Bazaar Recluse

Well, I am not the first one to notice, but Ms. Britney Spears is posing "nude" in an upcoming issue of Bazaar. Well, lots of people have made comments about this – apparently she cried with Matt Louer, saying she just wanted her privacy, and others are seeing this as a very public thing.

My initial reaction: Britney, you are wearing more clothes than you usually do!

I am a very modest person, but if I ever get pregnant, I am going to romp around naked for weeks. Hubbie will have to be embarrassed and apologize to the neighbors. "Sorry, reverend, Leesa is just feeling good about her body." Or at least, I hope that's how I am.

I have known many pregnant friends, and I think they all look wonderful, and they have this going on in their heads – beached whale, do not make any comments on my body. Because of hormones and such, I am sure I could rip your tongue out and throw it on the ground. But I am not sure I could step on said tongue. I have a balloon belly obscuring the view.

And I would be, "Hey, neighbor; get a load of my nipples. They are so dark and big now." And hubbie would contemplate suicide.

I mean, with childbirth, as I recall, you have thirty people look right at your pussy, placing fingers inside, going "2 centimeters."

I am sure I want to yell, "Take out your dick, man, I bet you can beat 2 centimeters."

When you are pregnant, I think your modesty has to go out of the window. I have talked to friends, and they were apprehensive about revealing their boobs or whatever, and by the time they were 6 centimeters, they didn't care who saw anything!

I mean, having four or five months of carrying around all of that weight, the hormones going and all, and I am not sure who I was anymore. A good friend admitted to me once that she wished her hubbie would have taken some pics of her naked during pregnancy. Looking back, she says, she missed a golden opportunity.

Perhaps that why Britney posed nude, in part. She wanted pics, and because she is such a ditz, she thought she might loose them. Heck, why not have 5 million copies floating around. Trouble is, teenage boys probably smear 4 million of those copies, if you know what I mean. Britney is such a bitch and I hate her (note: this view is not shared by the Catholic Church) – but looking at her nude pregnant body, she looks so sweet, so nice. I am glad she posed nude – she helped out 4 million teenaged boys and she gets to remember when she was so wonderfully pregnant. Pretty good for a ditz!

Artistic Musings

You know, I don't read blogs as religiously as I did a few months ago. Part of it may be that I am busier than I was even a few months ago, and part of it is the natural attrition of bloggers who I really enjoy reading. And I have not replaced many of the ones I have read in the past.

There is one blogger who I read, but not as much as I once did. Most of it is that I can no longer link to her – she doesn't want traffic (one person actually) to her site. So I have to remember to find her URL in my Yahoo account, and then link from there. The URL she uses is one that I would never be able to remember. But she is definitely worth the extra trouble.

She in her hubbie are having trouble – actually a lot of trouble. Okay, she was one of the first people I started reading, partly because her life and my life seemed so similar. So I have been always the voice of "save the marriage, save the marriage." I am Catholic, so I have a pre-disposition to save the marriage, save the marriage. Okay, I can't solve her problems, but I am beginning to have a different view of the world, and I will share it with you. This new world view has little to do with blow jobs and cum stains. Shocking, I know, but there it is.

And the only way I can think about this is through an analogy. We are like paintings, our parents providing most of the brush strokes early on. Heck, they even provide the frame.

Rich Kids where the Parents Aren't Present
I have met people of influence who had parents who worked on the frame, giving them guilding, ornate workwork, whatever – that is, giving them materially so much. The best schools, wonderful clothing, braces, dermatology services, whatever. But the parents don't spend time with them, so their picture has haphazard strokes that have no feeling, no value. These are the kids that seem to be always lost, even though they have every advantage in the world.

Poor Kids with Great Parents
Okay, this is how I see myself. My parents were of modest means. We had little discretionary income as we were growing up. My parents absolutely gave of themselves. Now, they weren't perfect parents, but we always felt loved. The brush strokes they applied were full of feeling and depth, but the frame was modest. It complimented the artwork – did not detract from the painting.

Poor Kids with Troubled Parents
This is the person who I have been reading. She grew up like me, in a modest household. Her parents had setbacks, be it alcoholism or whatever. It is not that they did not love their children; they just had poor role models themselves. The brush strokes had feeling, for they loved their children, but there were also random marks, caused by their short fallings. Self-taught artists, as it were. Perhaps the children themselves needed to add strokes to make the painting more complete. And because these children often have to grow up faster, there is white space on the canvas, white space that had to be completed by them at a later date.

[I just reached my one-page limit – please bear with me on this one.]

But what I have described is what happens to people by the time they turn 22 or 25, or 18 or whatever. Guys are probably on the 25 side of things, girls on the 22 side of things. And if you have had a traumatic event, maybe the age is younger. And for those of you that started families earlier, your painting had to be finished quicker – you have had to mature earlier because you had to be parents for children.

Over the years, however, these paintings hang on walls – and start to fade. Some paintings are in direct sunlight, and the colors fade. Some fall from the wall, perhaps being damaged by a traumatic event. After a while, we look at our own artwork and we forget who we once were. Life seems to have happened.

One day, you look at yourself and you don't remember the vivid colors you must have been. You don't remember what excited you, what was important to you. Instead, you are more worried about paying the mortgage, the cable bill, perhaps losing that 10 pounds that you keep on your ass. I mean, we are all – most of us, at least – wonderful pieces of artwork. And over time, we forget this. We forget what is truly important, what our core values are.

Now I am no fan of just doing things to make us "happy," but if there is no joy in our lives, perhaps we moved from what we knew we should be doing to what we are doing to make mortgages, to cutting the grass, to whatever. We have lost what is most important to us.

Moving back to this individual – I have always been in favor of "saving the marriage." But what if her hubbie does not help her to be the best person she can be. For a religious person like me, I would describe it as "getting closer to God." But even for those who don't believe in God, I think spouses are supposed to help you become better people. Not change you. We women have a problem with this one. But encourage people to excel – and I am not talking about a fully vested 401-K. You know, when you die, you can't roll over your retirement savings to your soul in heaven. At least, if you can, I am sure that the paperwork is a bitch and few have the proper documents. A joke.

We spend so much time cleaning house and the yard. Sometimes we need to stop and clean our souls. We need to remember what the painting of ourselves truly is. Because if we are not living in harmony with who we truly are, I think we are cheating ourselves and those we touch on a daily basis. Those in harmony with themselves don't work to be happy. They are happy, and they infect others. Their joy is contagious. They are better sons and daughters, better friends, better parents, better lovers.

Now I am not suggesting that my friend end her marriage – but if her hubbie won't help fix himself, help get in tune with her beautiful music, it leaves her with few healthy options. From what I recall, they played beautifully together in the past.

Locked Cars and Strong Women

Recently, I was reading a post by Ed and he mentioned that he was once locked inside a car. That brought back a memory.

Locked Car Doors
I was with a group from work, and we were going out to lunch one day. And if any of you know about downtown Savannah, you know we have a parking problem. Er, if you are the mayor or other public official, perhaps you don't see a parking problem. One exists. Well, we took one car so that we did not have to (1) give up some of our spots, and (2) find only one spot when we got to the restaurant.

So the driver hits the unlock key on her little key ring beeper, and we get in the car. We get to the restaurant, and we get out. Well, the one guy (who was sitting in the back seat) could not get out, or even open the door. There was another woman co-worker in the back, and she was just sitting there, watching him. He tried for five minutes to get out, and the rest of us were just laughing and laughing.

Turns out the one door had the "child safety switch" switched on, and you can't exit from that door. Okay, it doesn't make good blogging information, but it was funny. One of those, "you had to be there" moments.

Slacking
I figure since most people are off today, I could slack in blogging. I mean, I can slack at work. Might as well go full circle and slack on blogging. I could sit at my desk all day, balancing paperclips, and no one would care. Well, balancing paperclips seems like more work than I will be doing, but you get the idea. But I don't even want to blog – write or read them. I mean, most of you won't post because you are tanning your butts on the beach, or doing housework – better yet yard work. Maybe you are driving to Uncle Fred's house, because good ol' Uncle Fred does the best barbeque. So I figure, why should I even try reading blogs.

Strong Woman
I was reading Leigh the other day, and she revealed something that I would never have revealed. She is a strong woman for have posting the blog. I was thinking about posting something about myself, something revealing. And I was going to post it today, since not too many eyeballs would see it. Sure, it is at the right time, but because of the day, I am just too lazy to put the energy in the post.

So I will be going home today – thinking of weenies. Well, I actually am more of a Polish sausage kind-o-gal. Thickness is so much more important than length, you know.

A Drunk Night and Education

Pardon for the last two posts – I had been really in a rut, and Ddot suggested I write a little fiction to break the cycle. Not sure it worked, but I feel refreshed. Well, now, perhaps it did work.

I saw a wonderful post last week from Nikki. In the post, I understood quite clearly, her frustration, her opinion, and her observations on some racial issues. I will always remember something I heard Oprah say on the subject, something about black people thinking about racial issues each day, while some others think about this subject less often. Another viewpoint that actually may be a common viewpoint.

When I was in high school, I had a very good friend who was black. He was handsome, athletic and a very good student, so it came as no surprise to anyone that he was offered several scholarships in two sports. He chose baseball over football, in part because it was a lot easier on the body. I think he may have been a better football player than a baseball player, but he just wanted college paid for – and actually it worked out nicely for him.

