i have a secret

i got your attention.

you should know better...secrets are meant to be kept not told.

you know I am going to say it so here it goes...what a month! i have neglected my blog, i am run down due to my lack of creativity, my prisoner misses me something awful, I put on a good holiday 5 (thanks mom), and we're headed towards the dark days of january. stay tuned for more mediocre news.

what's new with josie? thanks for asking. i didn't get that pony i wished for in my letter to claus, but it gives me something to aim for next year. i recovered nicely from a brutal infection to the right kidney, i have a new baby with whiskers named little jerry seinfeld, my hair is growing like a weed, i am no longer a hookah virgin, i've resolved to make no resolutions for 08 except to perfect my craft performing as a ventriloquist, i've adopted a fondness for british sitcom humor, and i've successfully managed to obtain a negative outlook towards squirrels as one put his vicious teeth near my shin at 6 am this morning. i wish i were joking.

while i was on my death bed for a couple of days i optimistically created a small list of benefits to being ill. try these on for size:
* diet. depending on the severity of your ailment one can generally lose a good 5-6 pounds. food sounds as tempting as playing fetch with a tiger.
* this one is for the frugal at heart - save money. while you build up that immune system you build up that pocket book - good for you! due to fever one might say or act in an "unintelligble" manner. use this time wisely. any built up aggressions can be exercised here.
* catch up on your soaps. haven't seen days of our lives in 5 years? no worries. the plot is the same with a few added twists. the child actors are now remarkably the same age as their parents who have apparently discovered the fountain of youth.

in all sincerity, i do resolve to blog more in '08 and, with the aid of my new laptop, kudos to my generous and endearing employer, will be wrting with regularity during the dark days. get ready folks.

have a safe and happy holiday, and please don't do anything i would not do [wink]
~ j

i'm craving mashed potatoes. mmmmm!

WELCOME TO THE WORLD BABY ETHAN!
WE LOVE YOU,

Josie

I am going to get my locks scissor'd this afternoon. It's been 4 months since I have had a haircut which is a beauty no-no for girlies. It's worth the money not only for the cut but to have someone tossle, pull and play with your hair. Heavenly. I could deal without the forced coversation. I wanna close my eyes, enjoy the head rub and daydream about mini-monkeys.

It's December 6 and I've yet to purchase one Christmas gift. That's right. This is typical of me and really I am far more efficient under pressure. It wouldn't be out of the norm for me to wait until Christmas Eve, in fact. Don't get me wrong, I have made my list and I could easily knock out my shopping in 2 hours (easy!) but that would be, well, too easy. I enjoy the madness, the disarray, the chest pains.

During lunch I saw a lady on the usual bum stand at the corner of a stoplight holding an “I am Hungry” sign and a bright pink toy guitar. Her intent was to give the instrument away in exchange for food. I was consumed with emotion yet it was difficult to determine whether it was anger or sadness. Did the child know his momma was selling his strummer on the streets ? Would anyone actually accept the guitar? At first I thought it was her desire to lure in potential traders with a tune but when I didn’t see a guitar case where the cash goes I totally dismissed that idea. The thing that amazed me the most is that the smiley woman was seemingly happy and was kind to those that greeted her. She was probably high. Talk about hard times.

I've got nothing clever to say and I am exhausted ~ I will try to chat tomorrow.

Goodnight, J

lord i was born a ramblin' [wo]man

I'm sleeeepy. The heater residing under my desk is working harder than a Mexican on payday. The bastard is directing it's venom at my cowboy boots which has me in a trance. I could not be forced to stand if the building were on fire. Evil.

I have a bump located on the inside of my right nostril. I'm not sure what it is but odds are good you have suffered from the same malady at one time or another. I can't quit touching the damn thing. Everytime I stick my index finger into my sniffer someone catches me. I want to scream "it's not what you think I'm just pickin' at a scab in my nose" but this isn't necessarily the lesser of the two evil options. What if it's a tumor!

I just turned off my space heater. Some people have issues with excessive eating, many struggle with coke habits, then you have your porn addicts. I am a space heater junkie. Why won't you just get out of my life!!!

I am going through my book of poetry (did that turn you on) back from some of the dark days:

_____________________________________
Can’t say I wouldn’t blame you
It has tormented my thoughts
When the time comes I won’t sit still
For the greatest love that was lost

You’re not even gone and I've dug your grave
Planning my demise for the heart I can’t save
swallowing hard the pain growing inside
my smile, my laughter, my soul has died

I write a story about a one true love
reluctant girl so complicated but true
lost her heart to the boy of her dreams
all alone and there was nothing to do
______________________________________

The heater returned to life just now without my directing it to.

Do do do da do do do do do...

I was reading my "Word 2007 for DUMMIES" book just now [I like how dummies is the only word in all caps - thanks Dan Gookin] and I am bothered with Dan's attempt at being witty resulting in shamefully dorky. For example, Chapter 19 "Lines and Boxes Around Your Text" Dan starts off the paragraph with "Here a Line. There a Line. Everywhere a line-line". Quit! Chapter 15 "Creating a Section" Danny starts off the paragraph with "Breaking up your documents isn't hard to do". Your killin' me D. I would almost prefer to learn Word 2007 the hard way. This reminds me of a schmaltzy, trying too hard to be hip, middle-aged youth minister you'll find leading a group of vulnerable teens at the neighborhood Pizza Hut on a Sunday afternoon following youth group bible study. "Today we're gonna rock god, guys, because the lord is rad, okay". Dude has more energy than a broker on crack and is happier than a housewife on prozac. He's probably sporting the jean jacket paired with jeans look which might be the biggest fashion OH NO! You all know this guy. He talks with his hands. He likes to do the 'one clap' after finishing a sentence. He's a closet Cho-Mo [thanks Zub].

Thought of the day: try at best to refrain from sexual encounters in a swimming pool during daylight hours, more so if you are within arms reach of a child. This could be frowned upon. Billy goat!

Friday.

Enough said.

Love, J

take 2 and call me in the morning...

“Some would die for that one thing”…jm

I'm a tad under the weather on this dreary Thursday. A trooper I am and I have plenty to say today...

For starters, I would like to further acknowledge my feelings in continuance of yesterday’s post concerning all things Merry Christmas. Now then, it was not my desire to portray a negative spirit in respect to the most expensive and overrated holiday of the year. In fact, there are many aspects to the holiday I miss just as a toothless man with an apple yearns for his teeth.

I miss the snow. I miss door-to-door Christmas carolers. I miss baking holiday treats with my mother. I miss begging my parents to bring out the Christmas albums in late November and the parents always retorting “it’s too early”. I miss writing letters to Santa even when I secretly no longer believed in him. I miss hot cocoa and homemade bread following a walk home from school in frigid Omaha winter weather. I miss spending a night out in the cold searching for the perfect douglas fir tree. I miss the smell of a real tree. I remember, with fondness, decorating the tree with my family as we listened to album after album filled with classic Christmas tunes. I miss going through the box of ornaments thinking "remember this one". I miss the bubble lights my father put on the tree every year and waiting patiently for the bulbs to do their magic. I couldn’t wait to go to children’s Christmas Mass on Christmas Eve followed by a trip to my grandmother’s house where we’d unite with other family members and open gifts. I long for the innocence of Christmas that has been missing for years. As a child it was never about money, gifts or who got what. I never questioned why Santa didn’t bring me the pricey toy my classmate was lucky enough to find under her tree. I loved the ambiance of it all beginning with putting our biggest shoes out before bed so St. Nic could fill them with candy on Saint Nicolas Day to the Christmas school play leading up to Christmas break. It was remarkably special to me and I remember feeling a little empty after it was over. I look forward to the sentiment returning soon.

