Sex Dream = Nightmare

Unfortunately, I almost never have an awesome dream without it ending in a terrible way. The dream in my post “Sick of Dreaming” was mild compared to this one. But the one I’m talking about today I had quite some time ago, which gives you an idea of just how memorable it was.

So I’m having the best sex dream I’ve ever had. It’s so real I don’t even know I’m actually dreaming, so it’s normal and no big deal. It’s when I’m rubbing my man’s head of hair during and after the big O that I start to realize something isn’t right. My man didn’t have a balding gene so I was puzzled, and looked down at his head. Then I thought, Shit! This isn’t my man! Um, what the hell is going on here?

So that’s when I realized I was dreaming. And as I’ve said before, it’s at that point when things get really crazy.

I couldn’t wake up, as badly as I wanted to… I tried to push this stranger off of me, but he was terribly heavy. He wouldn’t budge and his weight was crushing my chest. I couldn’t breathe, and nothing freaks me out like that! The dream had definitely evolved into a nightmare at this point. I tried to tell him to get off of me but I couldn't talk since my lungs felt like they were caving in. So I kept at it, trying to push him off until he finally got the hint and rolled over. That’s when I saw his face, and jumped out of bed in shock.

Wait for it…










Um, alright, this was the guy:

Jim Belushi.


I still couldn’t wake up, as badly as I wanted to… It only continued on a downward spiral from that point. I looked at the TV facing me at the end of the bed, and guess who was on? Oprah, that’s who, and she starts talking directly to me through the TV set like she is God or something. She tells me to go check on my kids. So I put on my panties, bra, robe and slippers in a hurry because Oprah said so (it was a nightmare after all but I don't think she could actually see my nakedness) and went down the hall to a staircase that scared the crap out of me. It was supported by ropes bolted into the ceiling, and the stairs were just wooden planks connected to all of these ropes. I’m also afraid of heights in my dreams because I could barely walk down these freaky stairs. Talk about scary shit! I thought I was going to fall and break my neck. After what seemed like an eternity I get to the floor which is in a dining room, and my kids are all seated around the table. My mother is there too, and I’m suddenly made aware that this is her house. I immediately hate my new step-dad, who is giving me dirty looks, and wonder why I’m a grown woman living with my mother. And having sexual relations in her house?! Oh my god, did they hear me?!

Then she starts grilling me about the guy in my room, and the moment she asks me if we’re going to get married, I wake up in a cold sweat.

Okay, well… the nightmare had a good beginning. I like to fondly remember the part before I nearly died with flattened lungs and pretend it was not that guy.

It's going to be a mean season

This is gearing up to quite possibly be one of the nastiest campaign seasons in US history. Not too long ago Bush was in Israel, and during a speech took a jab at Barack Obama. You know when a guy is campaigning and isn’t even an official Presidential nominee and gets dissed in another country by some one who isn’t even running against him, that things are probably going to get uglier than ugly this year.

Bush and McCain have seemingly got some kind of partnership because every time I turn around I either see them together on TV, in a photo, or they are speaking well of each other. I think they just need to get it over with and get a room.

Then you have the Clinton-lovers and McCain-lovers jumping on any little errors they can find in Obama’s speeches, etc. Yes, Obama had a great uncle who helped liberate victims of Nazis. Yes, he made an error when mentioning the location. And most of the country probably wouldn’t have known about Obama’s uncle if it weren’t for the haters jumping all over this to point it out. Talk about your plans backfiring.

I have to give Clinton and Obama some credit for recently making statements of unity in an effort to band together against McCain. If only they had the power of a current President on their side to help them in their plight. A President with integrity who has done nothing but good for the country, its citizens, and has strengthened a political party to Super Hero status.




Um, yes Mr. President, that was a joke.

And thank you for the stimulus check this year. It isn’t enough to cover the additional cost of filling my gas tank for the last seven years, or the hikes in the price of food and other necessities, but really it’s the thought that counts. And you’re full of it. I mean, you’re full of those good intentions.

Twisted Lyrics: You're So Gay

Disclaimer: With my shenanigans on my blog I don’t mean any disrespect to anyone.

This was inspired by Carly Simon’s tune, You’re So Vain. If you don't know the song, don't even bother reading this. And I realize my grammar sucks but I don't care.

You’re So Gay

You walked into my mom’s house
Like you were walking into your place
You stumbled and tried to seem responsible
Whiskey all over your face
You had one eye on my mommy, as
You got up in my space
And I was too drunk to see you were a dumb ass
You were a dumb ass, and…

You’re so gay
You probably think that I’m homophobic
You’re so gay (you’re so gay)
I’ll bet you wish I was homophobic
Don’t you? Don’t you?

I moved in and we moved along
I didn’t know one damn thing
Just like a mushroom you kept me in the dark
Only saw your ding-a-ling
It took me too long to discover
You thought you were a king
And, that I was just a mat on your door step
Mat on your door step, and…

You’re so gay
You probably wish I was homophobic
You’re so gay (you’re so gay)
I bet you wish I was homophobic
Don’t you? Don’t you? Don’t you?

And, I sure was just a mat on your door step
Mat on your door step, and…
You’re so gay
You probably think that I’m homophobic
You’re so gay (you’re so gay)
I bet you wish I was homophobic
Don’t you? Don’t you?