He was actually drafted but chose to enter the engineering world – his choice that he has always been happy with. We were very good friends in high school, and we saw each other occasionally in college (went to different schools, but saw him on the breaks). I must have been a good friend, because I was invited to the wedding, held in a different state. My parents actually gave me some money so I could go to the wedding – financially, I was not doing well, and I needed to stay in a hotel overnight.

For many of us that went to the wedding, he invited us out to dinner before the wedding. I was not in the wedding, but because I traveled, I also was invited. I remember, after dinner, the party drifted into the hotel bar, and we stayed up chatting. By two in the morning, only he and I were still at the bar, and he was buying me drinks.

Ladies, I don't know if you do this, but when I am out, I normally make "will I sleep with him" decisions before I get too far gone. It has actually saved me from disoriented mornings, where I am sure I would be hunting for my panties in a strange room. That night, I thought to myself, "Eh, I would go to bed with him if he makes the first move." I was a little ambivalent, thinking that it would be an honor to be his last lay before getting married. I was single at the time, so I figured everthing was okay. Sorry to disappoint, but he did not bed me that night, but we got into some deep discussions including talking about race.

When he was in college, he was dating a white woman, but he told me that night he could not marry her; mostly because a great many members of his family would have been hurt, disowned him, etc. I actually met her, and I thought she was sort of a bitch; looking back, I am not sure if I was a tad bit jealous. He had always been a good friend to me, and I thought I was must better suited for him than this woman.

Anyway, his wife is so sweet; he make a good choice. I would say he got lucky, but I think his faith, his accomplishments and his intelligence steered him in the right direction.

Anyway, we were getting fairly sloppy at the bar, and we started talking more openly about race than I had ever talked about it with anyone.

At one point, I said I was saddened when friends of mine made racist comments. His reaction was different than I expected, but he should have been a philosopher because it was so clear to him. He said, "I am sorry your friends think of you so badly."

Then he explained that by them making those remarks, the must assume that I either shared their viewpoint or that my character was so passive that I would not challenge them. Ever since that night, I started challenging people who made certain comments, whether it be about race or gossiping or whatever. And you know what, once you challenge, people look at you in a new light and cease making the remarks. Challenging someone is so uncomfortable that it works so well. The same can be said about being a slut – but I will talk about that some other time.

But my friend was so cogent that night, even though he (1) did not even flirt with me, and (2) was smashed.

Nikki's comments were very interesting, and I suggest you read them.

He also talked about playing games. You see, like Nikki, he was the token black in his company. Actually, he was probably the token black engineer. He said he probably got a better job than he would have otherwise because he was black, and there were relatively few black engineers in the workforce. But he said when he was in college, he focused on European literature and art in his electives, mostly because he knew that assimilating with mostly white men, they had this education. He said that African art and literature is extremely rich, but he learned about this away from the classroom. He knew that he had to fit in around the water cooler, and being an ex-college athlete helped. But he also had to talk about things that interested this white crowd. I am not saying this is right or wrong, but I know it is prudent and he has done extremely well. Funny thing is that I can here some "good ol' boys from Georgia" inserting the phrase "for a black man" at the end of the previous sentence. And that, to me, is the subtle racism that permeates the South.

I remember in middle school, a social studies teacher was talking about how poor students were doing, and he said, "I had four black men miss the following multiple choice throw-away question: who one the Civil War?" It is as if the Civil War should mean more to black students than white students. Another form of subtle racism.

One of the comments on Nikki's blog was "I sure would like to lick Leesa's snatch." No, that was not the comment.

It concerned how she was teaching her children, and she said things I did not know. Because of slavery, black people have to wash cars. Because of slavery, black people don't have air conditioning and must drive with their windows down, and white people, because they were not slaves, could afford air conditioning. The problem is that this woman probably thinks she is being kind, compassionate and helpful to her children. All I can do is shake my head, wondering why the bar to procreate is set so low. I honestly think some people have no idea how to make babies – they just end up bumping their nasty parts into one another and having kids.

I have actually seen poverty – in Georgia, in Mississippi. Both black people and white people. My first car did not have air conditioning and I bought it in Georgia. Must have clued me into the fact that I came from slaves. Actually, since my relatives have come from this area for a long time, I am sure there was a little bit of color mixed in with my Lily-white relatives.

Okay, I broke many different rules with this post – too darned long, talking about race (which ensures no comments), and it will fall on the Monday before a holiday, so I am sure there will be few readers.

Perhaps I will post it for Friday – I know Rob will be upset, but he got the ending to a story. But then again, some that find erotica distasteful would have something else to nibble on. Did you notice that I am letting my participles dangle? And I said the f-word several times. I must be letting my hair down.

From Parisian to Passion Part II

As we were leaving the mall, Jay looked at me and said, "Not so fast. I want you to enter my hotel room in the clothes I purchased for you. I want to see you all dolled up."

The first impression that I got were the peculiar words "dolled up." That seemed very archaic, and I wondered how old he was. Not that I cared, but I started realizing I knew little about this man. Really, little about him.

I ducked into the bathroom, entered a stall and changed quickly. Black lace panties, little black dress, and then slipped on high heel shoes that were a little high for my tastes. I placed all of my clothes inside the largest bag, looked in the mirror, and thought, "It looks like I came to the mall this way." The only thing I was missing were stockings.

As I exited the bathroom, Jay grinned, and then we started out, him placing his hand in the small of my back, "our fist real touch." I nearly melted.

We drove separate cars to his hotel. He was working in Savannah for a project, or so he told me. I wondered if he made the trip just for me.

We parked next to one another, and I was going to take in my clothes as well, and Jay stopped me.

"Aren't these other clothes good enough for you, sweetie?"

I unlocked my car and placed them in the trunk, while mustering a "yes dear."

I really did not know if he was who he claimed he was, a long-term tenant in a very nice hotel only blocks from the river, so to test the man I was about go to bed with, I started over at the desk. The man behind the desk said, "Good afternoon, Jay, did Kay leave earlier today?"

He said he had a wife named Kay, and obviously the guy behind the desk knows him.

I extended my hand and said without batting an eye, "My name is Kim; I am Jay's niece, and Uncle Jay is showing me around Savannah. Right, Uncle Jay?"

As the elevator door closed, we erupted in laughter. And after the laughter subsided, Jay said, "No problem, niece Kim." And he pinched me playfully on the bottom. This was going to be fun, I thought!

We entered the hotel room quickly, and as soon as Jay locked the door, I was kissing his neck, touching his bulge, basically attaching him.

He recoiled a little, and I sensed he wanted to take it slow, enjoying me. We held hands, and he looked me from head to toe, saying, "Leesa, you really look good."

"Kim," I corrected him with a smile.

Then he started tracing the front of my dress, lifting the material from my breast.

"No bra?" Jay asked.

"Sweetie, you did not buy me a bra today."

"Leesa, I mean Kim, you have beautiful breasts."

He lifted the fabric, peeking at my peeks, and then starting to trace my breasts, avoiding the areoles on purpose.

"Turn around," Jay said softly but firmly.

I did so, and he unzipped my dress, slowly, teasingly.

Now, I will not tell exactly what happened, but Jay touched every part of my body, slowly, wonderfully, longingly.

After dress and panties were on the floor, Jay said, "Condom or no condom?"

"You have got to be kidding, right?"

Jay looked disappointed, and I found my dress, fishing a condom out of the pocket.

I opened the condom with my teeth, taking care only to grip the outer foil with my teeth. I smiled as I did this, and his penis stood more at attention.

I liked his penis for a moment, but I did not want him to cum, so I quickly hooded his penis.

I jumped on the bed, and I notice my breasts jiggling. Note to self: don't jump after 35!

He asked me to be on all fours, and he looked at my pussy for a long time. While looking at me, I wondered what he called it: pussy, vagina, or cunt. Perhaps I will never know; perhaps I was thinking too much.

Jay's penis is thicker and longer than my hubbies, and I was wondering if I could stand him in me. I would like to report that he did not tear me up, and it turned out to be a wonderful fuck.

He wanted to christen my ass, and I declined the offer.

I took a shower, wanting to wash off all of his sweat, and mine. As I came out of the shower and was toweling off, I notice my clothing was missing. I exited the shower without the towel, looking for my panties, and Jay was grinning.

"Sorry, love, these are for Kay. Being a gentleman, I will get your things for you if you trust me with your keys."

What choice did I have? I handed Jay my keys and prayed for compassion.

Jay returned ten minutes later, with my clothes but not Kay's. Already in his trunk, no doubt.

I dug through the bag and did not find my panties. Darn! So I clothed without panties, but I did have my bra!

I walked out by myself, and when getting in my car, I noticed my Hello Kitty panties hanging on his rear view mirror. Damn, man! But what a fuck!

From Parisian to Passion

I paced up and down the floor. I hope to heck I am at the right mall. I was supposed to meet Jay here at, um, 3:00 p.m.

Five minutes later, I see him. I have seen him several times before, but in each of those times, he was on my computer screen, a three-inch pixilated image with what I imaged was an eight-inch dick.

"Hello, Mr. Right," I say to Jay, a play on words since his last name is different. But through my e-mail and instant messenger correspondence, he was Mr. Right to me.

"Sorry I am late," Jay responds.

I wonder if I look nervous. Did he say that because I look nervous?

"I just got here myself," I lied. I had been waiting, wondering for thirty nerve-wracking minutes and I hoped it did not show.

"I am ready," Jay said, almost eagerly.

