Two years ago, a group of women known as “The Pirate Chicks” help pull me out of a bad, bad funk.  Although we don’t keep in touch so well anymore, I still consider ‘em to be like sisters.  They were family when I felt I had none.
     One passed away, and I wrote this bit, and couldn’t ever bring myself to hit Publish.  It always seemed incomplete somehow.  In other ways, I felt it was too harsh.  Besides, I was falling back into the funk again and unwilling to admit it.  Eventually, I found myself unable to follow my own advice, and thought, “How can I drop that in there if I’m unwilling to do it myself?”

     A little later, I met my Wildcat.  Writing kinda took a back seat.  She’s taught me to be more patient (I said more patient, not patient *snicker*).  She showed me how to Love, when I’d always kept just enough distance so that I could save myself at the last second.
     No matter the roller coaster, I’m just glad I’m on it with her.

     Suddenly, today, I got lucid and realized how much outside crap can get in the way of being happy. I read through this, and thought, “Man, I broke my Number One Rule!  Mark, you asshat…”
     Then I laughed. 

     Seems that was the whole point… To Laugh.

     And so, today, I’m gonna ignore that fear of hitting the publish button on a blog that’s been sitting in draft for over a year…

     Enjoy.

     I’ve had some friends going through some pretty rough things, so I’ve been adding to this as I go.  I wanted it to be a small, concise thing, but that’s just not gonna happen. Every time I think I’ve got it all there, there’s a 10% more that someone else will come along with.  Those things give me pause to try and work it in.

     So … on with it. 

     Some people will tell you, “Happiness is hard to find.”  If they have a French accent, it sounds like, “A penis is hard to fine.”  Either way, it’s one of the biggest loads of horse-puckey I’ve ever heard.  Some of this might be hard to hear, but if you’re unhappy, I urge you to give it a try.

1. It is impossible to be objective when you’re being an Asshat.

     Seriously, it is.  If you’re unhappy, and you have your head up your ass, you are lacking a very important vantage point where you can step back from a given situation and look at it practically and logically.
     This can lead to you making, or being led into, some pretty stupid situations which can only serve in prolonging your state of mind. [ Note: and make you feel like you're in a world of shit. Go figure! ]

2. What you feel is not wrong.  What you do with it might be.

     It doesn’t matter if what you’re feeling is anger, hatred, fear, loathing, worry or any of those other “negative” feelings.  They are not negative, and have absolutely no bearing on your happiness.  They’re defense mechanisms, and they’re supposed to be warning you to step back and take a look at a situation from a different point of view.

     Here’s a parable:
     I was sitting in a bar in Waterloo in 1986, and someone brought around the shooters.  Yellow shooters.  This shooter happened to be an intensely sweet, oily liquer made of Bananas.  Not 99. Not 100.  Not 1000.  Ten Thousand Bananas.  That’s what that shit was called.
     It turned my stomach, and I ran to the bathroom and got sick.  Fortunately, I made it to the toilet, didn’t make a mess, or anything else.  Controlled puking.
     After I expelled the offensive liquid, I went back to the table, smiling, and drank the rest of the night.
     But now — I HATE BANANAS.  The flavor of a Banana reminds me of that incident.  It reminds me of some people I was with.  It reminds me of some people not to trust.  And, especially, it reminds me of the rotten disgust that was in my stomach at the time.
     So I have an irrational hatred of Bananas, and probably always will.
     But If I start berating someone who offered me a banana, that’d be pretty freakin’ unhealthy.

     Hate, anger, worry, stress … they’re natural.  If your “religion” tells you they’re bad, then why would God give ‘em to ya to feel?  They’re defense mechanisms, plain and simple.  Basic instinct.  And they can be used to help motivate you.

3. If you lie down with dogs, you’ll get fleas.

     Wallowing in self-pity is the worst thing you can do.  It’s also very selfish and Toxic.  Toxic people will make everyone around them sick — just like fleas.  If you’re a Toxic person, then you should at least have the decency not to spread it to other people.

      If you’re in a situation where a person’s very existence makes you unhappy, then find someone else to hang out with.  That is so simple, it’s ridiculous.

