Happy New Year's Eve

Tie one on and take it off!

If this is your typical New Year's pose, maybe give it a rest this year and give someone else a chance, ya harlot.

If you have never partied in your knickers, give it a try and live a little. What are you waiting for?

Christmas sweater puke fest

Long time followers of the Skitzo Leezra blog know I have an ever changing list of imaginary boyfriends. Well, not quite imaginary, they are real people after all but they are not my actual boyfriends or at least they don't know I've claimed them as my boyfriend. I have author boyfriends (Tyler Cowen), radio boyfriends (Jay Thomas), television boyfriends, movie boyfriends (Vince Vaughn) and super secret boyfriends at local retail establishments.
My chef boyfriend is a blast from the past, I kinda thought he was hot when I read his first book "Kitchen Confidential" back in 2001 and subsequently viewed a few of his food travel shows on the Travel Channel. While my palate is nowhere nearly as sophisticated as chef Anthony Bourdain's, I love his irreverent wit and smart ass attitude.

While watching his tongue-in-cheek "holiday special" replay, I couldn't help but to be intrigued by his choice of musical guests, the Queens of the Stone Age band but even more amusing was the wardrobe choices of said band.
Please to enjoy.


In an interview recap, Bourdain commented “Those Christmas sweaters were just the most terrifying things I’ve ever seen in my life. Beyond Sandra Lee on some really awful hallucinogen.”

Gotta love it. Grandmothers have never rocked a holiday sweater like these guys.

Country girl with city friends

I grew up in Southwest Louisiana where gun safety courses were offered at elementary school level through 4-H, Boy Scouts, etc. so not only did I attend the course several times but most of my peers did too. Plus, my dad was already super serious about safe gun handling before a second cousin died of a gun accident but even more so afterwards.

As a young adult, I lived in New Orleans and my "city friends" found my gun training and familiarity unbelievable and probably considered my upbringing as "country".

Both worlds collided the night we were all drinking at an outdoor bar. Someone pointed out that my mammary region had the added dimension of a shaky red laser dot. My face flushed and my heart rate boomed out of my chest and I immediately walked away while my friends all laughed. The laser dot followed me.



I was so flustered I could barely ask "where's that coming from?"

It's a laser, they said.

"I know that, it is attached to guns for target sighting!"

They laughed and said,"No, it's not. Someone is using a laser pointer."

"ON A GUN, idiots! Someone is pointing a gun at me!" I yelled at my "so-called" friends that found my fear to be amusing.

Finally, one friend explained that laser pointers were available and the new fun trick was to outline and point at women's butts and boobs. Compared to taking a bullet to my heart, some idiot checking out my rack was no big deal. My city friends asked why I thought I was being targeted and when I told them the only laser sights I had ever seen were attached to rifles and pistols, they finally understood.

They bought the next round.

I was glad to be alive.

Don't fake that cake

There is an otherwise stylish dame that displays a fake cake on a glass domed cake stand in her very fabulous historical home's dining room. The first time I spied it with my little eyes, I wondered if she was expecting company.
The next visit, months later, I saw it again and still wondered if a yummy chocolate cake is her specialty and something she always has on hand, much like proper Southern ladies who keep a punch mix base or Parmesan cheese puffs in their freezer for impromptu entertaining. Finally, I asked if the cake was the same one I saw last visit?
"Oh, as a matter of fact, it is the very same cake because it's artificial," she explained.
You would be proud of me because I kept my usual smart mouth shut.
But WHAT THE FUCK?
Is that hospitality?
"Please drool over this cake but I cannot offer you a slice."
No way in HELL is fake cake acceptable as a decor choice. It is mean, it is stupid and it will probably force you and others to over-eat deprived food.
Now, if you were assigned the kitchen in a designer show house maybe I could grant faux food as an exception but a Christmas gift of a fancy shmancy two layer counterfeit cake to a 30-something straight guy, well, that's either a really funny inside joke or completely jacked up. Were I the recipient of above culinary tomfoolery, someone should anticipate a giant cake hole blown into their front window with the assistance of a potato cannon.

An unlikely duo: Bing Crosby and David Bowie

One of my absolute favorite songs for Christmas. Enjoy!

Santa Claus got stuck in my chimney

Ella Fitzgerald sings a sly double entendre Christmas song.
Trivia: Ella and her attorneys blocked the re-issue of this song and it became popular after her death in 1996.

I can't NOT watch

Steven Seagal Lawman series on A & E television network.
He affects the accent of the local dudes although he didn't grow up in Jefferson Parish or Louisiana. He asks young African American kids which of them is the best basketball player. No, really. He mumbles. He says ya'll. He plays guitar. And like a bad automotive smash up on the road, I gotta look.
Here's the entertaining side view: when the cameras angle for crime, they have a helicopter view and multiple cameras in bad neighborhoods. When illustrating the what-Tina Turner-called the "good side of the city", you see footage of the French Quarter, Uptown and the iconic streetcars. All things NOT in Jefferson parish but rather, Orleans parish. Producers of the show didn't seem to be able to read a map.
Check it out and find your new guilty pleasure.

Pink tools chap my ass

I like pink but as a chick with a decently stocked tool box, those inferior quality pink tools offend me. They mock women.
"You don't know what you're doing and you'll probably need a guy to finish what you can't do so, in the meantime, why don't you just hold this pastel pink tool that looks so good with your manicure."
Invest or steal (borrowing from your dad) good quality tools and you'll use them forever. Pink tools are for Barbie's house.

A little reminder

I am all about positive affirmations if that works for ya but when I spied with my (superior peripheral vision) eyes the many brightly colored pieces of paper on a stranger's car dash, I had to wonder why so many and if the sheer volume of Biblical verses keeps the evil urges at bay.


Lord knows, my hands clench on the steering wheel when I have the urge to "tap" offending idiots with my truck but yet I seem to power through without little Day-Glo reminders.

How many reminders do you need to prevent personal mayhem?

Nicknames

Oral Roberts died yesterday and I wondered if anyone ever had the nerve to ask him if he realized that his name works out to be a really funny nickname: Blowjob Bob. Now tell me, which guy would you rather watch as he shilled his "cash for blessings" happy horseshit to desperate (and typically poor) folks - Oral Roberts or Blowjob Bob? Of course, the latter.

And the current Pope What's His Name? Hold please. Benedict XVI. His real name is Joseph Ratzinger. By my nickname generator, his name would be Joey Ratz. Who wouldn't want to hear some Joey Ratz stories? Pope Benedict? Not so much. Benedict? Ouch! You should get that looked at. I would like to see a Benedict, but I bet it hurts.

Channeling a 12 year boy's humor today,
I am,
Skitzo Leezra

Rain in Louisiana

Wet and windy on the lake, at dusk.

My suggestion for Tiger's comeback:

Spokesperson for Axe body spray.
Imagine the commercials.

