“Baby!”  I hear Tony calling out as he comes down the stairs to the bathroom where I was in the shower.

“Baby?!?!” He calls out again before bursting into the bathroom.

“What’s wrong?” I ask him reaching for the towel.

“Well, that damn cat.  That damn cat keeps on bothering me.”  He says shaking his head.

“What’d she do this time, baby?”  I asked, as this is quite a normal conversation in our combined domicile.

“Well, I went up there to see if the cheesecake was thawed out, and she was trying to get it.  I had to push her fat ass off the table just to get to it.  She went down swingin. It was like she was trying not to let me get it.”  He says, serious as can be.  “I think she’s got something against me.”

“No baby, she’s a psycho.  It’s not just you.  She attacks anybody and everybody.  She’s an equal opportunity hater.”  I try to mend his feelings.

“That’s not all she did, baby.”  He laments.

“Ok.  Tell me.”  I roll my eyes as I towel dry my hair.

“Then I decided I had to pee, and she followed me in there.” He goes on, “She jumped up on the toilet as soon as she saw me go in there.  And I shewed her down, so she jumped up on the sink and she started swatting my butt while I tried to pee.”

“She’s always hung out in the bathroom, Tony.  She’s not out to get you.”

“But the cat violated me.  She was grabbin my ass while I was in a vunerable position.  I was tryin to pee!”  He protests.

“Well, baby.  All I can tell you is to keep your back to her or she’s liable to swat somethin else.”

As if hunting for a smoking area wasn’t fun enough to occupy our 4-hour layover at O’Hare International Airport, mom decided that she needed airport food. Now, it wasn’t that she was hungry. No, this wasn’t the case.

“It’s almost like tradition,” she says beaming that smile of hers.

“Yogurt is somehow a tradition? Do tell,” I ask.

“Not really yogurt, but eating in the airport,” she quips back.

“Oh hell, now I’ve heard it all. That’s like me running right to Manchu Wok for Lo-mein everytime I hit the ground. It ain’t tradition, Mama. It’s a matter of eating from being bored. Pure and simple,” I lecture.

“Well, whatever you want to call it, Missy. I want a frozen yogurt and we’re gonna walk until we find one,” she commands. “Did you see anyplace to get one?”

“I saw a fat guy up by the security check thing, but I think it was ice cream, not yogurt,” I tell her.

“I want fat-free-frozen vanilla yogurt…” she says dreamily thinking about diggin’ in.

Not ice cream. Not chocolate. Not full of fat…. No.

With that I pick up my 50 pound carry-on bag at Gate K-5 and we start walking. We see a sign for frozen yogurt and head that way.

I have to say this should have been an extremely simple and painless task as right there in the “K” terminal are TWO, not just one, but TWO TCBY’s!!! Easy right?

Well, not so much. Off we go…

The lil dude at the first TCBY didn’t have any vanilla, SO, he pointed us to the other food court way the hell down the way at gate K-15.

We get there, and sure enough, TCBY. We walk up smiling, only to see that the lady has the frozen yogurt machine torn down for cleaning. The sparkle immediately left my eyes.

So, we decided to take another walk and ended up in the “L” terminal. Only one TCBY and no vanilla. So we follow back out of “L” and wander over to “G”, only to find out after walking 2.5 miles to get there, that it’s a commuter terminal and they have no TCBY at all. Figures.

Defeated and depressed, we turn around with our heads hung low. The pep in our step was lost long ago as we shuffled along. All of a sudden, my mom happened to see a hidden food court area that we had somehow walked right past at least 3 times.

And in the very bad end of that little hidden jewel sat a TCBY. We walk up, skeptical that anything will come of the visit.

“Vanilla?” Mom asks the girl with that desperate tone in her voice.

“Sure. What size?” The girl says with an angelic smile on her face.

“Large!” Mom says completely satisfied.

It was as if the clouds parted, the heaven’s opened and a choir of angels started to sing Halleluja in unison.

“Want one?” Mom asked me.

“Nope. I wanna bagel.”

It was Saturday, October 6th in the year of our Lord 2007. A beautiful and mild day for flying I thought to myself as I peered out the glass door at Tony and the boy loading my two pieces of luggage into the bed of the pick-em-up truck.

