Yo' Mama!
Mood:  cheeky
Now Playing: Alkaline Trio
There is one certainty in this world and I’m not talking about breathing or paying taxes. It’s the fact that somewhere, some how, some drunken shitbag is going to fricking piss me off and be the creature from the buzz kill lagoon.

I consider myself a super tolerant person but there are certain things that totally set me off like stupid people…and extremely stupid people…and extremely fricking stupid people.

I seem to encounter all three of these delightful categories of folks every time I go to a bar. What I hate most is the inevitable outcome of these encounters. I am going to end up irritated beyond fuck all and embroiled in a battle of wits and snarky rejoinders, usually against an unarmed or grievously under armed opponent.

The key to any verbal joust is to remember the most important component in dealing with cretins is blatant snarkiness.

Here are some of the insults that have popped out of my mouth when embroiled in a heated verbal smackdown:

You know, if you had a brain, you’d be dangerous.

What in the hell is that nasty body funk smell? Oh, that would be you.

Somehow after talking to you the idea of dying loses its sting.

When God was handing out intelligence, were you in a corner somewhere masturbating?

If you are trying to offend me, can you please do it without your breath?

I know you! You were a guest on that “Transvestite Hookers” episode of the Jerry Springer Show.

Would you just jump up and bite your own giant white ass? It’ll fit in your mouth—trust me.

Dear God! What abomination gave birth to you?!

What gave you the idea that I actually wanted you to walk across the room and start talking to me?

Let me guess…you're from somewhere where cleanliness is frowned upon but incest is encouraged?

If a brain eating cannibal cracked open your head, he’d starve.

You know what this reminds me of? When you read about alien abductions and you are amazed why such an advanced race would abduct trailer trash…

Are you the Angel of Death? No? Then you need to think about investing in some breathmints.

Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Don’t say another word. Let’s have a secret signal. When you see me set myself on fire, it will mean I’m interested in your opinions.

I’d call you a douche bag but that would be an insult to douche bags.

Has anyone ever told you that you smell like ass?

Is that your face or did your neck throw up after a night of binge drinking?

What? Sorry—I don’t understand a word you’re saying…I don’t speak white trash.

Has anyone ever remarked on your uncanny resemblance to a low land gorilla?

Hey look-it’s the poster child for the perils of inbreeding.

Holy shit! Is that your third eye? No wait, it's just a giant pustule... my bad.

Sucks to be You!
Mood:  chillin'
Now Playing: Nouvelle Vague
So it sucks ass when your marriage fails. It sucks ass even more when your marriage fails and your husband is cheating on you. It sucks ass beyond any rational explanation in the entire world when your marriage fails and your husband is cheating on you…with the hottest fricking chick in the world! I mean really—how do you compete with that? I’d rather lose my husband to Gary Coleman, bitter little black child star. For that matter, I’d rather lose my husband to a Big John blow up doll--beloved mascot from my college years! At least then I’d have a fighting chance…

Hell, let’s be serious. She might even make me consider a foray to the ‘dark side’—Angelina Jolie is smoking hot in spite of the fact that she enjoys cutting herself until she bleeds before sex. But what’s a little freaky warm up act among friends?

Everyone wants that broad—other chicks, stray dogs, Cambodian children, her brother, the USC marching band, other women’s husbands…Think about it. At any given time, there must be millions of folks around the world frantically rubbing one out while thinking of her. It must SO SUCK to be Jennifer Aniston right about now don’t you think?

Them Cartoons is Nekked...
Mood:  special
Now Playing: Stereophonics ? Maybe Tomorrow
OK folks—WTF!?! You know me. I’m a middle of the road ‘R’ AKA a moderate. I wish I could be more enthused by the Republican party, but sometimes the fervor there is scarier than Tom Cruise giggling (like a girl getting diddled for the first time) about Katie Holmes. Is it just me or is that beyond nauseating? Talk about being so over enthused that you sound like a friend of Dorothy fervently trying to take cover…oh don’t get me started… but I digress…

So the other night, I am home chillin’ with some Pino Grigio (God that’s fun to say!) when I see an ad for Koolaid (rock on red beverage-bearing/thirst quenching guy) in his super cool sailor hat and big white tennis sans socks (traditional wardrobe for this pitcher) and I realize something isn’t right…something is rotten in Ajo so to speak. But I can’t figure out what’s different. Has he had a brow lift? If his hat more Monica Lewinski beret than a jaunty sailor’s cap? Is his expression fiercer? What is it? Then I realize--it hits me: the big red guy is wearing clothing! He’s got khaki shorts on! WTF?!?! What’s up with that?

How asinine is it that, in the attempt to be PC, we feel the need to assign a gender to a fricking cartoon character of an inanimate object? I mean really, how many male or female beverage pitchers you have run into? Exactly! It’s a fricking make believe mascot/identity branding/market tool for a sugary kid’s beverage and the decision has been made that he is obviously ‘notally taked’ and must wear pants. Can’t have the big red guy wearing only a sailor’s hat and sockless tennis shoes…people might start thinking he’s having a three way with Chester Cheeta and one of the California Raisins (reps for both fictional characters deny any such involvement with the Koolaid character).

Maybe I’m alone here. I don’t know. It has just NEVER occurred to me to contemplate their gender and I am a pretty sick person when it comes to my sense of humor so this is something I might have actually considered.

So when does it end? After the Stay Puff marshmallow man has to put on some Carhart shop pants? After the Pillsbury Dough Boy is giggling in plaid Bermuda shorts? They don’t even have genitalia—why do they have to wear clothes? Why is it that everything needs a sexual identity? —especially fictional animated creatures?

When will the Christian Right and the friends of Anne Coulter (don’t hate on me folks—she’s fricking nuts!) back the hell off from worrying about children’s morals being compromised and their lives doomed to one of crime because a dancing peanut with a monocle isn’t wearing any trousers?

Oh well, I need to sign off now, the talk about super sexy Mr. Peanut has me all shades of…errr, nevermind.