Bella sucks

Ashley from Ashley's Closet remarked her vagina may be revoked for saying it, but she didn't like the Twilight book series. I didn't read the books but did see the first movie "Twilight" so when baby sister Rikki Tikki Tavi asked me to see "New Moon" last weekend, I checked the other listings to see if we could just meet in the theater lobby afterward. There was nothing of interest so I joined her and was pleasantly surprised that I enjoyed the flick.
Of course, the films cannot include all the aspects of a book but I get the parallels:

• delaying the the vampire bite (prolonging virginity)
  
• dispute between the vampires and wolves (diversity)
• wolf leader's fiancee' with scarred face (spousal physical abuse)
• vampire acceptance of Bella (suspending judgement)

All good lessons for the teenage females for sure but am I the first to say this ~~ Bella Swan is a shitty role model for chicks.

• She has no respect for her dad when she disappears to Italy for three days
  
• She causes a large manhunt when she gets depressed and disappears in the woods
• She ignores her friends and has no use for them until she needs cheering up
• She puts her female friend in danger when she flirts with a rough outlaw biker
• She cannot be without male attention

She is too wrapped into her dude to be of any interest on her own. Bella is the kind of chick that wouldn't make my friend cut. Not that she gives a crap.

Funny? Or wrong?

Those Bud Light commercials with the comparisons of "Too Light" and "Too Heavy" are pretty clever. "The Breakup" shows a chick driving with boyfriend in car as she attempts to break up with him. Too light is backing out of it completely and and too heavy is her pushing the guy out of the car while car is in motion. Funny, right?

Now reverse the genders.

Funny? Or wrong?

Can you imagine the shit storm if the dude pushed a chick out of a car?

Smart ass cop

A couple years ago, Dawn and I were sitting on a 8 foot high wall overlooking St. Charles Avenue, drinking gin and juice and watching folks walk by after a Mardi Gras parade. Dawn was proudly taking credit for knowing that the young actor that portrayed Harry Potter (Daniel Radcliffe) was gonna be hot when he got older and I was raggin' her for having a thing for young bucks.

We drank more and laughed more and eventually two of New Orleans Finest walked by. I waved them over. Dawn hissed at me and told me to can it.
"Naw, they don't mind answering questions, do you, Ociffer?'
"What seems to be the problem here, ladies?"
"No problem, Ociffer, I just wondered if you would be able to tell me and my friend Dawn what the legal age of consent is here in Louisiana."
The uniformed policeman looked at me for a minute and just when I thought he'd forgotten the question, he said "Forty-two or so" and walked away.
Dawn laughed so hard she almost fell off the wall.
I yelled "You're a smart ass! A wisenheimer, I tell ya!"
He lifted his arm and waved without even turning around.

How "Seinfeld" made dolts more interesting

The first couple times I watched "Curb Your Enthusiasm" on HBO, I didn't really like it which really surprised me because I loved "Seinfeld" and was disappointed that Larry David didn't grab me. Fast forward several years and recently started watching "Curb" again and I laugh my ass off. Larry David is a hoot. His nitpicking persnicketiness is hilarious.
But it reminds me of watching the show back in the day, hearing folks rehash the episode the next day and weighing in on the debate of tipping, etiquette and social norms. Folks that had no personality, opinions and viewpoint on anything suddenly had "deal breaker" stands on their date's characteristics or appearance, just like Jerry.
I heard a thirty minute discussion of chicks that didn't have a clue to what would comprise a good future mate and father to their children saying they would reject a guy because he didn't wear a belt. You heard me, a freakin' belt! Somehow they made the determination that their deal breaker preference equaled having standards. And personality. They didn't get the joke that the show was about the mundaneness of everyday life and how it fills our day.
Still not sure if Larry David and Jerry Seinfeld should be thanked or spanked for making folks feel more interesting if they had strong opinions on the "hello kiss".

Churches, bars, theaters and cars

My close friends know that I will cry when hearing "Amazing Grace" in any way, shape or form. Mournful bagpipes, a lone man singing a capella in a Manhattan subway or sung with congregants in church, my eyes fill and my make-up is ruined.
If Fred LeBlanc sings "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" in the House of Blues at 2 AM, I'm gonna cry.
At the end of the Disney animated "The Lion King", I lost it during "The Circle of Life". Lost it. Now, when I hear the chanting introduction, I have to remove myself from others because my reaction is embarrassing.
Driving with Patsy Cline on the radio and suddenly the road becomes a little wavy.
Anything belted out with heart and soul and angst makes my eyes wet. Black gospel music? Geez Louise, that does it.
That one high note ringing out through St. Paul's Methodist Church in Houston makes me look up to prevent eye spillage. Mom calls it "angel music".
And this is the one time of year that I know there will be more than a few moments of sniffling and saline. It happens every December. I sit in my vehicle, waiting for the traffic light to turn from red to green, listening to the holiday music station and a song will melt my heart before it spills over to my eyes. Different years, different songs. Sometimes "Silent Night" sometimes the original Charles Brown version of "I'll Be Home for Christmas".
Last year, I saved the Late Night with David Letterman episode on my TiVo so my mom could watch Jay Thomas re-tell his Lone Ranger story. I made Mom continue to watch as Darlene Love belted out "(Christmas) Baby Please Come Home".
I had the same reaction the second time I watched it, thought myself to be a bit ridiculous and then spied Mom wiping a tear. She turned to me and saw that my eyes were shining too. "Oh my gosh, that was amazing." If Darlene's energy and exuberance doesn't touch something in you, oh man, you're dead inside.

What music wrecks you?

Told ya so

I knew Al Gore was full of it when he sold that line of global warming horseshit after eight idle Vice Presidential years.
Over two years ago, I posted that his ill begotten Oscar and accolades were a load of hooey and it seems like the recent story regarding leaked e-mails about manipulated evidence story is not fading.
Sure, I took the quiz on www.carbonfund.org website to calculate my carbon footprint and was amused to see their suggested financial donation to offset my use. What a great scam!
They are cleverly offering holiday e-certificates for your gift giving convenience. I'm telling you right now that if I receive a carbon offset e-certificate for Christmas, there might just be a full barrel of unrefined crude set afire in an undisclosed area to offset the intent.
Al Gore is a charlatan.
Global warming is not proven.
Carbon offsets are a creative con tactic to fleece idiots from their money.
Which brings me to ~~ it snowed in Louisiana today for the second time in less than a year so suck it, Al Gore.

• Zero Carbon Family




• $960.00

Subtotal = $960.00

• I wish to make an additional tax-deductible donation: $

Tree Bonus:

48 trees will be planted in your honor.

Chico Bag Bonus:

Yes! Please send me 19 Chico Bags.

Total: $960.00

Concerns or joys?

Every Sunday, our pastor or associate pastors asks congregants to share their prayers of concern. We raise our hand and they wander the aisle. Mom is having hip surgery this week. The teen group is traveling to camp and we ask for a safe trip. Cousin was diagnosed with cancer.