In other news, I heard from my one and only pen pal Zub today. Due to my lack of correspondence my prisoner pal thought I had forgotten about him and no longer desired the companionship. Little does he know I am pining for the day he walks out those prison doors and finds me, flower in hand tear in eye, and jump into his manly arms and profess my love.

In his latest communication, Zub shares additional terms, also known as “prison lingo” for educational purposes. New prison commitments are known around the big house as “fish”, “fresh fish” and “shorthairs”. Child molesters are known as dead. Nah not really. They’re known as “Cho-Moes." African Americans (Zub uses the word blacks but I am a politically correct individual, ya’ll) are known as “frogs” and “toads." Mexicans – “spics” and whites “crackers” and “White boy”. If someone is referred to as a “punk”, “bitch” or a “nancy boy” it means he is either a homosexual or a weak convict. How about those fun facts?

Someone asked me last night - what do you do for a living - and I answered “In real life or pretend?” Two totally different things, trust me. Night and day.

Does anyone ever use the following phrase when praising a job well done “you really picked up the ball with that one” or “please pick the up the ball this time – you have a tendency to drop a lot of balls and screw us all”. I’m just wondering.

My friend Ellie suggested today that I write for Hallmark because I am always dishing out clever rhymes like I’m Dr. Suess. Ingenious. In an attempt to warm up the brain for this challenging but rewarding endeavor, I am tossing around a few ideas and would like to use this blog as a place to examine these preliminary masterpieces. For those of you wondering, I’m not biased to birthday greetings. I forecast stronger profit earnings with diversity. Sure, it’s a little more demanding on the ‘ole processor upstairs, but I think it’s fair to say it would be a shame to allow this talent to go to waste. Lets rumble:

Front – “We asked you to dinner last night. You brought your appetite but no money”. Inside – “Get a job.”

No? How about…

Front – “This morning I stepped in a messy pile of dog poop that I can't seem to remove from the grooves of my tennis shoes. ” Inside – “Thinking of You”.

Seriously, I’m just getting started.

Front – “Heard you were ill” Inside – “maybe that one night stand wasn’t such a great idea”.

Front – "At least he was old" Inside - “My condolensces”.

Front - "Forgive me?" Inside - "say yes - let's not worry with details".

Front - "So what! You're alone on your birthday - this is your day!" Inside - "[this part intentionally left blank]"

Front – “I may be miles away but what can I say you brighten my day in such a way that’s more than okay and no I’m not gay I just want to say HEY” Inside – “let’s stop the nonsense and move away from the chatroom and into the bedroom”…

Now don't go running off and selling my ideas to Hallmark.

Important business to tend to so I’m OUT like denim on denim.

PEACE ~ J

the twelfth month

"Your life is what your thoughts make of it"...

December is upon us, guyz. I was tempted to throw in a “finally” just then but let’s be real. I feel like we did the time warp to arrive, once again, at the twelfth month of the year. I recollect New Years morning of ’07 like it was yesterday. A hung-over Naylor greeting Nikki and I with remarkable confidence in his best Budweiser baritone voice "welcome to 2007 ladies.” That day feels more like yesterday than yesterday. Remember, as a child, when the Christmas season seemed to last longer than the schoolyear? Waiting with anxiety day after day for the 25th. Today the holiday causes me nothing but stress-induced anxiety.

The December Dark Days, or "DDD", are the days I scurry about in a daze mixed with increased hypertension, lugging around an endless “to do” and “to buy for” list. This is the time of year I fight the urge to hide for 30 days. Sure we’re all suppose to be jolly and spreading Christmas cheer but really I don't enjoy the Christmas Season until Christmas day. I hate to say it, but while everyone else pouts about how Christmas is over, I'm celebrating with a sigh of relief. I'm not a Scrooge. Christmas was my favorite holiday up until I reached my mid 20's, found myself single and struggling to get through Christmas. It's a stressful time. I earn an extra ulcer each season trying to find the perfect gifts but end up settling for appropriate. It can also be a very lonely time if you are single. During the triple D’s you are constantly asked "what would you like for Christmas" and I spat out "really nothing" which is never good enough. Truth be told, there is nothing I want that I feel comfortable asking from you. Would you like to pay off my car? How about a nice down payment on a house? Can you find me a new hobby? Can you tell me if I am doing the right thing with my life? How about a six-figured paying job? I love Christmas for children because, well, that's what the holiday is all about. I love the traditional aspect to Christmas but it seems with each passing year we are becoming further removed from those fundamentals. Heck, I might be reprimanded for using the word Christmas . One more thing, what happened to good old-fashioned Bing Crosby Christmas music? It should be a crime to own a Christmas cd of the hip-hop genre. One word, 5 letters - gross.

The Salvation Army bell ringers must have the worst job ever created by man. Okay, it’s honorable, yes. They probably have their share to as many candy canes as they desire, sure. I don’t know what would drive me to insanity first – the boredom, the bells, or “bell ringing” in a slow, merciless drizzle accompanied by a 30 degree temperature. Do these guys earn a dollar or is strictly charity work? I’m only saying what you’re already thinking.

Another sad thing about DDD is when I leave the office in the early evening it is dark and cold outside. This is non-conducive towards any kind of running ritual or exercise regimen, it turns us into sloths, and temporarily gives us a good 9-10 waking hours per day which most of us spend with our co-workers and at our desks. We’re pasty, if we’re not fat we feel it, and lack motivation for just about anything except eating and sleeping which requires little push. Oh – and sex. Sex is doable. I need to consider a new climate – and a primate…named Roger [wink]!

In closing, I look forward to the month of January for one reason - because it is quiet.

JM

rant party of three...

~No one is perfect until you fall in love with them ~

While impatiently waiting in line at the post office the other day, I heard one u.s. postal worker whine to another “I’ve been walking around with this damn monkey on my back”. While I can't tell you what this means exactly I can say - I wish. Gripers this is an occasion to celebrate, not mope. Stop that bellyaching it’s time for a little fun. Dress that monkey up. Telephone the plumber, the cable guy, gas company – what have you - and put in a house call for repairs. Have the monkey answer the door and [wink] play like he is the homeowner while you hide in the closet and have yourself a well deserved laugh.

Awkward silences. I had to pick up a complete stranger from the airport this morning. This gentleman was interviewing with my firm today and, because I was already “away from the office” I was delegated the lucky candidate to meet and greet this fella. During the fatiguing commute from the airport to my office I pulled everything out of my repertoire including my aversion to green beans and fondness for Asian men. Had I not been driving I would have tap danced for the boy if necessary. I am not positive but pretty confident I asked him twice what city he called home. I was mind boggled. I am 100 percent positive that during one of the more painfully long silences I nervously sang “do-ta-do” while staring off to the left out of the drivers side window”.

Myspace: I hate it. I once had an account and it didn’t work out for me because it seemed to cause too much social drama. On the flipside, I am still addicted to it. I found a loophole in the myspace system. One can still myspace without having an account of your own. How is this possible you ask? Borrow someone’s login and password and use their account as if it were your own. This is similar to when a good friend has a baby and you get to hold it, gaga goo at it, and all that jive but you can unload the bambino on mommy when you sense a blood hurling howl on the horizon [I dare ya to try to spit that riddle out with a quickness].

Space heaters are more addicting than crack [never have tried crack – it’s a figure of speech stop shaking your head in disappointment]. You’re body is burning up like you are fighting scarlet fever, you’re starting to feel queasy, every time you lift your arm the world is privy to the dark ring of pit sweat on your shirt. Should you be required to temporarily leave your warming zone you maneuver around like you are 80 years old and malnourished. Warning: your body will go into shock. You've become a victim to the small box exuding heat. It’s like your favorite 90’s hairband love ballads cd, you can’t live or without the darn thing. Off and on. On and off. It is a vicious cycle.

Happy Birthday Ellie.