Posted by azcoolchick0 at 4:21 PM NZD | Post Comment | Permalink
Updated: Friday, June 10, 2005 11:31 AM NZD

This movie sucks weasel!
Mood:  on fire
Now Playing: Black-eyed Peas
This is a rant for a Sunday afternoon. A Sunday filled with much-needed decompressing and the ever popular and refreshing summer drink of Mojitos as well as some recent DVD releases. Mojitos and movies (I could SO have a show you know)…

So anywho, there I am all buzzy and chillin’ when it hits me that the movie I am watching is lame. It is beyond lame and for every ten minutes additional I give it to try to redeem itself, the worse it gets. Let’s put it this way: If ‘gay’ was a movie, it’d be…National Treasure with Nicolas Cage. If a movie could smell like ass… it’d be National Treasure with Nicolas Cage.

Now, is it just me or is Nicolas Cage starting to look like the offspring of a rather vigorous Richard Nixon and Elvis Presley breeding? Either that or Nixon and a hand puppet…and I am NOT just saying that because of his LAME ASS attempt to hit on me in Dirtbag’s years ago (Nicolas Cage of course, not Nixon)…but as usual, I digress.

This movie exemplifies the reason that I can rarely force myself out to a movie theater. Not only do I not want to spend $7.00 to see a movie with a bunch of overly effusive morons who just can’t shut up, I also tend to become rather bitter when I go to a movie and pay ‘full price’ and it SUCKS! As in, SUCKS WITH A CAPITAL SUCKS!!! That being said, how do you think I feel when I rent a movie of that caliber for $3.99 (five day rental)? Yup, I still feel I’ve been fricking robbed!

National Treasure should have been entitled National Poop Fest because it was just that…overacted sophomoric sludge.

At least in the privacy of my own home, I can walk away (Just walk away and there will be an end to the horror) from the idiotic slush and write off the experience to a misspent $4.00…a $4.00 that would have been better spent on more Mojitos let me tell you!

So very, very wrong...
Mood:  sad
Now Playing: Jack Johnson
So I know I have been really lame about keeping the site updated but shit happens. I was going to write about evacuating Capitol Hill while I was in DC (Cessna bastards!) but then my grandmother got ill and I just haven’t had the time or the inclination to blog or update the site. Trivial in the big picture so to say.

So here is a disgusting bit for you. The story must be told as horrible as it is. I'm really not a total demented sicko, my family just tends to use humor to deal with personal grief. Besides, if you are easily disturbed, you probably shouldn’t be reading my blog entries anyway…

So there I am holding my grandmother’s hand while she fades (not a lot of fun to say the least) when I hear an odd sound from across the room. I look over and there is Almenda, gram’s roommate in the ‘home’, with her hands just buried in her diapers and she is muttering “oh God, oh my God” as she vigorously rubs one out. Seriously. I look over and I freak and then I start to laugh. How fucked up is that? My grandmother is slowly dying while her roommate is in a world of serious 'O'. It was so wrong and yet so fricking hilarious…in a very sick, sick way I know.

So my mom comes in later while Almenda is in the front room having supper and flings herself onto Almenda’s bed.

I start laughing and say “If you had ANY idea what happened on that bed, you wouldn’t be lolling around on it.”

So my mom asks me what and I say “Let’s just say with what Almenda’s been doing, she should already be blind” and my mom is all “Oh my God.” And I said, “Funny, that’s what Almenda was shouting too.”

Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!

Top Things Not to Name a Black Dog AKA An Un PC Story...
Mood:  mischievious
Now Playing: Hawthorne Heights
So my sister just got another dog. Well, really a puppy. Apparently, some homeless broad had a 6 week old puppy and was trying to sell it at a gas station for $10 and my sister, being my sister, just couldn’t leave it there.

So now she has some tiny, black Chihuahua/random dog mix. Could be terrier. Could be Pit Bull. Could be Wolf Hound. Basically, he's Chihuahua and random black stranger.

So the order of the day, as she is definitely keeping the little man, is a name. Her friends, ever ready to lend a hand, are suggesting names. Out of these ever so helpful comments and discussions comes this: The Top 10 Things You Do Not Name a Black Dog.

10. Negrito (little negro/black en Espanol—HELLO!!!)
9. Biggy Smalls
8. Boo
7. Briar Dog
6. Tupac
5. Darkie
4. Sambo
3. Snoop
2. Tar Baby
and #1…Desmond Tutu.

Hopefully, she’ll go with my suggestion and just name him Steve…

Post Script--A name has been bestowed on the little man--Rudy AKA the Rudemeister it is!

Call of the Cougar
Mood:  flirty
Now Playing: Gorillaz
I have come to a realization, well after my friends already have, that I definitely lean towards being a cougar.

What’s a cougar you ask? A cougar is a slang term for an older gal who enjoys younger men. Typically, they are over 40, so I guess that would make me a wanna be cougar-in-training.

I had no idea there was even an official term for this ‘predilection’ until I saw a special on this phenomena/lifestyle on Discovery Channel. Exactly--I thought the same thing.

Most of my life I have dated younger men. Whenever I break from that pattern, I tend to get into trouble and not the good kind. My last boyfriend was 9 years younger than me and that suited me just fine. I enjoyed lazing about on a Sunday morning playing Xbox for hours on end. A weekend could not have been better spent than between the Tony Hawk Boom-Boom Huck Jam and AMA Motocross drinking beer. The new one is 7 years younger than me and beyond yummy! What can I say? I like what I like…Grrrrrrrrrrr! When other gals are looking to pictures of Brad Pitt and the pages of Men's Health for inspiration whilst rubbing one out, I am perusing the pages of the Active and Swell catalogs...

