Step around the poop, if you can

Today found me in San Juan Capistrano (also close to where I live)
I hit the 5 south around 8:30 this morn hoping to find a quaint little breakfast diner and perhaps some antique shops.

I hit a massive traffic snarl on the freeway-I was just going about 7 miles from where I live. Damn

I went in circles trying to find a place to have breakfast in, what is probably one of the largest tourist areas in OC. Nada. Just a few coffee places like Dietrichs and Starbucks....oh, found a Marie Callendars-not opened
Finally found a little place around 10 oclock, it was called "Mollies"-this place was packed to the gills- with oldsters wearing Hawaiian shirts,shorts and straw hats.
It looked like a scene from cocoon in there.

I decided to sit outside on the plastic chairs.
The waiters and waitresses were very nice and very attentive-almost Stepfordish, but better than no service. I bet they talked about us when we were gone..I hope I left enough tip

You could order a Trout and egg breakfast for 8 bucks or just the Trout flopped on your plate, ala carte, for 6, if you'd rather not do eggs.

mmmmmm-trout.

Anyway, I sat outside and a bald older dude sat at a table next to me by himself, after he finished eating, he lit up a ciggy.
I couldnt help but think to myself that this guy probably figures hes old and going to die soon anyway, why not take someone with him with 2nd hand smoke...and he probably thought "dammit, Im outside, I will do whatever I want!"

mmmmmmm-trout with cancer.

I finished breakfast around 10:45 and nothing was opened yet except for the mission tours, the Chevron that charged 3.45 for gas and a bar called the "Swallow"

Since nothing was opened I just drove home. Tomorrow, I plan to go to Huntington Beach-Surf City USA, maybe I'll have better luck

Today, was it.

I'm off work for 5 whole days-yea!
I havent been on vacation in years-but after working at this job for 2 years straight and never taking more than 1 day off in that time-I have accumulated about 3 wks of vacation time.

I dont have big plans-but it sure feels nice not to have to get up and go into that building and deal with all the dysfunctional people there

My lily white ass (cellulite and all) went to the beach (this wasnt planned but what the hell, there are many close to where I live)
I squeezed myself into a bathing suit,which hasnt seen me in about 3 years (boobs were everywhere),checked mapquest for directions,put on a baseball cap,changed to a smaller purse and packed a little bag which consisted of a book (Bridget Jones Diary),bottled water,a banana,something to sit on,suntan stuff and some lipstick. I had something to eat,something to read, and makeup-important when you are going to be on a deserted beach.
Have you ever seen a beach without crowds and no lifeguard. Interesting

Oh there were a few surfers there to catch the perfect waves-Then I saw it, a very strange site at this beach at Newport....an African American young lady-not a Halle Berry version with high yellow skin tones and a small nose, but a site I havent seen since moving to this all marshmallow county...A black person not only at the beach but riding the waves.
With real expertise, too.
I almost started to cry.
Right on.

It was a beautiful and warm day in Newport-about 85 degrees-lots of waves and a black person.
I also found some damn nice seashells to decorate my apartment with then I read my book.I ate my banana and fixed my lipstick. Then I drove to the neighborhood-high falutin,ritzy mall called "Your Shit Dont Stink, Island"
There were stores in this here mall that I only have seen in those high priced magazines- I stopped to eat some breakfast(it being 10:30 am) at this little cafe on one of the floors of this outdoor Taj Mahal- I ordered coffee, a number 3 afixed by it and something called Deviled eggs on rye toast-next to that was a number 9, I asked the waiter, what do the numbers mean? "why thats the price, madam" silly me

So I ordered a cup of 3 dollar coffee and the Deviled eggs on Rye toast thinking I would get a couple of deviled eggs and a couple pieces of rye bread that was toasted.

I received my coffee in an oversized coffee cup (not a mug)and a glass of water in a cup that had to have costed at least 20 bucks at Bloomingdales
Then came my entree-the deviled eggs on rye toast:
2 pieces of dry rye Melba toast topped with eggs that were creamed and mixed with mayo, this creation was topped with smoked salmon (nowhere on the menu description of the entree did it mention that Charlie Tuna's cousin would be there too)-I guess this justified you paying 9 dollars for it.

This breakfast cost 12.93 plus tip for a waiter who kept dropping things on the floor

As I drove home, I saw a Ruby's Diner, I coulda had a V8!
My seashells look great in my apartment.

Congressman, Leo Ryan



Jim Jones-one sick motherfucker





The first reports out of Guyana on November 18, 1978 were that Congressman Leo J. Ryan and four other members of his party were shot and killed as they attempted to board a plane at Port Kaituma airstrip. Within hours, came the shocking announcement that 408 American citizens had committed suicide at a communal village they had built in the jungle in Northwest Guyana. The community had come to be known as “Jonestown.”

The dead were all members of a group known as “The People’s Temple” which was led by the Reverend Jim Jones. It would soon be learned that 913 of the 1100 people believed to have been at “Jonestown” at the time had died in a mass suicide.

Twenty-eight years have passed since the tragedy of “Jonestown” occurred- and still many wonder at how it came about.