Well I hear you’re pounding some new young flesh, and
Thinking ‘bout tying the knot
And that you’re spreading some venereal disease
Although you’re so very certain you’re not
Well you’re in the closet all the time
And when you’re not you’re at
A clinic with your friend that cheap corner hooker
Cheap corner hooker, and…

You’re so gay
You probably think that I’m homophobic
You’re so gay (you’re so gay)
I bet you wish I was homophobic
Don’t you? Don’t you? Don’t you?

It's raining brake pads!

Or, the alternate title: What the hell? WTF?

Sunday morning the kids were upstairs and they heard a strange sound that kind of startled them, like a bunch of Lincoln Logs sliding down the roof. My oldest son went out to investigate on the side of the house where they heard the noise, and lo and behold, he found a small box and oddly shaped discs lying on the lawn. That’s right, there were brake pads on the wet grass near a sopping wet, flat, torn box that read “… Disc Brake Pads”.

I have no idea what this was doing on our roof. But I guess all of the rain with no sun to dry out the box caused it to finally slide down and make an appearance.

Who put it there? When did they put it there? How long has it effing been there?! But most importantly, why would anyone put a box of brake pads on the roof?!? It doesn’t make any kind of sense. I am still baffled, and I don’t like being baffled.

We get our brake pads changed at a local shop when we need that done. My kids and I know nothing about installing these things. I can barely change a tire ‘cause the jack and I just don‘t get along. All I’m good at is checking fluid and keeping levels up to par. Anything more than that when it comes to automobiles would be like trying to perform brain surgery. And no one wants me poking around in anyone’s brain.

When my ex stopped by I showed him the evidence and watched his reaction very closely. After all, he did live in this house at one time. But no, he was just as surprised as we were. He said they weren’t new, but that’s all he could tell me. I’m so sorry he couldn’t get any use out of them.

Well, hell. That leaves the roofers under suspicion. A few years ago they were up there daily for about a week, maybe longer. They were the “budget” roofers. They dropped cigarette butts on our lawn. One guy even looked like a pirate. He had tattoos everywhere, wore a bandana on his head and had a nipple ring. All he was missing was an eye patch, a sword and… brake pads?

I give up trying to solve this mystery. I’m afraid of heights or I’d see if there’s anything more on the roof I should know about.

What else could possibly be up there? Hoses? Belts? The rest of the car in pieces stuffed down my chimney?

Are you sure?

I caught the last few minutes of an infomercial Saturday night that got my attention due to its originality and catchy beats. What was the product I saw that is giving Richard Simmons a run for his money? It was a hip hop fitness DVD set and let me tell you, I was really (not) impressed with the fact that a corporation is using an entire genre of music to line their pockets. Although I must admit I’m happy the sweaty guy in the candy-striped shorts (that make grandmothers and Dave Letterman blush) has some real competition.



You go, BEACHBODY! With a business name like that, and a super sweet name for your product like this, people should easily trust you with their hard earned cash. Or actually, their credit cards. Oh, never mind. It’s not like those ever get paid off anyway.

Look at Shaun T. The guy is smoking hot (and I must confess the true reason it got my attention). But as you should know by now, I like to point out the obvious. He has rock hard abs!! And is extremely sexy. Watching him flex his well-toned body made my little lady downstairs speak. She said, “He is so much hotter than Phil Collins.”

And to think, all he does to look this good is spend a little time dancercising every day?!? Unbelievable!!! Throw out your weights and take your exercise equipment to the dump, ‘cause there is a better way to look like a God or Goddess. In the five minutes I spent watching the ad (that ran for approximately 30 minutes), Shaun T. and his bubbly girlfriends showed off a bunch of fresh and funky dance moves that made Madonna look really, really old. And very, very white (no matter what ethnicity she’s currently claiming).

Watching them all hip-hop-ercise was motivating, but did it make me want to buy the DVDs? No. I wanted to run out to the nearest happenin’ nightclub, which is about 1,000 miles away (but so totally worth the drive), to try out these new moves on unsuspecting drunken males. It made me want to jump around and/or get down, and other things like that. It made me want to buy more revealing articles of clothing, and get a boob job so I have something to jiggle.

If you’re trying to sell an exercise DVD set, are you sure you want to spend a half hour showing off the dance moves you’re trying to sell? Are you sure? Because I learned more in those few minutes than I ever did in any nightclub.

I think I just need to set the timer on my TV so it will automatically turn off at midnight. Where is that damn manual?!?

Let it rain, let it pour

Is it raining where you are? It’s been raining and drizzling here all week long. I haven’t seen the sun shine since Monday, so when it makes a big comeback the shock to the system just might kill me. I wait with anticipation.

It always rains on Memorial Day Weekend. Only this year it started even sooner. Good thing my ex was wise enough to plan the big yearly camping/fishing event for the following weekend. I mean, good thing he has to work Memorial Day this year, for the children’s sake. They really rough it out there so I hope the weather is nice. Hopefully this time around they won’t come home drenched right down to their underwear, with bags of sopping wet clothes. The smell is enough to knock a grown man to the floor, let alone little ol’ me. And as for me, I can’t be away from civilization for nearly a week. I would go effing nuts without a shower, internet and soft place to lay awake nights wishing I could sleep. I have to admit, though, one night away from the hubbub of my home would be a nice getaway. But after that first night it’s just like Chinese water torture. Well, that is old and extremely outdated (replacing “Chinese” with “Guantanamo”).