I tried and tried to whittle down the amount of crap I had packed up. Deleting various pairs of shoes and casual clothes by the handful. My Mother swore that she was going to get all of her stuff packed into one reasonably size suitcase the night before when she was packing.  I thought to myself, I’ll be damned if she gets all her shit shoved into one “reasonably sized” bag and I can’t. But I couldn’t and I was at the point of accepting my defeat when we left the house to go pick her up.

As we pulled down the drive way to pick her up, my uncle was helping her roll her reasonably sized bag out of the garage, followed by yet another bag nearly the same size as her reasonably sized bag. Hmmmm. Get ‘em hoisted and let’s go. The sunny skies are waiting on us.

We took off to McGee Tyson airport here in beautiful Knoxville (Alcoa), Tennessee. Tony helped up get the bags out of the bed of the truck and almost dropped a nut trying to get her suitcase out.

“A little heavy there, huh?” I asked him, whilst cackling toward her.

“Just a little,” he said, shaking his head that I can be so snide and yet so loving at the same time.

We gave each other some seriously tight hugs and sweet kisses.  He went on and I went in to check in our stuff.

“Name and identification, please,” the robotic sounding lady at the American Airlines counter blurted out.

“Well, ok. Gotta dig it out,” I said as I start shuffling through my carry-on bag looking for my passport.

“Ah. There it is!” I say proudly, as my digging expedition proved I hadn’t forgotten my passport. I lay it on the counter in front of her.

“Very good. Will you be checking any thing through today?” as she peers over the counter at the over stuffed luggage at my feet.

“Mmmm, yah. These two.” I rolled my eyes as I lifted them onto the scale.

“Ok, they are checked all the way through to Frankfurt. Have a nice trip.”

Sweet! Phase one of the objective was complete. Mom’s turn.

“Name and identification, please,” robot lady says to her.

Mom handed her passport over and started lugging her bag up onto the scale.

“Oh my,” says robot lady. “It appears we have a problem. This first bag is nearly 17 pounds over the limit. You can try to redistribute it, or you can pay the $50.00 over weight limit fee.” (Have photographic proof of over packing, blurry, but still evidence.)

In typical J-Lamb fashion, my mother had over packed for real. And Tony said my bag was way heavier than hers.  Pffftttt.  I wasn’t the one sitting in front of the check in counter redistributing 67 pounds of crap to meet the American Airlines approved weight limit for checked baggage. Hahahaha.

“Gonna fit it all into one bag are we?” I say to her as I cackle a little more at her packing misadventure.

She shoots me the most evil of all evil looks and says, “I can fix it.”

She unzips the offending suitcase and proceeds to pull out a fat bag of hair products, a Bible, several books.

“Sweet Jesus, Mom!” I gasp in amazement. “How the hell did you get all that in there to begin with?”

“Can you please put some of these in your carry-on and I’ll put the rest of it in my other bag?” she asks, obviously ignoring my sarcasm.

“Yah, yah, yah,” I babble as I shove her books and other random small items into my bag. I decided rather than start her off pissed, I’d shut up and pick another battle later.

There’s nothing better than messing with my Mom. I don’t do it to be mean to her. I just find it to be the most entertaining activity around  sometimes.

“Let’s see if that does it,” she says as she pushes the suitcase back up on the scale.

“Just made it,” robot lady said, actually cracking a smile. “Have a nice trip, Mrs. Lamb,” she said as she handed mom’s boarding pass over the counter.

Mom couldn’t say anything, she just smiled back as we walked toward the secure area.

“Damn, mom,” I said with sincere realization. “I really think I should go chain smoke for a few minutes since it’s gonna really suck once I cross that security line.  I’m not gonna get to smoke for like 298 hours.”

She showed her compassion and said, “Ok. Let’s go outside.”

She sat there in the waiting area while I chain smoked a couple of cigarrettes and got enough of a ciggie buzz to border on a headache.

“Let’s go, Mama,” I said as I walked back up to her.

With that, we were off toward security check point.

“Oh shit!” I whined.

“What now?” She asked me.