According to the official report submitted to the U.S. House of Representatives on May 15, 1979, the chain of events leading to Leo Ryan’s death in Guyana began a year earlier, after he read an article in the San Francisco Examiner on 13 November 1977. The article entitled “Scared Too Long” related the death of Sam Houston’s son, Bob, in October 1976. Houston had decided to speak out about his son’s death because he believed that the reason Bob had died, beneath the wheels of a train, was because he had announced his decision to leave the People’s Temple the day before. Houston was also concerned that his two granddaughters, sent to New York for a vacation, had ended up in “Jonestown,” Guyana and never returned.

In the days of preparation for the trip to “Jonestown,” Ryan contacted Jim Jones by telegraph to inform him of his intention to visit the settlement. Through the U.S. Embassy in Guyana, Ryan learned that agreement for the visit was conditional. Ryan would have to ensure that the Codel was not biased, there would be no media coverage of the visit and Mark Lane, the People’s Temple legal counsel, would have to be present. On 6 November, Lane wrote to Ryan and informed him that he would not be able to attend at the time they wanted, and claimed that the Codel was nothing more than a “witchhunt” against the People’s Temple. Ryan responded with a declaration of his intentions to visit the settlement anyway and that he would be leaving on 14 November.

Over the next two and a half days, Ryan met with Embassy personnel and organised a meeting with Ambassador Burke and the Concerned Relatives. He and the family members attempted to speak with a representative of the People’s Temple at their headquarters in Georgetown, but could not gain entry. In addition, Ryan was unable to negotiate successfully with Lane or Garry, another legal representative of the People’s Temple, resulting in the postponement of the scheduled flight to the mission until Friday 17 November.

The negotiations still had made no headway on Friday morning, so Ryan informed Lane and Garry that he and his party would be leaving for “Jonestown” at 2:30 pm. There were two seats on the plane if Lane and Garry wished to leave with them. The plane left as scheduled at 2:30 pm that day. On board were Ryan, Speier, Deputy Chief of Mission, Richard Dwyer, Lane and Garry, all nine media representatives, four representatives of the Concerned Relatives group, and Neville Annibourne, a representative of the Guyanese Government.

At the Port Kaituma airstrip, Corporal Rudder, the Guyanese Regional Officer of the Northwest district, met the plane. His instructions from “Jonestown” were that only Lane and Garry were to be allowed to leave the plane. Negotiations as to who would be allowed entry into “Jonestown” then ensued between Ryan and “Jonestown” representatives who were at the airport. Eventually it was agreed that all but one media representative could go. Gordon Lindsay, consulting for NBC on the story, was denied entry because of an article he had written in the past that had criticised the People’s Temple.

Upon their arrival at “Jonestown,” the delegation was served dinner and entertained by a musical presentation by People’s Temple members. As the evening progressed, reporters interviewed Jim Jones while Ryan and Speier talked to People’s Temple members whose names had been provided by relatives in the U.S. During the course of the evening, a “Jonestown” member passed a note to NBC reporter Don Harris indicating that he and his family wished to leave. Another member made a similar verbal request to Dwyer. Both requests were reported to Ryan.

At 11:00 pm, the media and family representatives were returned to Port Kaituma as Jim Jones refused to allow them to spend the night on the compound. Ryan, Speier, Dwyer, Annibourne, Lane and Garry were the only ones who spent the night of Friday, 17 November at “Jonestown.”

Back at Port Kaituma, local Guyanese, including one police official who told stories of alleged beatings at "Jonestown", approached media representatives. They complained that Guyanese officials were denied entry to the compound and had no authority there. They also described a “torture hole” in the compound.

The media and relatives were not returned to “Jonestown” until 11:00 am the next day, several hours later than planned. Ryan had continued interviewing members since early in the morning, during which time more individuals told of their desire to leave. By 3:00 pm there were a total of 15 People’s Temple members climbing into the trucks with the delegation to drive to Port Kaituma airport. Ryan had intended to stay but was attacked by a People’s Temple member, Don Sly, with a knife. He was not hurt but Dwyer insisted that Ryan leave with them. Dwyer planned to return to “Jonestown” later to resolve a dispute with a family who was split on the question of leaving Jonestown.

The party arrived at Port Kaituma airport at about 4:30 pm but the two planes did not arrive until about 5:10 pm. The delay had been caused by the unexpected request to the US Embassy for a second plane to carry the extra fifteen passengers. Soon after its arrival, a six-passenger Cessna was loaded and ready to leave. As it began to taxi to the far end of the airstrip, one of the “Jonestown” defectors on board, Larry Layton, opened fire on the other passengers.

At the same time, as Ryan’s party were boarding the other plane, a twin-engine Otter, occupants of a tractor and trailer owned by the People’s Temple, opened fire. Ryan, three members of the media and one of the defectors were killed. Speier and five others were seriously wounded. The shooting lasted between 4-5 minutes and the larger plane was disabled. The Cessna was able to take off and reported news of the attack to controllers at the Georgetown tower. They in turn notified the Guyanese officials. The attackers left the airport soon after, while survivors of the attack sought cover and protection for the night.

According to the official report, the mass suicide began at about 5:00 pm as the shooting was beginning at the airport. At about 6:00 pm, Ambassador Burke was informed of the shooting. He, in turn, informed the US State Department at 8:30 pm by cable. At approximately 7:40 pm, Guyanese police told Sherwin Harris, a member of the Concerned Relatives Group, that his ex-wife Sharon Amos and three of her children were found dead at the People’s Temple headquarters in Georgetown.