"First stop: Parisian," was my reply, trying to be business-like and flippant, all with the same three words.

It was so strange shopping with this man – strange in many ways. First, we had just "met," but we knew lots about each other. You see, we had been communicating for quite such time. Sure, it started with sex-talk, but it turned into so much more. Perhaps that's why I agreed to meet this man. And he acted like a husband, pointing out which dresses would look good on me, complementing me, being present.

I tried on several dresses for Jay, and although I wiggled into them by myself in the dressing room, I wondered what he was thinking, if he was plotting. He is, after all, a guy.

We settled on a LBD – I actually owned one quite similar to this one. It was a six, fit me right, but he was trying to get me into a four. That would have been perfect if breathing was optional or I wanted to do anything but walk upright. And I know his wife sometimes wore a four, so it was easy on settling on the six.

Next stop was his choice, and like all men, showed his true colors: Victoria's Secret. But I have seen images of him masturbating on a towel; so really, I had seen his colors already.

We spent a lot of time in the store, and after he shooed away the saleslady, we went from area to area, with sexual comments peppering the air.

"I would love to take that off of you."

"This one looks like it was made to fit your luscious body."

"I bet I could lick you through these panties."

I knew he was starting his foreplay, and, well, it worked wonderfully well.

Whereas he was the perfect gentleman in Parisian, when I went in the dressing room with his selections, he followed. "They expect it here," was his excuse.

I brought in several things, but the only thing I tried on was a pair of lacy black panties. I put them over my panties to try them on, stepping into them without having to remove my summer dress. He wanted me to try them on without my cotton panties, and when I started to refuse, he indicated that he was to purchase them regardless, countering the argument I had already formulated in my head.

Normally, I just wear white cotton panties, but I knew that Jay would be seeing me. Well, I had hoped, anyway. So to surprise Jay, I had bought special Hello Kitty panties that were to surprise and delight him. I had wanted Barbie panties, but I could not find them – just wanted to play on the young and innocent theme so many of us thirty-somethings would like to relive.

I could slip them on without Jay seeing too terribly much, but he said that he needed to evaluate them – and when I lifted my dress up, he put his face right in front of my naughty parts, and my knees went weak when I could feel his breathe so close in such a public place.

I regained composure, took off the panties, put back on my Hello Kitty's and we were off to his place. Foreplay was wonderful, but we wanted to fuck.

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I seem to have gone on for more than my page with this one. Guess I will have to have a "part two". Sorry folks.

Randomness Part 27

Okay, I just made that number up. Every once in a while I just put some random thoughts together to "clean house." This is not one of those times.

Visitor Statistics
I just passed 30,000 visitors earlier this week. What I find interesting is that the number of pages visited has increased to a little over 2 pages per visit. I get sitemeter's e-mail message weekly but really don't pay too much attention to it. Guess I am a little busy right now because I used to look at those weekly reports all of the time, and I have not really looked at them for . . . I can't remember when. I don't blog for eyeballs glued to my site. It is flattering when I am down, sort of like eating creamy ice cream – makes one feel better but does not solve any problems.

Speaking of stats, this is Kat's 100th post. Okay, I don't really know much about Kat, other than she has her tongue pierced. Okay, you know I love to give good head, but I am not going to pierce my tongue to enhance the experience.

Site note here: language is so interesting. Did you notice what I did? I inferred that Kat got her tongue pierced to give better blow jobs, but I did not explicitly say that's why she did it. Oh, how I love language. But she is probably a really nice person, has a nice life, and sooner or later, she will be popping Prozac. Just need more life experiences.

Bored, Bored, Bored
I noticed that Mike is taking a break. Just needs some time away from blogging. And I miss that "no picture" guy. I mean, his broken link to his picture bugs the crap out of me, but he visits my site early. And I visit his site.

I am bored with my site as well – that's why my entries have been sub-par. I mean, the writing is still okay, but the subject matter sort of sucks. Either that, or I am just sort of blah, and I can't see my blog for what it is worth. Not sure what I will blog about tomorrow. Was thinking of doing something a little different, but let's see.

Writing
You know, I started this because I like to write. I don't always have something to say, but I enjoy writing. Well, I came across the following (below) the other day, and I nearly peed myself laughing. Oh, how I love language. I have never had an orgasm because of words alone, but if it is physically possible, I may one day do this! I just love language that much.

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Grammar Made Easy in Twenty-Three Steps or How to Rite Rite
(Author Unknown)

1.Don't abbrev.
2.Check to see if you any words out.
3.Be carefully to use adjectives and adverbs correct.
4.About sentence fragments.
5.When dangling, don't use participles.
6.Don't use no double negatives.
7.Each pronoun agrees with their antecedent.
8.Just between you and I, case is important.
9.Join clauses good, like a conjunction should.
10.Don't use commas, that aren't necessary.
11.Its important to use apostrophe's right.
12.It's better not to unnecessarily split an infinitive.
13.Never leave a transitive verb just lay there without an object.
14.Only Proper Nouns should be capitalized. also a sentence should begin with a capital and end with a period
15.Use hyphens in compound-words, not just in any two-word phrase.
16.In letters compositions reports and things like that we use commas to keep a string of items apart.
17.Watch out for irregular verbs which have creeped into our language.
18.Verbs has to agree with their subjects.
19.Avoid unnecessary redundancy.
20.A writer mustn't shift your point of view.
21.Don't write a run-on sentence you've got to punctuate it.
22.A preposition isn't a good thing to end a sentence with.
23.Avoid cliches like the plague.

Soccer Fans and Winning

Okay, I will admit it – I am no sports fan. I mean, in my youth, I attended lots of football games (American Football), and these were social events, not sporting events. But since World Cup is currently being played, I feel it is my obligation as a cool chick with a computer to break down World Cup action. And perhaps, dear readers, turn up a scandal that in part, sent our American team home prematurely.

I watched a soccer match this weekend, and here is what I noticed – during the preview, they scanned the stands, and the soccer fans of many teams had hotties cheering for them. One fan, the Brazilian fan to the right, was shown in two shots.

But there were other hottie fans – all women, a discrimination that I will look into in the future. It seems that soccer fans are either hottie women or men that have a bit of a beer belly. Anyway, back to the hotties.

Let's look at the teams and how they are doing, shall we?

Germany – I know, most think these women don't bathe or shave under their arms. But they don't believe in bras, either.
Brazil – they have the hottest fans, and they are also favored to win the World Cup. Coincidence, I think not.
Ecuador – did not hire hotties, England sent home.
England – er, not sure why they are still in the hunt.
Ukraine – beat Switzerland, cute, but not sexy, fans. Probably will lose next round unless they hire some more hotties
Italy – great team, and Totti's wife is often photographed, but not much skin (and other Italian hotties are few and far between). Uphill battle for Italy, though they beat Austrailia. Apparently Austrailia's hotties knew too much about soccer.
USA – we went 0-2-1, only scored one goal by ourselves (the Italians scored one for us, thanks Italians!), and we sent no hotties.

Now I am not saying that if you have hot fans, you get goal credits. But I really think the officials call fouls to influence games because the more hot fans that are on television, the better the ratings. Now, FIFA (Fédération Internationale de Football Association, or for us Americans, the Federation of International Soccer Association, located in Zurich, Switzerland), please don't fine me or sent the Mafia after me because I am uncovering this secret, but I think I am onto something.

Warning: Soccer fans – I know you are out there. You know, the people who call it "football" and go on and on about how it is more riveting than American Football, baseball or hockey. Okay, soccer is probably more entertaining than hockey. If you tell me I am way out-of-line for posting this, well, all I have to say is that being a soccer fan limits your breeding opportunities. Actually, soccer fans either marry very attractive foreign women or live in their parents' basements. No in-between, I understand. And the odds are not great for finding that Ukrainian hottie or Brazilian momma. Actually, we have a few in Georgia, and I can't understand if you are from a foreign country and you have the whole US to pick from, settle in Savannah? I guess soccer fans in Savannah have better odds than I thought.

Spam Riches, Microsoft and Orlando

Dear Readers,

It looks like I may not be here much longer. You see, Mr. Rahim Allen, the head of auditing and accounting section of Union Togolaise de Banque Lome-Togo in West Africa, and I may be entering an agreement in which I could earn millions of dollars. All I have to do is give Mr. Allen, someone who I only know from a piece of spam (below), some money, trust the guy, and wait for him to give me my money. Soooooo, maybe I will be around a little longer, with a few less dollars in my purse. Unfortunately, by blogging about this, I have already killed the deal. You see, this is no longer "top secret." Crap.

Last week, I spent thirty minutes updating MS Windows. I don't know a lot about software – but I don't really like Windows. I was reading Prata last week, and he had a link to another blog (not like mine, there were no discussions of cum stains, lesbian lust, or philosophical discussions on the best way to trim pubic hair). Anyway, even though there seemed to be no useful information, I started reading the blog. It was all about Windows, and the entries I was reading concerned the little "security fix" that I was installing.

The "patch" was a tad deceptive. You see, first you install some type of "software authentication application" (by the way, this is all from memory, so if I get it wrong, just deal with it – you are reading about software from someone who is much more interested and experienced with hardware – and an expert on turning it to software with just her tongue and mouth). Well, you download this little application – and MS gives you a description like, "install this before you can install patches (without the patches, your computer will ignite the next time you turn on the computer)". Again, I may be wrong on this description, but just chill, especially if you are a lawyer for MS. So after you install this little program that you can never un-install, you have basically said to MS, "you can look inside of my computer any old time you want (which happens to be every time you power up the computer).