“They’re gonna take my lighter. I just bought that lighter!”

“You can buy a new one when we get there,” She said.

“Fine.” I took the lighter out and pitched it in the lighter collector jail they had set up.

So, we made it through security and we were on our way. Quite an eventful afternoon and we hadn’t even left Knoxville yet.

Finally.  A year after the proposal.  Finally, after three changes in date, time and venue.  Finally, after finding a wedding cake that didn’t resemble spiderman.  Finally, after managing to locate and fit into a sexy yet firm suitable set of wedding underwear.  Finally, we did it.  We got hitched!

Of course, in our typical style, anything less than complete and utter chaos, followed by family drama and tradgedy.

I must say, my bridesmaids were stunning and wear sexy gowns.  Nice tits, ladies!  I couldn’t say it in the church, because well, it was church.  But dang, everybody’s boobs looked superb in those dresses! 

The boys didn’t look shabby either.  Ain’t it funny how a man in a classic black tux can make a girl weak in the knees?

It was actually beautiful, other than the bridesmaids walking to “Pray for the Dead and the Dead will Pray for you”.  Long story.  I stress here and now, that it was an ooopsie on our part, as we didn’t listen to the concerto in full.  We thought, “Oh that’s beautiful” when we listened to it the first time and turned it off with listening to it all the way through.  So, two of the bridesmaids are walking to lovely strums of a classic string quartet, when it goes into the death march.  Sweet Jesus!  I’m back there yelling to Val, “Oh shit! Oh Shit!!!!!  Cut it off, cut it off!!” 

Which he did, and we went on.  It was at this point I had decided I either need an ample amount of Jack Daniels right then and there or a mega dose of Xanax.

Deep breath.  The Wedding March is going. Walking with Daddy (who by the way was on his best behavior and didn’t cause any shit whatsoever). I got up there to my man looking dapper and all of his groomsmen. 

Ok, so here we go.  Daddy gave me away and there I stood looking into the eyes of the man I was about to marry.  I never in my life imagined that I would have been nervous.  But I was.  And I was about to cry.  We stood with everyone looking on… ohhhhh, the sweet, happy couple gazing at one another as “At Last” by Etta James played on.

Who would have ever thunk it?  My friggin shoes started to hurt like hell and I was about to cry again.  We manage to exchange vows with me only tripping once over my tongue and having to start over.  Queue the second song, “If You Ever Have Forever In Mind.”  By this time, the butterflies have turned to dragons and I’m so nervous that I can feel myself turning red as a chipotle pepper getting over-ripe in the sun.  I look at the pastor and say, “Is there anyway we can get him to turn this song off??”

“You really want the song cut?” He asked, looking at me like I’m crazy and then to Tony for reassurance that my head wasn’t going to spin 360 like something from the Exorcist.

“Yah, and the next one too.  My feet are killing me and I’m turning red.”

“You got it.”  He said.

He got Val’s attention. The music was cut. Moving right along. 

We are now husband and wife.  He grabbed my hand.  He pulled me close and laid the nicest kiss on me.  Dang.  We’re in church here, pal, and you’re really turning me on.

The only mishap was Lil T coming up to us mid-vows and yelling “Look Nana!  Motorcycle.” When he figured out everybody was lauging at him and saying, “Oh how cute.”, he took off. 

So, not a single mishap that was YouTube worthy happened, dammit!  I was just waiting for somebody to do something stupid.

We got it done!  The ceremony itself was beautiful.  Nobody burst into flames from getting too close to the unity candle, although Julie was standing pretty close and she has that sexy long hair. Nobody slid and fell off the stage, passed out or puked… 

I was tickled as pink as pink gets to see so many people showing so much love by being there to see this circus.  But as hectic as wedding days seem to get, I didn’t get a chance to sit and visit as I was being pulled in fourteen directions at once.  Not complaining, just the way it is.

We were in the midst of finding the photographer to make pictures after the ceremony, when we found out that the photographer had, in fact, left.  He had said to somebody, can’t remember who at this point, that he had plenty of pictures.