Word of the deaths at “Jonestown” reached Port Kaituma at about 2:00 am on Sunday morning when survivors Stanley Clayton and Odell Rhodes arrived there.


At dawn, Sunday, 19 November, the first contingent of Guyanese Army rescue forces arrived in Port Kaituma. More soldiers arrived within the hour. Their arrival later in the morning at “Jonestown” confirmed earlier reports of the mass suicide. The first Guyanese rescue aircraft landed at Port Kaituma, without medical supplies or personnel, at about 10:00 am. All of the wounded and most of the survivors were airlifted from Port Kaituma before nightfall and transferred to US Air Force medical evacuation aircraft in Georgetown.

A tape-recording of the mass-suicide reveals that there was little dissent about the decision to die. One or two women who felt that the children should be able to live protested, but they were soon reassured by reminders of the alternative undignified death at the hand of the enemy and the shouted support of the group. The poison-laced drink was brought to the hall and dispensed. The babies and small children, over two hundred of them, were first, with the poison poured into their mouths with syringes. As parents watched their children die, they too swallowed the fatal potion. The moments before the final decision to die brought resistance from a few, but armed guards who surrounded the room shot many of them. Of the estimated 1100 people believed to have been present at “Jonestown” at the time, 913 died, including Jim Jones; the rest somehow escaped into the jungle. It is not certain whether Jones shot himself or was shot by an unknown person.

By November 1978, the people of “Jonestown” were ready to die. After many years of input, which had held such action as something to be aspired to, with no input negating such a belief, the members of the People’s Temple would have easily seen their own deaths as an act of nobility and dignity.


The Jonestown Massacre

The only logical reasoning I could find for the white only rule, cited temperature. Image consultant Nancy Penn suggests that because white reflects light and heat, wearing white would make you cooler in winter, and thus should be avoided.

Hot nurses will be happy about that.

Neighbors can be downright scary if there are some M&M's missing from the bag.

My bedroom wall is connected to a wall of the guy who lives next door to me, so if anything is placed on that particular wall or if he has a loud orgy with someone close to that wall, I can just about hear the KY jelly being slathered on his dick.

I can especially hear his stereo when the volume is 9.9 on the richter scale-at 11 at night.(yes, weeknights included)which has happened, oh, about 1000 times since I moved in the bldg 7 months ago. Hey, Im not an old fart that doesnt appreciate music either-I have no interest in crampin other peoples styles or forms of expression, but..COME ON-REALLY! Does it take all that to enjoy some damn music?

We have what is called a courtesy patrol(CP), their phone number is listed in the monthly newsletter that my expensive apt complex issues to all the tenants(guess thats part of the rent) "The Greed Motherfuckers Monthly Gazette"
Anyway, this security patrol,who is hired by my overpriced complex is paid to make rounds and are supposed to bang on doors of people who have their music too loud at 11 pm and tell them to shut the fuck up.
The first time I called this fucking "security place" was at 4 in the morning-the stupid fucking jerk had his music on- loud and I was sure CP would come on out right away.
Instead, I was told by Barney Fife that no one was there to make a car run
Unfortunately, the newsletter failed to indicate courtesy patrol's working hours.Silly me, I thought they would be available at that hour,since they were hired to do security and most security issues dont happen at 10 in the morning or if they do Im at work and dont really care too much enough to call someone.
But, if I have to be up at 4 am due to some inconsiderate asshole, so does Mayberry.

The second time I called courtesy patrol was at 12:30 am and I was in luck-there was somebody there to make a car run. They sent a car and I heard his door being knocked on- 30 minutes later.HELLO... meanwhile I plucked out all the hairs of my eyebrows and the cats were hiding in the closet.Guess Rat Patrol was busy finishing shining their shoes.
The music coming from turd-face's apartment faded... for about 10 minutes-then when Mr Wizard thought the security had left he turned back his music to the loudest it would allow him.

I called the CP again and they told me-"there's nothing we can do if he doesnt listen to us, why dont you call the police?"
I just rolled my eyes
Next day, I went into the management at the complex to advise them of the loser that lived next to me
One of the managers,a passive woman who, you can tell probably screams when she sees a spider,seemed to care, but was already shaking at the thought of having to confront someone. She probably barfed when I left the office.
She told me the guy seemed nice, he always asked her if anyone was complaining about anything he was doing....."hmmm, guilty conscience?" I thought but didnt say out loud.I just said to her, "maybe the nice freak just doesnt have volume control on his stereo"
Anyway, she said she would talk to him about it
I guess she did cause he didnt do any music...that is for about 1 week. Then it started again.
So on went the circle of my constant calls to the CP about 2 times a week for the last 4 or 5 months, usually way after 9pm, to complain about the same person and his fucking music being too loud
Soon he turned down his damn music but the bass continued to be turned to volume 10. It was sooo loud that it felt as though a train was going through my apartment-you know the sound, when someone in the car next to you has the stereo on and all you hear is BOOM BOOM BOOM - yes this was way after 9pm on a weeknight as well as weekend nights.
I finally decided to call the management every night at 11pm and leave a voice message to again make them aware of their lovely tenant who obviously has a chip missing in his brain.