4. If you’re having a bad day, approximately 6 Billion people will not give a damn.

     That’s a hard Truth for a lot of people to swallow.  Noboby, or at least very few people, care whether or not you’re unhappy.  And nobody can make it better, no matter how much they care about you.
     You are alone.  Shut your hole.

5. Your happiness does not depend on anything else but you.

     You can choose to be unhappy and hurt, or you can choose to not give a damn and go on.  Sure, you can be happy to see your family, friends, lovers, bands, celebrities, and so on… but ultimately, you’re the one who chooses to be happy when you see them.  It’s artificial.
     Ponder that thought, where the very sight of someone makes you happy.  Why does it?  Sometimes, you’ll come up with the right answer.

6. Your belief in God cannot make you a happy person.

     Some people will use their belief in God as a springboard to think that they’re better than someone else.  Others will use their Faith to try and pretend to be happy, when in fact, they’re an Unholy mess.  A great majority pray to God to get them out of that mess instead of taking the steps to pick themselves up.
     So let’s get one thing straight: God hates whiners. 
     As it says in the Vedas, “Call on God, but row away from the Rocks.”

9. You control your own destiny.

     One of the biggest mistakes a lot of people make is blaming their circumstances on someone else.  It’s someone else’s fault that the house is a mess.  It’s someone else’s fault you can’t afford a new car.  It’s someone else’s fault that you got drunk last night — she was cute, and you just couldn’t he… nevermind.
     When it comes right down to it, most people will blame their past for the reason they’re not doing what it takes to make things right in the present.  
     Three words:  What.  Ev.  Er.

     If it’s dirty, clean it up.  Budget better.  Put down the friggin’ glass.  It’s easy.

     And if you let your past hold you back from enjoying yourself, it’s time to grow up and take responsibility for your own actions.  Getting all manic because someone said the same thing someone else said twenty years ago is about as out-of-context as you can get.
     The 80’s are over.  Enough with days of the Powder Blue Sport Jacket!
     Oh, and 90’s are over, too.  Are you really that traumatized that Kurt Cobain blew his brains out?

10. Worrying about things you can’t do anything about is futile.

     Even I fall victim to this one, and it’s one of the worst.

     People are dying in some far corner of the world.  Children are starving to death in First World countries.  The Pentagon has its agenda.  Politicians are screwing you over.  And it’s bugging the shit out of you right now that there’s no Seven or Eight in this list.
     And none of this matters one iota to your happiness.

     You have to keep in mind that stressing over things that you have no control or bearing over makes you part of the problem — your bitching and complaining will probably make someone else unhappy, so for chrissakes, just shut up. 

     And refer back to other sections as necessary.

     It’s been a crazy year since last Thanksgiving.  Certainly, an abnormal and unusual amount of “bad stuff” far beyond my control has transpired, as well as a ridiculous amount from my own poor choices.  If I were to sit and reflect on it all, I’d probably end up depressed.

     But…

     Defeats made me savor victories.  Losses made me appreciate what I gained.  Every tear made me laugh even harder.
     For that, I’m thankful.

     Nearly every time I was in need, someone else had it worse.  I did what I could when I could, and the favors were returned in kind.
     For those, I’m thankful.

     The short list of people I consider “family” has grown tremendously longer.  For every loss, three were gained.  Those who were there already have gotten a whole lot closer.  
     For them, I’m thankful.

     As I sit here this morning, anticipating a huge dinner with my Wildcat and her family, I can’t help but reflect that if even one thing had happened differently, I wouldn’t have ended up here.
     For us, I’m thankful.

(Video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BTvDDEB5aQQ)

     Sometimes, things happen for a reason.  That’s why it’s important to count your blessings and be thankful for silver linings.

     To all my friends, to all my family, and all of my friends who are family, I hope you have a wonderful Thanksgiving!

Thanks, Mark!  Looks just like me!

     This isn’t a Halloween prank.  It’s absolutely true.

     So, first off, let’s get one big-ass presumtion outta the way: I don’t believe in ghosts.  I generally think they’re a nutjob’s way of attempting to give order to a chaotic life. 

     In fact, I’m an extremely logical person, with a stranglehold on reality.  Truth is stranger — and, generally, funnier — than fiction, so I don’t bother with the latter…
     …even though I’ve had a couple of really weird experiences which’ve made me question my own sanity.