Prayers of joy come next. Our son's birthday is Tuesday. Aunt is home from the hospital. Local football team won the game. (This is Louisiana, people.)

For those too shy or private to publicly state their prayer requests, prayer cards are available. Fill them out and the Monday morning prayer group reads them and prays for the concern. They don't need to know the names because God does.

After church service ends, we file out to be greeted by the pastor or associate pastor. Today, I chitchatted with folks while waiting for the the woman in front of me to finish talking with the Rev. The line is not the place to initiate conversations, just say hello or good sermon or have a good week. That's not what I heard.

"Please keep them in your prayers. They need all they can get. Right now they are living on the beach in a tent. They've been there all week. We're trying to get them with us. The family moved here for a job situation and things haven't worked out like they wanted."

(Living in a tent? On the beach? This was the coldest weekend we'll probably have this year! It snowed on Friday!)

Prayers of joy, find that tent soon.

Tiger lied to all of us

Or maybe you believed that the richest golf player in the world actually drove a Buick?
Shame on you, Tiger, for coercing old white guys into purchasing the very car you shilled to them. Those codgers were hornswoggled, bamboozled, I tell ya!

A great blog find

You bitches know I love cursing but I think I've met my match. Not sure how/where I found this blog but it cracks me up and you will see WHY I HAD to click on the link.
Cooking for Assholes
Here's a taste of assholery for ya:
So I made these crappy pieces of shit for lunch today and they were pretty darn good. They were also really easy which is why I am giving you the recipe. I actually think you are capable of making them unlike everything else which is way over your head (including fucking pancakes).
Learn cooking tips and check out some recipes but hey, read it for entertainment and see how a food snob looks at life.

Wishing I could hang out in the blogger's kitchen
drinking beer while they prepared food and cursed,
but pretty sure I would get kicked in the teeth
when I laughed and spewed beer out my nose,
I am,
Skitzo Leezra

Things that chap my ass: Farewell tours

Back in the day, 1989 to be exact, the Rolling Stones got together after a 7 year break, put together the "Steel Wheels" tour and touted it as the "farewell tour". I like the Stones but I don't love the Stones. My boss urged me to attend because it would be the last opportunity to see them perform live. My best friend was dying to go so we plunked down the cash and purchased the minimum 4 ticket offering. The concert was okay but I still seethe every time I hear of yet another Rolling Stones "farewell tour". I said good-bye 20 years ago, go already.

Same damn thing for Zebra and The Cold. Geez Louise, they've had so many farewell tours they should issue punch tickets and you get free admission to the 12th one. Best thing to happen to the Beatles? John Lennon got shot so the farewell tour discussions finally ended.

This is my free advice to you: Don't fall the farewell tour hype. It's a lie.

The new lie: "Retirement". Think Cher, Barbra or any football player.

Heard about that guy in the 23 year coma? Maybe we should call it his farewell tour.

CandyGram? No. Telegram? No. MammoGram!

Had my boobs smashed to hell for the yearly exam today.

As the tech chick Jackie intently manipulated my breast on the mangler and pressed down with extreme force, she asked "Are you related to Emily?"

I had to laugh because my boob in her hand was not the usual small talk segue way.

"And you ask . . .because? Are we so similar?"

She realized the awkwardness and became embarrassed, which just made me laugh more, all while being jammed into a tighter vice grip.

(Jackie eventually told me that she noted my last name on my file so it wasn't the mere sight of my boob that reminded her of Emily. And yes, Emily is my cousin.)

Stupid crap that women do, 7

Get pregnant.
You know I am NOT talking about the loving couple that has planned for their spawn.
No, I am talking about chicks that don't have enough self-respect and worth to consider what value they have without trying to hook a guy with an unplanned pregnancy. All these years, I have placed more responsibility on women to be the "gatekeeper" because it is women that typically pay the price for pregnancy and children but now am seeing the picture from the guy's angle. If he absolutely doesn't want to have children from a one night hook-up, casual fling or not-THE ONE-girlfriend, it's the guy that can now pay the price.
Dudes lie.
Chicks lie.
Chicks can lie about birth control.
Chicks can tear a condom.
In John Irving's book Cider House Rules there was a character named Herb Fowler that took great delight in flicking condoms to embarrassed folks but his secret was that the poked holes in every one. I read that book in college and never trusted a condom that was free for the taking.
Have you heard about the suggestion that guys should put hot sauce in their discarded condoms, if unable to flush away said jizz bag? You heard me. It is a deterrent supposedly recommended to stop gold diggers from bagging their ballers. Any chick that stoops that low to retrieve the seed deserves a fire crotch and ring of fire.
Dudes, you gotta be careful out there. Chicks will lie all day long and tell ya they don't want a relationship, they don't want children any time soon . . . and you can still be a daddy in nine months. Trust, schmust. The consequences are too dire.
Now, give me a guy with a vasectomy scar, I am intrigued and interested.

It skeered me

Mom's new Siamese kitty cat Muffin is quite shy and hid the entire time we visited and ate Thanksgiving dinner. Even a pinch of turkey wasn't enough enticement to lure her from beneath the antique sideboard. Because none of us actually laid eyes on her, most of us forgot about her.
Y'know how I am always bragging about my superior peripheral vision? Well, just as we were sitting down for dessert, I see a quick movement in the corner of my eye, my heart pace quickened and I lifted my feet up to touch the bottom of the dining table before I let out an eek!
Then I realized it was not the longest mouse in the world, it was Muffin, running from one hiding place to another.
Yikes.

Attraction phases

Jay Thomas wondered aloud why females are attracted to young pale girly looking guys, like teenage movie vampires and English chaps.
Welllllll, it just depends on where she is in her Attraction Ladder.
Never heard of such a thing? That's because I just make it up.
Through a female's life, levels of attraction changes. Hopefully.

1. Daddy
2. Horses
3. Pretty Boys - pale vampires, harmless boy band singers, gay-but-not-yet-aware classmates. These guys are not looking for sex so chick gets a Ken doll without putting out.
   
4. Bad Boys - how better to lose the shame of the Pretty Boy phase than the extreme opposite? Bad Boy to some girls is a tattooed ex-con on a motorcycle but for some girls it's a guy that wears shirts without collars and skips church 3 to 4 times a year. After being repressed with the Pretty Boy, chick is happy to put out for Bad Boy.
5. Good Stable Guy - tired of putting up with Bad Boy's shit, chick now looks for marriage material in a nice normal guy, kinda like Dad.
   

If chick skips a step on the Attraction Ladder, her dating development is screwed and not likely to improve without some major mishaps.
Get stuck on a step 3 and chick will be shocked when her husband of 20 years finally admits he is gay (or a vampire or both.)
And we all know the chick that got knocked up by the rat bastard lying and cheating Bad Boy, hung around to pop out another 4 kids and now she's stuck.

Respect the Ladder. And watch your step.

Happy Thanksgiving

if only
for the fact
there's no
hatchet
at your
neck,
you have
something
to be
thankful for.
Bet you
didn't count
that
as one
of your
many
blessings
today.

