've learned from watching TV.

I used to be a devoted fan of a show that documented life inside a brothel called 'The Bunny Ranch". That too was fascinating television watching.

I learned all kinds of stuff about prostitutes by watching that show, not only that, but I once saw a show about prostitutes who work the streets too.

I know all about prostitutes because back when I still had HBO (We don't get that channel here anymore) I used to watch prostitution documentaries all the time.

I personally think that the most educational channel on TV has got to be HBO.

I remember once, I was watching this documentary on HBO about these two drug addicts who lived in an elevator, and the one drug addict went out and prostituted himself for some crack.

I saw that, and I was stunned.

I remember, my jaw dropped open and popcorn fell out of my mouth and onto my shirt, it was gross.

That night, I saw it all.

I mean, I saw the whole graphic prostitution and then I saw the guy go back to his elevator home to smoke his newly 'scored' crack.

You can't accuse me of being unworldly. I saw some guy prostitute himself for crack once. Not everyone has seen anything so graphic. . . or dare I say. . . .so disturbing.

You know, people talk about the dark side of life, and the underworld that is all around us, and it's hard to believe that some of what they say is true. Until you see it on TV, in which case, then you're educated.

Once you've seen some of these TV shows, that's when you really do become aware of the kinds of things that are out there.

I say TV is educational, I don't know why people knock it all the time.

‘Nother mom story

You know, as long as I'm picking on my mother for thinking she has strange and uncommon diseases, I'm also gonna tell about the time she managed to get us kicked out of a pet store.
My mom was sure she had some strange illness or another, but her doctor didn't agree with her.

My mom is always fighting with her doctor about what kinds of diseases she does, and does not have.

The doctor always seems to think my mom is fine, but my mom is always sure she's gonna die.

So anyway, I can't remember what the disease was that she thought she had, but the doctor wouldn't give her any antibiotics to treat her 'medical condition'.

So, my mom did some research on the Internet, and discovered that they gave the same kind of antibiotic that she wanted to fish. So, she decided that antibiotics were antibiotics, and she'd just take fish medicine.

She came and picked me up, and made me go with her to the pet store.

There, she told the guy in charge of the fish department that she had a sick fish, and it needed some medicine.

The guy asked her what type of fish she had, and my mom panicked, and started making up a story about a fish.

She was like, "It's about six inches long. It's yellow, we named it Pokey"

"But why is the fish sick?" The guy asked her.

"It's just not swimming right. It's got a bum fin, and it's been swimming into the side of the tank. It's that right, Barbie?" She turned to me for support and I was just like,

"Oh yeah, that fish is demented, for sure."

The fish guy was looking my mother over all suspicious like, and he finally told her that he wasn't going to sell her any fish medicine unless she came in with a sample of the fish's tank water.

My mom got all pissed off because she saw no reason for her having to present 'evidence' for why she needed this fish medication.

The guy finally told her that she was just gonna have to deal with it, because rules were rules.

I have never felt shady in my life. I about ran to car, trying to get out of that pet store.

The whole time, I felt crazy and weird.

My mom was still certain she had this illness that the doctor wouldn't give her any antibiotics for, so she researched fish medication on the internet for a while, and finally found some place in Mexico that she could order the fish antibiotics from.

She got a huge supply, and actually took the fish medicine.

After a few days, she said she felt MUCH better and that she had 'cured' whatever it was that she thought she had.

Once, I got sick and she came over to my house with some of her fish medicine and tried to get me to take some and I was just like,

"Hell no! Get out of my room. You're crazy."

I'm not taking fish antibiotics. I think it's weird. And I don't care if 'Antibiotics are antibiotics, no matter the animal they're made for' (to quote my mom).

If the doctor gives me medicine I'll take it, otherwise, forget it.

Man, I'm telling you, if I grew up to be a little weird, I have legitimate reasons.

My Mom

For the whole 20 minutes that I was afraid I might have tetanus, after I stepped on that rusty nail, I was reminded of how I was starting to act like my mother.
When I was living at home, we had a bit of a bat problem.

I was the bat catcher, and proud of it. Every time a bat got into the house, which happened once or twice a year, it was my job to catch it and set it free.

Once, a bat got into the house, and I promptly caught it and let it go.

However, my mom was certain that she had been bitten by the bat, and that soon, she would develop rabies.

First, she made an emergency trip to the hospital, where she was told that they thought she was fine.