Until my next rant,

Ms. McSasssssss

Heart-Breaking the Seal

"The Untold Perspective of Feces Fiasco" by Ohio R.

The following is the rebuttal to a dear friend on a funny incident she experienced with, at the time, a new companion. Some of you may recall Josie's very first blog "breaktheseal" - a sad tale about a date gone very wrong. This is all in fun and not an attempt to upset or infuriate either party involved.

An initial intimate meeting between opposite gender's is composed of fascination with one another. It is more or less an interview session sprinkled with a little chit chat. Depending on if it goes good there is a possibility of romance. Unfortunately there is another obstacle. I like to call it Stage One. It's all good if it's a successful battle for the male.

The man has to be perfect (according to that particular female's idea of perfection). One slip up of any occurrence that appalls the female and the man is doomed. Lick your wounds and keep on keeping on. Thanks to society [sarcasm] it makes it tough for a guy to overcome this obstacle. Success happens rarely. Someone tell the Beatles this is where the lonely people come from. Those men who make it past the first stage have it made. Once the female gets a perfect picture of you, you are golden. You will never have to be golden again, silver, even the bronze will survive. Warning, it can be the smallest of things that destroys chance. Note, I am an expert on this matter and the following story will give you proof.

I have known this silly and outlandish girl for a short period of time. My friends thought I was retarded for using my masterful pick up line, but they were so wrong. Being the sagacious soul that I am, I pulled out my best repartee when I first approached her.

me: "Yo, I'm Mr. Right, I heard you were looking for me?" (I know great artillery!)

her: "Really..."

me: "I have to apologize for my timeliness. You were hard to find but I finally made it."

her: "are you a friend of Lacy's?"

After complimenting her on her looks and cowboy boots, the conversation took off from there like Apollo 13. It is my belief that some kind of connection surfaced. I thought is there a better way to become acquainted with one another than drinking? Lose that edge. Laugh. Be social. Mexican was the venue of choice since the restaurant I had in mind offered a nice patio. After a few margaritas and tortilla soup you had to eat with a fork, I suggested going somewhere to finish the cheap leftover beer in my trunk. Someone had to drink it. It had been lingering in my trunk for a week. At the time I didn’t think that raunchy, warm beer mixed with Mexican food would be my demise. Once we get back to her place I quickly try to get our drinks to beer temperature. Not an easy task since she wanted one right away. Josie had a nice cozy crib with more pictures than a photo album. It took me half an hour to examine each kodak. You would be lucky to find a single photo at my place – with the exception of my incredible find of a painting consisting of dogs playing poker. It makes me laugh. Could you imagine dogs being human? Okay, the story continues. We sit on J's patio enjoying the now somewhat cold brews. We are reminiscing of past memoirs and sagas. Conversation was flowing like the waters of the Arkansas river when all of a sudden I felt my stomach turning and there was something creeping out of my anus. At this point I tried to keep my composure until little mama finished her rant. All I could think about was how much I hated bad beer and tacos. Lord, please don’t let me shit my pants. That would definitely ruin any chance with her if I smelled like shit and I don’t want her to witness my shit stains if I end up getting play. Her rant continues for what seemed like an hour. So I thought of ideas to cover up the shit stain if she saw it later. Maybe I'll tell her that's the new design of boxers or maybe I can flush them down her toilet. But what if it clogs? What if she thinks I'm weird for not having any draws on? Finally she suggests changing the music. Yes! Lucky me. She goes in to change the music and I proceed to excuse myself to "break the seal." I am quick to drop my pants and check for skid marks. I jump on the porcelain like I was trying to adjust the height of an office chair. PLOP PLOP! AWWWWW!!! I made it quick so she didn’t expect I pooped in her house. I quickly wiped and flushed that evil feces. As I was watching the slow draining of my processed carna asada I sprayed a little cologne to cover the smell. Always carry around a small ration just in case. I did a second flush to be safe and scurried back to the rendezvous. Out on the patio I'm ready to contribute fully to our tete-a-tete. All is well for now. She then suggests that she must "break my(her) seal." As I await her return, I question if my two flushes got the job done. Oh yea, of course it got the job done. But what if it didn’t? She would say something, guaranteed. She reappears after being gone for a minute. I question whether she had to dump a load as well. Our conversation continued with awkwardness. We were both quiet in an attempt not to stir up any shit. Yup, I realize by her change in mood she found my stool. As Murphy's law goes "If there is a worse time for something to go wrong, it will happen then." How can I possibly salvage this? The situation was never mentioned for the remainder of the night and I left with a mere peck on the cheek. So much for the play.

In the end I never got another chance with her because of the simplest incident that opposed her. Lesson here guys, be perfect at first then you will have no worries about developing a meaningful relationship with a girl you adore. Also, don’t shit at a girls house you just met. Go outside behind a tree or anything to cover up.

In ending here is the thought of the day:
If you shoot at a mime, do you use a silencer?

lick your wounds and keep on truckin'

When you envision matters that alter the path of life significantly you imagine a career change, the birth of a baby, marriage, divorce, death, and so on. Other ripples in life, subtle trials and tribulations, cease the very second and open you up to life. Those moments that stand still, stop you in your tracks and demand you live in the instant. I had such an expereince last night. I learned that an ex, someone I spent 6 years of my life with and whom was once immensely significant, is getting married. It hurt. No. Deeper than that - it broke me temporarily. Without halt, without even acknowledging what I was feeling or doing, I broke down in tears in front of a room full of people that had no idea what was happening. It was an overwhelming emotion. I felt dumb for crying. But then I thought, no, I need this. My natural instinct was to think “Why was I not the one. Why did it take him merely a year to realize he wants to marry this girl?” Friends reiterated to me what has been said many times before. Not only was he very wrong for me, I was very wrong for him. How could we have possibly made a life together? Raise children under such unhealthiness? It would have never worked. I've known for a very good amount of time that he and I could never be together. Then, feeling rather optimistic, I concluded that I was not losing him. He was losing me.

I recall looking in my bathroom mirror this morning and asking myself “why are you not upset – what is wrong with you”. I considered the possibility that I was in denial. Perhaps I am suppressing pain? But then it dawned on me. I am not angry. In fact, I really am not even upset. I tried to force myself to cry yet I felt nothing. Why? My ex was not the love of my life. Our time together was meaningful. I retain many very good memories of a life we spent with one another. At one point in my life I believed I would have his children and all that jazz yet, at the heart of it all, I never truly felt it. I didn't have a gut feeling “he’s it – I’m done”. I still love him. I miss him to pieces. It’s sad to me that I spent so many years with this man and now it’s as if he has perished and is buried away. I think of him almost every day. I sometimes miss his humor. No one again will refer to me as “badger” or “wee”. But at the end of the day I am okay with all of this because I am so sickening happy with someone, truly unbelievably in awe with someone, that I can’t imagine being with my ex or anyone else for that matter. I don’t recall ever [ever!] being so comfortable or madly crazy about anyone as I am with this person. Before him, I can't recollect a time sitting around, doing absolutely nothing, and wishing it would never end. I want to stop time when I am with him. It is not only spending my time with him that consumes me with bliss, it’s enjoying every second, every word, every look. That is what life is all about, right? I am so lucky to have experienced love like this. I am aware that some people never have that in a lifetime. If I never do again, and if he were to go away today, I feel blessed having had that. It’s better than anything on earth. He doesn’t know how lovely I find him. I've said it before - I knew the second I saw him I would love him. I mean that as literal as I can express in words. That doesn’t happen with me often. Ever, actually. I can’t fathom this sensation going away.

In conclusion, I will be just fine. I harbor no ill feelings for my ex and I really want him to be happy. The last time I saw him, a little less than a year ago, he told me that if he and I were to respectively marry other people that we would be thinking of one another while up at the alter. I certainly hope that isn't the case for either one of us. That would be a mistake.