How many times does management and the security patrol have to leave you messages,talk to your ass,knock on your door, and threaten you to shut the fuck up because you are annoying the neighbors when you play your loud shit ass music/bass at midnight, before you get the hint? Whatever they were doing just wasnt getting through to the retarded ferret

Well, My voice message, somehow, got through to the Queen Poo-Bah manager,she called me at work and we had a discussion about this. I told her everything that had transpired for the last 7 months of my residence in that complex. She expressed remorse and seemed truley appalled at this anomaly that lived within the expensive grounds

I told her I know that she has been trying to talk to this abnormal organism, but he doesnt seem to be able to connect the dots. I thought perhaps he is a bit slow?
She pretty much agreed that moron was not going to listen to reason,that I have been very patient and that some people are just rude and used to doing whatever they want and getting away with it. She told me that she would think about a solution and work on it, she thinks someone else complained also but wasnt sure. (You might want to check that out, lady)

I guess whatever she did got thru to numb-nuts this time. No music, No Bass, complete quiet was the ticket last night that is until 11 pm

The dude was going ape shit. Throwing things around in his apartment or dropping them loudly- pounding something-maybe his head on the floor?-Lord knows there's nothing in there that would be disturbed
Then I heard "FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU-I'LL TAKE YOU OUT, I'LL TAKE YOU IN-DONT YOU EVER, FUCK YOU" I strained to hear another voice, all I heard was his angry voice and the shouting of "FUCK YOU's" for about 10 minutes. It stopped and then 15 minutes later the handicapped freak would start verbally attacking his shadow again. This went on for about 25 minutes.
Then I heard someone knock on his door-no answer. Then I heard someone ring his door bell. It was the police. I looked out the window in time to see a cop car parking in front of his place. Someone called the police on the mongoloid

Do you have one of those people that you have to deal with for 8 hours a day at your job? I do but, my poor friend has the one that they make fucking horror movies about sitting next to her-hope she doesnt mind if I share her tale, DISCLAIMER- its gross, especially cause its real- you might want a date with this coworker after you read this...

"I HATE training new people. I'd rather be bludgeoned to shit with a ball peen hammer.

Well, turns out we got a girl from another jobsite, so I didn't really have to train her on how to work the phone because she'd done it for us before. This might seem like a bonus, except for the fact that I can't staaand the chick. I didn't really have a concrete reason to dislike her, but she fixed that within a few days.

The first day she was here that I came in to take over my shift, I walked into my office and there was a definite odor.
It was the odor of skankdom.
Her hair hadn't been washed since '94. She had the space heater under the desk on full blast and it was more than 85 degrees outside.
If you're that damn cold, put some clothes on hooker. Nobody wants to see your cottage cheese and stretchmarks because you think your lower back tattoo is cool; it's wilty and trying to run away from you.
And while you're at it, why don't you go ahead and chisel the toe jam off your feet if you're gonna wear flip flops.
Every time she picks up the phone or pages someone over the intercom, her voice goes up an octave and she painfully stretches out every word she's saying. I don't know if she does it to sound cute or if she thinks it's somehow more professional, but she sounds like a varmint sucking on helium.

She wouldn't clock me in because "it's against corporate policy".
Well, then would you scoot your skank ass the fuck over so I can do it my damn self? No, she didn't. I had to lean all the way over the desk from the other side to push the buttons on the computer so she didn't feel like she'd broken a rule.
It's too bad nobody ever sold her on any hygiene rules.
I stood there patiently waiting for her to get out of my chair so I could Lysol everything in the area. When she finally did get up to leave, I turned off the heater and sat down in my chair which was noticeably moist. Not really damp enough to show up on my pants, but damp enough that when I stood up the breeze was cooler on mah backside. It felt like I was sitting in piss.
Was the heater that necessary if your ass was sweating enough to soak through your clothes and into the chair?
AND why does my headset stink? What the fuck could possibly be so nasty about the side of your head that it permeates the spongy part ear cover thing and stays for HOURS?
It was a hard day not to vomit.

I started clocking in on another coworkers computer so I didn't have to lean over skankarella to get it done.
I came back to my office and she had papers and multiple clumped up snot rags strewn everywhere and was hacking and coughing and spraying her cooties all over my equipment.
Throw your snot away, you godamn cum receptacle...the trash can is right there.
She said she was running a fever of 101.7 and that she felt like shit. I don't know if she actually ever used a thermometer, or if she was just reading the cock in her ass. While trying to convince me how sick she was, she harked up the congestion. "Ugh, these allergies!"
(You don't get a fever because you have allergies, dipshit.) She picked up the phone and sounded just as normally annoying as she always is. It's a miracle! Then she started telling me a story (rather energetically) about her best friend who came over to try and fuck her even though he was getting married or some bullshit. I can't recall the details because I was really trying NOT to pay attention or accidentally get the visual of the coochfest splayed for the world to see. I think it might have sounded something like "I told him 'no' right before I bent over and took it right in the poop shoot; he didn't even seem to mind the crabs much after we fried 'em in some butter."
She hung around long enough to watch me spray down everything with the Lysol. I think she thought I was doing it because she was "sick", but she hasn't figured out that I still do it every day. I'm afraid the skankness might be contagious, and I don't want to catch it.