I’m not complaining because we desperately need this. I guess I can tolerate puddles and mud everywhere if it means there’s a chance of not having another horrible fire season. We’ve had a drought for years now. I think it could be traced back to when Bush was first elected, but the last thing I want is angry Republicans getting all up in my space (sarcasm). I swear it gets more and more like California here every year, but our fires don’t seem quite as bad to the public. We don’t usually have national news reporters crawling around on the scene, broadcasting the sights, and the sounds of locals describing in great detail how they couldn’t save the chickens.




Poor chickens, their lives were so short. They barely lived.




This is a backfire, proving that evil really can be fought with evil.




This fire is still fresh in my memory. Two summers ago it burned for a few days before it was contained. I want to give props to the Volunteer Firemen (and others who came in to help). It’s good to know my donations weren’t piddled away on beer and poker games. Thank you all for giving us our highway back. It’s our only connection to the real world. Without it we are lost - just simple valley folk mumbling to ourselves about how times were so much better in the old days. Wait… We do that anyway.

Remember when we could drive twice as far on a tank of gas?

Oh yeah, those were the days.

Remember when mescaline was all the rage, and we could run naked in the hills without a care?

Oh yeah, those were the days.




Remember when 38 Special was a cool band?

Oh yeah, I’m sure glad those days are behind us.

The Comeupance Committee

Thanks for stopping by. Here is something I originally wrote last fall.


The fact that the word comeupance is in the dictionary literally boggles my mind. What a strange word. On the odd occasion I will hear it on TV. As an American it just seems so foreign, and way too classy for a simple country girl like me to ever use. But I‘m going to try, and just dive right into it for the sake of learning a new word.

Comeupance. It's a noun which means "an outcome (good or bad) that is well deserved."

This raises a question. Who decides if an outcome is well deserved? Is there a Comeupance Committee somewhere we should know about? If there is, I want the number. There are times when it could be helpful to consult with a trained professional regarding the use of comeupance.

One night not too long ago I was out driving alone on a highway and had quite the scare. It began when I started up a large hill and had to turn down my headlights because a big tractor-trailer was just starting down the hill in the opposite lane. Just a few seconds later, I saw a giant doe heading straight for my windshield on the driver's side!

Gasp! A doe. A deer. A suicidal female deer.

She came up so fast, I didn't even have time to think. Gripping the steering wheel tightly with both hands, I quickly turned to the right and then back to the left. I missed her by only a split second. I kind of saw her face, but it was a blur since I was so busy… ya know… trying not to die and all. In that brief moment I think I heard her cry out, "Buck is a cheating bastard!"

My life didn't pass before me. Now I know for certain that whole idea is just a Hollywood hoax. It did take me a few minutes to calm down. I continued on, but slowed down to 60 mph with my left hand on the wheel and my right hand on my chest. I was breathing so hard I could feel my lungs. When things like this happen, you don't know how you're going to react in the moment of truth. Lucky for me, my Under Roos stayed dry. I was driving my old and very heavy GMC Suburban (hey, it's paid for), which is long enough to support it's height and not like those popular SUVs that are box-shaped and feather-light. Is that maybe why I didn't roll over and die just like that movie The Weather Man?

I'm not ready for a funeral yet.

I haven't got any thing to wear! What would they put on me? I'd like a fancy casket so I’d need something that doesn't make me look like trailer trash arriving at a ball. I have to look my best when I go to that fancy ballroom in the ground.

On second thought, scratch the fancy casket. All a country girl needs is a plain wooden box. No, a plaid wooden box. Yes, that’s much more appropriate.

Would you say, after getting the crap scared out of me in a life/death situation, that I got my comeupance? Are you on the committee?

Hurray for summer.

Hurray for vacation time. I’m looking forward to visiting my homeland. It‘s been two years since our last trip. It’s a 14-hr drive that always turns into a 16-hr event because the kids need to pee every few hours… and get one hot meal… so when we finally arrive I’ll see brand new worry lines on my mother’s face. Wait… she doesn’t know exactly when we’re leaving, so I’ll try to keep it that way. I‘m sure I‘ll fail miserably. She has a way of finding out things. If only I were an only child… but then I’d have no one to sympathize, or top my stories of pain and woe.

Hurray for beer. A tall cold one always tastes great on a warm day, and is probably one of my favorite things about summer. I really don’t enjoy beer much the rest of the year. I will have one or two on occasion but I have to be in the right mood for it. I don’t understand this summer phenomenon. Before I had kids I used to drink beer nearly every day through all seasons, and like water on my days off from work. I couldn’t get back into a regular drinking schedule after the first kid. I’m such a loser.

Hurray for ice cream. The kids have a chant that goes like this: I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream. Then Mom screams. They always get what they want in the end.

Hurray for baseball. I hope the new ballpark is open this summer as planned, and is still cheaper than a movie. I’m not a tightwad, I just have trouble sneaking kids into the theater, and after the first two it starts getting spendy. The popcorn is like crack and priced like gold. And you can’t have popcorn without a three or four dollar container of pop that could drown a small child.

At Cobb Field everything was reasonably priced which made for a true day of fun. Holy crap, I’ve turned into my father.

Anyway, fun time with the kids is important and I’m always happier when it doesn’t cost too much green. Yep, I’m my dad.

Not only do I enjoy ball games, but my kids will come along, and getting ALL of my kids together to spend time with mom is a tough feat these days. Teenagers are funny people. The strange thing is I can relate.