~ Josie

HAVE A GREAT WEEKEND GUYS!!!!

the earth shall inherit the meek

Once you hit top there is no place to go but down. Modesty is a virtue. ~ J

A strawberry flavored super blowpop has temporarily demanded my sole attention.

Have you ever gotten angry at an inanimate object? I victimized a door a moment ago. I was walking through a co-workers doorway when I stubbed my toe on the open door. As if it were the door's fault and feeling the need to retaliate in some way I slammed the door and watched it swing back and forth a couple of times once hitting the wall very hard before coming to a halt. Seconds later humiliation ensued.

I am a text messaging ace. Friends and family will certify with disdain to this reality. I received a text message from my twin sister, Jessica, earlier that read “never gonna give you up on radio”. One of few drawbacks to the birth of the text message is that there is no connotation of emotion with text and a simple sentence often leads one to interpret the statement with an entirely false undertone. My sister’s text mystified me. Did she loan me a radio I failed to return? Was she implying that she would never give away personal facts or information about me on the radio? It was later determined that my dear sis was alluding me to the fact that the Rick Astley song was playing on the radio. You see, I have such a strong abhorrence to the song it prompts friends to send me an alert. I enjoy inflicting the tune on to others like the passing of an infectious disease. Within minutes of coyly putting the song “out there” you’ll find people unconsciously humming or singing the tune followed by “I can’t stop singing this *&^%$#@* song."

I learned through Zuber recently that many prisoners succumb to the “buddy system” in a way to satisfy their hearty sexual appetites. Zub claims that rape almost never occurs at the prison. As he blatantly put it "you can't rape the willing." Zub informed me that the more “simple minded and indigent” inmates adopt what is known around the big house as a “prison daddy”. Some jailbirds pocket unused hairnets from the kitchen and design lewd, see-thru panties which serve as bait to lure in fellow prisoners for man on man action. Some craft makeup out of kool-aid powder. This was not the worst thing I learned. Listen up:

Now let me tell you about the heterosexuals. There are a couple of different kinds of us also. There are the ones who have holes cut in their pockets and if they see a woman guard, it doesn’t matter if you can only see her arm, these guys start what we call MAPPING her down. Sometimes there will be 9 or 10 of them lined up on the window passing the Vaseline to one another while they get their stroke on. Then you have the female guards that pose for these guys while in the showers.

Speaking of showers, I am in need of one after having read that last bit.

Why is it there is a good to excellent chance a man will make his way to a toilet anywhere between 10-30 minutes post meal? Does the digestive track of this gender kick start immediately upon first bite?

Here is a picture of my friend Matthew and I taken last Friday at our Pretty in Pink get-together [Matthew is not straight]. The party consisted of us watching Pretty in Pink and involving a large consumption of cocktails. Matthew is the greatest.



Adieu,

Josie

take a sad song and make it better

I was just thinking to myself, have you ever noticed when you are having a conversation in which you are required to relay a sequence of letters and numbers such as a confirmation number/record locator how quickly one can suggest words without hesitation. For example, "That was a Q as in Qubert - P as in platypus". For me it's a personal challenge to be more creative each time. A moment ago I was speaking with a Delta agent and during my ramble I annunciated "H" with confidence and without fumble followed it up with "as in HAM". Could it be my subconscious mind telling me I am in need of pork? I admit I was super hungry when I made the call.

Sunday afternoon I was sitting outside on the hot pavement, just as I loved to do as a young girl, attempting to warm my chilled body when my eyes were drawn to two elderly women who had just pulled their vehicle into their driveway. I watched as they struggled to get out of the car and slowly walked up to the house. Being the avid people watcher I am, I immediately concluded that these lovely ladies are sisters who never married and decided to live in misery together as old maids. Panic set in when I imagined my sister and I doing the same in - oh - lets see I'm what 20 years old now so something like 60 years? Moving along. The women seemingly returned from an afternoon excursion to their local Target probably for a tv guide and PoliGrip. After exiting the car and what seemed like an eternity later, they made it to the front door and began to excitedly call for the dog. This is when my mind led me to the following query: do dogs disappointedly pout in private thinking to themselves "of all the owners, why god"..."she can't walk herself let alone me for crying out loud". In the middle of the night when you wake to a dog hysterically barking he is probably one of these fellas - the unfortunate adoptee. No worries, he just hates his life.

I would like to take a minute to announce that tomorrow Big Cherry and I will part for good as he makes his way out into this big scary world and leaves my firm for good. Out of respect [in honor] of this dark [glorious] day I ask for a moment of silence to reflect on the sorrow [utter joy] I am experiencing during this difficult [simple] time.

The wild and windy nights that the rain washed away has left a pool of tears. Why leave me standing here. Let me know the way.

Champagne, anyone?

Anyone in the market for last minute ridiculously scary costume ideas? Try this on for size - a big, fat, obnoxious red-headed jackass coincidentally named Big Cherry.

I've been slacking on my blogs as life has not permitted the time to write this week. Feeling a tad under the weather, incidentally due to the drastic change in weather, not to mention a little pensive. I'm shooting for a good story tomarra.

In closing I would like to report I heard from Zuber earlier this week. Outside of having a splinter removed from his ass by a medical professional he has had a delightful week. I am going to a haunted house tonight and I am enthralled! Goodnight, you guys...

~ SASSY

Tangent Party of 1

Did you know that more than 50% of the people in the world have never made or received a telephone call. Unfathomable.

Why do the elderly feel the need to initiate agonizing conversation about things you couldn’t care less about? You want to shove a sock into their mouth 2 minutes into the conversation. It’s a narrative of every thought pops has conjured in the old noggin for weeks. They're constantly on the prowl for their prey looking to make eye contact with anyone. I've considered playing deaf after being cornered into a story. You can't help visioning the old fossil croaking mid sentence possibly from choking on their Vicks cherry cough drop. They drag on and on because what do they have better to do? They victimize everyone from the Walgreens store clerk to the hispanic working the Luby's line. Anyone with ears, basically. Here is a thought - we don’t care about your lack of bowels, the boysenberry jam you made last Tuesday and no we didn’t see that rerun of Murder She Wrote because the show is awful. One last thing, turn over those car keys oldtimer. Public transportation is for you.

Customer service reps – if you hate your damn job so much do us a favor and quit. Jump off your pedestal and take a leap into reality. You act as if we're doing a disservice by calling in and requiring you to do your job. That power you believe you have is in your head. If life is really that bad for you allow me to let you in on a 6 letter secret – PROZAC.

Picture this, if you will. It’s July 9th and your departing China for a flight home to New York City. Due to significant time change and an extremely lengthy flight you land on the 11th. Your birthday was July 10th. Did you miss it?

Today on Mr. Rogers Neighborhood he paid a visit to the Stomp crew during one of their rehearsals. You might find the following statement hard to believe but I saw it with my very own eyes: Mr. Rogers performed the broom skit with Stomp during rehearsal. In the beginning it seemed as if Fred struggled a bit with the beat but he caught on quickly. We learned you can make music with your bodies and various items. Mr. Rogers told Stomp they were very special neighbors before heading home to [cook dope] play make believe. Today Daniel was upset because Lady Elaine Fairchilde turned Mr. McFeely into a doll. Why did we never get word on some sort of creepy sex fetish on Fred?

That's all I got today. I'm tired and ready for the weekend. Au revoir!

WAY TO GO SOX!!!!

Love, Josie

i fought the law and the law won...

"I know I have got a negative edge that's why I sharpen all the others a lot..."

My nose is cold.

Greetings and salutations, folks.

Today I thought I would finally give ya'll the skinny on my pen-pal relationship with Steve Zuber [I call him Zub which sounds like Zoob]. Things couldn't be progressing better. He is falling for me, I can feel it!