The hilarious thing to my friends is that I actually mentor an 18-yr old boy. Seriously and for reals. And when I say mentor, I mean that in the most solemn sense of the term. My friends make snarky comments about “Meggie Kay Laterno”, but mentoring is a job I take very seriously and although I may make comments about younger guys, I do have a line etched permanently in the sand. Yes, I like younger men however there is a MAJOR difference between younger men and boys. I am not into boys. I am a cougar not a child molester. I have even said no to my friend’s 20 year old nephew who is beyond SWEET looking! It is not for just anyone that I am hankering to be Mrs. Robinson…the age gap can not be more than 10 years my junior. Beyond that, I consider it juvenile jail bait. Jail bait is not attractive to me…kind of like jail. I am just so not willing to be anybody’s bitch.

My ‘mentee’ invited me to come and see a play his high school was producing. I went with his mother and some of our other neighbors. I had no idea I had actually verbalized my thoughts until his mom looked over and said “WHAT?!” Apparently I had uttered aloud what I was thinking as I looked around “Guys were not this hot when I was in High School”. There I was surrounded by simmering, hot, hormonal jail bait. I finally knew what is what like to be a man watching a cheerleading squad…Dip me in honey and throw me to the Varsity football team.

Given my professional background, this week I am acting as one of the judges at a local prep school’s independent film festival. If you catch me outside huffing BMX bicycle seats or offering candy to the 18 yr olds, spray me down with the fire hose and turn me in…That was a JOKE people!!

Posted by azcoolchick0 at 5:05 PM NZD | Post Comment | Permalink
Updated: Friday, May 20, 2005 9:55 AM NZD

'Spederline' - Part Deux
Mood:  cheeky
Now Playing: Dropkick Murphys
So the other day some friends of mine and I were discussing what we may hope to be subjected to during the train wreck reality show that will be ‘Spederline’...

ME: What are we going to see exactly? Them swearing at each other while they swill Starbucks and Cheetos and puff on smokes?

SUSABELLA: She’s pregnant! She wouldn’t dare smoke!

(Dead silence…the sound of several sets of eyelids clicking)

DEB: It’ll be like watching part 2 of Deliverance.

JT: The rest of her is so thin-I don’t think it’s just the pregnancy manifesting itself in the torso area.

ME: Cum doesn't have that many calories!

DEB: Ewww! Feder-spooge!

ALL: EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!

ME: It's like watching Springer without the sweet satisfaction of midgets.

SUSABELLA: No, this will be like seeing someone with a horrendously bad nose job-- you feel bad, but yet, you are oddly fascinated and unable to turn away.

JT(shouting): FEDER-SPOOGE LIVES!!!

ALL: EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!

DEB: It'll be like the Surreal Life but without any interesting people.

JT: They need Anna Nicole to move in with them!

DEB: No, that would be too weird shit—I say Florence Henderson!

SUSABELLA: Even better, Pat O’Brien! Can’t you hear the phone call now? “Uh, "I want to have a three-way with you--you are so fucking hot-let me set up a three-way"!

(Everyone laughs)

ME: I know! Wee man!

(Again, dead silence…the sound of several sets of eyelids clicking)

ME: You know—Wee man—Jason Acuna—the professional skateboarding midget...he was in Grind, Jackass, Wildboyz, Viva La Bam, What are you chicken…

DEB: Meg, you need to let go of the whole ‘midget’ thing…

Things I learned Over the Weekend...
Mood:  silly
Now Playing: Modest Mouse
In no particular order, here are some life 'lessons' I learned over the weekend:

* Candle wax is a bitch to get off of the cat

* Malibu rum, unlike vodka, does freeze

* Flashing someone at a professional baseball game isn't always a smart thing to do--think cameras

* Sleeping with a gasseous puppy tucked under your arm is definitely a stupid move unless you enjoy inhaling rotting meat scented methane

* Sun burned nipples hurt like fuck all

* Hi ball glasses make excellent shotglasses

* Selling off an old boyfriend's stuff on eBay isn't as satisfying as one would think

* A bad book makes it seem like you've been reading for a month instead of an hour

* When your neighbor's girlfriend bitches to you about how he didn't come home the night before and you just happened to see his motorcycle at some other broad's house that evening, remember this phrase: Shoot the messenger

The Move
Mood:  d'oh
Now Playing: Sugarcult
As you know, I moved again recently for the 4th time in less than 3 years. Yeah, I know, masochistic at best. It?s a sad commentary when you have your mover?s number programmed into your cell phone.

The good thing about my movers? They do an excellent job (well, duh, I keep using them). After my 3rd move, I actually went so far as to inquire whether they had a frequent mover discount available. Although they don?t, the good news is they are so used to moving my crap, they have it down to 2 truckloads and 5 hours. Sad, I know.

So anywho, the icing on the cake with my movers is Dave. Dave is the co-owner and he is hot with a capitol H.O.T. Shaved head, tattooed, a body that won?t stop and an ass I could merrily bounce quarters off of for hours on end (pun intended). I find myself staring at him with the same absorption as I would a cold beer on a hot summer?s day or a pint of Starbuck?s Java Chip during a gnarly bout of PMS. To say this man is yummy would be a serious understatement and grievous insult.

My friends have asked me over and over why I don?t just go for it and my answer remains the same?you don?t fuck with good service. I have a hot doctor. I have a seriously hot dentist (who I have seen mostly naked modeling pictures of). All I can say is it is much harder to find a good dentist or a good doctor or a good mover than it is to find a hot guy. Hot guys are everywhere in this town. You can?t shake a tree without a bunch falling at your feet. It is seriously hard to find quality service people so if you find them and they just happened to be super easy on the eyes (and super cool personality wise) you add them to your ?untouchable? category with your brother-in-law, your boss, your first cousin, the Vienna Boy's Choir, etc. and just move on.

What it boils down to is that I don?t care how amazingly cool a guy is, how hot he is or how fantabulous he might be in bed, it?s not worth me spending hours trying to find a new dealership to take my car to. A gal has to have priorities... I refer to this phenomenom (doo, doo, doo, doo, doo) as ?Don?t shit where you sleep.?

So in this vein, moving day comes and as usual, I have a very friendly and casual attitude with Dave. He?s simply my hottie mover and given my history, I?ll need him to move me in another year?