Hurray for the drive-in, but it’s only for the kids. And when the kids are happy, I bitch on the inside.

Movies just don‘t get me excited like they did years ago. When I became a grown-up (some time in the 90’s) I started seeing a trend of crap peddled by Hollywood, so I thought, like I’ll die if I don’t see Arnold in his latest multi-million dollar deal. I think the way I feel means I’m getting old. I’d guess my parents lost their love for movies when Clint Eastwood stopped starring in Westerns. For me, cinema died when Harrison Ford disappeared. He is a true stud. I’m glad he’s making a comeback of sorts in this new Indiana Jones flick, but I didn’t see him in the last three Star Wars episodes! I still want my money back. Darned kids. Yoda hypnotize them so, why does, hmm?.

Hurray for Independence Day. Our town really gets into the celebration and stretches it out over a few days with parades, fireworks, etc… and people are always on stage trying desperately to convince me that they are entertaining. I’m not like the rest of the drunken sheep, I only applaud when I mean it.

Rodeos are fun, but only when Cowboy Poker is played. There’s something special about watching a live group of snuff-chewers sitting around a card table in a ring with a bull. How does your poker face work when you have over 1,000 lbs of irate animal (complete with horns) breathing down the back of your neck? At some point the fear reflex kicks in and running for your life becomes a bit more important. In fact, the mean bucking machine doesn’t really allow time for a game to get started. To see grown men scrambling and crapping their pants is always a hoot.

We can light fireworks for two weeks straight if we feel like it. This can be fun, depending on who your neighbors are. There is a guy on our street who goes to bed early, and he will call the cops, even though he knows full well we aren‘t breaking any law. So out of respect we resist whipping out the noise makers on weeknights. Who am I kidding? The truth is we don’t want the cops hating us any more than they already do. They get really annoyed by his phone calls, so we are kind to the guy just in case we ever need to call 911. As far as I know there aren’t any specific fireworks that are banned because I’ve seen it all. Then again, I don’t have a copy of the city code handy. It may not be a defense but it works for me.

Sometimes ignorance really is bliss, especially when you‘ve got a deputy watching your every move because you justifiably insulted a woman, who turned out to be his wife. I didn’t start it, but I like to finish things in a memorable way. I guess the truth really can hurt. This is why I have a newfound love for attorneys. You never know when you’ll need one on your side, which is better than having one on your back. But it’s good when they have your back. But not your rear. What am I talking about?

What do you like about summer?

Why I prefer mountains to beaches

I’ve never been to a real beach, that is, an ocean. So I obviously haven’t had the true beach experience. However, I grew up in a state with many lakes, and back home a “beach” is what we call a sandy lake shore. So now I‘ll compare mountains to beaches based on my vast wealth of (cough) knowledge.

Mountains: If you’ve never taken a drive through the mountains, put it on your to-do list. They are majestic, beautiful, and clean. What’s even better is visiting a mountain lake, spring, river, or falls. Now let me be clear - I’m just talking about a day trip here. If you’ve never been camping before, this is not the best place to pop that cherry. Bears love mountains even more than humans, and can smell food from miles away. You don’t want to have a cook-out unless you’ve brought your guns. The actual odds of seeing a bear are very slim, but you’ll probably see deer, eagles, mountain goats and other wildlife. So as long as you aren’t camping or wandering off the trail, the worst thing you’ll ever see are log cabins as this might make you think of the Unabomber (definitely will if you‘re in Montana) but I have yet to run into any creepy people. Hermits like to hide and will only hurt you if you climb the barbed wire. And when you do see people they are usually sight-seeing and share the same look of dumbfounded awe on their faces. Sure, you could look up relevant pictures on the internet or watch the Travel Channel, but it doesn‘t come close to being there. Maybe if I compare mountains to sex it will help drive the point home. You wouldn’t choose porn over flesh, would you? Well, maybe that isn’t the best question to be asking on the internet.

Beaches: There really isn’t any scenery unless you can ignore the beachgoers, rolls of naked flesh, bright orange towels, bright orange swimsuits, umbrellas, sandals, and litter. Don’t tell me you can enjoy the sound of the waves and seagulls when every few minutes some one is yelling (as if the kids can hear Mom while they’re up to their necks in water). And there is always that one screaming child who gives you an instant headache, and the couple who can't keep their domestic dispute in the bar where it belongs. You could go to a more secluded beach but you’ll still get sand in your swimsuit. Uh oh, I’m having a flashback to my childhood. Maybe this is just a girl problem, but when I was a kid I was a sand magnet. And it wasn’t just me. I had sisters, and friends. No matter how hard we tried to avoid it, we always ended up just like toy dump trucks. We had to ride home with sandpaper on our crotches. When we’d change out of our suits we’d have to pour them out over a waste basket. Also, at the beach there is no such thing as average. There are only two kinds of people - the kind that shouldn’t be in a swimsuit, and the kind that make you want to see what’s under it. The latter of the two, the sexy people with the rock-hard abs, make everyone else feel insecure and insignificant. And that is usually 90% on any given day. And you always see a few of the unattractive beachgoers giving the smoking hot ones those looks that could kill, like, How dare they look so good? You can just feel the animosity. If it weren’t so hot, because heat tends to make it difficult for people to move, they’d probably just beat the ever living crap out of them for looking so damn good. If that went down, I’d have to reevaluate my whole outlook on beaches. But for now, this is where I stand. Mountains are better.

No blog post today...