For the record, I won't be making a conjugal visit to Zub anytime soon. Ever, in fact.

You are all burning with desire to read the correspondence. Deny it!

In search of a different form of creativity, I answered an ad from my local newspaper to a convicts' search for a female pen pal. I later found out he had been craving some form of female companionship. Zuber is a convict in a corrections facility for manufacturing and selling methanphetamine. At heart, I think Zub is a decent man. We all make mistakes. I've made plenty of them myself just not the kind that land you a 6 year prison term.

Zub claims his ex-wife, who he has divorced 2 times, ran off and left him to raise five children. The financial responsibility that came along with it was overwhelming. Zub claims a full time job hardly made ends meet and he and his children were faced with some extremely tough times. "Cooking dope", as he put it, allowed him to quit his fulltime job, take care of the kiddos, and make a little extra money to boot. After a year Zub found himself depressed and strungout before the law stepped into his life. Since that life altering day Zub has served 3.5 years and has another 3.5 to go. Good news though - Zub has a full time job in maintenance at the prison that lands him a whopping $6.00 a year. That's criminal in itself.

Here are some of my favorite Zuber phrases in no particular order:

(1) Things that make you go DUH!
(2) N-E Ways
(3) N-E How
(4) Peace Out
(5) You Heifer!
(6) 4-Real

Zub has pushed the envelope (pardon the pun) a couple of times and I always try to put him in his place when he crosses the line. I can only imagine how lonely it is being locked up minus any male-female interaction. Sheeesh. No way. In my next letter I might ask ole Zub if he's been de-virginized by a man, yet, and how long does it typically take for one to find a prison buddy? Maybe I can ask him if the soap trick is a myth.

I try to get in Zub's head by asking questions that would generally provide an idea of one's personality. I have asked questions such as (1) what do you miss the most (2) if you could do anything today what would that be (3) what is your favorite childhood memory, and so on. Here are some of my favorite responses to questions I have asked:

Josie - What would you love to do when you get out?
Zub - I would love to meet the person who is writing me this letter.
[blogger friends, AIN'T gonna happen]

Josie - If you could have anything for dinner tonight what would it be?
Zub - I take it you are talking about food so it has to be a medium rare T-Bone, a large salad & crispy french fries with lots and lots of ketchup.
[blogger friends, there was no sexual innuendo implied with my question and ole Zub needs to get his head out of gutter before I send him an envelope full of cat shit]

Josie - Do you dream at night?
Zub - Yes I Dream at night. That is how I escape this place. They may be able to lock my body behind bars but they can't lock up my mind. I have to admit though that I don't remember most of my dreams which is probably for the best. I do know that I must be having some pretty hardcore dreams because there is a certain member of my body that lets me know just about every morning when I wake up and no it is usually not because I have to go to the restroom.
[blogger friends, I literally threw the letter down after reading that last sentence but you will be proud to learn in my response to this disgusting piece of information I said to Zub "funny, you wake up with leg cramps too!"]

My most recent letter was accompanied by a photo. I considered sharing the photo with you guys but decided to behave.

I have learned that Zub's days are filled with lots of football watching, gambling, volleyball, and working out. Um, where's the justice in this? I have learned about Zub's mother, his father, his childhood, his children, how it irritates him when the "5 monther's" complain about doing time when he still has several years to go. Zub's favorite Halloween memory is the year he dressed up as Beetlejuice and apparently it was quite a hit in his small town. Zub falls into minor depression around the holidays which I can only imagine is a very difficult time for the majority of the prisoners at least those left with a soul. Zub refers to himself as a nice, handsome, lonely ole convict. He also came right out and asked for a Christmas gift. No joke.

Zub closed out his latest letter with "Take care & Stay Cool". If Zub were here now I'd tell him I try to take care as best as I can and I will always, ALWAYS be cool.

I can't tell you how long I will carry on this pen pal relationship with Zuber. Some find it quite strange. My father looked at me with bewilderment and fear when he learned of my new creative outlet. There is no underlying concept behind this project. I would like to believe I am serving a purpose. Zub really enjoys and looks forward to my letters. Zub also enjoys reading my blogs when I remember to send him printouts. It truly makes me happy knowing I am somehow, in some small way, improving the quality of someone's life. If this is all I gain from the experience I accomplished more than I imagined. If I could write them all I probably would. Next stop, Death Row!

Night guys, talk to you tomorrow. ~ Josie

ebb and flow

I am completely under the belief that certain people are designed to be connected with one another. Timing is everything. ~ Josie

There will be no flow to this blog.

With each passing day I become more and more dumbfounded with the lack of originality in this world. Why are people so predictable? Does the expected equal safe? Gag me…with a fork.

For me the true sign of a melodically brilliant, well written song is if it sends chills throughout my body and causes the hair on the back of my neck to rise. The feeling is similar to the sense of excitement that overwhelms you while daydreaming about someone you are head-over-heals smitten with.

My pal Ohio informed me today that my blogs are getting risqué. Last month he suggested they were tiresome. This is my public forum, Ohio, you're just living in it. For the record, he later admitted he enjoys my rants and was impatiently waiting for more. A complicated little man, that Ohio is. This was followed by an email that read “introduce me to your upstairs neighbor.” Ohio, (a) I am not Jillian (b) as you are well aware I do not have an upstairs nor do I live in an apartment AND (c) the blog blatantly suggests the neighbor’s gender is male. Let us backtrack several blogs, shall we? I predicted I would find a Barbara Streisand disk in Ohio’s car before long. I was in Ohio’s car just the other day and, while I didn’t spot a single disk that requires one to sing with a lisp, the car smelled awfully pretty and was strikingly clean. Ohio, put that coat down and come on out!

When I am nervous or bored I find myself jotting down ideas or writing short stories via notepad on my blackberry. I found this today and I honestly don’t recall when I wrote it but I trust it was very late after wine night on my sister’s porch.

The first one I felt right with
The first one I knew
A night I didn’t want to be alone
I miss you
I don’t know what to feel
I want to love I want to hate
Please let me let you in
Remove these thoughts I create

Guys, I went from listening to Johann Sebastian Bach to Fugazi. This defines diversity.

FATE - How much does fate play a part in our lives? I believe fate controls every aspect of our lives. I had an endearing conversation with a spectacular individual the other day. For the record it was a very special afternoon. He and I discussed the significance of timing and fate, hence my quote at the start of this blog. The night I met this individual nearly 10 months ago he and I were minutes away from missing one another which, in effect, would change every day within the past 10 months of my life. This raises a question of great intrigue. Is it possible to miss out on our fate? Are we born with blueprints of our lives? Is there a window of opportunity to meet our fate and is it our challenge to find it? It is fascinating yet daunting to think about a moment – any moment - you met someone whether it be a love interest or one of your greatest friends. Think of how many days, moments, even lives that would be altered had you not met that one individual. Do you ever wonder if there is someone out there you were destined to meet but by some consequence missed your opportunity? I have to believe this is not an option. I have, on many occasions, experienced that instinct of knowing or feeling something instantly. Simply put - the gut reaction. The only way I can describe the reaction is it’s like earth's was of providing insight. I realize how ridiculous that sounds but it’s very real. On the same accord, I can generally tell within five minutes of meeting someone if they have a good or bad soul. You can’t hide a phony personality. When I met the individual I spoke of earlier I knew when I glanced at him that I was exactly where I was supposed to be at that moment. It was like getting a glimpse of the potential happiness in store for days to come. When I think back to the feelings I had during that moment it fills me with exhilaration and bewilderment. How is it possible we can feel so strongly about someone or something we are completely oblivious to? It’s impractical. This is why I am a believer in fate. It is truly an enthralling yet complicated sensation. What makes people connect? To me it is a very private thing. Someone finding their way into your soul before you even know it. Maybe they’ve always been there. Waiting for happenstance. Waiting for the window of fate to open.