~ You're welcome ~

*pic glommed from got blog?

Okrah ain't goin' nowhere, girl

I don't give a shit about Okrah and even I am aware that her exclusive television network debuts next year. For the love of money and her blind followers, here's hoping she doesn't lose her very own brand of banter with the blend of very proper enunciated English and a dash of insincere "hey girl" ghetto slang.
My, how the tight-ass white ladies wearing super pressed khakis and twin sets love that. "Okrah is just like us. You go, girl!"
Go indeed.
Go far far away.

With you but thinking of someone else

everyone here
knows that everyone here

is thinking 'bout somebody else

"Back 2 Good" by Matchbox 20

The song is about being with someone you don't love and realizing the ramifications later but it also makes me think about how many times I've wished that I were with someone other than my present company.
When I was a teen, I imagined being on vacation, standing on a Colorado mountain with my boyfriend instead of my family.
The angst of my local boyfriends not being my New York crush of all time.
College beaus that weren't another guy I really wanted.
Vacations with friends that could be imagined with the missing part of my heart.
Christmas and New Year's celebrations in the right setting but with the wrong person.
Though I've lived alone for over 20 years, I never felt so lonely as the time I sat in a noisy French Quarter bar holding the hand of my boyfriend of 2 years while New Orleans Saints fans cheered and partied at the thought of finally going to the playoffs in the 1991 Wild Card game. He wasn't THE ONE and I had known for quite a while. At the time, I didn't even know WHO I wanted, I just knew it wasn't him.
Thinking about that today, perhaps feeling a bit hormonal, makes me sad.
If you are with the person that you would hope were there, you are blessed.
If not, change it.
For me, sometimes nobody is better than somebody.

Cancer and heart disease

Joe Jackson might have had it right when he sang "Everything Gives You Cancer".
Every couple years, a new theory places blame of growing cancer rates on microwaves, fast food, tap water, cell phone use, etc. Modern medicine diagnoses cancer better and faster now so we probably suppose that it is affecting more people. No one dies of old age anymore.

This morning I heard that researchers tested some 3,500 year old mummies and found 9 out of 16 with hardening of the arteries so perhaps McDonald's is not to blame for present day heart maladies.
I hope to die with a completely worn out body that looks like it shoulda kicked 100,000 miles earlier.

Not having a clue about my cholesterol numbers
and
not giving a shit,
I am,
Skitzo Leezra

Quote of the day

heard this snippet today on Sirius satellite radio's Book Channel:

A jealous man has self-contempt ~~
meaning he supposes another to be better than himself.

Guest writer today

I actually have to do real work today so am glomming an old e-mail that I couldn't bear to delete from my fabulous friend Mallys. Hope you enjoy her writing style as much as I do.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Gee, I hope nothing is seriously wrong with my car," I murmur to Susan at the gym this morning. On the way TO the gym, it felt like a wheel was a little wobbly or catching something, maybe much lower on pressure than the others or something.

As soon as I got to the gym, I measured air pressure in the front wheels--both fine.

As I'm leaving the gym, within moments in my car, I realized the car felt so odd that it was smarter to go directly to the mechanic's than to go to work. I map out my revised route and revised day in my head, completely nervous about the car.

I turn to the mechanic (down Calhoun in residential areas) instead of to work (along busy busy Claiborne).

I'm driving down Calhoun, and Mr. Police Officer flags me down. Crap. Jeff just got a ticket in a speed trap not a month ago on Jefferson Highway, and I've been watching my speed ever since, save for today (with the worry over the car, how to get from mechanic to work, how to notify work that I'll be late).

Now, not only will we have to budget in Bend Over and Take It New Orleans homeowner's insurance and skyrocketing post-Katrina prices on everything from toilet paper to fish, now I'm going to have to get a second job to afford increased car insurance premiums, which even PRE-storm were enough to make one consider Dansko clogs as one's primary form of transportation.

Mr. Police Officer: Do you know what the speed limit is?

Mallys: 25 MPH.

Mr. Police Officer: Do you know how fast you were going?

Mallys: Honestly, I don't. I'm nervous that something is wrong with my car or my tire, and I'm trying to get it to the mechanic's on Magazine as quickly as possible and then get to work. So no, I don't.

Mr. Police Officer, clearly writing me a ticket rather than taking pity: Do you have your insurance card?

Mallys, dig, dig dig: This is an old card. It's the same policy, it's been renewed under the same number, but I only have the old card.

Mr. Police Officer: Okay, I'm going to write you a ticket for that, but show up at court and they'll throw the insurance charge out.

Mallys, at the mention of "show up in court," digging more frantically, nay, insanely: No no no, wait wait wait, see see see, look look LOOOOOOOOKKKKKK, here's the new one. Here's the new one [thrusting it with such force that Mr. NOPD might have been afraid for his bodily safety].

Mr. Police Officer: Does your air conditioner work?

Mallys, whose air conditioner DOES work, but who isn't going to run it while Mr. Officer takes time to write her a ticket (add gas prices to the list above of homeowner's insurance, car insurance, and toilet paper prices), wonders if a non-functioning air conditioner is just as illegal as her MISSING TAIL LIGHT COVERS that someone stole in 2005 right after the storm and that Ford doesn't manufacture for an '89 Mustang any more: Yesssss, my air conditioner works???

Mr. Police Officer: Oh, 'cause you're sweating.

Mallys: Oh, yeah, I just came from the gym, and I'm rushing to get my car to the shop and all.

Mr. PO: I didn't think I was making you THAT nervous.

Mallys: Oh, y'all ALWAYS make me nervous. You ARE COPS, after all. But this is from the gym.

Mr. PO: You weren't wearing your seatbelt?

Mallys: No, I was. I always put on my seatbelt, even before I put the key in the ignition, but I took it off when you pulled me over. [Truth. Hell no, I won't drive MY car in THIS CITY without a seat belt. EVER.]

Mr. PO: How old are you?

Mallys, really and truly stumped, really thinking hard--my brain doesn't have room for THAT when I'm trying to get to the garage, get to work, etc.: Twentyyyyy, no no, wait, thirty-nine.

Mr. PO: Here's your ticket. I wrote you for 30 in a 25 MPH zone.

Mallys, thinking that it could be a lot LOT worse, not only because I probably was going faster than 30 MPH, and, what, with the sweating and the frantic insurance card digging/thrusting and the initial misstating of my age by AT LEAST 10 YEARS, and the missing tail light cover and the Illinois plates and driver's license despite a New Orleans address. Hell, he probably could've justified a field sobriety test, which I doubt I would've passed, owing to my complete and utter clumsiness: Thank you. Have a nice day, officer.

I drive two blocks. I'm second in line at a stop sign. #1 pulls off, now it's my turn.

But my car won't move. Won't move. Won't move in drive, not in overdrive, not in park, not in neutral. Won't budge.

I try two or three times to shift to different gears. Won't budge. People are honking.