I normally don’t work Fridays and have time to write something of substance (or just length) but I’ve got a big day ahead of me. School activities with the kids, a lot of driving, more family fun, and more driving… which I enjoy, actually. I just turn up the stereo really loud and pretend they aren’t even there in the vehicle… it all works out.

So as you probably figured out by now, there’s no blog post today. Just my babbling for a minute here. Maybe two. I've been trying to blog at least five days a week because it feels good, and I like to feel good, but there are going to be days like this when I've got too much going on to write anything, really...

So before I call this done I just want to shoot off a few ideas - how you could spend your time if you‘re bored.

Instead of robbing a bank, casino, liquor store, quiky-mart or close relative… as fun as that may be… you could do something rewarding in another kind of way… like, get a job. Or, admit yourself into rehab. Do it for the kids.
You could take your dog for a walk.
Maybe spend some time with your grandma or grandpa.
Take a kid on an outing and give their mother a break.
Mow your disabled neighbor’s lawn.
Write a letter to a soldier.
Research those people who want to be our next President and support the one who you agree with most on the issues that matter to you.
Or, just be there for some one who needs you, even if they can‘t admit they really need you.

These are just some ideas. I bet you’d never guess which one of them I’m going to squeeze into my schedule today…

Have a good day. And remember, if it doesn’t look appealing, you don’t have to eat it.

The gas station hates me

Something really strange has been going on.



Let me give you a little background info before I get into that. I drive by the gas station every day. And I’ve been noting the price I see up there on the sign as I drive by… every day. And I’ve been a slave to another certain routine for quite some time now: I get paid, go to the gas station, and fill up with just enough gas to get by until the next pay day. They’ve got me by the crotch and it’s not making me feel all hot and tingly in a good way.

This routine of mine began a few years back when the price of fuel really started hiking up the price of food and everything else that we need to survive. So it’s not like it’s the price of gasoline alone that is twisting my panties. It’s the price of every damn thing. We don’t manufacture anything - it all gets shipped here - so we watch a lot of those TV shows that explain in great detail how to live in the wild, just in case some day the trucks stop rolling through (you never know).

Back to the strangeness - here’s the really odd thing that’s been going down:
Two days before my payday, I drive by and see…



I see the new price.

Nooooooooooooooo! It can’t be. They raised it. Damn. I was SO close to making it. SO close to getting my gas for the same price I paid the LAST time I was there. Just TWO days away!!

Two days.

So I go through my routine. I get paid, go directly to the gas station, and put just enough gas in my tank to get by until my next paycheck. I frown because it costs more than it did the last time I was there. I go on about my daily business in life…

Some time passes, and it is once again TWO days before I get paid.



I see they’ve raised the price yet again. It’s a vicious cycle. I feel so… hated.

It’s just TWO days. Why can’t they wait…

The Chinook winds of change

Overall the economy has been doing alright in Montana and the job market in Billings is still strong, but it’s clear that some retail businesses are feeling the pain of declining sales. There were some layoffs at a few places and this is probably a sign that some real changes are coming ‘round here.

First up on the list we have Krispy Kreme. Warning: what you're about to see may burn.




FYI, donuts do the same thing to men. So how can I feel any amount of sympathy for Krispy Kreme. Boohoo, KK. Only good can come from this. I’m tired of seeing mountains of flesh wherever I go, so maybe this is a sign that the average citizen will soon be safe to bump into, and perhaps even be easy on the eyes. And if the Big & Tall stores have layoffs it would be a real cause for celebration. I’d definitely be at the lake this summer without the kiddies (wink).

Next up on the layoff list we have Ben Franklin.



No, not the Ben Franklin. It’s a craft store. I wouldn’t be surprised if the real Mr. Franklin’s bones rolled over in his grave when the first store was erected nearly 100 years after his death. The man is on the hundred dollar bill and was a scientist, inventor, writer, and played an important role in our nation’s earliest pages of history, among other things. I’m pretty sure, no, I’m positive he didn’t spend his down time knitting sweaters for troops or cross-stitching maps. To put his name on a craft store is downright disrespectful. It’s almost as bad as slapping the name of a good state onto a girl who can‘t sing or act in order to help make her into a star. So the truth is, I never liked your store, BF. Feel the winds of change. Bask in the breeze of profit loss. In the meantime I’ll brace myself for the inevitable. Your former customers are sure to take up less costly hobbies, such as nosing around into the business of their neighbors, and casino hopping with the hopes of winning a few bucks to give a temporary boost to their low self-esteem from years of turmoil and torture from the opposite sex. Well, I’ll brace myself for the nosy neighbors.




It doesn’t surprise me at all that the Wells Fargo Banking Center had to lay off some employees. They have higher fees and a greedier, snottier atmosphere than any other place I’ve ever banked at. Now I’m going to swing off the local branch for a moment, and look at the company on a larger scale. Their Wikipedia page says they are “respected for its policies and management which have kept the company away from questionable business practices which have hurt the reputation of many of its competitors”… and they can say this because Eliot Spitzer never accused them of doing anything illegal. But when it comes down to its customers, and even its shareholders, it’s no secret they cheat and steal. My stint with them lasted a whole six months, and I was a happy bitch when I left. Good luck, WF. I predict as more people shop around you’ll have to eventually pack up and leave Montana altogether. Buh-bye! I won’t cry. And by the way, Mr. Spitzer couldn’t possibly be in anyone‘s back pocket. He’s not going to be poking around pockets or pleasure holes for a while if he‘s learned anything, so good luck with that side of it too if you have anything to hide from the world.