     So this?  This is a weird one.  It’s on of those borderline, “Oh, yeah, he’s nuts, look!  There’s the proof!” kinda posts.  But honestly, I don’t give a damn what anyone else thinks.  Fortunately, there were other people with me, witnessing the same things, and saying, “Oh crap!” right along with me.  Or words to that effect…

     Earlier this year, the twenty-first of February to be exact, the Pirates and I lost a close friend.  The reactions were mixed.  Some were angry about the way she went, some were distraught that she was gone, and some were nostalgic.
     A very tiny minority of us remembered the way she was, laughed along with our memories,  and kept right on laughing and smiling.  Our attitudes helped us be there for the others who weren’t doing so well.

     On February 25th, after a brief meeting with some of the aforementioned, Zacque and I decided to head off somewhere other than the usual hangout to have a drink.
     That’s crucial to this story, see, because neither of us had been drinking yet.

     So I’m driving down I-75 when all of a sudden, my telephone rings.  I always look at the Caller ID, and was shocked to “Susan” appear.  I decided, logically, that her daughter was calling from her phone.
     “What’s up?” I answered.
     “Nothing much,” the voice on the other end replied.
     That voice… “Susan?”
     “Oh, HA-HA!  You don’t say!” she laughed.
     “Uhhh, what the Hell?  This isn’t funny!” I yelled.
     “Oh, Hey, hey, hey!” she yelled, still laughing.  “You know what you should do?”
     “What?” I snapped.  It was her… but I knew it couldn’t be her.
     “You should take Zacque out for a drink!” she said.
     “That’s what we’re doing…”
     “Yeah, I figured.  Well, you two be careful, ok?” she mothered.
     “Always,” I monotoned.
     “Love ya, bye!” she said.  Same as she ever was.
     She hung up.

      I was about to tell Zacque what was going on as the tears welled in my eyes, but the phone rang again — again from Susan.

      “Oh, hey!” she yelled when I answered.  “Mark, listen to me — this is very important!”
     I was pulling into the parking space at the bar.  “What’s up?”
     “You have to check your right, rear wheel.  It’s really important!”
     “Uhhh, what?” I asked, confused.
     “Just do it, ok?  Promise me!”
     “Okay, I promise,” I said.
     “Oh, and fix your speaker!” she added.  “Love ya, bye!”
     I turned the car off.  The tears began to stream.  Was I losing my mind?

     I looked at Zacque.  “Look at the Caller ID,” I said as I handed him the phone.
     “What’d she say?”
     “To check my rear passenger wheel and fix my speaker…”
     We sat in the parking lot for a few minutes, finally deciding to head to my place instead of hanging out drinking.  Zacque was visibly shaken, nervous.
     “Ok,” I said.  “Guess I’ll drive so I can check my wheel tomorrow…”
     As I started the car, the right rear speaker blasted out nothing but loud static.
     I turned the car off.
     “On second thought, Zacque,” I started.  “You drive.”
     I lost it… Crying scared.

     The next day, with great hangovers, we drove back to my car to inspect this mysterious “right rear wheel.”
     As we laid down on the concrete, we simultaneously saw a quarter-inch off-brand wrench hanging precariously from the brake’s bleeder valve inside.  It was close to falling off by itself, and most probably would have locked the wheel, if only temporarily… but certainly enough to cause major damage to the car, and maybe even to me if I hadn’t found and corrected the situation.

     Saved by a phone call from a dead friend?

     Oh, there was more over the next few months.  Sporadic phone calls, voice mails, and miscellanous other forms of “contact” which were witnessed by others.

     In April, I was going through a bit of a legal mess.  One night, while sitting around with a group of friends, I got another of her strange phone calls.
     “Well, hey!  Well, hey!  Well, hey, hey, hey!  Do you know what you should do?” she said.
     “No.”
     “Well goddamn!  What happened to you?” she said with concern.  “You have to remember one thing.”
     “What?”
     “I’m rat-cheer,” she said in her best Southwen drawl.
     “What?”
     “Rat-cheer.”
     “Right here?”
     “Rat-cheer.”
     “No… You’re not.”
     “But if you need me to testify for you, you know I will.”
     “What?”
     ”I’m rat-cheer.  See ya!”
     *click*
     I turned off my phone that night.
     As for the court case I was involved in, I wished Susan could’ve been there.  She witnessed a lot of what I was testifying about, as well.  In court, I attempted to get another witness to repeat what Susan had said about the incidents, but the testimony was kicked out as hearsay (which it wasn’t).
     Still, I won my case.  Her call made me get my ducks in a row.