I get out of my car and go to the attractive, well-coiffed, 50-something in the SUV behind me: Look, ma'am, I'm really sorry, but my car won't move. I don't know what it is, but it won't move. I'm going to try to push it. I'm really really sorry.

Well-coiffed woman gets out of SUV. Wearing adorable floral skirt, sassy t-shirt, chic sandals: "Well, then we're going to have to push it," she says, and walks to the back of my bumper. I can't budge it while trying to push it.

It's a one way street, cars parked on both sides, no room to go around me. People keep honking. Well-coiffed woman takes several steps back to face the traffic, puts her hands on her hips, and YELLLLLLSSS at all the people honking: Well, then, get out of your cars and HELP INSTEAD OF HONKING.

She shames three or four men into getting out of their cars.

Meanwhile, another woman getting into her parked car says, "I think I saw something leaking from behind your right passenger tire." She then goes back to the end of the row of cars and tells them to back up, find another route, etc.

The boys are now being boys: Take your brake off.

Mallys: It's not on.

Boys: Put it in neutral.

Mallys: It's **IN** neutral.

And let's face it, **I** could push that car, by myself (see above re: gym), if it were in neutral. The fact that I can't push it while it's now in neutral is the problem.

Boys: Pop the hood.

Okay, I'm no mechanic. Far from it. I don't even like checking my tire pressure. But I know that this is not a hood-popping issue.

Fine, I pop the hood. They look around underneath, waiting for some magical What's Wrong With This Car teleprompter under my hood to give them the diagnosis. Boy #3 pulls out my oil dipstick: So this is your automatic transmission fluid. . . .

Mallys: No, that's my oil.

The boys are stymied. But they say, "Come on, let's push it again."

It takes FOUR big boys, big big boys in two cases, and multiple multiple tries to push my car 15 feet.

Hmmm, I wonder if something's seriously wrong. . . .

Nice girl (whom I later learn is named Katie and is beginning her doctoral program in my building) says, "Would you like to borrow my cell phone?"

Mallys, the last human being in the Western hemisphere to NOT own a cell phone and still not any closer to WANTING one, accepts gratefully.

I call my boys at Rollins auto repair for a towing number.

Meanwhile, the line of cars has passed, including a police car, and I really hope it was the cop who gave me a ticket so that he could have one tiny moment of guilt (granted, he could've been much meaner to me).

I call Boss to let her know that I'm standing in the street, dripping sweat, trying to get my hoopdie to the garage and may or may not make it to Canal Street today.

I call the tow truck. Come get me at Calhoun and Willow. They'll be there in 30 minutes.

I thank Kind Katie for the use of her phone, tell her I may see her in the building, and she goes on her way.

I wait, flashers on (I'm right next to a fire hydrant, almost into the intersection, so am not even TEMPTED to leave my car, lest I be given the opportunity to make ANOTHER donation to the City of New Orleans).

And believe it or not, MANY nice people stopped to ask me if I was okay, did I need anything, was help on the way. Including one typical undergrad, who I wouldn't have expected to interrupt her cell phone call--as she did--to inquire about my well being.

I'm sitting, waiting, fanning myself, having homicidal thoughts about the particularly aggressive gnat that won't leave me alone. Sweat is dripping dripping dripping. About 45 minutes later, Thor--a boy I know from the gym--pulls up. He gets out of his truck. We chat. He offers the use of his phone. I call the towing company.

Mallys: blah blah Calhoun and Willow.

Tow truck: Oh, you said CARROLLTON and Willow. The guy's been driving all around CARROLLTON and Willow looking for you. We even called Rollins to see if they'd seen you.

Mallys, in no position to get snippy: Gee, gosh, no **Calhoun**. Maybe I wasn't talking clearly, and the background noise and all.

I may not know how old I am, or how to find my current insurance card, or how to replace stolen tail light covers for a 19-year-old car, but if I were at CARROLLTON and Willow, I'd have walked the 6 blocks to my house and to my gin in my freezer where I would've had an early morning cocktail before tackling the recurrent question, "What's wrong with my car THIS time?"

Fine. Tow truck driver gets there in about 10 minutes. Drives me and the poor little '89 Mustang to Magazine street. I talk to my mechanics and instruct them that if it's a relatively cheap fix, they can change my oil, too. And if it's an expensive fix, it may be time to send the '89 Mustang off with Kitty Cat and Georgie Cat and JohnJohn Cat to play with the Girl in the Pink Pinafore in the Great Beyond.

I lug gym bag, tote bag, lunch bag, and purse 5 or 6 blocks in this sweltering, drowning heat (AFTER having stood in the sweltering heat for at least an hour).

Coffee shop #1: no phone [and still, inexplicably, I have no desire for a cell phone]

Bank across the street: let me use their phone, but cab dispatch line is busy and other customers are waiting to attend to their administrative banking needs. I write down the United Cab number and head to Coffee Shop #2, where the nice counter girl lets me use the phone. I get through, order a cab.

I wait, and wait, and wait. Cab arrives.

I kid you freaking not: Cab driver is Mr. freaking Magoo. He can't see. He can't HEAR [I keep yelling at him "2440 Canal Street," to which he responds, "Okay, 400 Canal Street."]. His FINGERNAILS are wayyyyy overgrown. HE WON'T TURN THE AIR CONDITIONER ON. And yes, he is wearing black socks with sandals.

As he's driving, he keeps his foot on the accelerator for 4 seconds, then takes it off, for no identifiable reason--it's not an intersection, there's no traffic in front of us, just keeps hitting the gas, taking his foot off the gas, hitting the gas, taking his foot off the gas, braking for no reason, gas, no gas, gas, brake. This was THE only point in the whole ordeal that I thought I would either cry, or felonious assault someone else. He says as we're turning onto Canal Street, "Okay, 400 Canal Street."

Mallys: No, 2440 Canal Street.

Mr. Magoo: Huh?

Mallys, louder and enunciating: Twenty-four forty Canal Street.

Mr. Magoo: Right. Four hundred Canal Street.

Mallys, contorting her lips into painful exaggerations of the words and screaming at the top of her lungs: FOURTEEN FORTY. FOURTEEN FORTY. TWO BLOCKS FROM **HERE**. FOURTEEN FORTY.

Mr. Magoo: Oh, well let me know where it is. I don't want to pass your building.

Mallys: It's right past the light.

Mr. Magoo: Huh?

Mallys, loudly, enunciating, screaming: RIGHT PAST THE LIGHT.

Mr. Magoo: Oh, I should've turned RIGHT?

Mallys, yanking the car handle frantically: Let me out here. RIGHT HERE. RIGHT HERE IS FINNNNNE.

Why the hell NOT walk another block in the heat, after my morning?

This little escapade began at 8:05.

I was not entering my blessedly frigid office building until 11:10.

And here I sit.

Hmmmm. I hope there's nothing seriously wrong with my car. . . .