And last but surely not the least, we have Sutton’s Sportswear, a wholesale embroidery and printing company. This one came as a shock because they’ve always done well. The big surprise was a whopping 47 people lost their jobs this week. I know it’s not a big deal compared to other places in the country, but this is not the norm here. We don’t have much for manufacturing plants in the state, which makes for cleaner air and whatnot, but it also means we‘re far removed from the pain that others in the nation are feeling. But if this layoff is a peek into the future of Montana’s retail sector, it may be a wake up call for us to consider when we cast our votes here this fall. Personally, I think we need a president who is supported and promoted by more than just a man-maid, offspring or housewife. And I don’t know if any of these points have been made yet, but we need a president who can actually hear the phone ringing at 3 a.m. We’re all gonna be screwed if the morning that call comes in is the same morning a battery in a hearing aid decides to go kaput.

IDGAS is a fun phrase

Hello, blog grazers and beautiful people out there. Have you been feeling stressed lately? I’m feeling a little bloated thanks to the monthly curse, but other than that I’m good. It’s a beautiful day. The grass is green. It’s sunny, it’s warm, and it’s quiet… at least for the moment. But I know some of you have been feeling kind of tense.
“I don’t give a shit” is a fun phrase.
Say it.
Say it!
Say it with some authority now.
Doesn’t that make you feel better? Try it this way… shorten it up and say it the internet way, IDGAS.

From now on “I don’t give a shit” is going to be my fun phrase for life in general. Because seriously, if I were normally a serious person, life wouldn’t be any fun and I’d be dead in about ten years just from the stress of taking life too seriously. I’ll still give a shit when it’s necessary, but I’m talking about the small stuff here. I’m happy not sweating it.

I’m sure my new phrase will come in handy. I used to shrug my shoulders when life grabbed me by the nips and twisted, or more realistically, whenever something mildly annoying was thrown my way. But shrugging my shoulders like a trained chimp wasn‘t any fun, and that‘s the whole point. So I’ve given this a little bit of thought. Here are some situations when I could use my new fun phrase IDGAS.

When my co-workers do stupid things because they are stupid and I end up having to do more work because of their stupidity… IDGAS. And IDGAS because I get paid for the extra time I spend working because of their stupidity. IDGAS! HA! Joke’s on you, um, suckers who work with me that went to Special Ed. back in school and still think you’re special.

When the price of gasoline gets so outrageously high that I won’t be able to drive anymore because the price of milk is always higher and more important to have because it‘s milk… IDGAS. And IDGAS because I have legs, and feet. That’s right, I can walk or pedal a bike. IDGAS! HA! Joke’s on you, um, greedy executives and countries who sell oil and don‘t give a shit about the consumer.

If someone even more influential than Tom Hanks (who recently endorsed Barack Obama) comes out to shock the nation and endorse John McCain for President… IDGAS. IDGAS! HA! Joke’s on you, um, whoever might have the balls to put their entire reputation on the line for another four years of the same old same-old. Well, we already know it won’t be Charlton Heston.

If the government ever tries to take away our right to bear arms… IDGAS. And IDGAS because even if it happens in other states, it won’t happen in Montana. IDGAS! HA! Joke’s on you, um, people who think that slowly stripping away our rights and over-regulating us is going to make our world a better place.

When life throws you a hit, just don't give a shit. Turn it around. Don't fall to the ground. My rhyme is done. Now go have some fun.

My summer plans include something big this year

When most of my family was here visiting I was in the kitchen and my brother-in-law came along. Out of the blue he started talking about my dog. He told me how well-behaved she was, and asked me how old she was. I told him she was two and it took a few months to train her. Then he asked me point blank if I’d take my sister’s 3-yr-old dog for them. They didn’t bring Monty with them so I had no idea what to expect, other than he is very cute in the pictures I have. I told him I’d think about it, and he went on to tell me Monty is a good dog and he would love it out here. The only negative thing he said was that he liked to scratch on the door. I quickly got the feeling this guy has never owned a dog before and was maybe expecting him to be something like this:




I considered that my brother-in-law has been making renovations in their house since not long after they bought it a few years ago, and who knows when they‘ll call it done. It would be a good thing to get a family pool going on since the poker games are few and far between. Anyway, I figured the wear-and-tear factor could have something to do with my brother-in-law wanting to get rid of the dog. Now, I don’t want to take away a pet from my sister that she loves, so I asked her about it. She unhappily told me Monty had to go. That just left me confused. Especially when she said she’d trained him to obey hand signals.


This was Monty two years ago.

I thought about it for as long as I could, which was about a day. I wanted to give them an answer before they left. I was basically just a dancing puppet with my family pulling the strings. I thought about how my dog could use a canine companion. And if Monty eventually got put to sleep I’d get over it, but it would probably haunt my sister the rest of her life. So I told them I’d do it. I vowed to come up some time this summer on vacation and adopt Monty.

Later that day I was talking to one of my brothers and told him the news. He said Monty was stupid, and my dog was smart. Instead of wondering if I’d made the right decision after all, I chose to feel good about someone other than a neighbor who compliments my hair calling my dog “smart”. My oldest son has been calling my dog “stupid” in a loving way for the past year.