     The last fully verifiable contact I received from her was on May 19th, 2007 at 9:26AM EDT.  Here it is:

(Video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jcz2PQewUbU)

     On June 29th, a girl I know told me she had late night conversation with Susan when calling my telephone.  I was verifiably passed out at the time, having taken a tumble through a glass tabletop.  Others who were around that night swear that no one talked to the girl in question, either.
     At the time, I chalked it up to nonsense.  But in retrospect, perhaps it was her way of keeping me safe again…

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.

Mark already did the big announcement about the deed. And I’ve been so unfortunately busy in the last month and a half that I’ve barely had time to think. Anyhoo. Here would be some of the photographic evidence that girls do go wild indeed. Just don’t go telling anybody. For the record, I was extremely well behaved and used the sexy little bouncer for all of my stunts.

Ahh, ya gotta love a bunch of Pirate Chicks along with those who come along for the Pirate Chick ride. Ya just do. They never let a special event go by without celebrating with cake and alcohol.

Becky and Natalie decided that come hell or high water there should be a bachelorette party the week before the wedding.

It was a beautiful evening, not too hot, not too cold. We all met up at Hooters for dinner and a drink. It was nice. Our little waitresses were super sweet, although I must say, I honestly thought I’d see more tits and ass. Not that they weren’t precious in their little Hooters gear, they were. But my 14 year old neice has more boobie and butt than these poor girls had.

Meet Ashley and Felicia:

The Hot boneless chicken tenders were tasty as all hell, my lips were nice and tingly for a while though. The girls decided to get me a cute little shirt to commemorate the joyous occassion.

In general, Hooters doesn’t see many bachelorette parties, but they do get hoards of bachelor parties… So, they improvised and got the Bachelor Party Shirt and turned into a Bachelorette Party shirt that all the little girls in tight Hooter’s shirts signed with loves n kisses.

We decided that it was time to continue on and move the festivities to Coyote Joe where Natalie and Holly had decorated and made it look like a scene from a slasher flick with the “Wild Girls- Caution” tape.

They adorned Diva with a princess tiara which boldly stated that I am indeed the Bride to Be… and if there was any question left due to the tiara being hiddeny by my hair which was erect like a hard penis, then the big Bride to Be button aptly placed between my breasts certainly gave it away.

So, we go in and invade the corner lot of CJ, nothing different there.

Olga made a real honest to God rum cake. It was a Jolly Roger, cuz she knows how we pirates roll.

We love the booty, especially rum laced booty.

Precious came and gave me congratulations lovins when she brought the multitude of drinks over.

It was time to have a little fun. We had games on tap, and honestly, watching them set up the Pin the Bow-Tie on the Bachelor was more fun than playing it.

Amanda gave the poster a hard on when she licked it from thigh to belly-button.

And Steph gave our bachelor a nice sized penis to look at…

Onward and upward we go. We had Do the Dare Cards. I mean the name alone implies that there will be some mischief going on. Let the photographic evidence be known!!

I need to state that, I, as the bride to be, didn’t do anything extreme. On the contrary, I was very well behaved. Four of the six cards I drew from the deck were completed by our sweetheart of a bouncer. God bless you, sugar!

Diva’s cards dared her to:

• get the bouncer to laugh for 100 points. Done!
• get a hunk to give her a neck massage. Done!
• get the phone number of a hot guy. Done!
• get a man to show you a hidden tattoo. Done! (It was on his upper thigh)
• get the bartender to give you a free drink. Done!
• find a guy, grab his ass, and tell him he has a nice ass. Done! (Twice!)

(Steph was witness. Two guys, two butts, double points!)

Here are some photos of the festivities! Enjoy!

Shawna found a baldguy & kissed him on top of his head:

Natalie and Amanda took the cake when they talked one of the big biker boys out of his drawers.