Um. What?!?!  I believe I’ll be the one to tell you when you’ve got enough damn pictures and when you can sit down and have cake, asshat!  But, I didn’t get the chance.  He was gone.  Must have needed a beer or a shot of tequila or something.  Whatever.  It’s my fault for putting my trust in my dear father’s friend to do anything remotely important.

That’s when SUPERMAN appeared!  He was like an angel sent to save my day!  I bet you’re wondering who by now, eh?

Well, it’s our own Mark Steel!  I was about to cry and there he was, yanking the camera out of the bag, snapping pictures of the wedding party, the reception, the friends, the family.  My friggin hero, I shit ya not!

Ok, so what else.  The reception was gorgeous!  Well, the cake started to melt and the topper kept falling off because Robyn is hot as hell and she walked by it.

I pitched the bouquet, and Robyn snatched it up.  As if she needs it (wink).  She’s next anyway.  And then Curtis (Robyn’s man) yoinked the garter!  So, if it wasn’t already happening, it’s bound to happen now! 

We ate cake…

drank wedding punch…

Posed, posed, posed… pitched the bouquet…

flipped the garter…

…and decided it was time to cruise on outta there. 

We proceeded to the truck to find it tastefully decorated with multiple condoms and window chalk.

It was then that the family drama ensued.  Amanda (my brat) broke asshat on Amy (his brat), and they commenced in a huge argument which culmunated in Amanda throwing her shoes and running into the woods and Amy peeling out of the church parking lot like her ass was nothing less than on fire.

For hell’s sake.  Please just friggin’ shoot me now!  I’ve waited all of my life for this here and day all these people want to piss all over it!

Anyway.  Mark, Becky, Olga and Holly got me some good pix, so regardless of the drunk monkey camera guy, I got my memories.

I am sitting here at my computer. The past two weeks have come and gone, thank God. My head is still spinning from the last 5 days. You know, I feel like Dorothy in that old farm house, when the tornado sucked it up and threw it to munchkin land?

We may not have landed in munchkin land, but the house seriously looked like a tornado had whipped through. Crap scattered everywhere. At one point, a body would actually be considered lucky to make it through the down stairs area without losing a big toe to ill placed boxes and unsituated furniture.

I honestly have no idea where all the stuff we have came from. I have little recollection of purchasing it at all. It’s like the “Here, Have Loads of Useless Shit”-Fairy came and did a dance at my old place.

We’re in our new place now. *YAY!* And everything seems to be falling into place and setting up nicely. The new hacienda is a rancher with a fully finished basement. It’s huge, and I get lost in it occassionally if the lights are off. The upstairs is 1150 sq. ft. This would be the area designated for children and midgets under the age of, um let’s say 35.

The downstairs area is the same 1150 sq. ft. area, but is set up to be our lair. How cool is that? It has our bedroom, which is plenty big for the bed and furniture. There is a closet that, if I had to, I could easily live in — I think its 12′x14′. Finally, a space big enough for all of my shoes!!!! There is a bathroom that, truth be told, is a sucky little spot and needs to be bigger. There is the den. It’s a huge space that looks half empty even with the furniture in it.

I’ve decided that since I like to have my share of spirited beverages, that we need a bar in the one corner that makes the room so empty. Liven it up a wee bit. Slap some mirrors behind it, a disco ball…. will go great with the existing stripper pole… hahahaha.

---

The kiddies haven’t really done shit yet since the move. They have social agendas and activities to tend to, don’t ya know. Amanda has put a few things away, but there is no way to walk through her room unless you are ready to take your life into your own hands. The girl has more stuff than I remember seeing before we moved. Her Beta fish has lived on the bathroom counter for days, and is lucky that kitty is feeling so wimpy. Under normal circumstances said fish would have been a kitty snack quicker than a fat kid could snatch the last chocolate chip cookie from the cookie jar.My kitty, Isis, has been severely traumatized by this whole moving of the residence. She has been hiding inside one of the dressers in my bedroom for 3 days now. When she comes out to eat or piss, she does the low crawl. I’ve not seen her walk like the bad-ass she really is since we did the kitty transport on Friday.

Hopefully she’ll realize she is still queen and act as such instead of mopping the floor with her well fed belly.