She didn't believe them though, because she felt strange.

She started looking the different symptoms of rabies up on the internet, and began to develop some of them.

She made a doctors appointment,

There, the doctor told her that she didn't think my mom had rabies.

My mother was the ANGRIEST person ever in the whole wide world to be told that they DID NOT have rabies .

She wanted another opinion. She was sure she'd die.

She would not stop crying.

I remember, she sat me and my brothers down to tell us that she was going to die from rabies, and to tell us what she wanted us to do with her body after her death.

Then, she wrote out a will, and gave a copy of it my Grandmother.

You could hear her crying from the bed in her bedroom, and arguing with God.

"Why," she'd mutter while she wept, "Why rabies God?"

This was over ten years ago, and she's still alive.

Still, to this day, if you mention 'rabies' to my mom, you can make her twitch.

My readers are funny people

My loyal blog readers (all four of you people) crack me up.
I didn't post for a little while, mostly because we a have high speed cable connection for the phone and the computer, and sometimes, for no real reason, the cable connection just won't work.

It happens every now and then. You just never know if the computer here is gonna get online or not.

I figure it's good for me when I can't get online because I hang out on the computer too much anyway. I just go do something else. Sometimes, I even go OUTSIDE.

So, there was really nothing wrong. I wasn't dead or in jail.

I guess I shouldn't have posted about how I was planning on picking a fight with all the people who live in the subdivision behind the house here, and that I could have tetanus, and then not post any updates.

Some of the messages I received for not giving an update to my blog were so funny though, they are totally worth reposting:

Here's one for Bayou Boy:

ARE YOU OKAY ? ! ? . . . You haven't posted anything in two days . . . Did the nail give you Tetanus? . . . You know they call Tetanus, "Lock Jaw" because all of your muscles constrict and you can't open your mouth to eat. . . . or move your fingers to type! IF YOU CAN READ THIS, TYPE " Y " FOR YES . . I'M OK!

Here's another one from Chris:

You didn't really hang a dead deer head from a tree, did you? You know, you can get in serious trouble for that—you know that, right?

You're not in jail, are you?

It is pretty a funny note to leave on, when you think about it.

"I'm gonna get the neighbors, and I have a disease!"

My last post, when I finally get tired of posting to my blog, will probably be something like, "I've got a gun, and I'm gonna use it! Also, I fear I may have leprosy. I'll post an update on what I've done with the gun, and also on the leprosy development, soon."

And, then, I'll just never update the blog to inform anyone of how it all turned out.

But for an update regarding the tetanus, and the neighbors: 1. I don't think I have tetanus. (If I get any symptoms, it will take them like, two weeks to develop anyway.

And 2: No, we didn't really hang anything dead from the trees. We still might make a 'living art' statue for the yard though, but we haven't done it yet.

I just want my readers to know that one of these days, I'm gonna get a life. I'm gonna get a life, and then I'm going to lose interest in posting to my blog, and hanging out on the computer.

This is a true fact. I don't know when it's going to happen, but someday, it will.
It's sad when you don't see someone on the computer for like, one day, and people are like, "Oh My God, she's DEAD."
I'm not dead. One of these days, I'm getting a life.

Bad news for me

Bad news, I was standing in the backyard, contemplating different ways to fuck up the neighbor's fence as revenge for the chicken citation, when karma struck me down.
I was sort of walking backwards, and I stepped on a rusty nail.

I pulled the nail from my foot, went into the house, cleaned the wound and put some peroxide on it.

I also squeezed the wound until it bled. It was pretty gross.

I haven't had a tetanus shot since I was a kid, and if I have tetanus, I'm going to wait to see if I develop any symptoms before I go and get a shot.

I have a horrible needle phobia, and it's just not worth it to get a shot if I am not 100% sure that I have tetanus now, at this time.

I looked tetanus up on the internet, and the information I read said that tetanus is usually a threat to a person if there is feces, (especially horse manure) around, because that's where the bacteria that causes tetanus, Clostridium tetani, usually thrive.

There is, of course, chicken poop out in the yard, I'm sure. So if chicken poop
causes tetanus I'm screwed.

I searched for a while to see if Chicken poop possibly caused tetanus, but I could find nothing on the internet that would reveal that information to me.

I'm just gonna wait it out, and see if I develop any symptoms.