When I told my kids about my plan, all but one of them was happy. Unfortunately, when I’d mentioned earlier to my oldest son in a “ha ha” and I-told-you-so-way that my brother called my dog smart, I let the part slip out about him saying Monty was stupid. Where is the duct tape when I need it on my mouth?

The day the family reunion officially ended and they all hit the road, I called my dad. What do you know, he was taking care of Monty for them while they were away. And he didn’t have anything good to say.

Uh oh.

When my ex found out we’re getting another dog, he asked me if I’d take one of his dogs too. I found it extremely easy to say, “No.”

It looks like a wiener

Yesterday evening my daughters, ages 8 & 6, found an old pack of balloons somewhere in the house and were bound and determined to blow them up. While I was busy folding laundry in the same room I could hear the sounds of little girls without experience trying to blow up some very small balloons…

Whuuuh… whuuuh… whuuuh…

It was obvious they weren‘t getting any results.

Whuuuuuuuh… whuuuuuuuuh… whuuuuuuuuuuh…

Still, nothing.

I wanted to stay on task and get the laundry done and out of the way. It isn’t good having a huge basket of clothes sitting in your living room just waiting for someone to run into while they’re carrying a beverage or liquidy food item and not paying much attention, and then discover you have to rewash the basket’s contents when you still need to get a few hundred other things done before you pass out for the night. But I could sense their frustration. So what’s a mother to do?

I scolded them for getting into the balloons, of course.

I should’ve just ignored them. Their reaction, since Mom was too busy to take and put away the balloons, was to continue on with even more determination. And after about a minute or two, my youngest daughter began to shed tears, as if that was going to change my mind about the situation.

“I can’t do it,” she cried.

Okay, it worked. I sighed, and told her to keep trying. That made her cry even more.

“I can’t do it, I just can’t.”

She had pulled me into her corner and I was rooting for her, but now she was going to just, give up?

“Don’t be a quitter,” I said. “Keep trying.”

After a few more minutes, a breakthrough. They both had managed to get just a teensy bit of air into their balloons. Suddenly their sadness turned to smiles. Their disappointment turned into confidence. And before long, little balloons were zipping around the room. Ffffffffffffftttt. They kept blowing them up and letting them go. Oh, the fun. Oh, the amusement.

When I finished up my chore the younger one was holding her inflated balloon, preparing it for take off. It had now grown to a whole 4 inches long and 1 ½ inches in diameter. It had funny bumps in it after being repetitively inflated and deflated.

The older one looked at it and said, “It looks like a wiener.”

I said, “Hey - what?”

“What!?!”

She said, “You know, it looks like a hot dog after being cooked on the grill.”

“Oh.”

I've reached a milestone

Tonight it dawned on me that I’ve managed to accomplish something big without even trying. No, I didn’t win the lottery or find a cure for my insomnia. But believe me, I have tried, it’s just that the balls never roll in my favor. And I gave up on the lottery a long time ago.

The milestone is, in the last week I’ve managed to tick off (or at least annoy) a record 1,940 people. But not just any people.

I was checking my stats for the last week, and it turns out that 1,940 people who viewed my blog in that time used Google Images to hunt down Vanity Fair pictures of Miley Cyrus. But in the post that received the hits, I only mentioned the pics and didn’t actually post any. This means that I’ve managed to waste a few precious minutes of 1,940 people’s lives. I know I do that every week on a slightly smaller scale, but these folks possibly give a damn about Miley Cyrus. And odds are that a lot of them were hard core fans since my blog is at the bottom of the barrel. This gives me a warm and fuzzy feeling. Especially since I didn’t plan it. I wasn’t rubbing my hands together with a cigar hanging out of my mouth thinking, “Ah ha, I know exactly how to get a handful of those kids, concerned parents and perverts now!”

I think before this, the most people I’ve managed to irk in a week’s time was 24, back in April. Wait, that was family so it doesn’t count.

I wonder how many will be slighted this time around?

Who do you like to annoy?

No time, but that will change

I really loathe the song “No Time” by The Guess Who, and it has found its way into my head again. Once every few years is entirely too often. I know it’s because I barely have any time to myself lately. Or maybe I heard it via a TV ad but I really don‘t see how the song could be used to sell a car. Either way, I’m looking forward to summer. Maybe you’d think life would be even more hectic with the kids out of school, but it’s quite the opposite. At least until August, when this evil thing called ‘boredom’ sets in and I consider trading away kids for things that are much more useful. For example, I’d like to get a man-maid just to see what the hell it is and discover all of its capabilities. It made an appearance in one of my dreams a while back, but I left him at the house to go out and dodge bombs so my questions were left unanswered. Anyway, with less than a month of school left our summer begins on Memorial Day Weekend, and I’m getting excited. Here are some ways I’ll have more time during summer:

The kids won‘t have homework. Thanks to the internet I’m always soaking up info but when it comes time for my brain to retrieve it, this is where I have a problem. “I can remember reading about the Mayans and when they predicted the end of the world, but sorry Son, it may have been 2012 or it could be December of this year. One of them is right, so just use both in your report to be safe. Or was it the Aztecs?”

Again, thanks to the internet it doesn’t take too long to find out but I’d rather have a photographic memory for the time-saving benefits.

They love to play outside. I get more done when they’re not in my face every ten minutes needing something. We know the people who live on our street and actually like two-thirds of them. Some of them have kids around the same ages so they all play together, then I don’t hear from my own until chow time or some one gets hurt. Usually it is only feelings. It doesn’t really matter unless blood is drawn, so I don’t let their squabbles rob me of my time. I tell them if they don‘t want to play I have some work they can do, which has quickly healed their broken friendships many a time.