In closing I would like to report that I recently shared several of my blogs with my prisoner pen pal. He calls me a “handful”. I couldn’t have wished for a more suitable compliment.

Guys and girls, the weather is feeding my mood. Goodnight.

~ Josie

an open letter to my sexually active neighbor

Dear Neighbor:

Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Jillian and I am the sleep deprived, single girl who lives one floor below you in this apartment complex. I have been a resident of this complex for nearly three months. It has become apparent that you lead an abundant sex life. Cheers!

I am not one to judge and it is not my intent to bestow any disrespect. Heck, under different circumstances I would probably ask you to come down so I could shake your hand and offer you a congratulatory beer.

The first time I played solo audience to your bold 3 a.m. production I smirked in a ‘wow this is uncomfortable but doggone it good for him’ sort of way. I admit your longevity was mighty impressive. My initial thought was “what a lucky girl” but when my pillow could no longer hinder the headboard to wall racket I was ready to hear the fat lady sing [*1]. I considered making a trip upstairs to offer guidance and/or assistance in an attempt to get the show on the road. I can assure you that your partner was ready to catch some zzz’s 30 minutes into the frolic. Despite popular belief, girls do not desire or expect all night sex fests.

3 months and several mid-night sessions between the sheets later I am exhausted. Lady-killer, your weekly rendezvous’ serve as a reminder of what I am not getting. I live by strong morals and, unlike yourself, don't give it out every weekend to the random drunk from the bar. Didn’t your parents teach you “it’s not polite to eat in front of others?” The same principle applies here.

Thank you for your kind consideration and please remember to wrap it up, buddy. Good day.

Your friendly neighbor,

Jillian

p.s. how about this weather?
___________________________________
*[1]
For clarity purposes, this is a figure of speech not to be taken in a literal form. In reality, I had heard enough of your partner’s "singing" at this point and I have no idea of her size in weight.

The Value of of 5 Minutes

I was lying in my warm bed this morning agonizing over stepping foot on the cold hardwoods so I gave myself the typical 5 minute allowance. This led me to ponder on the value of 5 minutes.

A deadline. Your boss is standing over you persistenly pestering you with "how's it coming?" It would come a lot easier if you would get off my ass and give me five more minutes of peace. Right?

I can talk about this because I am a victim of such incidents on occassion due to IBS (aka Irritible Bowel Syndrome). You've just made a mad dash to the bathroom and the second you make the commode your temporary home there is a knock at the door followed by "you almost done in there". In reality you feel like you'll never be done in there. 5 more minutes of serenity, pretty please.

When you are being pressured to make a selection from the menu at a restaurant and you are having a difficult time choosing between two items. You request that the server return in five minutes. He returns in 15.

Ladies can attest to the importance of 5 more minutes during a hot (or possibly bad) session of lovemaking. Heck, sometimes just one more minute. 20 seconds even.

When you are up to no good and within minutes of getting caught. Trespassing. Snooping through a friend's diary. Reading your boyfriend's text messages. Going through your sister's mail [wink]. You think nervously to yourself "give me five more minutes, I just need five more minutes".

A painfully close college football game between two highly combative teams. The clock reads 5 minutes. Your team is playing defense and down by 7.

Clothes shopping with your spouse or significant other and he cries "I am miserable" and you plea "5 more minutes I swear". He sighs and agrees "but then I am walking out to the car" followed with nervous pacing in front of the store while whining about how there are one hundred other things he'd rather be doing.

When someone says "you've got 5 minutes to [tell me, get here, return the money] or else"...

You're in the car and just arrived at your destination when one of your favorite songs comes on the radio and you haven't heard it in a long time. If I only had 5 more minutes.

The best for last: when you are with someone you adore and don't want the moment to ever end. Maybe you are at the airport or in a doorway. 5 more minutes to relish your time together.

Five minutes can feel like an eternity in the following circumstances: when it is 4:55 pm on a Friday afternoon; during a rootcanal; during a Brazilian wax; riding in a car sitting uncomfortably close to a stranger; the complete process of taking a pregnancy test and waiting for the results; dinner on a blind date; watching paint dry; running on a treadmill, waiting on a verdict; watching NASCAR; when you are absolutely faminished and waiting on your frozen pizza to cook in the oven; after administering an enema (you enema virgins - trust me on this); you get a telephone call from a friend who says "are you sitting down because you are not going to believe this...oh shoot I am going to have to call you back in five minutes" at which point you raise your closed fist up to the sky and scream "NOOOOOOOOO"!

Cheers ladies and gents! ~ Josie

i don't get paid enough to do what I just did

One of my greatest friends on earth, we'll call her Jill, had to tend to a very delicate issue this week. Jill is a paralegal and she had clients in her office on Monday for a deposition. One of the clients in the office that day was a female stroke survivor and due to neurological complications suffers from paralysis to one side of her body.

As if attending a deposition isn't torture enough, this client happened to be on her monthly cycle the day of her deposition. I have a suspicion she probably didn't wake up that morning singing Mr. Bluebird.

Jill is a very nurturing and caring spirit. I am not saying that because I adore her, I have friends I would not give similar acclaim, I say it because it is sincerely fact. On Monday Jill was given what I hope will be her worst job assignment in her career. Jill was asked to accompany the impaired client to the restroom to assist the lady with the removal and replacement of her used maxi-pad.

You read that correctly. CHANGE her soiled, blood-soaked, foul smelling pad.

Jill's exact words to me were "I don't get paid enough money to do what I just did". She spent the remainder of the day incessantly scrubbing her upper apendages.

The question here is who is the real victim? You gotta believe the client was equally as mortified. Hasn't the poor woman been through enough? Kick her while she's down why don't ya life. The day someone assists me to the lavatory to switch out pads is going to be a very, very sad one.

Jill will be in town this weekend for tailgating and debauchery. Can't wait. Later guys,

~J

taking care of business

I'm in a rush but wanted to get this story out so that tomorrow I can move on to topics that are better and bigger [inadvertently headed that word with the letter N rather than B - thank god for spell check]. Okay, so I told a friend of mine I would share a recent story of his with my breaktheseal friends. You be the judge: did this happen? My friend is in sales and had his weekly video conference call on Monday to strategize, crunch numbers, and all that loud obnoxious fraternizing salesmen enjoy to partake in. One gentleman, ironically named Mr. Eye, was taking the call from his home on this particular morning. Let me state for the record that I am missing a few facts which would make this story less sketchy so please don't shoot the messenger. Apparently Eye was unaware this call was anything more than verbal. Eye is a Mac user. I don't know if possible but I assume he took the call from his computer - I am having a difficult time with this story too. From what my friend tells me, the Mac detects video conferencing because, well I have no idea other than the things are so damn savy they do it all. In other words, no additional software or equipment is necessary for video conferencing if you are the proud owner of a Mac. Eye is unaware of this fact. Indivdiuals on the call were perplexed with Eye's rather scraggly appearance. Some call participants thought Eye was ill. Truth be told, Eye is an avid runner and had just come in from a morning jog and took the "conference call" sweat and all. Eye proceeds to make his way to the bed while he carries on with his colleagues. Those viewing Eye could tell he was painfully distracted. Unbeknownst to Eye, there were several eyes on him. Eye proceeds to take matters into his own hands, if ya know what I mean. Again, the innocent viewers within the group on the call thought Eye was in pain possibly hurt. "Is he going to be alright". Not long into the indecent show Eye was discovered for his act of self pleasure and handed over a humiliation plaque for life. My friend assured me that Eye is actively seeking new employment.

Wait. Ohio, was this you?

I am a tad skeptical but hey, I've done worse things. [wink]

Peace!