That day after she left, I reached for my coffee mug o' pens for a writing utensil with which to take a message. The end of it was nearly chewed off. I threw it away and reached for another pen. It was chewed 1/2 way down it's length. Somebody's a deep throater. I reached for another and yet another, only to find they had ALL been defiled. What the hell is wrong with this bitch? Can we not have her put to sleep? My DOGS don't even chew on my shit because they've been beaten with one too many shoes. I would have beaten jizz bucket with my shoe if I'da caught her in the act. I must now come up with a diplomatic resolution to the pen chewing issue. I was afraid that a face to face confrontation might result in the possible exchange of germs, so I decided to leave a little note. It went something like this:

Skankfest,

It has come to my attention that we have a pen chewer. I threw away no less than 5 of them today which were no doubt ridden with disease, and will continue to do so until said pen chewing situation has been rectified. As I cannot pinpoint the culprit, I must ask that your supervision of the pens includes them not being chewed upon. The switchboard is enough of a germ fest, I don't need random people's saliva encrusted on our writing utensils. If people need things to chew on, might I suggest a pacifier or some gum.

Thank you for your cooperation-

The next day I came into work anxiously awaiting her rebuttal. I went to one of my normal coworker's office to clock in and she said "How'd the pen chewing thing work out?"
I said "OH, I left a note, you wanna see a copy?" she replied "I already did, there were three extra copies on the printer and I've already shown everybody in the office; they thought it was hilarious." Oh goodie.
I went to my office and almost immediately skankapalooza chimes in with "About that pen thing, I don't have any idea who it was-I know somebody came up and jacked one yesterday, so it must be the salesmen because I don't do things like that."
Oh really? You mean you're telling me straight to my face that it was the salesmen who were walking in here all day, smuggling out the pens as if they were bails of cocaine over the Mexican border, chewing the ever livin' shit out of 'em, and then sneaking them back into their origination point undetected? Nigga puh-leaze.
I know they're not that smart, nor would they have ever actually brought all the pens back.
I would have given her an "E" for effort on the lying part, except for the fact that in the midst of the prior explanation she had an obvious stream of snot running down her face.
I understand sometimes you get a trickle you might not notice right off the bat, but this was a booger filled river of mucus. I thought maybe I should offer to get her a tissue, but I looked over and saw an economy sized roll of toilet paper no less than 2 inches from her hand. She had full access to anti-mucus tools, and yet still chose to just let the shit run down her face.
I'm running out of Lysol.

Later she came to clock out on my computer. She wouldn't let me push the buttons FOR her because "it's against the rules".
My radio was playing at a reasonable level as her snotty face leaned WAY too close into my personal space (which for her would have been limited to the other end of the dealership). She started bellering every other word to the song and then said, "Gotta love Nirvana!" *sigh* As Kurt Cobain was rolling over in his grave and I was trying not to smack her in the head with my shoe, I sternly said "Actually, it's Stone Temple Pilots."
She retorted with a boogery snort and "Well I just listen to so much good music I can't tell it apart."
I could lengthen the list of my irritations, but it's causing physical illness. My bowels are in a turmoil you wouldn't believe.

She's been here a few weeks now. Although the chewing of the pens has ceased, I continue to struggle with the dampness in my chair on a daily basis. I think I may have to invest in some sort of plastic seat cover to bring with me.
The people who know me well, know that if someone with whom I have irreconcilable differences intrudes upon my working environment, I usually do what I can to have them fired OR make them want to quit.
I have gracefully executed my skills in this arena on multiple occasions. Several of my people have inquired as to why I have not yet done so with snotty face pen chewer. Unfortunately, I think my powers may have been weakened by all the germs. I don't know how to break her. I haven't even made her cry yet. I don't know who she sucked off to secure her position, a relative?,maybe. I hate to call her an incestuous cum guzzler, but if it quacks like a duck....aw, hell if I know. Maybe she blew the Boss. He'd let almost anybody suck his dick. Whoever it was, she did a damn good job on 'em because it doesn't look like she's going anywhere any time soon."

I was invited to this year's BD-party for my friend's son on June 3rd.

This is what happened last year:

I attended my friend's 6 year old son's(whom I love dearly) birthday party.My friend/husband live in a very exclusive neighborhood, so already, I felt out of place. That coupled with the fact that I have no kids or a husband-whoo-hoo,right at home.
Anyway let me describe that swinging event...