So I am running around moving day trying to get the last of my shit compiled and ready to go. As I am mentally running through the last smidgeons of stuff to do?empty the fridge, pack up copius amounts of liquor, clean under the bed, etc. I managed to do almost all of it except clean under the bed. When it came down to that, I thought ?Ah, there?s nothing under the bed to worry about.? Well, it turns out, I was wrong.

Hottie Dave and Dufus his dork boy helper are in the process of moving my bed out when Dave flashes me a brighter than normal smile with one eyebrow up and says ?Howzit?? while Dufus looks at me and starts blushing and giggling. Right then my ?Megdar? goes into overdrive. I know something is up.

I tear back to my bedroom and there on the floor, plain as a zit on Paris Hilton?s scrawny ass, is the ?Advanced Oral Techniques? book that my friend Red bought for me as a Christmas gift. Let me say that she wasn?t kidding when she told me that there was shit in there that I had never heard of?let alone the times when I wasn?t sure which way to hold the book in order to understand some of the pictures. ?Nuff said. If that wasn?t bad enough, right next to that were 2 boxes of condoms?one in extra large (wishful thinking) and a ginormous bottle of Astroglide. (And I thought all that was under there were rhino-sized dust bunnies not refugees from the adult toy box)

Needless to say, I heard hottie and nottie returning to get my dresser. I grabbed the ?incriminating? stuff and chucked it into my closet. I am sure they noticed that the ?fun? stuff was gone but I met their eyes with a ?you wish? sneer or so I'd like to think...I actually avoided any and all eye contact with them similar to when the homeless guy comes up to your car window at a freeway off ramp looking for change.

Who knew that moving day could have sexual drama?

Getting to Know You...
Mood:  don't ask
Now Playing: The Used
You know those annoying emails you get from some seriously misguided but well meaning friends or family members entitled ?How Well Do You Know Your Friends? with like 3 million lame ass questions that the person wants everyone to copy, answer and send back or you will break the chain and have bad luck, scabies and ?taint? breath for the rest of your natural born life?

I am beyond fricking sick of answering mundane shit like my favorite drink, what color my toenails are painted, my favorite sexual position, etc. I want people to answer trivial out-there questions that provoke serious or sarcastic answers. So here?s the list of my top 25. Feel free to pass it on!

1.Girls: Which Sweathog would you most want to sleep with, excluding Vinnie Barbarino/John Travolta? ("UGH-None" is not an acceptable answer)
Guys: Which girl from the Facts of Life would you most want to sleep with excluding Blair/Lisa Welchel? (Again, "UGH-None" is not an acceptable answer)

2.What movie(s) are you completely embarrassed to admit that you love?

3.Do you pick your toenail clippings up or leave them for the dog to eat?

4.As an adolescent, who was the first celebrity image that you had plastered all over your bedroom walls?

5.If it were acceptable as an adult, which celebrity image would you now have plastered all over your bedroom ceiling?

6.If you had to, would you rather lick someone's eyeball or have someone lick yours?

7.Naked XBox or naked twister?

8.What?s worse: bad breath or bad gas?

9.Do rug burns count as body art?

10.For $1 million dollars would you name your first born child Bongwalla?

11.So be honest, in most conversations are you really even listening to the other person, or just waiting to talk?

12.How did your first childhood pet die? Was it your fault?

13.Ever farted during oral? (?qweefs? don?t count)

14.True or false?normality is both worthless and unachievable.

15.What?s more annoying: A stupid person or a know-it-all?

16.When you get asked out or ask someone on a date, do you immediately Google that person for more information on him/her?

17.What song makes you cry (and don?t say the one the ice cream man?s van plays)

18.What is the best super power to have?

19.If you were an STD, which one would you be?

20.If you had to be gang-banged in prison, would you choose:
For Guys: The surviving members of Frankie Goes to Hollywood or the male members of River Dance?
For Girls: The 1985 pledge class of Chi Omega at the U of A or the female former cast members of SNL?

21.What sounds worse: the new Mariah Carey album or a cat heaving up a hairball?

22.What?s worse: gum caught in your pubic hair or your pubic hair caught in your zipper?

23.Is cyberstalking a crime if you really love the person?

24.What is the stupidest professional sport other than NASCAR?

25.If your significant other asked you to pop a back zit for him/her, would you?

Now hurry, hurry, hurry and copy this sucker and put in your own answers. Then send it to everyone on your email list (so they can waste precious time at the office that could be better spent surfing the net for porn) or you will develop a rather nasty case of foot fungus and your hair will migrate down your back until it resembles a dead wolverine pelt?

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POST SCRIPT
**************************************************
So after much badgering and nagging from friends and family, here are my answers. Feel free to post yours...

1.Girls: Which Sweathog would you most want to sleep with, excluding Vinnie Barbarino/John Travolta? ("UGH-None" is not an acceptable answer)

It would have to be Juan Luis Pedro Phillipo de Huevos Epstein. What gal could resist a Puerto-Rican Jew who lapsed into impersonations of the Marx Brothers on occasion and brought forged absentee notes from his mother like the classic "Roses are red, violets are blue, I've been home two days with the Asian flu". Even without the mention of the Spanish word for ?eggs? in his name, I?m moist just remembering?

2.What movie(s) are you completely embarrassed to admit that you love?

Aw shit, where to start? Let?s just say that my movie collection is full of them: Dark Crystal; Jay & Silent Bob Strike Back; Time Bandits; Legend; Spaceballs and any cheesy kung fu movie. My movie collection comes close to rivaling my collection of one hit wonder albums from the 80s?

3.Do you pick your toenail clippings up or leave them for the dog to eat?

Are you kidding me? There is no leaving them for the dogs. The three of them are flying around the room like the fricking Karamazov brothers snatching the clippings from the air like edible Frisbees.

4.As an adolescent, who was the first celebrity image that you had plastered all over your bedroom walls?

Adam Ant?and you just shut your mouth. He was hot then?he was.

5.If it were acceptable as an adult, which celebrity image would you now have plastered all over your bedroom ceiling?