~ Josie McSassy

I’m not living I’m just killing time

I can't take credit for todays blog title but delightedly seek any chance to plug my all time favorite band, Radiohead. Radiohead is coming out with a new album on the 10th of this month titled In Rainbows. One can download the album on said date at the price of thier choosing. Doubtful? http://www.greenplastic.com/. Personally, I could not be more ecstatic. The blog title above is a line taken from a Radiohead tune called "True Love Waits" and, although rather biased, it happens to be one of my favorite songs. I can honestly say I do not have a favorite Radiohead song. I truly love them all. The melancholy, the hardcore, the different, the weird, the rock, the punk, the instrumental. A group that defines music. They do it all.

I'll drown my beliefs
To have you be at peace
I'll dress like your niece
And wash your swollen feet
Just don't leave...don't leave
I'm not living I'm just killing time
Your tiny hands
Your crazy kitten smile
Just don't leave...don't leave
And true love waits
In haunted attics
And true love lives
On lollipops and crisps
Just don't leave...don't leave
Just don't leave...don't leave

Someone of immense charm said to me this morning “That last blog is really random. I don’t know how you come up with that stuff.” Although some might find this statement offensive, I would like to take this moment and thank him for the direct opinion. I take it as a true compliment.

I’ve been keeping many of you in suspense with regard to my new prison pal, Zuber. I have a signficaint amount of detail to share. I received my second letter from my pal Zuber this morning. Our correspondences are like clockwork. I send him a letter on Friday and by Wednesday I have a response waiting in my mailbox. My pal refers to me as a “handful” several times in his latest acknowledgment. I plan to share my pen pal exchanges with you very soon. Hold your horses.

Love, Josie

monkey see monkey don't...

Meet Ralph. Ralph is a distant cousin to my dear friend and favorite primate, Roger. For as long as I can remember Ralph has been a heavy smoker. Ralph might have coined the term chain smoker. We're working on switching him over to filtered mediums while cutting him down to a pack and a half per day. He claims he doesn't even have a taste for the things anymore. I would never say a word to the poor guy but I can see it in his climb - god damn things are killing him.

Oh Senor Don Gato Was a Cat

On a high red roof Don Gato sat
He went there to read a letter,
Meow, meow, meow
Where the reading light was better,
Meow, meow, meow
'Twas a love note for Don Gato

We all know how that story ends. Don't read the note Don Gato, please do not read the note.

My audio engine of preference has really been pushing Britney Spears’ new single “Gimme More”. The combination of a little curiosity mixed with my existing music funk created a recipe for melodic disaster. The only acclaim I can provide to the B-girl is she has one marvelous team of marketers. The perpetual exposure of negative publicity was the primary reason for my own self mutilation. It’s like watching someone try to place a derailed train back on the track. So shoot me, I gave it my ears. Two seconds after clicking the play arrow I was stunned with embarassment. What has brought me down to this low standard? It was murder of the first degree to my ears. I took off my earphones and walked away from my desk a couple of times during the observation to ensure that the disastrous melody could not be heard blaring from my phones by others in my office. There is never a good time for this jazz but certainly not at 8:15 on a Thursday morning. Inspiring minds want to know, who is the fool that listens to this garbage and thinks “wow, now that’s something". I'm sick to my stomach.

To nuetralize the havoc I am currently listening to Killing In The Name by Rage Against the Machine.

Ignorance REALLY is Bliss.

I am in a state of ambivalence which has my creativity levels flowing.

There is a quaint asian nail salon across the street from my office and I recently started utlizing their "brow waxing" services simply because they are next to free at "Queens Nails". Another bonus "Walk-Ins Welcome". It brings a smile to my face when I walk upon the handwritten "We Accept No Check" sign on the door. Asians are clearly not hooked on phonics.

I attempted to have my brows waxed yesterday. When I walked in to the salon the young asain lad inquired "what you need" whereupon I informed him I was in the market for a wax. In turn, he shouted what sounded like "you come back we no have wax no one here you come back tomorrow she not here today okay tomorrow okay". I am confused. Are you asking me a question or making a statement. Regardless I respond "You aren't leaving me with much of an option". I walk out with a disappointed disposition [tounge twister].

Today I walked in with confidence and a smile on my face. While I was informed "there be wait, k" I was assured I would be seated in the wax chair within minutes. I turn my attention to my blackberry when suddenly I am mesmorized by the love ballads playing throughout the salon. I can't lie - I was impressed. I found myself in a trance with Lionel's heartbreaking "Hello" lyrics. I even made a note on my blackberry "download hello". Next up was Careless Whisper by Wham. At this point I am fighting the urge to request a copy of the mixer. The most fascinating aspect to this experience is that the asians, who speak little to no English and who like to taint us by speaking to the other asians in the store with the language of their native tongue, knew every word to every tear jerker. I wondered if maybe one of their relatives/co-workers had recently been deported.

I have news to share. I recently developed a "pen pal" relationship with a prisoner. My new buddy's name is Steve. I will provide details tomorrow, mmmkay?

Don't you love her as she's walking out the door...

~ Josie McSass

It is rare to find individuals willing to step outside of their conventional cells. Hold on to the exceptional. ~ Josie McSass

I have a crush on Ben Stiller.
I have a minor addiction to Free Cell.
I adore string cheese.

I made a friend last night and his name is Matt. Matt is my new gay best friend. I have been in the market for one of them for quite some time. Sort of like a pet, if you will. Matt is exquisite. I had many questions concerning his lifestyle and there was no beating around the bush on his part. Speaking of beating around the bush, Matt is a heterosexual virgin.

Did you know that 33% of humans have a third nipple? I wonder how I have managed to avoid such a freak show in 32 years. Or have I??? I am trying to figure out if ths is something to be admired or ashamed of. Unique is one thing, monster is another. Three is a crowd.

Ode to IT Guy

Jerry had a little spam
big fat head
and a video cam
Jerry had a little spam
his office smells like a farm.

[This is the product of boredom mixed with a little bit of hate please do not think less of me].

Today is Pirate Day. Thanks to http://www.talklikeapirate.com/ I was able to expand my pirate vocabulary with chumbuckets which I am applying as my newest form of verbal criticism.

I am listening to The Doors. Here is a bit of trivia for those music aficionados out there. Jim Morrison’s hero was Frank Sinatra.

I ran into a nun this afternoon at my local grocery venue. I use the word ran in the literal form. Why is it that nuns always appear to be critically fragile? I thought the tiny, white haired lady was going to break when I bumped into her strikingly cold body. Odds are good that this is the only skin on skin action she has endured prior to making her devotion to god. On three separate occasions she and I met eye-to eye. I will admit the run-ins were primarily my fault. I shuffle around stores like a mad woman on a serious mission. Today I am in a hurry for no particular reason. I would like to think that Sister Helen was god’s way of shining a bit of heavenly light into my life. The holy kind, anyway. It’s rumored that sex, alcohol consumption, gluttony, and something known as “the devils music” are gratifying, but because I am a child of extreme faith I refrain from such poisonous activities.

I need to repent.

I’m a good Catholic girl. I was born and raised Catholic. I have had a love/hate relationship with the religion during my adult life. I have committed what would probably be considered sins of the carnal form within the Catholic faith. For whatever reason during the 5 times I have gone to confession as an adult I have failed to seek forgiveness for things the Catholic Church likes to frown upon such as using GD as an everyday adjective, skipping Mass on Sunday due to an extreme hangover, the pre-marital sex, the “morning after” pills, the feelings of hate I have for my office IT Guy, Big Cherry.

What of it?

I have had a priest criticize me post confession. True story. I haven't been back since.

I hope to write more tomorrow...

~ McSasssssss

Fighting off the mundane...

It’s impossible to miss those you didn’t admire in the first place. The only thing you long for is opportunity. ~Josie

I’m eating candy for breakfast.