Adventurously yours,

Mallys in Dunderland [aka, Sweaty McScofflaw]

Don't say that

When I was a kid there were a few stoopid things that I vowed not to say when I "grew up" and recently said one of the dreaded phrases.

• "Oh my gosh, the last time I saw you, you were so small/tiny" to a tot-sized child. Ugh, I hated hearing that when I was a kid. What the hell is the appropriate reply from a child to a dumb ass adult? "Last time I saw you, you were younger and less fat." Hope to gosh I don't slip and say that again.
  
• "There's nothing to see here, move along." Anyone that says that is a douche and a liar. Of course there is something to see. That's why we want to see it because we don't trust you to ever say "hey check it out, there's something to see".
• "There's no 'I' in team." ```rolling eyes and dropping head towards back```HEY JACK HOLE! THERE IS a M AND a E! AND THAT SPELLS ME!!!! Grab a new phrase.
• "If you look in the dictionary for ____, you'll see _____'s picture." So very tired, so very lame. Never say it again.
• "People who curse have no better way to express themselves." True, but there's nothing like the simple shorthand of a succinct "fuck you" which is what you'll hear if I hear any of the above.
  

Have a nice day now, y'hear?

The day the cat fell to the earth

Quote of the day

Better to be shot at and missed then shit on and hit.

--Jill Conner Browne

Wisdom from my brother Rollo

My poor brother Rollo gets all my calls for help. This single girl can fish a small snake out of the pool but Rollo has been put into service to retrieve a larger snake and even a thoughtlessly released hamster. (It looked like a dead rat but happily, a live and grateful hamster.) I digress.

After hurricane Rita, it was Rollo scrambling on my roof as we attached a temporary tarp. Rollo hooked up my ceiling fan. Rollo rescued me twice this year, once when my truck slid off the road and got stuck in mud and later, when my battery died. Poor guy. He's not married but still doing all that stuff for his sister. And contrary to what you may think, bothering him frustrates me. I try not to ask others to do things I can do myself.

Aggravated by being forced to ask for his help yet again, I once remarked that maybe I should be married because my husband would be there. Drawing upon his once married experience, Rollo remarked that even if I did have a husband it didn't guarantee that my husband would do the things I needed when I needed. He imparted some wisdom gold that day. It's true. My married friends constantly bitch that their husbands don't perform the barest minimum of tasks so why would I presume that my experience would be any different? It stopped me from idealizing marriage, even if for only the honey-do lists.

All these years of being single and doing (mostly) everything alone would give a greater appreciation of a help mate. Can you read between the lines on that one? No? Okay, dummy: Dude does for me. I would do for dude.

My single friend Maura and I discussed that very thing but neither one of us are quite ready for commitment. She and I have concocted the perfect plan. We will both date a tradesman and then pass them on to the other. She dates a plumber, I'll date an electrician. Six months later, we'll switch then later it's a pool guy and a carpenter. We'll be nice, they'll be handy and nobody is hurt.

How was your day, honey?

My co-worker's daughter Lacy is currently stationed at Fort Hood in Texas. Lacy was on base yesterday and left only 20 minutes before the shooting began. Matt's wife and Lacy's step-mother saw the news report on television and became very alarmed when she couldn't reach Lacy on her cell phone. Matt's wife called him here at work and he quickly found the report online. He immediately tried to reach Lacy or her husband.
No answers.
30 minutes passed.
Matt finally got through to Lacy's husband. She's okay but 12 people are dead.

Anything interesting happen at your office yesterday?

My plastic surgery request

Were money and pain no object, I could totally be up for some plastic surgery but the very first request would be for something that isn't currently offered. Y'know those lick and stick plastic wall hooks? I want one of those embedded into my right shoulder because my purse straps always slips. That hook is just the thing for purses, totes, carry-ons. Hands-free shopping, I tell ya!

He doesn't deserve to breathe air

Convicted DC sniper John Allen Muhammad asked the Supreme Court to block his execution. The mastermind of the 2002 three week long killing spree had a hand in snuffing 10 lives. 10 families forever changed and haunted by some sick fuck that shot them from the cover of darkness, like a coward. And now this waste of space and food wants the court to reconsider his case because he is mentally ill. I agree, he is ill and the prescription is an injection to the arm and a nice long burn in hell. If an ill dog killed 10 people, the dog would be "put down". Same for him.

10 families lost their loved ones in a split second but the "mentally challenged" killer wakes up another day to prepare a delay on his own death. It boggles my mind that he can ask for the very thing that he denied for 10. Another day, another chance, another reprieve. He decided the exact time of death for his victims. They didn't deserve another day, another chance, another reprieve but he does?

Here in the lower left hand corner of Louisiana, the anguished mother of a convicted cop killer cried on local television that "her baby" was going to prison for life and she would never hold him in her arms again. Huh. Unbelievable that she could say that in front of the dead officer's wife, mom and dad. She could talk to her murderous spawn through glass for who-knows-how-many years. What wouldn't the officer's family give for just one more minute? Just one minute to hug him, look him in the eyes, say that they loved him and would miss him forever?

Good, good

That jack-hole racist Louisiana Justice of the Peace Keith Bardwell that I ranted about a couple weeks ago resigned today. Not quite as sweet as him getting booted but Governor Bobby Jindal commented that Bardwell's resignation is "long overdue".
See ya later, idgit.

A funny

Watched Chelsea Lately last night and snorted, that's right, snorted when I heard huge black guy Lavell Crawford say "Black folks don't nothing about bulimia! We don't throw up food, hard earned food. We will not throw it up. That is ridiculous! Your momma would kill you if you throw away food like that. 'You vomited? Well you know what? It's soup now.' "

First time, thousandth time

Listened to Elton John's "Rocket Man" today and for the first time caught Rocket Man's dig toward his spouse
.

"I miss the earth so much, I miss my wife"

Geez Louise, I've heard the song a thousand times especially when riding around with Mom, back in the day. War, Jim Croce, Elton John - the soundtrack of my childhood.

A memory of a governor

Former Louisiana state governor Dave Treen died this week and I am reminded of meeting him at a function in the early 1980's. Louisiana was a Democrat stronghold and without a Republican governor since Reformation. Politically corrupt Democrat Edwin Edwards was limited to two consecutive terms thus forced to sit out one term before running again. Dave was the governor in the interim.

Dave Treen told this story

In his home parish (county to the rest of you people) Dave Treen and another man named Joe Boudreaux were the only two registered Republican voters. Joe Boudreaux was quite old, became ill and knew he would die soon. He summoned his last bit of energy and reported to the parish clerk of court to change his party affiliation to Democrat. Word soon got back to the last remaining Republican Dave Treen. Perplexed by the switch, Dave visited Joe Boudreaux at home, on his deathbed.

Dave asked if the party switch rumor was true. Boudreaux confirmed it.

"I don't just understand it, Joe. You have been a Republican since your very first vote. You believe in conservative government. And I know you worry about the future of Louisiana. And frankly, I wonder why. Have you had an epiphany? A change of heart? What has changed, Joe?"