Kelly Slater, Pro Surfer. That man is my adult version of a Tasty Cake. Can you say YUM!?!

6.If you had to, would you rather lick someone's eyeball or have someone lick yours?

I would need to be the licker?it?s an orbital jelly control issue with me...

7.Naked XBox or naked twister?

Naked Xbox. It?s no different than the countless hours I already spend playing naked PS2?besides naked twister is only fun with copious amounts of warm oil. Kind of like an x-rated Slip-n-Slide...

8.What?s worse: bad breath or bad gas?

They are both equally narfy, but I guess the tie would be broken by harkening back to an old boyfriend who, no matter what he ate, could clear a room faster with just one flatulent outburst than someone in the U.S. Capitol mail room screaming ?Anthrax?.

9.Do rug burns count as body art?

Only if they truly resemble something. I have been told that the one on the side of my left knee resembles Jesus? clavicle. I wonder if I could cut it off and sell it to the Golden Palace on eBay?

10.For $1 million dollars would you name your first born child Bongwalla?

For $1 million dollars, I would name my first born child ?Bong Water?.

11.So be honest, in most conversations are you really even listening to the other person, or just waiting to talk?

Huh? Were you saying something?

12.How did your first childhood pet die? Was it your fault?

Whitney Sue died in her sleep, releasing her bowls on my mother?s white living room carpet. Yes, the white carpet in the white living room that kids and dogs were never allowed to enter. I guess if you are never allowed into a room, it?s a good place to leave your last mark--literally. Whitney gave mom the dew claw something fierce on her way out?

13.Ever farted during oral? (?qweefs? don?t count)

Not for lack of trying?have I mentioned that I am evil?

14.True or false?normality is both worthless and unachievable.

Normality is highly overrated?much like Necrophilia.

15.What?s more annoying: A stupid person or a know-it-all?

Those who think they know-it-all annoy those of us who do?enough said.

16.When you get asked out or ask someone on a date, do you immediately Google that person for more information on him/her?

You know it! Then I check civil and criminal court records (knowing that he is an axe murderer or has 10 illegitimate children is half the battle). Then it?s off to play in the county assessor?s site to find where he lives, etc. Whoops, giving away trade secrets and starting to sound creepy?

17.What song(s) makes you cry (and don?t say the one the ice cream man?s van plays)

Puff the Magic Dragon, You Are My Sunshine and Wildfire (the one about the girl?s horse who gets out in a terrible storm and dies??She ran calling ?Wildfire?)?shit. Must stop now before I start weeping like a little bitch?sobbing worse than I do after tuning into the last 2 minutes of a Saint Jude cancer commercial.

18.What is the best super power to have?

Buns of Steel...no seriously, I?d want to be invisible. The possibilities are endless with that one.

19.If you were an STD, which one would you be?

I?d be the Clap. I?m not sure what the Clap is, but whenever grandma saw me holding hands with a boy, she told me if I wasn?t careful, I?d get the Clap. I always thought it referred to rhythmic hand music?

20.If you had to be gang-banged in prison, would you choose:
For Girls: The 1985 pledge class of Chi Omega at the U of A or the female former cast members of SNL?

Christ?I?d have Laraine Newman riding me like a stallion shouting ?What?s my name bitch? before I ever let a Chi Omega touch me.

21.What sounds worse: the new Mariah Carey album or a cat heaving up a hairball?

I think me experiencing a Brazilian wax without benefit of painkillers, questioning the legitimacy of the aesthetician?s birth, while dropping colorful f-bombers that could be heard in Madagascar still sounds better than Diva Carey?

22.What?s worse: gum caught in your pubic hair or your pubic hair caught in your zipper?

Well, you know my answer?what hair? I?m I?ll about the ?netherscaping?. (AKA see #21)

23.Is cyber stalking a crime if you really love the person?

Not when you don?t get caught?or convicted.

24.What is the stupidest professional sport other than NASCAR?

Professional lumberjack competitions. They make women?s field hockey seem interesting.

25.If your significant other asked you to pop a back zit for him/her, would you?

Absolutely. I was also born with the Simian gene (probably why Mr. Jinx wanted to bond with me). There are few things I enjoy as much as a good grooming session?just call me the amateur dermatologist.

So I?d much rather be telling you the silly story about the 'sexual' drama of my moving day or the fact that Elvis recently hit on me (seriously), but instead you?re getting the rare Megan ?serious? moment. Rarer than a Dodo bird and really no fun whatsoever.

I had some rather fucked up beyond all belief news today. One of my dear friends from childhood?s little brother committed suicide. This is a kid I have known since he was a toddler. Our parents have been friends for more than 34 years. What a fucking hideous waste.

Deep breath. It?s been almost four years since my best friend of 20 some-odd years, who was is all ways important my big brother, committed suicide. Hearing about Davey brought John?s death back in a swift, gut-wrenching rush of loss and disbelief. I can still only ask myself "why?". Why were their souls so tortured that this was the way they chose to try to come to peace with themselves?

The theme song to the hit 70s show M*A*S*H* was entitled ?Suicide is Painless?. Now that?s a crock of shit! It?s not painless as the person takes his or her life and it sure as HELL isn?t painless to those that person leaves behind. Suicide is the ultimate form of physical and emotional abandonment. It leaves loved ones in eternal pain constantly wondering ?what if?? What if something I could/should have done would have changed his mind? Why didn?t I know he was considering taking his life? How could I have been so blind to his pain? These questions and many others have raced through my mind for years in the wake of John?s tragic death. And let me tell you, it was tragic. The world lost one of the good ones?the rare ones. A kind and loving person?a decent man.

Many times I have tried to comfort myself by saying that if John had known that I would have been the one to find his body, that he wouldn?t have done it. He would never have done that, never have put that horror on his beloved kid sis ?Mags?. But maybe I am just fooling myself. Maybe I am just trying to make myself feel better when I so obviously failed to recognize the depth of his despair...when I so obviously failed him as a friend.

All I know is that it?s going on four years since his light on this earth was extinguished. My questions will always remain unanswered and not a day goes by that I don?t think of him.