Sure, it scares me; I never pictured myself dying from tetanus, however, it does happen to people.

Usually, it happens to people who have never been immunized. Or to those people who have lived past the age of 60, and whose pervious immunizations have worn off completely.

I'm not over 60, and I was immunized for the disease at one time, so I'll bet I'll be alright.

You never know though. If any tetanus symptoms start to develop, I'll be sure to post it to my blog, just so that everyone can follow the development.

It takes about two weeks for symptoms to begin to show if you've got tetanus.

I'm hoping like hell I don't have the disease, but I'm sure as soon as I start to show any symptoms whatsoever, I'll hot foot it to the doctor.

But I am not get any shots unless I need them FOR SURE.

‘Art’ project stalled already

Well, I went to the hardware store with my mother and we bought 56 'No Trespassing, Private Property' signs.
I guess if you post a no trespassing sign, than if people trespass, then that means you can shoot them.

People are putting these sign up all over town to deter the guy from the township.

Then, I stopped off and asked Devin if he had a deer's head that I could hang from a tree in the backyard in order to piss off the people who live in the subdivision behind the house here, and he told me that has hasn't been doing much hunting, and that he currently has no deer's heads.

He seemed a little disturbed that he was the first person I thought of when I decided I needed a deer's head.

To get enough art supplies for my art project would have cost me over $50, and I decided it wasn't worth it to spend that much on an art project that could just get knocked down in the night.

Instead, EJ and I have decided to paint a sheet of plywood and put THAT up
on the chicken coop instead.

We'll have to paint a picture, or possibly a saying, of something offensive but yet not so offensive that the cops could make us take it down.

Incidentally, EJ's dad lives only a few houses down from here and the people from the subdivision keep calling to complain because EJ's dad owns digging equipment and they think it's an 'eyesore'.

I'm pretty sure SOMEONE from that subdivision is pissing a lot of people off.

I'll bet they stop complaining about digging equipment once their neighbors start hanging dead animals from the trees.

I'll bet we could even get the old lady next door to hang a dead animal from one of her trees, especially if she loses her chickens.

There'll be a horse's head handing from the maple tree in her backyard for sure if the subdivision people don't stop turning their neighbors in for citations.

It isn't right to go onto private property and tell someone what they can and cannot keep in their own driveways and backyards. It really pisses people off.

And telling someone who owns chickens that they have to get rid of their little chicken farm is, evidently, a dangerous proposition.

I would never accept the township guys job. NEVER.

The subdivision behind the house

The subdivision behind this house is trying to pick a fight with the people who live here.

They called animal control on EJ's chickens complaining about the 'smell'.

Those people are going down.

I suggested EJ should go out on the lawn and butcher all the chickens right there, throwing their dead carcasses over the fence, to freak those people out.

He refused, in fact, he just hid most of them. They are right now in an undisclosed location.

He kept the hens though. But now, he's received a citation for his hens. He's out of control angry.

Those people over there are not fighting with the right people because we're crazy.

Bekki painted half the house blue one year and then just stopped and left it like that over the winter.

She painted as high as she could reach and then just stopped.

We're not people who care what other people think.

I mean, I did think the paint job on the house looked kind of bad, but I didn't say anything because I didn't want to have to help paint.

Those subdivision people are going down.

They are in trouble.

I called the citation officer to see if dead animals were on the list of things we couldn't keep in the yard and the in the driveway.

He said no.

I wonder if I could get a dead cow? I wonder if the chicken coop would hold the weight of a dead cow.

First, I'm gonna get some art supplies, and I'm gonna make me some art.

Then, I'm gonna look into where I can get a large dead animal.

My mom said dead deer are on the list of things that you can't keep on your property.

Which is too bad because my uncle once hung a dead deer from a tree for some reason and it REALLY upset my Grandma.

He eventually took the deer body down, and just left the head, which pissed her off even worse.

Frankly, I found it disturbing myself, so I was glad when he took it down.

But I'd hang the head of a dead animal from a tree in the yard in about a second if I thought it would piss off those subdivision people.

I wonder if I could get a cow's head?

I wonder how much a cow's head costs?

I wonder if I called a local beef farm, if they would sell me a cow's head?

I'm going to have to look into this

Art work

The town I live in is crummy and rotten. There's no reason to live here at all.
Recently, a whole bunch of subdivisions have been built in the town also, and the subdivision people are causing some problems for the 'long time' residents of the town.