---

My grand-booger, Tyler, adjusted very well to the move. He found his room. He seeked out and destroyed. The Hot-Wheel bomb blew up in his room. He came to stay with his Nana and Papa on Saturday night. He did good. He wandered around the house. The upstairs and the downstairs areas both go in a big circle, so he ran circles round and round with his cars.

He did good until bed time.

Now at the old house, he had a baby jail to sleep in because he didn’t have his own room and there was no room for him a bed. So baby jail it was. And he did well in it. But he’s getting to be a big boy and we decided that he’s gotta have a big boy bed at our pad. Ok, so, the boy kisses everybody goodnight and we go off to bed. I figure I’ll lay with him in his new bed until he falls off to sleep. It’s way after his bed time and he’s bushed so it won’t take long for him to drift off, right? Uh, no.

He keeps saying “My bed, Nana.”

I told him, “Yah, baby. This is your big boy bed.”

“No, Nana. My bed.” He says again.

“Show Nana what you want, boy. It’s late and your ass needs to be asleep.”

So, he gets out of the bed, and drags me by my pinkie finger to the livingroom where his baby jail was neatly piled under half a ton of crap. He stands there tugging at it. And it hits me, he needs his lil bed. So, we dig it out and take it in his room. It was like his little security thing. Him needed to have his familiar bed. Him also got away with filling it up with hot wheels and other random toys. He went right to sleep once he was put in it, fists still holding tight to his cars.

---

My only request in the choice of new house was that it have a functional, user-friendly kitchen. Diva likes to cook, but cooking in a kitchen that is ill-set is nothing short of a pain in the arse. This kitchen whips ass! The only thing I want to change is simple. I want to slap an island right in the middle. There is plenty of room and I want it. I want it! I want it! I want it! I’m about to break Veruca Salt (you know, that little bitch from Willy Wonka) if I don’t get my island!

---

We are trying to adjust to having a shower the size of a broom closet in the bathroom in our private, adult only lair. Tony’s a big boy. He’s tall and he’s big. Which means he feels super confined in this thing. He’s actually come out of it fighting mad a couple of times.

My biggest issue is trying to shave my legs in there. Sweet Jesus! I bend over toward the door and I nearly drowned. So I turn around and bend over the other way and I kept knocking the door open with my ass. Something’s gonna have to give there, not sure what or how. Maybe rip the shower out and put a nice, big garden tub in? I vote for that.

---

All in all, this has been an easy move. The lead up to it sucked a big ass, but now that I’m able to go into cruise mode, it’s not so bad. I’m hoping to have the feeling back in my hands soon. Painting over the eccentric colors I just had to have in the old place proved to be an arm/hand killer.

Hopefully once it’s unpacked and perfecto I can take some pictures of the stripper pole and other noteworthy spots in the house.

I know it.  I just do.
I can feel it in the air I breathe and the water I drink.
In the tears I cry and the thoughts I think.
I can feel the loss I soon will experience.

While for us there are three constants in this world.
I am sorry my friend there’s one I can’t keep.
The day you leave will be at least a sad day.
Because no one can live forever.

      “I’ll bet in High School, they voted you ‘Most Likely to Die Laughing…’”
      “Yeah, you just didn’t know they meant AT YOU, eh?”

     I’m gonna take Fracas’ queue here … I hate all this damned negativity.  Negativity SUCKS!  ;-)  And besides, it’s just not like me to be this wound up.  Thpft!  Hyper, laughing, twisted, yeah… *snicker*

1. The Misanthtropic: Name something (about humanity) you absolutely hate adore.

The outpouring of love for the daughter of a friend really goes to show ya how supportive people can be.

2. The Meretricious: Expose something or someone that’s phony, fraudulent or bogus true, honest and good.

Acquaintances comes and go, but true friendship is forever.  My friends … they are my family.

3. The Malcontent: Name something you’re unhappy with.

I’m really happy with the way my weekend turned out given a horrible beginning.  Hanging with friends and making new ones is always a good thing.

4. The Meritorious: Give someone credit for something and name it if you can.

Check out this blog post… That’s the true meaning of a “devoted mother.”