Could have, would have, should have?FUCK! Nothing like hindsight to make the heart despair more?

I have learned important life lessons from this life altering trauma. One, there is NEVER a good enough reason to take your own life, no matter how dire things seem, as I have seen the devastation it wreaks on everyone left behind. Two, love (romantic and otherwise) is a short and fleeting thing. If you have it in your life, embrace it and make the most of it. Life is too short to be full of fear. If you love someone, let that person know it as often as possible. Step off that cliff and live it.

I hope that somewhere in a much better and forgiving place, John takes a break from watching over me to welcome Davey home.

There is a God...
Mood:  happy
Now Playing: Butthole Surfers
I believe in prayer--I just seldom partake in the act as what I wish for rarely ever manifests. Trust me, I just find it hard to believe sometimes that the simple act of prayer could actually get me what I want.

Especially when certain fervent prayers I make nightly (Make them perky. Make them perky.), a pathetic mantra when you think of it, go unanswered. (And don't even bring up that stupid -ass country song about God's greatest gifts are unanswered prayers. BULLSHIT I SAY! I want what I want!)

I am happy to tell you that something I have prayed for (although not to the extent of my mantra wishes) has happened. God has granted me the 'Spederline' reality show. It's a dream come true! Just when Jerry Springer was running out of new show ideas (there are just so many combinations of midgets, racists and hermaphrodites that one can come up with) God in his bountiful wisdom, through UPN, has seen fit to bring me new white trash, trailer park insight through his emissaries Brittney and Kevin.

As I eagerly tune in to their zany exploits, grasping my bag of pork rinds and jar of marshmallow fluff close to my heart, I will never again doubt God?s existence!

Who Wants to Be Pope
Mood:  mischievious
Now Playing: Keren Ann - Nolita
Reality television. Depending on who you ask, it?s either the bane of our modern day existence or the greatest thing invented since luggage on wheels and pore cleanser (or extra large condoms?again, depends on who you ask).

I think we need a new reality show to add to that group of struggling and highly underrated reality shows like the Starlet, the Contender, Airline, Project Runway and my own favorite: Dog-the Bounty Hunter.

Personally, I am beyond amazed that one of the major networks hasn?t already pitched it to the Vatican yet: a reality show called ?Who Wants to Be Pope?. Talk about your pseudo drama! I can see it now seemingly endless hours of the Cardinals in enclave sitting around in their red robes and tall hats trying to elect the next Pope.

The twists! The turns! I know I would be enthralled?I?d probably never even sleep again?until we saw the white smoke of success. Which brings another thought to mind (being the random and un-PC thinker that I am)?will they use white smoke if they chose a black or brown Pope instead of the traditional white one? And what about any racist Catholics out there? Will they turn away from their faith if a minority Pope is chosen? Become Scientologists because it's easier for them to have faith in space aliens than in a minority?

These thoughts and more keep me awake at night?I'm definitely going to Hell now.

A Sunday By Any Other Name...
Mood:  accident prone
Now Playing: Janis Joplin
So it started off like any other Sunday?except that it was bike week and I had spent most of Saturday at the beer festival downtown as I am never one to miss a chance to drink good beer?especially outside on a gorgeous spring day?looking at motorcycles. (Have I mentioned that I have the man gene?)

Needless to say, I awoke Sunday with the ?bonus buzz? as those in Minnesota would call it?AKA still drunk and with the incredibly pressing need to keep the buzz alive or risk the inevitable hang over of epic proportions. I stumbled out to the kitchen and to my dismay I found that, much like Mother Hubbard?s, my liquor cupboard was bare. Not totally naked, but sure as hell not sporting the hangover/Sunday drink needs. When you are standing in front of your booze larder thinking ?Hmmm?Cabernet, Yukon Jack, Cinnamon Schnapps, Laphroaig 10-Year single malt Scotch or Champagne?, it is a sad, sad Sunday indeed. It?s 8am. I?m drunk. I need a ?Bloodie?. The stores don?t start selling liquor for another 2 hours. Not to mention that I would feel guilty showing up buzzed at the market for an early Sunday morning booze run?if I could even wait that long-and I'm not even Catholic.

It becomes an even sadder testament to your Sunday when you end up wrestling open a bottle of champs as it was the least of the available evils. Don?t get me wrong, I am all about the champs, but it was just not what I needed for relief right then but beggars can?t be choosers and all that. Even I draw the line at calling up a neighbor to ask if I can dash over and borrow a cup or two of vodka. Although neighbors you can do that with are truly a gift from God...but I digress.

But then I run into the first mucket in my fru-fru: I can?t get the fricking cork to come out of the fricking bottle. For reals. Seriously. I am twisting and yanking on the cork, alternately moaning or muttering f-bombers at an alarming rate, to no avail. Even some vigorous shaking to help the ?pop? along doesn't do the trick. So in a desperate rush to maintain my bonus buzz before I start skidding down the slippery slope back towards sobriety and a land of hurt, I used the wine opener on it much to the dismay of my right eye which caught the full thrust of the eventual un corking.

I know you are sitting there shaking your head thinking that I am a total idiot and you may be right. At the time, it just seemed like a good idea?even a logical one. (How many times have you looked back on some sorry event and thought that--exactly!) The cork won?t come out of the bottle so try the corkscrew on it. It sounded very rational to me at the time.Of course, this stellar plan did not take into consideration that in my drunken frustration, I have now shaken the bottle harder than crack whore Barbie ever shook one of her little bastard toddlers.

I know I was amazed when the whole thing flew right off (cork and bottle opener together) and bounced off of my face with the same velocity as a piece of blue ice from an airplane bathroom dropping from the stratosphere. You get the idea. It hurt like fuck all with a serious top sting.

Once again, I faced a brave new day with a truly remarkable shiner. It wasn?t the first time and it won?t be the last I?m sure?Lifestyles of the accident prone?or liquor prone?take your pick.