Well, for OCD people like me, I feel like never turning on the machine again. That way, Mr. Gates and his cronies can not sift through my files. And those naked pictures of Orlando Bloom are for research purposes, and Orlando gave me those pictures; I did not hide under his bed and take the pictures without his knowledge. Oh, and I am not the Leesa who has a restraining order against her. Promise.

Back to my intellectual discussion on MS. Well, afterwards, I had something like 18 "patches" to make Windows safer, which means that it takes 30 minutes for a hacker to disable my computer and use it against the Department of Defense or Ebay. I found a quote that Bill Gates said a decade ago about his Windows software: "There are no significant bugs in our released software that any significant number of users want fixed." (Focus Magazine, Oct. 23, 1995) I am sure his stance on this issue has not changed.

So now, not only is my employer paroosing my work machine – they purchased it, they can look at the contents. But now I have MS looking at my machine, just to check every time that I have "authentic MS software on my machine". And for those who think this is no big deal, here is something Mr. Gates said about China and software piracy:
"Although about 3 million computers get sold every year in China, but people don't pay for the software," he said. "Someday they will, though. As long as they are going to steal it, we want them to steal ours. They'll get sort of addicted, and then we'll somehow figure out how to collect sometime in the next decade." (On software piracy in China, July 1998)

Looks like they figured out a way to catch those in the US – but they get access to everyone else's machines as well. I am sure they will not use this information for other purposes. Like marketing. Or looking at Orlando Bloom's perfect butt.

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FROM MR RAHIM ALLEN.
AUDITING AND ACCOUNTING UNIT.
FOREIGN OPERATIONS DEPARTMENT.
UNION TOGOLAISE DE BANQUE,UTB.
LOME- TOGO.

Dear Leesa,

I am Mr. Rahim Allen, the head of auditing and accounting section of Union Togolaise de Banque Lome-Togo in West Africa with due respect and regard. I have decided to contact you on a business transaction that will be very beneficial to both of us at the end of the transaction .

During our investigation and auditing in this bank, my department came across a very huge sum of money belonging to a deceased person who died on 26th December 2004 in Tsunami that happened in Sumatra island, Indonesia. From the information that our bank have gotten so far, the Tsunami killed him with his entire family and no none relation have been identified. The person that he used as his next of kin was his 17 year old son who died along side with the family.

Although personally, I keep this information secret within myself to enable the whole plans and idea be Profitable and successful during the time of execution. The said amount was (U.S$9.5M UNITED STATES DOLLARS).

Meanwhile all the whole arrangement to put claim over this fund as the bonafide next of kin to the deceased, get the required approval and transfer this money to a foreign account has been put in place and directives and needed information will be relayed to you as soon as you indicate your interest and willingness to assist me and also benefit your self to this great business opportunity.

In fact I could have done this deal alone but because of my position in this country as a civil servant (A Banker), we are not allowed to operate a foreign account and would eventually raise an eye brow on my side during the time of transfer because I work in this bank. This is the actual reason why it will require a second party or fellow who will forward claims as the next of kin with affidavit of trust of oath to the Bank and also present a foreign account where he will need the money to be re-transferred into on his request as it may be after due verification and clarification by the correspondent branch of the bank where the whole money will be remitted from to your own designation bank account.

I will not fail to inform you that this transaction is 100% risk free. On smooth conclusion of this transaction, you will be entitled to 30% of the total sum as gratification, while 10% will be set aside to take care of expenses that may arise during the time of transfer and also telephone bills, while 60% will be for me. Please, you have been advised to keep it as a "top secret" as I am still in service and intend to retire from service after I conclude this deal with you.

I will be monitoring the whole situation here in this bank until you confirm the money in your account and ask me to come down to your country for subsequent sharing of the fund according to percentages previously indicated and further investment, either in your country or any country you advice me to invest in. All other necessary information will be sent to you when I hear from you.

Yours faithfully,

Rahim Allen.

Censorship verses Common Sense

Repentance Part II
I remember a story about an old woman who died and went to heaven. At the pearly gates, she met Peter, who was not only there to greet her, but to also show her around. Peter showed her the wading pools, the pristine gardens, and the different neighborhoods. At one point, Peter placed a finger to his lips, indicating that he and the woman should be quiet. After strolling though the neighborhood, Peter began speaking in his normal tone. The woman was puzzled by this, and she asked, "Why were we so quiet back there?"

Peter grinned and told the woman, "We just passed through the Mormon community. They think they are the only ones in heaven."

Yesterday, I posted a bit about repentance, and I received a few comments that puzzled me. Then it occurred to me that with my one page limit, I may have been curt and did not explain myself very clearly.

Repentance, in my point of view, has the following steps:
1. Feel sorrow
2. Confess to God
3. Ask for forgiveness
4. Rectify problems caused by the sin
5. Forsake sin
6. Receive forgiveness

[Edited Note: I list "Confess to God" here because I am talking about repentance from a religious point-of-view; for repentance, acknowledgement is key. United We Lay kept me honest on this one. You can substitute #2 with acknowledgement of your sin.]

I think what some are confusing is repentance with redemption (the main difference is that "Road to Repentance" doesn't sound as kick-ass as "Road to Redemption" for a movie title). Plus I never mentioned that repentance makes us more God-like. I talked about being reconciled with God, not approaching God-like status. I actually read my post this morning – I usually just write; I don't read my own posts. Anyway, I don't think the point of our lives are to be turned into divine beings. Through discernment, I can see making decisions based on moving towards God or away from God, but it is the road, not the destination that seems to be valuable.

The Real Post Today
Okay, recently the Peanut Queen has had her IT department block certain sites and monitor all sites. Yeah, I know, at my work they may (do!) monitor my activity as well. By the way, Stacey and Ddot are not related, have not knocked knees, or whatever. They are part of two different royal lines – Ddot is more of a benevolent dictator, and Stacey is more of ceremonial monarch.

Well, now Stacey is posting from home. And you know, when you have a choice of doing the nasty with the Peanut King, or blogging, blogging is going to lose each and every time. Perhaps we can read some of her stuff during "that time of the month." And those will be some quality posts, let me tell you. May I read that with a side of bitch.

Back to monitoring the Internet at work. I know, the employer pays for the connection, it takes away from work time, yadda yadda yadda. And those are valid points.

But if you are most concerned with outcomes – with sales, or customer service, or whatever – then monitor the outcomes that mean the most to you. I mean really – okay block porn sites, hate sites, gambling sites. But concentrate on what is most important to the organization. Isn't this a simple concept.

I mean, when I worked elsewhere, I fucked vendors in my office during lunchtime. If I were a manager, I would rather someone be looking at blogs than getting nakkid in their offices and being inappropriate with vendors. And the smart-ass remark (that I expect) is that I could get the guy to "sharpen his pencil" when it comes to price. But on the other side of the coin, I may have bought lots of crap for a booty call.

Oh, and if you were wondering, I repented for fucking the guy.

Repentance and Naked Pictures

The other day, I got an e-mail from Orlando Bloom. You see, during the filming of the new "Pirates of the Caribbean" movie, he and some chick named Keira Knightley ….

Okay, I am full of it. You see, I told a bit of a lie and now, let's see, I need to consult my Catholic guidebook, I need to repent.

I actually got an e-mail from someone else to talk about this issue. Apparently he has nakkid pictures of ~Deb and Montana Leesa, and he is willing to send them to me if I post about this today. Crap, sinned again. You see, I am not sure I am the right person to talk about this today, though if you think about it, being a good Catholic, I have repented my ass off because of my actions, my thoughts, and Orlando Bloom's abs.

Oh, back to the post.

Today, I want to talk about repentance. Okay, we have established I am a good Catholic girl (and we are not talking about role-play with knee-high white socks, a short plaid skirt and ponytails), and I actually have read some of the Conciliar Documents that explain the Church's view on certain issues. And my viewpoint is a bit difference from the Church's teachings on the subject. Please take this as a disclaimer – these views are in conflict with some teachings of the Catholic Church.

A long time ago, there were things that the Catholic Church taught as "unforgivable sins." Suicide is really the only unforgivable sin, according to the Catholic Church. But it is not unforgivable because it is worse than other sins. It is just because in the Catholic rule book, you do not have the opportunity to repent after you committed the sin, mostly because you are either in a bathtub full of blood, are in a deep sleep due to the pills you took, have fallen off a building, or whatever. Anyway, these words have nothing to do with what the Catholic Church teaches – I understand what they teach, love reconciliation, but I just think some of it is against the nature of God.

Repentance? I don't think repentance has anything to do with entrance to heaven. And that's what people focus on – how can I get that ticket into heaven. Repentance deals with making things right with God, that is reconciling with God, and I don't believe that is the price of admission to heaven. On the final day, I can see lots of Christians pissed because this sinner got in, this non-believer got in, and it does not seem fair. The only thing I can think is that I would be laughing my butt off if God used this as a test – you are pissed, please take the escalator downstairs to the home of my fallen arch angel. Okay, I don't think this would happen ever, but it makes me giggle.

"Though your sins be like scarlet," Isaiah said, "they may become white as snow" (Isaiah 1:18). Repentance isn't a supposed to be a negative concept; it signals a return to God. It reveals your genuine sorrow for having sinned, plus a sincere desire to do better in the future. And if you fall again, so be it, in my mind.