My friend asked me if I would pick up the son's birthday cake from the bakery-and I needed to remember-the cake was requested to be designed in the Batman theme. Make sure the cake is done in the "Batman" theme.
I picked up the cake and brought it to my friend. (and, by the way,there was probably more traffic on the street than in Moriah Carey's vagina)
She wanted to confirm if it was indeed done in the "Batman theme".
"Oh,no",I said, "I thought you wanted the penis shaped cake" (well, I thought that was funny)
About 15 soccer/little league, mom and dads along with their A.D.D. kids attended,
5 of them had kids under 6 who would scream when water splashed on them like they just caught their hand in the garbage disposal.
One mom/dad(also very rich people)brought their 2 spoiled little rugrats to the party-the youngest boy(an ugly child whom I will call tarzan),about 2 years old,had long hair down his back and on his arms.
The brother(about age 5, whom I'll call-weird) just liked to run around in front of anyone without clothes on with his doodle flopping in the wind-the mom, (a Mexican)and the Dad, (a jew)didnt seem to care.
Little Jose and Javier Pearlman were doted and hovered over by these two parents like they were freaking movie stars.
As a matter of fact, now that I think about it, all the parents there, acted like secret service police,who had come to protect political leaders and their staff.
One of the moms and a dad ran over to some kid in the pool to lift him out of the water, evidently he was drowning, so I sat by the pool in a plastic lawn chair, thinking it best to play lifeguard.
I just laughed to myself when 3 of the parents over-reacted to some kid who coughed up some pool water. They were all poised and ready to transform into wonder-woman,batgirl and spider-man and jump in the pool to save someone.
In fact my friends husband jumped in the pool with all his clothes on because he thought his son was in trouble. said the son "Im okay,why did you jump in?"
All the women there were wearing diamond engagement rings and fake boobs the size of cantaloupes
And the breath that one of the mom's at the party blew on me, pee-you! I will TRY to describe how bad it was...
It smelled like something crawled from her anus to her mouth, died, came back to life long enough to fart, then died again.
Someone needed to shove a tic tac in her designer pie-hole.

Well, I guess thats what all us single people get to do..pick up cakes before the party,play lifeguard during the party, clean up after the party,go home to our 1 room apartments with the scenic view of the alley and be glad we dont have the personalties of house plants, yet.

One of my cat's has an eye issue-Im just noticing tonight, something aint right with one of her eyes- swollen and red, shes kind of squinting and I guess what they call the third eye lid is showing a little on the upper part and its red
Poor kit. I wish she could talk, I would have taken her to the vet if I were more alert, but it is 8:30 and nothing is open now. DUH
I dont think this calls for an Emergency Room visit but nonetheless, I am worried. She seems fine. Is eating,pooping,playing,purring,climbing-she just looks like a pirate with one eye open the other sort of shut. I just need to slap an earring on one of her ears. Dont ask me how I know this but she doesnt have a fever either.

I guess she is wondering what my problem is-I keep looking at her and saying out loud "ARRRG-ME MATEY"

I will take her to the vet in the morning-I hope its not too bad

My bro and I were chatting about one of his friends, when,for some unexplained reason, something we were talking about triggered an old memory of mine..
I was 12 when my brother was born so the mother thought it was real cute to dub me as the "built in babysitter"
sh-eee-it! 12 year olds dont have lives
Anyway, Not only was I the FREE babysitter, I became the gratis-nanny
All of a sudden, I remembered my brother pooing in his diaper and my mother dry-heaving to the scent, telling me to change him as she ran off looking like someone just burnt her eyelashes off. Not sure what set her off, if she took a whiff of it or just saw the soft serve consistency-but I was the official dydee changer from then on.

Today was a particularly difficult day, I tend to torture myself with movies I make up in my mind and of course, I believe them which causes all kinds of problems for me and puts a halt to anything remotely positive. I did more than my share of writing,directing and producing today. Anyway, sad and discouraged as I drove home from being with dysfunctional, uncaring people for 8 hours-there it was, like a life raft that was thrown to me.
A sight to behold,stopped at a traffic light that stayed red long enough for me to gaze at it and remember all the wonderful goodies as a child.
In all its white glory with pictures on the side,was an old fashioned ice cream truck.
Pictures of Sidewalk Sundays (with that chocolate center),Eskimo Pies,Fudgesicles,Popsicles,Ice Cream Sandwiches,Sno-Cones,and, drum roll please, the original red white and blue Bomb ice pop
and just when I gave up any meaning to life today-what a little bit of retro can do for a person!

Well, I did it today,I dont feel like a Shar pei anymore, Got the Botox injected to the laugh lines. I aked the doctor who did the procedure, "how did I get laugh lines,I hate people?"
He fell out laughing, Guess he'd better be careful or he will have to botox his own laugh lines away
So the doc and I decided to call them SQUINT lines instead
There was no pain to the injections, but it was a little disconcerting when he kept pulling out then reinserting the same needle into different parts of my eye area several times. Forget about sterility-hey,chill, its my own face for shit sake- its not like he took the needle out and rammed it in his ear then reinserted it in my eye.
He gave me some money off the procedure then gave me some more as a "professional discount"(I think it was the head I gave him) no. Lucky for that other wise it would have cost me about 400 bucks or whatever 12.00 per unit comes out to be. He used 32 units on my scrotum face.
He said give it about 3-4 days for noticable effect. Then redo every 3-4 months
Prior to the Botox doc did a consult and he said that Im starting to get BROWN spots on my fucking facing.(ie. age spots) Ewwwwww. The only thing that gets rid of that is resurfacing the 2nd layer of skin with laser treatments-3 of those should do the trick. At 1000 bucks a pop-creams and lotions dont work cause they dont penetrate down far enough.
Doc told me that people age late 20's early 30's are now getting the botox injected before wrinkles come out so they dont get wrinkles later on-kind of face insurance-the botox works to relax the muscles so you dont crinkle up eventually, like I am now.
He also told me that after a while with continued treatments, I wont need as much injected.
Of course, I asked him if anything new was coming up in the botox world-he told me that right now Allergen has a monopoly for botox, however in a couple years another company is working on getting a type of botox (using a different name of course) so the price will go down. The company is in phase 2 of trials right now and there are 3 phases. So about 2 more years.