They will spend more time with their dad. Their father rotates all shifts at work, and his days off are so varied and unpredictable it would take three rocket scientists with an 8-ball of cocaine to make an accurate prediction of his next schedule in advance. So throughout the school year the kids and I never know when he’ll have a weekend off to take them. During the summer it doesn’t matter - they can be whisked off at a moment’s notice on any day of the week, and I have no complaints.

I‘ll be doing less laundry. We’ll be wearing shorts and tees every day and when you compare that to bulky sweatshirts and jeans I guess it‘s pretty obvious. My sons wash their own clothes, but I don’t even like washing my own clothes, so I’m really excited about doing the wash for myself and two girls who spill everything they eat on themselves less often. I just can’t wait for summer.

Hurray for the grill. That means fewer pots and pans to wash. And it is always fun to draw a crowd only to send them away hungry. What happened to the pot luck concept? Someone bring me a dessert, damnit. I have lots of burgers to share, but someone please bring a good dessert. If I‘ve slaved over a hot grill it‘s the least you could do. And for God’s sakes people, stop sniffing the air and saying, “Ummm.” If you can’t contribute in some way, just step away from the grill. And keep moving ‘cause if I can see you, you’re too goddamn close.

So, how will I spend the extra time this summer? I hope I’ll be gazing upon the millions of stars up there in the sky like the wannabe hippie-slacker that I am, but most likely I‘ll be training our new dog to behave himself. But that is another blog entirely.

Are you looking forward to summer?

Twisted News: A once terrorized community is safe

Monica Titsley of Fakesville, Phonyland was arrested over the weekend and charged with multiple counts of stalking, lewd behavior and disturbing the peace after terrorizing a community for months. She had allegedly stalked numerous unsuspecting victims.

“No one was safe,” said Tom Thumb, a local resident. “When she zeroed in on someone it was all over but the crying.”







Deputy Gilbert Gottfried, after posing with the perp on Saturday for a photo to be included in the Sheriff Times, pummeled Ms. Titsley to the ground and cuffed her. “You can’t escape now, Miss Blow Up Pants,” he railed, “and you’ll have to listen to me squawk like a disturbed and enraged parrot until you’re finger-printed and safely locked away in your cell. How you like them apples? Ack! Did you just try to give me herpes?”

On Sunday a press conference was held and the Sheriff of Phonyland spoke to a concerned crowd of revelers.

“Citizens of Fakesville, you can all live in peace once again. Monica Titsley has been captured and brought to justice. As most of you know, she has eluded authorities for quite some time now. She has used many aliases. She has moved around frequently by deflating herself and traveling with strangers she manipulated. Sadly, she has spread herpes to many.”

“When the first complaints were filed back in January our resources were limited. Then in March, complaints about the suspect began flooding our office. It was soon apparent we needed to put together a task force dedicated to finding her as quickly as possible, to ensure the safety of the public. Thanks to their efforts and a tip from an anonymous source, she was found hiding in a twenty million dollar pimped-out cave with Bin Laden. So, I would like to thank each and every one of them for helping us put an end to this out-of-control blow-up doll’s reign of terror."

"Pizza party at my place, seven p.m. sharp. Bring your own beer and blow-up dolls! Woo!”

At the party, a drunk Deputy Gottfried was spotted leering at a blow-up doll of Princess Jasmine. Aladdin, the cartoon character, found out and wanted to kick his ass. But Genie sang a really gay tune that distracted him. Aladdin became so confused he forgot why he was angry in the first place.

Twisted News: Huckabee brings hellfire and other bad things...

Mike Huckabee - a former Baptist minister and Presidential candidate - visited Billings, Montana on Tuesday and Wednesday to help promote Republican Roy Brown for Governor. He brought with him the wrath of his God.

It began with a fire roughly 30 miles away near Park City on Tuesday, which was started by a lightning strike. But Huckabee was overheard saying, “My Lord is telling you, you’d better listen to Mikey or you’ll have the worst fire year since 1988.”

With some help from cooler weather the fire was 100% contained by Wednesday night. But rumor has it the firemen gave up the fight early on, got down on their hands and knees, and sent prayers up to Huckabee’s God. They also promised to vote for Roy Brown, an oil tycoon.

On Wednesday the local FBI chapter revealed a threat had been made against area refineries. Conoco and Exxon-Mobil promptly assured local residents that not only had they stepped up security, but they had sequestered their top employees in candle-lit rooms to send prayers to The Almighty God of Huckabee, until, “it‘s safe for them to come out.”

When questioned about the refinery threat Huckabee was overheard saying, “My only concern right now is helping Roy Brown. If you‘re planning to write a check to the Lord, take that check and send it to the Brown campaign. That‘s what I‘m doing because I love the Lord and I‘m not gay.”

When asked if he wanted to be McCain’s running mate, he was quoted (this one is real), “It‘s a little early for the captain of the football team to ask me to the prom.”

In related news, blogger Alicia Billings was struck down Wednesday with a flu bug and was forced to stay in bed for nearly 24 hours. She had horrible nightmares of blood-sucking vampires, and children. Lots and lots of children.

Why am I writing about myself in the third person? I don’t know, but I hope Mike Huckabee’s God will stay away, whoever or whatever it is.