I am sure you have heard the trite saying, "God's ways are not man's ways." When I first heard that, I thought it was a load of crap. Now, I wonder. I really think that repentance is for our good, not God's.

~Deb's Chest Confuses Me

The other day, I mentioned something about women wearing t-shirts that had "stop staring at my chest" sayings, and how silly it is, since, well, to get the message, you have to stare and their chest. And unlike a very readable billboard, most of these ladies do not provide flat surfaces in which to communicate their visual communication.

In the comments, ~Deb mentions something about one of her favorite shirts was "WWJD", but her left nipple seemed to look more like a period on the shirt, so she stopped wearing it. No, that was not what she said. She told a story about how she was wearing a "USA" t-shirt once, and how some guy came up to her and said something like, "I like your vowels." I would like to point out two things concerning this story: (1) it would have mortified me, and I too, would have never worn the shirt again, and (2) the guy had to hear that line from somewhere else. It takes thought and knowing the difference between consonants and vowels, and I think we can all agree that most men have neither of those traits.

Well, yesterday I saw a t-shirt on a guy with a college emblem. I actually did not know the college at the time, it was a U with an I inside of it. I first thought "University of Iowa," but then considered that Indiana, Illinois and several other states that I memorized when I was in the fifth grade all started with I and probably had universities as well. Turns out, it is Indiana University. You can click on the hyperlink to see what I mean. Well, the first thing I thought was "that symbol looks phallic to me." I should say, that symbol should look phallic to anyone who has seen, sucked, taken a picture of, or buried it into the core of her being. You get the idea. So here this guy has this big red penis on his shirt, and he has no idea.

The other thing I thought was that there are a crapload of states that have either "IU" or "U of I" designations for their schools. And Indiana is confusing the fact by placing the I and U in alignment. You get no clue as to what university you are talking about. But this is the first time I have seen the shirt in this part of the world, which leads me to falsely assume: (1) they don't graduate a bunch of people, or (2) the ones who graduate are not proud of being associated with the school. Okay, the graduation may be off, because I googled it, and it seems that enrollment in their 8 campuses is about 98,545. If even a fraction of these graduate, that is a lot of people with these logos on their chests. They must be embarrassed or sick of people asking where Indiana is on the map. Heck, around here, some people think it is a province in Canada. I could have told the guy I was sad about Edmonton loosing in the Stanley Cup – heck, Canada is just one frozen wasteland, right? With Indiana somewhere in the middle? That's why they play in the Big 10 – only Canadian school to be in the NCAA – a little-known fact, dear readers.

I know, I know, someone is going to comment that Indiana has a lot of big and important cities in it, including Chicago. Well, all I have to say is that some of us think Chicago is in Illinois – but no one is sure exactly. Unless you live in Chicago; then you just have to check where you pay your taxes to. Well, let me get out of here before I alienate both the Canadians living in Indiana and the folks living in the Windy City. I would make fun of Iowa as well, but I can't spell the state!

Camp

I like campy movies. Not movies about camping, but really awful movies. When I was in college, I saw "Attach of the Killer Tomatoes" twice. First time I was sober and it was great, second time I was drunk off my ass, and they should have thrown me out of the theater. Great both times.

I will have to plead ignorance to the Rocky Horror Picture Show, probably the ultimate camp movie, and I have no desire to see the movie. I mean, I adore The Brady Bunch movies, and I cannot turn them off when I see them on the television. When I am watching them, I feel so happy, and I am so into those movies, but afterwards, I wonder if I have no taste. I mean, this is not Moliere.

I was looking up the top-selling camp movies on a site today, and I had not even heard of the first three movies:
1. Valley of the Dolls
2. Triple B Collection - Savage Beach/Enemy Gold/Return to Savage Beach
3. Femalien

I thought Valley of the Dolls was a book that was published in the 1960s or early 1970s. The movie was probably made from the book, but I am not sure what it is about. I thought "the dolls" were really alluding to drugs, but you know, I am just guessing here. My post is about camp movies. So back to my post.

I am not going to list a bunch of camp movies; I am sure others have. What I enjoy is that even with predictability or bad acting, you have fun watching the movie. Well, I mean I have fun sober or drunk, and sometimes sober is even better.

I don't know how many movies are made each year, but I bet a handful seem camp to us. Which, as long as you are not the director/producer/actor, making an unintentionally camp movie helps society. Unless you happen to be a Wacko Christian.

And Camp Christmas movies are the absolute best. I mean smoltz is part of the allure, and how much smoltzy can you get than Christmastime. Yeah, yeah, I know, "birth of Christ" and all, but I believe that the best thing about Christmas is tradition. Part of the tradition is watching campy Christmas movies. Oh, and before some Wacko Christian says something bad about me, I would say that Easter is the most important time for Christians.

Oh, well, as any good movie, Attack of the Killer Tomatoes spawned sequels:
Return of the Killer Tomatoes
Killer Tomatoes Eat France
Killer Tomatoes Strike Back
Killer Klowns from Outer Space

Okay, so the Killer Klowns may not really be a sequel, but it looks suspiciously like one. And you though the forth Die Hard was a little over the top. I better get back to my movies. Enjoy the day.

Wanted: Woodie

My Desk
I want to buy a piece of furniture – a new desk. I know exactly what I want, and that is the problem. We don't buy furniture often – the last piece of furniture we purchased was years ago. I really don't know when we bought it. Anyway, I want a desk, but not just any desk.

We went desk shopping this weekend. Hubbie was so patient, but that was due to the fact that the US Open was being played, and nearly every furniture store we went to had a little waiting area with a television with golf playing and many husbands huddled around the broadcasted image. Not sure any child would have been able to put a Barney tape in the VCH without several dads intervening. The bacteria-infected blocks and other toys were enough to entertain the little snot-monsters.

Oh, and I want a little snot-monster. But only after I get my desk.

As it turns out, I want a traditional desk. That means, I would like the desk to be made of wood. Actual wood. Apparently most desks on the market look like they are made of wood, but on closer inspection, you see they are made of wood and particle board. I think they call it something else – composite or something – but it looks like what we used to call particle board.

Like I said, I rarely buy furniture, so I figure since I am not buying something but every 20 or so years, I might as well spend a little more coin and get a really nice desk. And I can't do it if I want a new desk. At least not in Savannah.

I go down the highway, and I see trees everywhere. Lots of freekin' trees, just standing there swaying slightly in the wind. These trees are not doing a darned thing, and what I can't figure out is why people are not making nice desks out of these trees. I am not suggesting cutting down all trees for my desk, but I am sure a desk takes less than a tree. And I am not even suggesting cutting down a 100-year-old oak or huge magnolia for my desk (do they ever make anything out of magnolia wood?). I just want a big fat yellow pine. Well, if an oak tree was sick and dying, I would not be apposed to someone cutting it down and putting it out of its misery.

I mean, people burn oak in fireplaces. Why can't they make a desk out of the material? Stuff like this keeps me up at night.

I know, I will have to figure out how to buy an old desk – probably pre-1960s, when desks were made out of hemp. Well, I could have gotten this wrong – I got my facts from an old hippie, so he may have not been all there during the 1960s. Well, he was all there, and that may make some of his statements a little impared.

Highlight Change
I just noticed that the "Highlight" button on my MS Word looks different. I think there was a patch to fix lots of security holes, but it looks like they may have also spruced up some of the buttons. I wonder if I will be able to highlight more efficiently in MS Word. Come to think of it, do I ever highlight in MS Word. Perhaps I should start.

Still, highlighting would be much more enjoyable in a real wooden desk.

Randomness

Last week, I was reading MT Leesa's blog, and I noticed that you can use some type of web page to create an image of your site, or I guess, any site. I did this (see above). I wanted to find the links and explain the whole thing, but I am scatterbrained today. And I don't want to try and find it again. Sorry – I think Lee Ann also did this.
Mike posted this recently: A British company is developing small computer chips that can store music in women's breasts. This is considered a major breakthrough since women complain about men staring at their breasts and not listening to them.

Okay, this is an Internet joke going around. But you know, I have recently been looking at more women's breasts recently. And not on purpose. I mean, if a woman wears a t-shirt with the slogan, "my eyes are eight inches higher up" or "don't look at my breasts" or whatever, I am thinking the t-shirts actually encourage the looking at breasts, if nothing else than reading the t-shirt. Being spring, there are lots of other t-shirts around Savannah and I love reading t-shirts. Stupid, I know, but I love the wit.

Walking to work today, I saw a key rubber-banded to a parking meter. It gives one pause to wonder what the key is doing there. Not a normal key, either. I tend to think they are handcuffs – Savannah is slightly decadent, and that may actually be accurate.

Well, today is absolutely gorgeous, and I am sort of sorry I came to work today. Cough, cough. Oh, my asthma is acting up now. Well, I don't have asthma, but I sort of want to use the excuse. Your boss will probably not mind too much if you can't come to work because you can't breathe. But I really don't want asthma. Just the excuse of asthma.

A really short post today. Just not feeling too much like posting. I guess I have felt that way all week. I actually think I will be busy today. Crap. And I wanted to take a long lunch, stroll downtown, watch people, avoid squirrels, and wonder what happened to the 'cuffs. I mean, don't you wonder?

Hitting Sqirrels, Horses and Football Quarterbacks

Not perky enough for a post on one subject, so bear with me.