"Aw, Dave, that's not it,"said Joe.

"But why? Tell me why you have been a staunch and outspoken Republican for over seventy years and now, for the last few days of your life here on earth, you want to be a Democrat?"

Joe took a labored breath and said, "Dave, it's simple. After I die, I still want to be able to vote."

The crowd laughed. We all had heard the stories of dead folks remaining on the voter register rolls and the signatures of deceased showing up on the election log books long after their funerals.

Dave served only one term as governor, continued to work for the Republican party but his greatest service to the Great State of Louisiana is when he urged all Republicans to vote for his nemesis "Slick Eddie" Edwin Edwards. White supremacist David Duke ran for governor against Edwards and was gaining ground. Voter discontent with the "Edwards machine", the state's backwards progress and just plain old racism allowed Duke to gain popularity. The polls showed a neck and neck race. National attention was focused on Louisiana. When Treen said that the state would be hurt more by Duke than Edwards, he was speaking volumes. Stickers soon appeared "Vote for the Crook", the crook was our former and future governor, Edwin Edwards. Duke lost the election.

Edwin finally got his just rewards. He was convicted of racketeering, sent to prison in 2002 and remains there today.

Rest in peace, Dave Treen.

Happy Halloween

Listen to Jay Thomas tell the story about his most memorable Halloween.

MY most memorable Halloween?

They are all a blur. But while in my 20's (or 30's?), I went to the New Orleans City Park haunted house attraction, drank beer with my friends while waiting in line and all the sudden, from the dark, a hockey masked guy ran at us while cranking up a chainsaw. Fight or flight? I picked flight. The crowd went one way, I went the other. Now you understand the Animal Planet's documentaries and why ya gotta stay with the herd. I was a little frightened but not really believing the Chainsaw guy really wanted to hurt me but dang, he is being a little careless with how close that loud and dangerous machine was to my face. We zigged and zagged while the crowd watched our chase. Finally, he gave up. I returned to my friends, all laughing their asses off. "Yeah, yeah, really funny but that guy was getting a little too close with that chainsaw!"

They laughed until they could catch their breath and finally said, "it was a leaf blower, dumb ass!"

Quote of the day

Every expense was spared.

--Simon Doonan

Mean pays dividends

My friend Chrysanthemum says mean shit all the time but I don't censor her because she is damn funny. Mean minus humor = cruel.

And as my blog intro states, I got a little touch of the "skitzo". Tender one day. Bitter, the next. Mean with a dose of humor, hopefully.

Today I was checking out my bookmarked favorite blog list, read Kim's Got Blog entry with a link labelled "Louisiana's Finest". Curiosity got the best of me and I clicked it only to find it was ME! She won a blog award and then named ME to receive the pay it forward kinda nomination.

THANKS, Kim!

To accept the award, I am to list 10 daily things and pass on the award to 5 other blogs. Kim and her crowner of blog tiara, Ubermouth, have a theme of mean so passing on MY favorite sites of snarkiness.

1. Awake, cursing, to raise the window blind that Sammy the cat bangs against the window frame. After 12 years, I still don't know if he wants to look outside or disturb my sleep.


2. Listen to Howard Stern while fixing my face, brushing my teeth, etc.


3. Eat toast and drink skim milk from a frozen beer mug, if I have time.


4. Drive the 3 minute commute to work.


5. Check out my blog buddies.


6. Have my daily caffeine fix with (hopefully only one) real Coca~Cola in a can, poured over ice.


7. Do whatever I do at work while listening to Sirius, via computer streaming.


8. After work, attend meetings for volunteer organization or one of the 3 boards I sit on.


9. Multi-task: watch TiVo & blog on the laptop or wire wrap beads or embroider. Idle hands are the devil's workshop, I tell ya!


10. Tell God that every day I find something else to be thankful for and read until I fall asleep.

A'ight, 5 favs. Check 'em out and have a laugh.

Things I Want to Punch in the Face - LOVE this blog! Jennifer is a truly worthy rant sister and I just wish I had thought of the blog name first. She has inspired a few of my entries.

Miss In Your Business - advice blog with 2 funny chicks (1 breeder, 1 non) and occasional guest writer. Lots of opinionated advice and funny commenters.

Misadventures in Maturity - not updated lately but rest assured, there is plenty of archived entries to keep you busy. Drop Mis A. a note and demand more. She needs a kick in the ass.

Death Wore a Feathered Mullet - the blog name alone should get you over there. He had me at "I watched Jay Leno once so you never, ever have to".

And as a palate cleanser, might I offer a little nip of Ashley's Closet? She is married, a mom and a breeder and on the surface, not the typical source of curiosity for me but she is a crazy kind of funny. Her header reads "Confessions of an attention loving, wiener gobbling mom who is perpetually in pajamas & who enjoys shopping, gossip & telling it like it is". Now I ask you, can you NOT check her out?

Enjoy!

Speaking of gay

One of my favorite moments of Chris Rock's Bigger and Blacker stand up concert is Chris speaking of homophobia, the uncomfortable silence when he declared everyone in the room has a gay family member and the crowd's lack of response.

'Cause everybody in this room got at least a gay cousin. Every last one of you got a gay cousin or one that you wonder about.
(Chris stood smiling, waiting for them to ponder their family tree. There was a quiet moment then a wave of nervous laughter moved through the audience.)
You knew he was gay when y'all was kids. You was playing ball, he was jumping rope. He didn't turn gay, he was gay then. He just didn't have nobody to be gay with. Shit, I got a gay uncle. Call him Aunt Tom. Every Christmas, he comes over with his ''friend.'' See, it don't make no sense to hate nobody. It don't make no sense to be a racist, sexist, or nothing, . . .because whoever you hate will end up in your family. That's right, you don't like gays, you're gonna have a gay son.

I sat in my living room, laughing with Chris and running the family inventory. Dang, both sides of the family have a gay-but-not-truly-"out" cousin. My dad once told me that there weren't gay folks when he was growing up. "Right . . .there wasn't one confirmed bachelor in your family or town that seemed different?" He said no, but I could see he was doing his own inventory.


My mom thought homosexuality was a choice until she watched the son of a friend's progression through the years. He is my age. From the age of a toddler, Mom thought him to be a "sissy" (that was the term of the time) and sure enough, he's gay. Lucky for him, he moved from our small town's repressed attitudes and is living a nice life.


When I hear folks say "I don't care if they are gay, I just don't want their sexuality in my face", the immature personality in my head giggles. Perhaps a re-wording is necessary. Heck, I don't want anyone's sexuality on display. Gay, straight, elderly - Public Displays of Affection grosses me out. Get a room!


But when I hear anti-gay comments, I assume the speaker supposes homosexuality to be a choice. If so, I'll ask exactly when they decided to be heterosexual. A silence usually follows.