Walk of Shame...
Mood:  crushed out
Now Playing: Herb Alpert & the Tijuana Brass
The Walk of Shame. I think most of us have been there at least once in our lives--more than once if we are lucky (or easy). You know--walking out of a fraternity house early one morning; walking down the hallway of a hotel at 4am to pick up your car from valet parking...

But here is a question for you: When does the walk of shame become the walk of fame? Apparently, when the person you have spent the night/early morning hours rolling around drunkenly mashing with is relatively well known and recognized.

For some unknown reason,when you stumble to your car after having been mauled until the early morning hours by someone famous, the 19-yr old valet parker dude gives you the big double thumbs up and attempts to high five you.

All I will tell you is that he is the drummer from a band I saw recently in concert and his name is Jason. The weirdest part? This is not the first time for a hook up with him. The first time was in ?95 during the year of their breakthrough first album when I mashed with him in the parking lot outside of the venue where they were the opening act for two other acts.

Who?d a thought there'd be a repeat performance? (At least he's consistent...)

If, in the next six months or so, you hear a song on the radio and it reminds you of my personal ?language?...you?ll have your answer.

Until then, I will take the Defense Department strategy of categorically denying everything...

Speakle da Engrish?
Mood:  cheeky
Now Playing: The Vapors
I thought it was bad enough when Asian magazines try to translate their covers into ?Engrish?.It's even worse when it is Asian adult magazines and videos as some things are definitely lost in the translation. Some may be typos, but others are just beyond messed up like when you see titles like ?Mouth Pet?.

It makes one just want to adopt the horrid stereotype accent of Asian/English (like Kim Jong Il in Team America-World Police ?I?m so ronery??) when saying them aloud.

Here are some other Asian porn titles that will have you not "beleaueing" your eyes!

Fresh Eregance
Massive Tits Carnage
Huge Hooters In Bondage
Vicious Female Supremacy
Monsters Make Uncensored Porn
Qweens Are Fuking Everywere
And my personal favorite: Erotic Asian Face Squatting Extremism (WHAT THE...?!!)

And if I thought those were bad, or at least worth a chuckle or twenty, the anime porn (yes, folks out there are whacking off to giant eyed Asian cartoon characters) are worse:

Anime Babes Doing Things (What kind of things? Organizing bake sales?)
Threesome Cartoon Fighter Fight Sucking Action (Why? Are they being pulled into a massive drain a la Land of the Lost?)
Creepy Looking D Toons Banging (Is Fred Durst in this one?)
Dominated Toons Craving For Whips On Flaming Pussy (Is Flaming Pussy similar to Baked Alaska?)
And again, my personal favorite: Two Toon Men Was Tie Down By Monkeymen (Once again, it's those fricking monkeys!)

Just where is the AltaVista Babel Fish translation service when the Asian porn industry so desperately needs it?!

A Story From the Not So Distant Past...
Mood:  d'oh
Now Playing: Alicia Keyes
One night, my girlfriend Dawn and I were headed out on a Saturday eve for a much needed ?girl?s night?. We had decided to go see my fav, the Chuck Hall Band, at some local bar we had never heard of before.

We are in the car, ABBA cranked (nothing gets you amped up for an evening out like ABBA?it?s the silliness of it I?m certain or maybe that you get to sing in falsetto at the top of your lungs ?cuz you know, that?s always fun), windows down, when we pull into the bar.

As I got out of the car, I noticed there were a lot of motorcycles out front but I gave it no thought really as I was still singing ?Dancing Queen?. I simply opened the door and we walked in. The place was pretty much pitch black inside although this could have been due to the fact that I was still wearing my sunglasses. Suddenly, Dawn stops short and I, still humming and dancing (yeah, I know I?m a dork) just shove her on forward as Dawn is not always known for being plucky in situations that might at first appear daunting.

Quickly, I phased back to reality from my Red Bull, ABBA-induced hyper land and took stock of the bar. This is when I realize that the place is full of bikers. As in we are the only people in there who aren?t bikers. And folks, when I say bikers, I mean bikers. I do not mean weekend warriors or RUBbies (Rich Urban Bikers) I mean 100% genuine scooter trash. It was rather apparent after scanning the crowd, that by no means, were we going to ?blend?. Oops.

Me being me, I flashed Dawn my best ?Come on, I dare you?, flipped my hair back over my shoulder and strutted right over to a table in the middle of the bar, right across the dance floor from the bandstand and hopped onto a bar stool to settle in for the duration.

Next order of business was definitely beverages. Beer alone was just not going to cut it. What I yearned for was the cheery warmth and liquid courage contained in a hi ball glass of a good, smokey single malt Scotch, but I figured that would have been akin to shouting ?Bikers suck? in the trying to lay low department. So beers and tequila shots it was. Speaking of which, have you ever heard of Montezuma brand tequila? Yeah, me either before that. To put it mildly, it?s got nothing on Padron. Zip. Zilch. Nada. Nothing.

So anywho, Dawn is slowly relaxing under my relentless cheeriness and incessant chattering when I spot a hottie. A hottie in a biker bar, go figure but as my friends will tell you, trust me to find the one hot guy anywhere I am. After some furtive eye contact and big toothy smiles, hottie makes his way over to our table.

So I?m making time with hottie. He?s cute and funny. Bonus! Love funny! Then hottie says he?s going to grab another beer and asks if we need another drink. Nice! He?s considerate of our current beverage status. Things are looking good. As he walks up to the bar, I flip around to catch the rear view. What can I say? I am an ass girl. Ass is checking in nicely as well. All is right with the world and the band hasn?t even started playing.

As hottie leans over the bar, I notice something on his elbows. Yes, plural. My first thought was grease or something then I realize it?s not grease, they?re tattoos. Not only are they tattoos, they say something. I squinch up my eyes and I read them. And I read them again. And again. OH HOLY SHIT! I whip around to Dawn and I say ?Read his elbows!? And Dawn is like ?What?? and a little more urgently now, I hiss ?Read his elbows!? And Dawn says ?What are you talking about Meg?? and I almost scream at her through clenched teeth ?Read his fricking elbows!? So Dawn turns around and says out loud ?Power?White. I don?t get it? I say ?Dawn, read the left one first.? and she says ?White...Power?oh my Gawd!?