Okay, over the last week, I hit a squirrel, and Amanda hit a horse. And in real news, some little old lady hit a football quarterback. My little brain is trying to make sense of all of this.

Christian Wacko Point of View
First thing Christian wackos would suggest is that all three of these victims were actually participating in sodomy or homosexuality or whatever, and it is God's wrath who hurled their bodies at the cars. Drivers of the vehicles are one step closer to sainthood. All that was missing from the stories is "Another One Bites The Dust" playing in the background. Did Queen perform that song? Okay, that is the religious spin on this.

String Theory Point of View
Under string theory, one would say that these victims were injured in three, perhaps five of the alternate universes. Strings vibrating just right caused their bodies to hurl into the vehicles. Drivers of the cars may have been injured in other parallel universes. We will never know.

Country Hick Point of View
Country Hick point-of-view would be the following: "Cool! Now we can skin the squirrel and horse and put them up in the ice box." I just hope Country Hick does not think the same thing about football quarterback. Oh, and Country Hick would probably not be quite as articulate.

PETA Member Point of View
PETA point-of-view would be to hunt down and kill the drivers, then protest in random intersections. The only good thing to happen is that perhaps PETA would get some stars to pose nude in protest. I think they did that for fur. Oh, and I hope PETA doesn't hunt me down. Luckily because they are all vegetarians and malnourished, I am fairly sure I could still kick their asses if they got close to me. I would know they were coming because I could here their farts – I mean, if you have ever been around a vegetarian, you know that they fart all of the time. Even the girls.

Libertarian Party Point of View
A libertarian might say, "As long as the squirrel, horse and football player had insurance and would not tax the healthcare system, all is well. We need less government, more private industry, and if the squirrel and horse were not contributing to this great nation, no great loss." Most Libertarian party members are Cincinnati Bengal's fans, so hitting the quarterback would be a bonus.

Okay, when I started this, I was going to randomly talk about all sorts of things. I was thinking that my cum stain museum could be interactive – you know, having adults do art that would help with expanding exhibits, but alas, I am out of time.

Have a wonderful Thursday – and be careful on the roads.

Fundamentalist Wackos and Cum Stains

Okay, yesterday I posted twice, once on my site and once on Ddot's site. And I am sort of pooped from writing, partly because I re-read what I posted for my site and, truth be told, it was not very good. Plus I did not get many comments yesterday. A few more hits than normal, but that was probably because I was a guest blogger. I actually did not visit that many blogs yesterday because blogger seemed to be hiccupping.

Fundamentalist Wackos
So since I am already going to do a crappy post, I figure I would talk a little religion today. Not a lot of religion, but a little bit. I know some people who say that they literally read the Bible – they believe each and every work should be taken literally.

When I run into one of these fundamentalist wackos, I will ask one of the two following questions:

"Did you ever discover where Cain got his wife?"
"Have you ever looked lustfully at a woman?"

Okay, the first question usually gets them to stuttering. Sadly, I did not make this question up; it was asked to William Jennings Bryan at the Scopes Monkey Trial in 1925, and this fundamentalist could not answer the question.

The second question, when the inevitable answer is "yes" (I used the term "women" because most of these wackos are men), I ask them why they have not gouged their own eyes out, as the Beatitudes, one of the more quoted passages, says this about it:

But I tell you that anyone who looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery with her in his heart. If your right eye causes you to sin, gouge it out and throw it away. It is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to be thrown into hell. And if your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away. It is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to go into hell. Matthew 5: 28-30

Personally, I like the word "gouged." It sounds so horrible and descriptive, and it tends to repulse fundamentalists. And I like repulsing them.

Museums
Have you ever noticed that museums seem to be full of the same sort of stuff wherever you go? I mean, you have pottery, stuffed animals, old bones, whatever. I mean, how much more traveled would museums be if there were wacky displays. I mean, if there was a museum with cum stains that looked like famous people, how many of us would want to see it and pick up some postcards?

Soccer
I am not much of a sports fan, but here is what I don't get – we have all of these kids playing soccer in the US, mothers taking them to their games and all, and as a nation, we don't give a hoot about soccer or the World Cup.

On Empty
I am so tired this morning. I have no idea why this is, but it has zapped my will to write something witty. Even though this is one of those bad posts, I can't not post something because I post every day I am at work. Blogger has been horrible lately, so my guess is that some of you are just frustrated without being about to post when you want to or leave comments easily.

E-mail and Speed Traps

Wow. It is late today. I don't know what I really want to write about this morning. Actually, I started writing something for someone else's blog, something I am less than comfortable writing, and I spent some energy on it. It is a subject where I am clearly less than an expert – more of a guy subject. It deals with sweat and jock straps. Actually, I am not sure these athletes wear jock straps. Things to ponder.

Well, yesterday I did something stupid. I actually probably do stupid things every day, but a lot of the time, no one sees me or cares if they see me. Well, I performed some online test just for giggles, and it asked for an e-mail address. I know I should have used ~Deb's e-mail address. I normally do. Her address, for those of you that don't like to use your own is debs@hooters.com. Don't try and e-mail her at the address, because she filters people out. But by all means, use the address for all kinds of Internet stuff. A porn site needs your e-mail address, use debs@hooters.com. Don't worry about asking her about it, she is cool with it. She keeps her virus protection up-to-date, has rolls and rolls of saran wrap, and as a bonus, she gets flooded with pornographic e-mails. Most of them concern penis enlargement, but hey, you have to separate the wheat from the chaff (not the biblical reference, sweeties; I am good sometimes).

Anyway, I give my address by mistake, and I get the following e-mail message:

"Leesa, I know your e-mail address now. Deposit $100 in my paypal account or I am going to publish your e-mail address on ~Deb's site."

Well, here is how I think he got my e-mail address. I gave it to him by logging onto the site, and then he looked my e-mail address on google. Okay, you know it can't be Prata because he does not use Google – and he would just do some sort of peer-to-peer thing, go through my hard drive, and charge things with my American Express Card. I would not be the wiser. But this person. I just give my e-mail address to him. Arrggggg.

On a similar note, I have been looking at a police trap near Savannah lately. I go by the road and have noticed police several times. So if I get off I-95 at a particular point, I look to see who the police pull over.

I am not writing anything down, but I think they usually are pulling over young people (men and women) who have crappy cars. Okay, my car is not great, but when I was in college and just starting out, my car was really crappy too. I did not have much money, and I was pulled over a lot. Was I speeding? You are missing the point people! Police were targeting poor young people. Seems like they still are. Now admittedly, I did not get any tickets, but I was still pulled over. Because I did not smell of marijuana or have an AK-47 in the back seat, I got tons of warnings. I am guessing warnings never made it to a database because, well, how many warnings until you get a ticket? Actually the first ticket I got, I can remember coming home distraught, crying, thinking "I am not beautiful anymore. I got a ticket." I also did not get sympathy from my hubbie – Speedy Gonzales.

I don't get caught in speed traps that often, mostly because I am older and have a nicer car. Still getting caught in Internet traps. Crap.

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By the way, looks like I was the guest blogger on Ddot's site today. For the few of you who have not read him, check him out on any day but today. If you want to read Leesa on Ddot, check him out today.

Guest Blogger on Ddot's Blog

I wrote this for Ddot's blog, and am just posting it on my blog just in case he decides to eventually delete his blog.

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When I first saw Ddot's blog entry for guest bloggers, I thought to myself, "I wonder what crazy person would ever think they could guest blog on the King's blog." I mean, who would be as knowledgeable, as sure of themselves, as witty as the King. The answer, of course, is no one. So since no one is truly worthy, everyone is equally unworthy. Or so I tell myself.

When I first started reading the King, I noticed several things:
1. The King is cute.
2. The King seemed conceited. Later I learned that the King was just that good. After a while, I wondered if conceit that is backed up with tangible results could be called conceit. One of those, "if a tree falls in the woods but no one hears it" type of questions that I will leave to monks who live on mountaintops to answer.
3. The King is very, very witty. This is what first drew me to the King. I know, I know, most of you thought it was his picture. But it was his words. Occasionally we get to read his poetry, and you can see how he spins a phrase. He also includes a gem in most of his writings, a phrase that is truly art.
4. The King is all about MJ.
5. The King doesn't share too much of his real life. I think he may be shy, or guarded, or whatever.

Everything else about the King is subject to debate. He has had hecklers, he has had at least one stalker, he has many (mostly female) fans, and most of his life is private. I understand that. I admire that. So today, as guest blogger, I will be writing about something that is both close to the King's heart and I know little about. I tend to write better on subjects when I don't let the facts to get in the way of my writing. This, dear readers, is one of those blog entries.

So today, I will write about a plight that has infected our nation. By our nation, I am talking about the United States and am excluding the moose-loving neighbors to the north. You see, this post is about basketball, not hockey. For those Americans who are unaware (and there are many of you), the hockey finals are currently being played – between the Edmonton Oilers (the team is located somewhere in Canada, just think "north of Montana") and Carolina Hurricanes (yes, there is ice in North Carolina). I have even heard that the name for the hurricanes hockey team was to be the North Carolina Hurricanes, but the governor nixed it, saying, "Dammit, it is enough we have to build a hockey rink in North Carolina, I just don't want the team associated with our state. We play basketball here, not sissy hockey." Or so I have heard. Another common Internet rumor was that there were not enough hockey fans in North Carolina to support the team, so they had to include South Carolina as well. This, obviously, if false, because there are not that many hockey fans in both states combined. Actually, I sometimes wonder if FEMA used some of their money to buy the team – thus the name hurricanes. FEMA doesn't seem to spend their money on real disasters, so perhaps spending their money on hockey is close enough.