5. The Mirror: See something good about yourself and name it.

No matter what happens, I’ll get through it.  I’m a tough little bastard like that.  And when other people need me, I’m right there with ‘em.

6. The Make-Believe: Name something you wish for.

Even when my give-a-damn factor is bottomed out, where circumstances are completely beyond my control, sometimes I wish there was something I could do to help.  Like now … I wish I could wave my hand and go, “All that stuff your going through?  It’s over.  It never happened.  Neat, eh?”  Unfortunately, cancer just isn’t one of those things.

Instead, you do what you can in your own way.

God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.

Living one day at a time;
Enjoying one moment at a time;
Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;
Taking, as He did, this sinful world
as it is, not as I would have it;
Trusting that He will make all things right
if I surrender to His Will;
That I may be reasonably happy in this life
and supremely happy with Him
Forever in the next.
Amen.

Now it’s your turn.

You can take part in The Monday Melee, even make it a regular feature at your site by visiting The Monday Melee page and following the steps. Kick-start your brain on Mondays and meet other bloggers.

GirlieGeek tagged me a while back to do this shameless meme, but I’ve been in the dark ages for a while and I’m just now getting to it.

I’m supposed to give 8 totally random facts about who Diva is.

So, here we go:

1.  Diva is a very young grandmother at the ripe old age of 36.  Tyler is a two year old -mohawk sportin - curtain crawler and is truly the love of my life! 

2.  Diva digs travel.  I found a super swell job back in 2000 and stayed here.  It affords me the luxury of travelling both the U.S. and Europe.  I’ve been everywhere I’ve ever thought I might want to go and then some.

Diva just found out today she’s going on a European hoooo-haaaaa in October with stops in Germany, Budapest, Italy and France.  I friggin love my job!

3. Diva does karaoke.   I’m a junkie.  I go to Vegas, I karaoke.  I go to NYC, I karaoke.  Everywhere I go, the camera goes with.  Why, to add to my karaoke scrapbook that was started in 1998.

4.  Diva worked her way through school as an adult.  I was a complete idiot in my younger years and didn’t figure I needed an ed-u-ma-cation cuz I was a-gettin married and he’d take care of me.  Sha, right.  In 2000, I went back to school and graduated in 2006.  Go me!

5.  Diva is on the road to freedom.  By the time I reach the big 4-0:  both of my kids will have graduated high school, I will have my MBA, I will lose a bunch more weight (fingers crossed here), and I will be footloose and fancy free.

6.  Diva loves a super cool cat named Tony.  I’m about to get hitched in September. Pretty cool, huh?

7.  Diva and her bridal party are going to trash our dresses immediately after the wedding/reception.  We haven’t quite figured out said method, but I’m sure it will include rescue scuba divers and a two story dock on Norris.   Zacque, grab your camera.  Mark, grab the scuba gear.

8.  I am an offical member of the Knoxville Zoo.  My Tyler is a lover of the camels, therefore, we venture to the zoological gardens often.  I figured out that it was going to be cheaper in the long-run to have a grandparent annual pass, so I could take the boy to see the animals anytime we want to go.

Diva chooses to tag the following kiddies:

Fracas (because she tagged me, paybacks are a bitch)

Mushy (because he drinks to everything)

And anyone else who’s bored and would like to do it.

Just imagine.  Diva is sitting in a quiet, corner booth at Catscratch Jane’s.  It’s 9:30pm on a Wednesday night.  Diva is occupying this booth solo.   This is surreal, and I started thinking, which is usually not a good thing when beer is involved.

My 1st thought is this:  I am sitting here, alone.  Am I bummed that my friends aren’t here?  Am I feeling as if my friends have deserted me for bigger and better things?  Do I feel like I am being neglected?  Am I getting bitter?  No. No. No. No. And no.

I am actually quite content with my life and the way it’s turning out. I’m glad to see all of my friends are happy, content and satisfied in where the last year has taken them.  I am totally capable of amuzing myself and having fun in the situation I find myself in.