     In case anyone was wondering, yes, it really happened.

     At precisely 2PM on Saturday, September 29th, 2007, our Virulent Virtuoso of Vagary (and Prominent Proponent of Piratry!), Ms. Diva Howe, finally tied the knot with the love of her life.

     The Great Underwear Crisis was solved.  And no, there was no Spiderman cake.

     And from the looks of it, Tony is actually able to handle her.

     And so, Diva, Tony, I give you two bits of wisdom as you proceed down your road together:

1. Don’t sweat the small stuff.
2. It’s all small stuff.

     *cheers!*

So, today marks the day of an ever so joyous event.  Diva’s bachelorette party!!!  Yay!

Well, our beloved Mark is sitting back, and sniveling, because he has a penis, not a vagina.

No penises at Diva’s bachelorette party.  Only people who are proud owners of a vagina are allowed as we will be greatly misbehaved and no males are allowed to be there to witness such naughty things as will be going on tonight. 

In addition to lotsa drinkin, games on tap include:

Pin the bow-tie on the bachelor, Do or dare cards (which promises to be loads of fun since Robyn will do almost anything if dared), and a naughty scavenger hunt.

Details and photographic evidence to follow.

Women are catty.  Especially toward each other.  Especially when one woman has performed an act of woman on woman betrayal.  It is not something taken lightly and is most likely not to be forgiven. 

Over the last several years, I have emerged from spending most of my time locked in the house and being a slave to my life, kids, ex-husband… blah, blah, blah.    I was a young 17 when I married my first husband and didn’t experience the “meat market” type bar scene in which women are all in competition with one another to take some schmo home.  Pu-leaze. 

Then I toddled into life as a single, grown woman.  It was never my intention to pick up on any dude at all.  We (the Pirates) were always out, and if you saw one, the rest weren’t too far behind.  We generally were out together, as a group, on Wednesday and Friday for close to a year.   During that year I witnessed several acts of sluttiness on various levels and even fell victim once to a chick chasing my fella.  Of course, this chick (as it turns out) has extremely low self esteem and chases anything with a penis.

Even though I’m not single anymore and I have no desire to go back to yesterdrama… Damn if I don’t hold a helluva grudge toward someone in particular that recently not so directly crossed my path.  She was just in the area.  The fur on the back of my neck stood up and my claws came out and if I’m not mistaken, I think I even hissed a few times.  And they wanted me to come out and have a drink in the same bat bar at the same bat time??  Um.  No.  I’ll stay home and watch Burn Notice, thanks!

Expressing interest in a man that another woman has already expressed interest in is a huge no-no.  Even if you are sadly repugnant and shameless.  Wouldn’t you rather keep your girlfriend  (who you know will be there for you for life) than to stab her in the back in order to have a one night fling with a man who is going to talk down about you to his friends and other lovers who know about you?

Kissing another girl’s man when she goes to the bathroom is also a big no-no.  Seriously.  Do you think that his girl isn’t going to find out that you waited until she got up and excused herself from the table, before you not-so-eloquently shoved your tongue down his throat?  If the girl has any real friends, they will tell her about your skanky ways as soon as she gets back to the table.  In general, you will have lost a friend (maybe several) as well as becoming a laughing stock.  (I witnessed this scenario last spring… since I wasn’t involved, it was actually quite amusing).

No, no.  I know what you’re thinkin after that skanky blog from weeks gone by, but no.

Everybody has a thing about grabbing hold of and/or making pictures of my boobs.  Don’t ask me why.  I have no idea. Could it be that they are just so damn touchable, lets say like Charmin?  But God gave ‘em to me to put pretty bras on, so I do.  Then,  Zacque or Robyn or any number of other Pirate types, end up snapping pictures of them.

This is my birthday squeeze. 

Why I got molested here is way beyond me, as this was Niki’s birthday.

The Darkside double-dipped with me & Robyn.  The little perv.

The full on Pirate Grope.  Jeez.

Becky goin for the goods.  Heh.

Yup. Molested by Susan, too. Look at that face.  Tell me she didn’t like it!

Group boobie grabbin’!

Notice, I’m innocent. I’m always the grab-ee, not the grabber!