Mind racing, I am trying to figure out how to get out of this situation. I can deal with a lot of negative habits and behaviors in others. Racism and rampant halitosis are the two that are complete deal breakers with me.

Just then, my ex husband walks in with a bunch of his buddies. Can I tell you that I have never been so happy to see him? You know it?s pretty bad when that happens?one would expect flying pigs and the Horsemen of the Apocalypse among other harbingers of doom to appear. I launched myself across the room and into his surprised arms with a squeal and a giant hug. Desperate times call for desperate measures and all that. As soon as I had safely rebuffed Captain Xenophobic, I thanked my surprised ex and went back to my table where I proceeded to ignore him and no longer hottie for the remainder of the evening.

I guess my friends will have to amend their statement. Leave it to me to find the only hottie racist anywhere I am?

I Can't Come in to Work 'Cuz...
Mood:  mischievious
Now Playing: Cowboy Junkies
I think we all tend to view sick days as extra vacation days. There are just some days when you don?t want to come to work. I refer to these as ?mental health? days.

Yesterday, my co-workers and I were discussing creative excuses for calling in to work. I find that the best ones adhere to the K.I.S.S. concept?Keep It Simple Stupid. However, we?ve had some true classics come out of our office. Some of them, scarily enough, were actually true.

Here are some of the ones that came out of our office:
?I was sprayed by a skunk
?I tripped over my dog and dislocated my shoulder (true, it happened to me)
?Constipation has made me a walking time bomb
?I'm still drunk from last night
?I hurt myself gardening
?My dog is having puppies and I need to help her
?I dropped a fire extinguisher on my foot and broke 2 toes (again, it happened to me)
?The springs on the garage door broke and I can't get the car out because the door won't open
?I had an asthma attack at my husband?s softball game
?My fish is sick and I need to take it to the vet
?The city is paving my street and I can?t get out! (Yes, once again, this actually did happen to me)

Recently MSN posted an article that had some classic ones:
?My bus broke down and was held up by robbers (Pretty desperate robbers)
?I was arrested as a result of mistaken identity (You must look a lot like your brother?)
?I was spit on by a venomous snake (Ewww! Snake spit!)
?A hit man was looking for me (Apparently, not a very proficient one)
?My cat unplugged my alarm clock (Those opposable thumbs make for serious kitty tom foolery!)
?I had to be there for my husband's grand jury trial (Are you nuts?! Head to Belize with the cash while you still can)
?I had to ship my grandmother's bones to India (Let me guess, she?d always wanted to go there?)
?Someone slipped drugs in my drink last night (Yeah, and we know who that someone was wink, wink, nudge, nudge?)
?My monkey died (Yeah, I only wish!Look a few posts down for why...)

While creative, if you are going to go with unbelievable, just take the plunge and go with something totally outrageous. Here are some excuses that I have come up with that I would love to hear someone use?

?I was hauled off by white slavers? I narrowly escaped the life of a sex slave in Japan
?Martians landed in my yard and I got radiation poisoning
?I was posing for a nude portrait for my grandparents and lost track of time
?I was mugged by the Easter Bunny
?I am converting to Krishnaism and since it is the Maharishi Guru's birthday, I can't come in because I have to go to the temple to worship
?The whore I picked up kept me up all night and my knees hurt
?I got lost in Super Wal-Mart
?My horse was mauled by a mountain lion
?I tried to sneeze with my eyes open and my eyeballs fell out

And my personal favorite?The voices in my head told me to clean all the guns today.

A Day in the Life...
Mood:  mischievious
Now Playing: ABBA
It seems to me that Sam's Club has become the new singles pick up/meat market place (which deeply saddens me as I much prefer Home Depot).

So I was in Sam's Club today and I was perusing the healthcare aisles. I was stopped, reading the content of some soy meal replacement powder stuff when I spot this older guy checking me out. When I say older, I mean like 60s. Don?t get me wrong, he was a nice looking guy, kind of reminiscent of Blake Carrington in the early Dynasty years, but by nature, I am a cougar-I don?t do older. I especially don?t do older in a turtleneck and blazer?but I digress. Back to Blake. So he wanders up, flashes me a perfect veneered smile and says with one eyebrow raised ?So, do you enjoy that stuff?? I bit my tongue as any normal answer I would have made, would have been misconstrued as flirting or a demented version thereof. ?Err, not really.?

So I flash my best ?later!? smile and continue down the aisle eyes wondering the shelves, looking for replacement heads for my Sonicare toothbrush. ?Blake? once again appears at my elbow (like a fricking smoke ninja) startling me and says ?I have that same toothbrush!? Uh, yeah buddy. You, me and half the planet. What?s his point? That I can borrow his charger when I spend the night at his place? I am a very patient person, but I am starting to lose my patience...

To me there is nothing worse (ok, there are things that are worse, but not many) than someone desperately trying to come up with small talk for someone he/she don?t know. Especially when that someone is clearly giving off the ?go away old guy I?m soooooooooo not interested? vibe. If I didn?t want him commenting on everything I looked at (condoms, mouthwash, etc. yeah, I was hoping for a stellar weekend-right!) it was time to take drastic action.

As I am not good about being rude or mean, I thought long and hard (about 3.5 seconds) and decided that either I needed to start picking my nose, really digging in to the third knuckle or something else equally as drastic. That was when I spotted the magic box. I grabbed the 120 pack of Dulcolax Stool Softener (I don?t even want to know the wretched soul who buys these in bulk) and say ?Have you ever used these?? Blake?s eyes got kind of big and he stammered ?Uh, no, I haven?t.? and I replied ?They work like a charm, especially after a couple days of binge drinking.?

And boy, did they ever work like a charm! Blake stuttered ?Well, that?s good.? and made once again like a smoke ninja and quickly disappeared from view.

Where was Steven Daniel Carrington when I needed him?