The subdivision people here are kind of obnoxious because most of them came from the city, and they don't understand that this ISN'T the city.

This is supposed to be the country, or at least it was before we became infiltrated with subdivision people.

Anyway, the township recently passed some zoning ordinance that lists all sorts of things you can't keep on your property. Things like old cars, trash, and farm animals are on the list of banned items.

My Grandma got a citation for two cars that she had in her driveway. The cars were well off the road, and sort of parked behind some bushes, so you almost had to walk up the drive to know that they were even there.

My mom called the township to investigate this citation matter, and threatened to shoot the citation officer on behalf of my grandmother.

Six cop cars were sent to her house, and she was given a lecture about giving this citation officer guy death threats because he's had so many of them now.

Bekki and EJ got cited for their chickens, and they are fighting mad. They are hoping to claim that they are a small farm, and so are somehow protected by the 'Right to Farm Act'.

There is a little old lady who lives next door to Bekki and EJ who also keeps chickens. She went down to turn her self in to the citation officer this afternoon, and to tell them that she's getting a lawyer in order to protect her, 'Right To Farm'.

I called the citation officer, just to get some education regarding this new zoning ordinance, and had a very long conversation with him.

I didn't threaten to kill him, that's not my style at all. Instead, I just asked him leading questions that I feel incriminated him.

For instance, I found out that the subdivision people are indeed behind this new ordinance, and that it is a way of shaking money out of people's pockets.

Apparently, were trying to clean ourselves up around here so that we can become more citified.

I asked the guy if 'Art' was on the list of banned things that we can't have out on the lawn, or in the driveway.

He said no, because 'Art' is protected by the constitution.

That's why I'm going into town to get some art supplies today. I already called Bekki and asked her if it would be alright.

She said it was, so I'm totally gonna make me some art for the yard.

I think I might build a giant statue out of wire and boards. Either that, or else some sort of a ghostly scene. I haven't decided yet.

I'm gonna put it up really high, right on top of the chicken coop, so that the people who live in the subdivision behind us can see it really well from their houses.

I plan to write a sign that says something like, "Cite us for this Bitch" and the I'm gonna list the phone number for the citation officer too.

I'm really excited about this. I think it's going to be a good time.

My writing goal had been achieved.

would like to proudly announce that my goal of writing every day for twenty minutes has not only been accomplished, but I have actually succeeded in my goal far beyond my wildest expectations.
I thought posting to a blog and getting some feedback would make me want to write more things, and I was clearly correct.

It's great to get comments, and it makes you want to write more things, just to see if anyone has an opinion on what you've written that day.

In the book, "Writing down the Bones," Natalie Goldberg says to write for twenty minutes about the first thing that pops into your head, not to edit anything, and then just let it go.

This I have faithfully been doing, as you plainly see from my blog.

I don't know if I am getting to be any better of a writer, however, I do have some statistical figures and just regular numbers too, that I have been keeping track of regarding my blog.

For instance, I have made 163 blog posts. I started on May 26 (or so) and without actually figuring anything out, I'd say I've been posting now fairly regularly for the past 68 days—give or take.

This works out to an average of 2.397 blog postings a day.

If I had been working on a writing a book, instead of just posting dumb stuff to a MySpace blog, I'd be well into working on the end of the novel.

At this time, I have also had 2,831 blog views.

How many of those view were actually my own is impossible to say. However, I like to think I'm famous, and that I have a great many readers.

I have also had 109 comments made, and 27 kudos.

While it's true that 27 kudos isn't a whole lot of kudos, it's also true that I can't seem to give myself kudos (I know because I tried) and so therefore I know for a fact that I have had someone read my blog AT LEAST 27 times.

I'm clearly famous now. It's terribly exciting.

Even if I wasn't famous now, though, I'd still be pleased with myself because I really have been faithfully plugging away at my writing practice.

If all the incentive I needed was to have the occasional post where someone said something like, "Why are you so damn weird?" in order to keep me motivated, I feel it's obvious that I must really enjoy writing, and also, I'm easily pleased.

I'd like to thank everyone who ever reads this blog, and also to tell you all individually (I'm pretty sure there might be 4 of you, however, that number fluctuates wildly.) that I think you're nice people, and I appreciate that you are all helping me stay committed to my writing practice, and in keeping the blog hit number up.