I notice that my lines around the eyes are getting softer after only 6 hours, hopefully will see more tomorrow

Doctor told me he gets calls from people asking him about "botox parties" they want to give in their homes. He says that it is illegal to perform a medical procedure in your kitchen without a doctor.
Hey, do you really have to be told not to jab a needle in your friend's face that is full of a medication that could cause paralysis or worse? And do you really need to be told not to allow your waitress friend not to inject your face with a syringe full of Botulism?

The Eagles
Desperado
Written by Don Henley and Glenn Frey
Asylum 5068
Released: April 1973
Chart Peak: #41
Weeks Charted: 70
Certified Gold: 9/23/74
Old West theme. It was inspired by The Dalton Gang, a notorious group of outlaws.

Desperado, why don't you come to your senses?
You been out ridin' fences for so long now
Oh, you're a hard one
I know that you got your reasons
These things that are pleasin' you
Can hurt you somehow

Don't you draw the queen of diamonds boy
She'll beat you if she's able
You know the queen of hearts is always your best bet

Now it seems to me, some fine things
Have been laid upon your table
But you only want the ones that you can't get

Desperado, oh, you ain't gettin' no younger
Your pain and your hunger, they're drivin' you home
And freedom, oh freedom well, that's just some people talkin'
Your prison is walking through this world all alone

Don't your feet get cold in the winter time?
The sky won't snow and the sun won't shine
It's hard to tell the night time from the day
You're losin' all your highs and lows
Ain't it funny how the feeling goes away?

Desperado, why don't you come to your senses?
Come down from your fences, open the gate
It may be rainin', but there's a rainbow above you
You better let somebody love you
(let sombody love you)
You better let somebody love you
before it's too late
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Paul Gambaccini, Rolling Stone, 5-10-73
Desperado
Eagles

If they gave a Grammy for the best interior gatefold cover, this one should be nominated. It is the best since For The Roses, but for hardly the same reason. There they are, the four Eagles and their outlaw compatriots Jackson Browne and John David Souther, tied up on the ground at the mercy of their lawmen roadies, producer Glyn Johns and a couple of deputized friends. The photo is an alleged reenactment of the capture of the Dalton gang in the late 19th century. After shooting this picture, the outside cover and the billboards for Sunset Boulevard, the group dusted themselves off and flew to London to record Desperado, the chronicle of the rise and fall of the Doolin-Dalton renegades.

The beautiful thing about it is that although it is a unified set of songs, it is not a rock opera, a concept album, or anything pretending to be much more than a set of good tunes that just happen to fit together. It wasn't until halfway through recording the album that the Eagles and Glyn Johns realized they could string in order as an entity what they were putting down, and as a result only one of the songs, the "Bitter Creek" written after that realization, seems strained.

From following the printed lyrics one can catch the continuity, but from just listening to the record one enjoys the tunes individually. Asylum milked the first Eagles album for three hit singles, and there are at least that many lying in wait on this one. "Out Of Control" is a hard rock number with instrumental overtones of the Who and lyrics just slightly more discernable than those of Slade.

Don Henley's rough voice is one of experience, and it helps make "Desperado" and "Saturday Night" memorable. The title track features Frey's slow, moody piano intro and Jim Ed Norman's cushioning strings that don't dare seek prominence. "Saturday Night" looks back at the irrovocably lost past, the departed sweetheart, the never-to-be-regained innocence. It was written by the quartet, who wrote all the songs in varying combinations save for David Blue's "Outlaw Man" and some passages by Browne, Souther and roadie Tommy Nixon.

The group hints privately that the Doolin-Dalton experiences are analogous to those of rock stars. Since none of us have been pop heroes, whatever similarities there are will be lost to all but the detective. The few lyrical attempts at articulating truisms are the only real weak spots on the LP anyway.

Nobody needs profundities when he can hear Bernie Leadon's delightful banjo, mandolin, dobro and guitar work and the entire group trading off lead vocals and changing moods. Desperado won't cure your hangover or revalue the dollar, but it will give you many good times. With their second consecutive job well done, the Eagles are on a winning streak.
_________________________________________________________________________________

Looking beyond the obvious, literal meaning of the lyrics, the song is about life and love. A "desperado" is a desperate person, one who despairs--lonely and afraid. The cowboy metaphor is used for poetic purposes. The queen of diamonds represents material or physical things and the queen of hearts represents love or spiritual things. The song is simply saying not to shut yourself off from love. (It is a recurring theme in many songs.) Do not put up false "reasons" for being hard. Do not ignore what you have. Do not imagine freedom is more important than the bonds of love. While putting one's own personal meaning into songs is part of their charm and a measure of their appeal, we must not imagine that our "truth" is everyone else's.