An old friend of mine is super sensitive about African American issues. She is as white as a jar of mayonnaise but would turn red with anger if she heard someone say "N+*&^#%, please" like Chris Rock. She saw no humor in it. My mom always seem to carry the torch of the American Indian plight. Guess mine is the gay issue. It pushes my buttons. When a long lost friend she sent a stoopid e-mail calling for the Christian protest of a gay kiss shown on network television, I told her that I found her "Christian" intolerance unbelievable and she then asked if I were gay. No, not gay, just compassionate. No more idiotic e-mails from her.

If you ever read a Bible, you'll see that Jesus habitually hung out with the fringes of society - lepers, tax collectors, "unclean" women. Who do you think he would seek out today? The hate spewing religious that misuse the Christian label or the ostracized?

Overheard

2 tweens or barely teenage boys playing basketball next door

Boy 1, angrily: Quit talking about my mom!
Boy 2: No
Boy 1, louder: Stop it! Stop talking about her!
Boy 2: I like your mom
Boy 1: Shut up!
Boy 2: Yeah, I like your mom. Alot.

Then they notice me and get quiet.

Your Monday message

Not a box I really wanted to open

but I read a ridiculous story today about a scheduled book and Bible burning and felt compelled to respond.

"Man, I don't want to go to heaven

if it is filled with people like that."

Jay Thomas uttered those words after interviewing the very vile Fred Phelps, founder and pastor of the Westboro Baptist Church. You may remember hearing about Phelps' congregation's protests at American soldier's funerals to gain attention for their numerous causes. They leave few stones uncovered when looking for new groups to hate. Racist depictions of African Americans and Italians and denouncements of Catholics, Jews, and every other form of religion but their self described "Primitive Baptist" sect. Fred Phelps and his hate mongering followers carried "God Hates Fags" signs at soldier's funerals asserting that every tragedy in the world is linked to homosexuality.

My impressionable years

When I attended church with my high school boyfriend, his pastor asserted that you could spot the sinners and purveyors of pornography by their very large (back in the day) satellite dishes.

Local religious protesters blocked the theater release of Monty Python's "Life of Brian" and when I finally watched it years later, it was hard for me to believe such a silly movie could possibly test one's faith. I have always maintained that the same folks that joined cults were the same weak minded fools that could be seduced by drugs or fundamentalist religions. No thinking, we tell you what to believe. To those without intelligence or confidence, it must be comforting to just follow and not doubt.

From my small town church pastors that vowed rock and roll was devil music and women's equality rights laws would force men and women to shower together on army bases to Jerry Falwell, Jimmy Swaggart, Marvin Gorman and Jim Baker and their public falls from grace - all these men showed me they were not to be trusted with my faith and growth. Don't wanna be like you.

I stayed away from organized religion for over a decade. "I'd rather go to hell because at least I would see my friends" is my mantra back then. Every Sunday morning, I enjoyed my spiritual time at my very own church of the Holy Saint Mattress.

Eventually, I found my own way at a church different from my childhood experience. While I invite and welcome anyone to join me, there is no pushing the issue because I respect that we all need to find our own way. Just because my parents and grandparents were a certain strain of this or that doesn't mean it was a good fit for me. (Rest assured, no early morning Saturday knocks on the door will be me proselytzing and leaving religious tracts on your porch.)

My first adult foray to church included an awesome pastor who once remarked some folks will be surprised at who ends up in Heaven and who doesn't. Some won't find their church friends and won't recognize the prostitutes, pimps and "sinners" that they wouldn't speak to on earth. Eye opening.

But I gotta tell ya, it still chaps my ever lovin' ass when I hear someone spewing hate in the name of being Christian. It makes me hesitant to use the label. Stands against Harry Potter books, Halloween, Dan Brown and his "DaVinci Code", the burning of all non-King James Bibles by North Carolina "pastor" Marc Grizzard - it just shows ignorance, intolerance and everything else that makes me uncomfortable with religion.

I don't want to go to heaven if it is filled with people like that.

Recently asked my friend, the pastor's wife, if I was a bad Christian if I didn't exclusively read Christian authors. Her reply? "Hell no!" It wasn't meant to be a test question but it verified that I had found the kind of people I want to be with.

You believe what you believe. I'll believe what I believe.

But if someone gets in my face with any of that foolishness or tells me my gay friends are going to hell . . . I'll try deep breaths until I pass out or just start screaming "I rebuke you!"

Hoping you find your own way,

in your own time

and there is peace and love and hope for us all,

I am,

SkitzoLeezra

Duh! of the day

Of course, Fox News is skewed to the right.
Almost every other news source is skewed to the left.
And if you don't know that, geez, you aren't at all paying attention.
I listen to NPR, CNN and Fox News and totally hear their different slants but I have enough awareness to discern the bias from the information.
Here is what I learned a long time ago: news is presented to you by the broadcasting company that has sold enough advertising to pay for the service. It is the advertising that comes first, NOT the news content. The demographics for said products determine the audience. In other words, all news is biased.

Duuuuuuuuuuude!

Brooke Hundley wrote a letter to Marni Phillips, wife of ESPN sportscaster Steve Phillips to reveal their affair.

Can you say "ruh roh"?
Click on letter for larger type.

Am I the only one to note that sportscasters seem to be a bit tawdry?

Marv Alpert - cross dressing biter

Frank Gifford - prostitute patron

Bob Gamere - child porn collector

Vince Marinello in New Orleans - killer of his ex-wife and murder "to do" list maker

OJ Simpson - need I say more?

How not to find a gas leak

When I was a kid, I vaguely remembered the incident that caused my uncle to gain an unfortunate nickname. Recently I asked my mom to fill in the blanks. Here's the scoop.
Uncle suspected a gas leak on the exterior of his house. A pack of us cousins were running around the yard and my aunt told us to play in the front yard. We heard her saying, "NO, I don't think you should do that!" and then frantically pulling the water hose to the side of the house.
When we next saw our uncle, his eyebrows were gone and he had a sheepish look on his face. Apparently he had the brilliant idea of finding the gas leak with a lighter. You heard me. Flame and gas leak, yoo hoo, where's the leak? My aunt held him off long enough to get the water hose ready for quick dousing. Poof!
New nickname? Crispy Critter

Balloon boy's dad is a douche nozzle*

Larimer County Sheriff Jim Alderden announced at a press conference on Sunday that Colorado authorities have ruled the "balloon boy's" flight a hoax.

"It has been determined that this is a hoax. We believe we have evidence at this point to indicate that this was a publicity stunt," Alderden told reporters.

~~~~~~~~~

from the GumboNetwork:

Skitzo Leezra here, reporting from the lower left hand corner of the boot shaped state of Louisiana--

My bro-in-law put together a cardboard box and silver helium balloon costume and wore it to an early Halloween party last Saturday and was the hit of the night. Hard to believe, but, Sis RikkiTikkiTavi tells me that not one person at the party asked him for a vomit-on-air re-enactment.

*He named his son "Falcon"---> an automatic entry to douche dad status.