My second thought:  Yes, I miss my friends.  But, we have a lifetime of memories made in the short span of approximately one year.  It’s not often that a group of mis-matched people come together like we did.  Every single one of us had some sort of need that this rowdy, loud bunch was filling.  Why, it was only a year ago that we all magically morphed to Catscratch Jane’s.  And dear Lord, the place wouldn’t be the same for several months.

Then something happened.  We all started to settle down.  Some of us fell in love.  Some of us found satisfaction in our careers… Regardless of what it was, we all started to find what we were looking for in life.

All of this brings me to a minor crash in self-analyzation.  I’m 100% secure to know that, although I’m sitting quietly in a corner watching the goings on around me, we all meant and still mean alot to each other.  In some cases, we’re far apart in our physical being. In some cases, we’re just right down the road.  Regardless, we are still together in soul.  Pirates deep down?  Maybe just a little… that Pirate dwells in each one of us forever.

We are really fortunate to have had the opportunity to build bonds that keep us close enough to have a quick lunch, early dinner, a cold beer, or even just a comment on MySpace.  God bless technology.

I really do love where my life is now.  But I still thank God every day that I’ve been blessed with a bounty of friends ~ near and far~ ~old and new~

Sappy, yes.  But, sometimes even Pirates can be sentimental.

1. The Misanthtropic: Name something (about humanity) you absolutely hate.

 I hate that there are some people in this life that take everything that happens to them seriously.  I guess you’d call them drama queens/kings.   These are the people that must have everything revolve around them.  These are the people who keep the shit stirred.  And if they don’t have their own shit stirring, they go and stir some for someone else… just to keep something going at all times. 

People like this need to be bitch-slapped.  Real problems are drama.  Not the fact that your lay of the day, whom you’ve found on an internet dating site, is seeing no less than 4 other people at the same time as you.  This is not drama.  This is poor judgement.

Real life drama is loosing a child.  Real life drama is wondering how you’re gonna pay the rent.  Real life drama is your car breaking down and having no money to fix it.

2. The Meretricious: Expose something or someone that’s phony, fraudulent or bogus.

Paris Hilton.  I know it seems like I’m obsessing over her lately.  Maybe I am because I’m bored and have no real life of my own.  Regardless of that, the skank is totally a fake.  Just because she’s locked up in a cage, she’s claiming to have found Jesus.  She told Babs Walters that she’s been reading the Bible and other and a sorted variety of other religion-inspired books. 

First, I’m not so sure that after only 4 days in jail that the girl had time to read AND ABSORB enough information out of the inspired books.  Look, it takes biblical scholars years and years of reading and studying to make heads and/or tails of the Bible.  And she wants to convince all of us common folk that she’s really getting into it and learning something. 

B- Anybody who watches E! News (or Fox or CNN for that matter) has heard about the humongus “Paris is getting out of jail” bash that’s being planned.  Do you think that she’s gonna read enough about Jesus and righteous living that she’s not gonna turn up a bottle and get ripped?   Me either. 

3. The Malcontent: Name something you’re unhappy with.

I’m extremely unhappy that I went outside on a scorching hot Sunday afternoon to wash my car.  I did a bang up job too.  I even cleaned the wheels with that crap that can eat the skin off of your hands.   It looked super great!

I went in the house to get a glass of ice water.  When I came back outside 10 minutes later a bird had already shit on the trunk.

4. The Meritorious: Give someone credit for something and name it if you can.

I give my kids credit today.  After all that he put them through while they were growing up, they still try to treat their dad with some sort of love and respect.

5. The Mirror: See something good about yourself and name it.

I am coming out of “sloth” mode and getting motivated to do something and be somebody again.  Which actually feels really, really good.

6. The Make-Believe: Name something you wish for.

I think I’ll wish for sex this week.  Sex and days off from work.  Sex, days off from work and a new car.  Sex, days off from work, a new car and to win the lottery. 

Sex, days off from work, a new car, to win the lottery, and lots of beer.  Yah, that would make today alot of fun.  Sex, on my extra day off, in my new car that I got with my winnings from the lottery which was sponsered by a beer company.

Yah, that’s it.

Now it’s your turn.

You can take part in The Monday Melee, even make it a regular feature at your site by visiting The Monday Melee page and following the steps. Kick-start your brain on Mondays and meet other bloggers.