I turned on my computer today and found all my websites were in ENORMOUS fonts
scared the hell out of me.
They were fine yesterday and I dont remember changing them yesterday, but yet I was staring at approx size 90 font. Maybe a dead grandpa was sending me a sign

The supervisor, that was hired a few months ago sent an email to everyone today saying he resigned and he meant that second. Wonder what that was about.
He had mentioned a couple weeks ago that he was about to go on vacation for 3 weeks to another country-he had purchased airline tickets months ago, and got the vacation pre approved before he started working, by the upper management.
Came the day to remind the upper management that he was leaving for vacation soon and he was told, no. and that he was never approved for three weeks vacation.
Maybe that had something to do with it.

Im still in a purple funk but I should snap the hell out of it soon, I hope.
I kind of wish I felt important-I now know what it means when people are depressed cause they feel they arent needed

I need a hobby. Any ideas? I thought of joining a bowling league, but I suck at bowling and I dont know if Id like that much
Maybe swimming would be good. or Sierra Club. I checked out a singles club near where I live- $500 a year in dues.Doesnt include the price of the event. Sorry out of my budget

As if I needed this
I get home today to find my credit card bill in the mail box. Okay, I was expecting this to come but the amount that was due was DOUBLE the amount I usually pay.
I thought, this must be a mistake. So I called customer service
and a fucking sirly man who, from the sound of it, has had bad tempered customers call him all day, says to me in a mechanical,customer service tone, "you didnt pay all your balance last month ma-am"
But,I replied, to Mr Ro-boto the script reader, "I have the receipt that says I did"
He answers, "you didnt pay the entire amount, you were 5 cents short."

Let me tell you what it means to be 5 cents short on your credit card payment in english:
$102.67 finance charge and $39.00 in late fees along with a doubled monthly minimum

After excusing himself so as he could speak with his manager, he comes back to the line and was soooo kind as to remove the late fee and the finance charge but I still had to pay the doubled minimum + 5 cents of course. This will be credited back to me but not until the June statement

Sunday, I made a chocolate cake,some coffee with Kaluah,wrapped myself in a huge comforter,laid on the couch with a large slice of cake, watched Bridget Jones Diary-The Edge Of Reason (which is very funny by the way) and cried my glasses foggy
All I needed was to have a ciggy hanging out of my grill-I would have been the poster girl for depression

By Merijoe



A couple of men that I have loved very much in the past, have used this phrase or something near like it to let me know, when I appeared to get too close to them emotionally, to tell me that they werent in love with me or had any feelings for me otherwise they would have done things like send me flowers and more instead of the absoulte nothing that they were doing for me.

One of the gentlemen I love(d) wanted to know,how I could be soooo stupid to continue to have sex with him for all these years,show him as much love and kindness I had been,and have any type of feelings for him, because,he has done nothing for me,and he never led me to believe we had anything going on. He goes on to say proudly, that "when he's in a relationship, he does things for the woman"

That didnt help my already low self esteem

Indeed the correct adjective for me is stupid, and lets not forget to add "fool"

So next time I'll look for the flowers,and if they arent sent to me-I wont take him seriously.

After a few years of dating and having sex,I thought, for sure, a man could fall in love with a woman,(even if she doesnt look like Eva Longoria)
who does many random acts of kindness for him and others in his life,is always loving and supportive,is a good conversationalist,is intelligent,funny and fun to be with. Laughs even when you tell a dumb story, forgives you when you do something stupid,never brings up past mistakes,keeps quiet about painful subjects,Suggests staying home when money is tight-making or buying meals,making cookies and sending them by mail to you, gets up at 3am to massage your back until you fall asleep because you cant sleep due to severe back pain that is shooting down your legs,never nags,never makes threats,never yells,is patient,takes you to the airport at 5am,isnt high maintenance,is independent,isnt a stalker,has her own life,takes care of herself the best she can, and the piece de resistance, gives good head.
And of course,never asks for anything in return-except for help to put a shelve up.

I thought you might get flowers based on those things alone- guess you need to look like Halle Berry and have Oprah Winfreys bank account too.

Not sure if thats true but I cant begin to think of what else would get you flowers

I think I may do the Botox thing around my eyes-I live in OC now

What is Botox?
Botox® is a trade name for botulinum toxin A. In this way, Botox® is related to botulism. Botulism is a form of food poisoning that occurs when someone eats something containing a neurotoxin produced by the bacterium Clostridium botulinum. Botulinum toxin A is one of the neurotoxins produced by Clostridium botulinum.
The most serious symptom of botulism is paralysis, which in some cases has proven to be fatal. The botulinum toxins (there are seven -- types are A through G) attach themselves to nerve endings. Once this happens, acetylcholine, the neurotransmitter responsible for triggering muscle contractions, cannot be released. A series of proteins, VAMP, syntaxin and SNAP-25, are essential for the release of acetylcholine. Certain botulinum toxins attack these proteins. Botulinum toxin A (Botox) affects the SNAP-25.

Basically, the botulinum toxins block the signals that would normally tell your muscles to contract. Say, for example, it attacks the muscles in your chest -- this could have a profound impact on your breathing. When people die from botulism, this is often the cause -- the respiratory muscles are paralyzed so it’s impossible to breathe.

about 12.00/unit and appox 25 units are needed
Lasts about 4 months then you need more