Anyway, there is also a plight in basketball. And this has nothing to do with "performance enhancing drugs." No, I am talking about finding the next Michael Jordan. I remember, vaguely, when Michael Jordan was playing. I know nothing about basketball, absolutely nothing (that will be unveiled through this blog entry), and I know Michael Jordan was the reason that the Chicago Bulls won 6 NBA titles in 8 years. The two years in between threepeats: Michael was playing baseball and golf instead of being the best basketball player in the world. I was going to list all of his accomplishments, so I Googled it and was going to paste them in this blog: trouble is that his career highlights are longer than my blog entries are – more than one full page of accomplishments. He was the Most Valuable Player five times – only Lew Alcindor was the MVP more. Oh, and for all of you non-basketball nuts, Lew changed his name after winning the award his first season to Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. Some believe that he did this because an angel came down from heaven, and asked him to change his name. You see the angel, knowing he was to win the award one more time than Michael, just did not want anyone to have their name on the award more than Michael. So the name Kareem Abdul-Jabbar was on the award 5 times (Lew Alcindor on the award one time), Bill Russell was on the award 5 times, and Michael Jordan was on the award five times. I know, some of you will say that Larry Bird won the award three straight times (an accomplishment Michael did not achieve); all I have to say is that the award was known as the Most Valuable White Hick Award for those years, a little known fact.

Michael holds a boat-load of NBA records to this day. But that's not the half of why Michael was so great. First, the NBA was in trouble until this one guy re-popularized the game. After the Magic Johnson vs. Larry Bird era, the NBA fell flat. It was not terribly interesting for non-fans. You see, basketball fans are generally not a good judge of how good the sport is – they are fanatical, no matter how things are going. This one man, lifted the sport, sold McDonalds' fast food, quenched his thirst with Gatorade, cleaned his colon with Wheaties, wore "Air Jordans," and sold a bunch of #23 Jerseys. Plus he was on the original Dream Team, you know, the one that ran laps around the competition and brought back the gold to the US.

Now we are looking for the next Jordan. Steve Nash? Heck, if he had not won two Most Valuable Players, I would not know who the guy was. Lebron James? Probably the most talented current player but the next Michael? Face it, Lebron James aspires to be Ddot, not MJ. Why on earth do you think his nickname is King James? As for me, Lebron James will have to take a backseat to Ddot.

Meme from Ddot

Okay, I was tagged to do this stupid thing. I have decided since I killed on Friday, I may become a bad-ass and kill the next person who tags me. I mean, not kill, but accidentally run them over as they fall out of a tree or something. Nothing pre-meditated at all, but we know people fall out of trees and are hit by cars all of the time.

1. If you could be doing what you really want to be doing for a living, what would it be?
I would like to be an advice columnist. I can see myself getting paid huge amounts of money to answer three or four questions per week. In the end, I would probably be a callused old lady, bitter and rich, complaining all of the time.

2. If you could slap the shit out of any famous person, alive or dead, who would it be?
Um, I have OCD. I would be afraid of getting feces on me if I slapped the shit out of someone.

3. What's the dumbest decision you've made in the past 5 years?
When I decided to cheat. Dumbest decision of all. Wish I had not done it, though through the whole process, I probably am a more spiritual person now. Strange, but so.

4. Give up one for a year: (good) sex or (good) music.
I rarely listen to music, so the choice is obvious.

5. Dudes, would you rather have a big dick or a great sense of humor? Ladies, nice tits & azz or common sense?
I think my answer has changed over time. When I was twenty-one, bring on the nice T&A. Now that I am married and in my mid-30s, I need common sense a heck of a lot more than a nice set of honkers.

6. So you've been invited to an all expense paid Blogger Prom in The Bahamas. You're sitting at the bar on the beach. Which blogger do you want to join you for hours of good convo?
This is a hard one. Ddot answered it by including a ton of people in his answer. I want to limit it to one person. I guess I would have to say . . . . whatever I answer, I am screwed. I mean, I would offend most of you. I think, believe it or not, right now it would be Grant, partly because I want to know more about writing, and partly because I think he has multiple personalities.

7. Which blogger would you most like to cuddle with on the beach? (and don't defer to your current signif other either. Infidelity won't count against you. Duh.)
Right now, I would most like to cuddle with Dani. I figure, she sounds like she has not really been loved too much and she is so lesbian-phobic that it might do her some good. I think she could do with some real nice cuddling.

8. You're going on a 5 hour road trip...which 5 CDs do you bring?
#1 Fleetwood Mac, Rumours
#2 Celtic Woman, Celtic Woman
#3 Loverboy, Get Lucky (Has working for the Weekend)
#4 Queen, Greatest Hits, Vols. 1 & 2
#5 Foreigner, Foreigner

9. Would you rather bury your children young or have your children bury you young?
Too easy – I would rather be buried young. No question about it, but partly because I am not sure I would ever recover from something like that, loosing a child at any age.

10. What's your biggest insecurity?
Answering meme's incorrectly.

11.What's the first blog you read every day...or however often you read them? (And I swear to God, don't be saying mine just cuz I'm the one asking...unless of course you really mean it. lol)
First blog I remember reading was Ddot's blog. First blog I read every day – it changes. I have been reading Stacy's or Mike's first thing, mostly because they consistently get their posts out early.

12. When's the last time you peed your pants?
Pass.

13. Which was better, your first kiss or your first pay check?
My first kiss! I can't remember my first paycheck, but I still remember my first kiss.

14. Do you have kids? Want kids?
Don't have kids. Want kids. Probably won't have kids.

15. You get dropped off at home after the office holiday party by your bitch azz boss that you can't effing stand...you exit the car and he peels out, runs a red light at your corner and rolls up an unsuspecting midget. The next day the midget watch groups are on TV outraged at the heartless hit and run, and are calling for any witnesses to please come fwd...that half dead midget has a family at home waiting on C-mas presents. Would you take $1000 hush money? $500? $100? A six pack?
Crap, this has actually happened to me twice. First time I took the money, and I felt so guilty I got another job. Second time I became the prosecutor's star witness. My boss is still in jail.

16. Live the rest of your life without your eyebrows or your fingernails?
Eyebrows. I would simply draw them on or get a tattoo to correct the problem.

17. What makes you angry?
Getting tagged to do this freaking blog entry makes me mad.

18. What makes you horny?
Heck, riding the bus makes me horny. Better question for me would be "what doesn't make you horny?"

19. What makes you nervous?
Police make me nervous. All of the time. I don't purposefully break laws – occasionally speed, 5 miles/hour over the posted speed limit, but police always make me nervous.

20. What makes you smile?
Watching children play, feeling a cool breeze in the fall, knowing I have helped someone, reading one of my favorite stories while sunning at the beach, staring at the clouds in the sky . . . and lots else makes me smile.

Murderess Leesa

I crossed the line this morning. I went from model citizen to murderess in a few seconds. I mean, I did not mean to do it. It all happened so fast. My hands are still trembling, my heart is beating fast, and all I can think is that I am a murderess.

Sure, the US and Iraqi governments took out Abu Musab al-Zarqawi the other day – it took months of planning, tons of intelligence and what not, and I murdered in the matter of seconds.

You see, I was driving to work this morning and hit a squirrel. Sure, some of you probably are thinking, "Yeah, well I swerve towards squirrels." Okay, perhaps you do, but I most certainly don't. And the squirrel's death was much more tragic than running over him. I was avoiding some traffic, cutting through some neighborhoods. Well, there are these beautiful trees and all, and I actually saw the squirrel on a wire over the road. As I was approaching the wire, the squirrel fell – and it all happened in slow motion. I did not swerve to miss the furry little creature, mostly because I don't want my tombstone to read, "Leesa died, so that a squirrel may live."

I smashed his cute little skull with my windshield, and it actually left a little red mark on my car. I want to tell you how I stopped, cradled the squirrel in my arms, soothing his sore head, him looking at me as if to say, "I have lead a good life, and I am prepared to die." Instead, however, I just drove on, shaken, but also a bit late for work.

I mean, I know the California Angels beat the Tampa Bay Devil Rays on 6-6-06, and that good should triumph over evil, but I could imagine Satan flicking the little squirrel with his pinkie finger, grinning widely.

The good news is that my resume can now contain the accomplishment: "Snuffed out the life of a creature that was in the way." True statement and it might give pause to someone who was thinking of giving me a bad performance evaluation, or a boss who was trying to cut in line at the coffee shop.

On a not-so-similar note, I found it funny that Dani wrote a piece on ~Deb's site. It sort of reminded me of someone volunteering to get in a wet potato sack so that others could beat them for their own amusement. I know ~Deb did not mean it that way, but from the sidelines, that's how it looked. I am not linking to Dani's site, not because I don't agree with her viewpoint but because she just is not that good of a writer, and you can click on her site from ~Deb's site.

Blogger Etiquette Part II

Yesterday, I started writing about Blogger Etiquette. Not sure I was the right person to write about this, but the good thing about this blog is that I am the editor in chief, and it makes little difference what others think. So, nana nana nana.

Now I will continue this entry.

Asking to Link to My Site
Occasionally I will get a comment saying, "Can I link to your site?" The first time I saw this, I thought it was akin to hubbie asking if he can do the dishes – why the heck would I ever say "no". I don't ask when I link others, and I hope that is not considered rude. I link so that I can find you, not that others can. That being said, I know of at least one person who I don't link to but I adore her writing. I know what you are thinking: I have a girl crush on her. Well, to that, I say, "I am not telling."

Asking Me to Link to Your Site
A while back, I had several people who said, "Link to me please. I linked to you." One person even had a good site, but I did not link to the person precisely because I was asked. I don't want to have a ton of people who I read all of the time, and my blog links are people I read, not people I do advertising for.

Length of Blogs
Internet stories should be shorter than print stories. I know this, many people know this. Most of us are reading these blogs on a computer – not printing them out and reading them later. I try to keep my entries to one page in my word processor. I am not saying people can't write longer, but it is something I want to do. I read someone's blog the other day, and it was so freaking long, I did not read the whole post. And I am sure others would do the same to me.

Half-Nekkid Thursday
Seeing what happened to Mike last month, I don't think I want to talk about (HNT) (Half-Nekkid Thursday). You know how Social Security used to be the "third rail" in politics. HNT seems to be the "third rail" in blogging. Not sure why. What I found fascinating is that HNT is only about one year old, and it is so pervasive. So I will leave this one alone as well.

Labeling Videos
I sort of wish everyone would label their video feeds. I am so stupid when it comes to music, and I don't know many current groups. And several people don't label their videos. Not that I am mentioning anyone by name. That would make me a bitch.

Down for Maintenance
This is a message I have seen today: "Blogger is temporarily unavailable due to an unexpected problem. We will be back up as soon as possible." I like blogger, but it seems to be down a lot lately. This post is late because of the downtime. And blogger did not mention why they are down now (Wednesday). I have not even posted yet.

I have tried several times to post today, without any luck. So I guess I may not post today. Tomorrow is another day!

Blogger Etiquette

Last week, Bitch Leesa made the following comment: "I try to go back and answer people, but I forget most of the time. Is that part of blogging etiquette?" My answer to Leesa was typical wise-ass: "Leesa, you don't know blogging etiquette. Actually, if you don't answer their comments, you are obligated to send them tasteful nude photos of your self. Or so I have heard."

So I thought I would throw some things out regarding "blogger etiquette" today and see if any of it sticks.

The use of the word "Bitch"
First, I really should not be calling Leesa "Bitch Leesa." I am told this gives readers the impression that I don't like Leesa. Well, I do. I mean, we are not picking out china patterns together, but Leesa is a really nice person who I enjoy reading. I would never really call her a bitch. It's just we have the same name, and I need to be able to tell us apart in posts. Perhaps MT Leesa would make more sense. I am so illogical sometimes. So I guess my first rule would be: Don't call your readers bitches, even if they are. If they are not bitches, why call them such. If they are bitches, everybody already knows. You don't call Satan disgruntled, do you? I had to work Satan into the post since it is 6-6-06. Oh, well, maybe there are not that many numerologists who read this post. To the numerologists, there is a hidden key to this post. A hint: A – 7.

Answering Comments
This sort of goes along the answer I gave Leesa (above). If you have comments on, you really ought to answer comments, especially if your blog is not really that good. Heck, I try and answer comments. It actually takes longer than writing, I have found. But if you post a comment that is not stupid, I answer it. And I decide what stupid is. Unscientific, I know. And the tasteless nude photo line above was just to get a photo of Leesa. By the way, it did not work.

Traffic Driving Language
I have noticed that some people use language as if they are wanting to drive traffic to their site. I mean, some perverts use Google (if you don't care about the plight of Chinese intellectuals) or Yahoo (if you do care) and search for phrases such as: "pee on me" or "large penises for sale." Well, some bloggers try and put such phrases in their blog entries. They may, I am told, get an extra 10 to 20 looks because of this deceptive practice. I mean, when I write an off-hand comment about a dream of my teacher cumming on my breasts, I am not trying to drive traffic. Enough said. I will say more about this tomorrow and the next day, and ….

Vacations
Okay, most bloggers go on vacation from their blog. I know I do. But many of them don't place something prominently on their blogs about when they are going to return. I mean, they may talk about a wedding or something else, and the dates they will be gone are buried in the details. I mean, some people read the same folks each day, and when you are gone, we want to know. Oh, by the way, I will not be around yesterday.

Okay, there are a lot more rules. If I don't get bored, I might continue this discussion tomorrow. Until then, I will not be writing about hot lesbian sex. I mean, I would not want to drive traffic here!

Books Incorporated

A few weeks ago, I made a confession, that I am a bibliophile. And for fun, I equated a few books or genre to drugs. All in good fun. Anyway, I thought I would take this a step further.

Eiswein
Eiswein is a specific type of German wine. It is expensive, it is good, and not too many people really know about this type of wine (at least the people I hang with). Herodotus' work is like Eiswein. You can only find one book by this person (who died a long time ago). The History of Herodotus. It is long, it is hard to read, and it is so wonderful. Your grandmother had to read this stuff; so did granddad – but he can't remember anything anymore. His history was basically the definitive history of the Western world for 1,500 years. Once you get used to the different meter, it is a fascinating read. It even has a story about a huge stone vagina that is used to basically make fun of another army. Really. Very rich, very wonderful and virtually unknown today.

Pop Rocks
The Harry Potter series reminds me of Pop Rocks. I mean, I love JK Rowlings, and I thank her for kindling the reading spirit among young and old alike. But let's face it, this is not Shakespeare. Her stories are fun, entertaining, and light. Before you know it, you have read 700 pages. And before you know it, you have put a whole bag of pop rocks in your mouth. It is good, but you also don't really want others to know you are reading a kid's book.

Sauvignon blanc
This wine can be deceptive – you can find it semi-sweet to dry, depending on the vineyard or vintage. So I think of this wine as sort of the Seneca of books. Seneca was the most famous of the stoics. Prata would make a good stoic (oh, but this is sort of a religion, Prata, not in the God sense of the word, but in the world-view sense of the word). Anyway, if you read Seneca, you get a good sense out of what a stoic should be. But guess what, Seneca was a crappy stoic. Think: liked orgies, parties and money. But he could write. Seneca is the most famous cynic today, but he was a crappy cynic during his life. Truly deceptive.

Potato Chips
Romance Novels. Now I don't currently read romance novels, but they are pure fluff. Lots of calories, zero nutrition. Which makes theme like potato chips. I love to eat potato chips, but I don't eat them because, well, my ass would be the size of an SUV if I did. Similarly, I don't read romance novels because it would adversely affect my IQ and/or writing style.

Dad's Smelly Stogies
I don't know about your father, but my Dad likes cigars. I love the smell of a cigar, initially, and after a while, the smell is too overpowering and I have to abandon the room. Ernest Hemingway reminds me of his stogies. I enjoy reading Hemingway, for just a little while. And then I have to put the books down. The books he wrote are wonderful, and I enjoy the language, the hidden stories, everything. But after a little while, I really don't appreciate him. I know, blasphemy. But there it is. I know Dad likes Hemingway, and his father before him. It seems like he is more of a "guy author."

Oops. Looks like I have passed my one page limit already. One thing that some of you have missed, was last Friday's post. I have actually seen people comment on it this week. It was not terribly well-written, but it seemed to be an important post to veterans. So if you have not read it, you might want to wander over and read it.

Real Life Problem Solving Skills

I spent four years in college, and in that time, I have read that I should have developed problem solving skills. Then I learn that most employers value problem solving when looking for new employees. They also don't like employees who tend to go on shooting sprees at work, well, except for letter carriers. I hear that people who are good at shooting coworkers with semi-automatic weapons are also good at sorting mail. This is a scientific fact, so postal managers actively search for these individuals. Or so I have heard.

Thus far this week, I have solved two problems, and I was thinking of putting this fact in my yearly performance evaluation report. It shows initiative, smarts, and a "can do" attitude. My evaluation is practically writing itself. A bit of a "cut and paste" from this blog entry, and I am set for the year. Note to self: "Do not copy the paragraph which includes semi-automatic weapons."

Earlier this week, I was thirsty in the afternoon, and since we don't have a coffee-shop or other store in our office, I visited the vending machines for liquid refreshment. You see, I had one crisp new dollar and fed it in the dollar slot, and the bill did not fit. I am talking American money trying to fit in an American soda machine, and my bill is too wide. My first thought is counterfeit one dollar bill. How can people make money on printing ones? And then I get back to reality and think the bill is too new to fit into the machine. So I start problem-solving. How can I make the bill fit? Well, since I am a master problem-solver, I think that I should crinkle the bill and then flatten it out again. And guess what? The bill fit, it ate my dollar and I got my Fresca. (Okay, I got a Diet Coke, but I wanted a Fresca.)

First problem solved, and embarrassingly, the second problem involves vending machines again.

Later in the week, I wanted a Fresca, would settle for a Diet Coke, and I approached the machine again. For some reason, the dollar slot did not want to attempt to take dollar bills. None of them. So instead of giving up, I think that I should problem-solve again. The machine next to the soda machine was a candy and other fattening items machine, but I did not want partially dehydrogenated oils that day. But I put my dollar into the food vending machine, and then pressed the change return button. The machine converted my dollar to four quarters, and I re-visited the other machine to obtain my Diet Coke.

Bottom-line: after four years of college, I can use a vending machine even when they are poorly designed. Got to love higher education. Perhaps I should not include this in my performance evaluation.