I was daydreaming just now about a spider monkey puppet named Roger. He doesn’t exist, yet, except for in my dreams where he and I live happily together day after day. Clever primate, that Roger. He enjoys a Cuban cigar every now and then and is sort of a bigot but one hell of a nice guy. His favorite color is midnight blue. Roger is a closet Full House fan.

My hands are sticky.

I have the urge to do something extraordinary today. It’s on the brink. I can feel it.

The sound of my office IT guy speaking makes me want to jump in front of an 18 wheeler. I am not exaggerating.

Food for thought: Why is it that if you ask for “extra” anything on your salad, sandwich, pasta dish such as cheese you are assessed a small fee but if I ask to eliminate a designated item that customarily comes in or on said food item the price can't be negotiated on my behalf?

A friend asked me this morning what I thought about midget strippers. Fascinating. I could be swayed into a midget stripper show. Pushing the urge to be judgmental aside, I find midgets remarkably alluring. I have been known to waste an entire day on a Little People Big World marathon. I am fully aware of the risk associated with the following statement and I may lose a friend or two but this is my blog and I am being brutally honest. Given the opportunity, I would probably have my way with a midget. I trust it all works the same, right? The parts that matter are average size, right? I will google this later. Once at a concert I had the undivided attention of three midgets. They were semi-famous or at least famous in a Surreal Life sort of way. I would totally dominate a midget. I would dominate all three. I think I’ve unleashed some hidden fantasy of mine.

My friend Ohio asked me to write about threesomes amongst men. I am really starting to worry about this boy. His coy attempt at being nonchalant by broaching this subject amidst several other topics failed miserably. I am on to you Ohio. What makes this particular flag really red is this follows Ohio's recent revelation that he shared an intimate kiss with his male best friend not long ago. He claims to be totally comfortable with his sexuality and says he has zero gay tendencies. He also said he had a perfectly reasonable explanation for the kiss. I expect to find a Barbara Streisand cd in his car very soon. Ohio, I have no idea how threesomes amongst men work and I don’t want to begin to visualize it. Let me know how it works for you, buddy. Two things. Lube and condoms.

Does alcohol effect the decision making process? Does alcohol inhibit one to live on the edge or does it allow you to become more guarded? I have done some really ignorant things while inebriated and some really fascinating things to boot. Some of my experiences will never leave my soul. There are times that I become more reserved even a little fearful, perhaps? I have played the voice of reason amongst a group. I have faltered between courageous and coward. I can attest that some ideas that would never be entertained in a sober state sound immensely fascinating in a drunken one and usually the payoff is one of humiliation and anxiety. For example, having to make the walk of shame. We’ve all done it. It is no walk in the park (unless of course you have to make the walk through a park). I believe it is during that moment we, as shameful humans, look our ugliest. The skimpy clothing you thought looked hot the night previous is critically wrinkled, disheveled hair, black eyes. You make a mad dash into the house and shut the blinds in an attempt to cope with your lack of judgment wondering if the sloppy drunken sex was any good.

A bite size Reeses has been taunting me all day from my desk. I have opened and rewrapped the thing at least three times.

I was going through my collection of writings/journal entries/poems the other night. I found some really laughable stuff, some sad stuff, some humorous stuff, and some really dark stuff. I would like to take this opportunity to provide you with a few examples, may I?

Wisdom: The things you can get by with in your twenties no longer suit you in your thirties. You realize it’s unbecoming to spend evenings in a bar full of 20 somethings. You search for meaning in every little thing you do. You start to question your worth and decisions you made in your twenties. You are no longer willing to waste time with the people who provide nothing meaningful to your life. You refuse to give yourself to anyone that doesn’t give you something in return. The moment you admit you are getting old frees you to live because without living you are simply wasting. Constantly riding the line between jumping into life wholeheartedly, living in the moment and embracing life to fearing making the mistakes of your youth placing you in protective mode.

Sad: I want to cry about something today but I am not sure what it is. I woke up feeling blue, dwelled on some old memories and lost loves. Thought about a new one. Something is in the air that isn’t settling well with me. I feel like I am losing the battle to hold on to something desired. Sometimes I wonder if I have to hurt in order to feel.

Anger: You were everything but nothing. Off you went. You cried about regret but it was just a way to say goodbye. I watched you walk away and knew it was the last time. Positively doubtful we’ll ever meet again. I’m running far away from here. Because you would never see me that way. Because you were only pushing me to believe. It never happens the way we want it to. I can go back to being that way. It kept me living in the dark. Life without the freedom to live. Laughter that lives in an echo.

Someone I love: What do I want to say about you? How can I tell them who you are. Brilliantly intoxicating. You’re something to be admired so modest and true. Captivate me with bliss, in awe in your presence. I watched you from afar and became overwhelmed with emotion. I woke to find you laughing in your sleep consuming me with joy. You surprise me everyday. My love for you is selfish. I crave the goodness it serves hoping it never drifts away. I knew from the beginning you were to be in my heart.

Dark (yikes): I am trying hard not to let go. I can’t battle this fight with fear any longer. You’ve always been unattainable. Pulling me in just to push me away. You love to hate me. You hate to love me. I saw the resentment in your eyes. I fought to stay, terrified of what faced me so I ran. I made it to safety but hell is just around the corner. Survival is my only hope but it is silently slipping away. Always a prisoner of your love. Left without a soul consumed with hate. The more you moved the closer I became. The games we play are our demise. Such a precious thing had we unburied the evil. I don’t know what you want from me. I can’t tell you what I want from you. How long can we tolerate this painful love. What happens when you don’t know me anymore. The beauty is rotting away. You won’t let me smile. I wonder if you can remember who I am. Self destruction is the path I am on. I won’t allow it to take over but I will play with it for awhile. What are you coming back for now. The desire is tempting me. You cringe at the sound of my name. I ache at yours. Time forgets. The heart remembers.

Love: Why do I put you before all? Why is it so important to seek you? You’ve come into my life a few times. You’ve shown glimpses of chance when I didn’t need you. You’ve left me broken, torn and confused. You’ve left me to wander and to dream. You’ve created fantasies and fears. You taunt me with possibilities. You torment me with failure. You’ve made me a prisoner of past. You’re on my mind in all that I do. I place you on the pedestal I consider life. I hope we meet again.

I'm out. Hope you enjoyed the deep confessions of J.

Ditty Kong, 'O!

~ J

No way - It's Josie!

I have struggled for weeks with this blog hence my lack of a post in quite some time. I have been feeling a little sheltered and possibly protective of my emotions. I shall call it a writing funk. On the flip side of that, in recent weeks I have written 10 pages worth of single-spaced nonsense. I’ve considered posting it simply for humors sake. Truly a cluster of rambling bullshit.

I have also been lackadaisical chiefly due to the fact that my laptop was taken from me 3 weeks ago and as a result I have lost my primary tool for writing. I was heartbroken to boot. Having reflected deeply on the loss and finally accepting it, I feel like I am finally able to glide back into writing.

I hope I am not the only person to have made the following mistake. I was sitting at my desk earlier working diligently, eyes focused on my computer screen, when I nonchalantly took a swig of the cup of coffee sitting directly in front of me. Upon swallowing this half liquid/half solid concoction I came to realize I hadn’t made myself a drink at the office in recent hours. In fact, I have been drinking bottled water all day. The once perfectly tasty drink turned science project was a cup of coffee I had prepared for consumption and failed to finish yesterday. It is not the lingering taste of garbage in my mouth that bugs me at this moment. It’s the haunting remembrance of the feel of cold moldy coffee layered with a slimy film meeting my lips. I went a little crazy for a moment.

I had a dream last night that I had a mustache and a beard. My character in the dream wasn’t bothered by this added feature but the “real me” was crying inside. If my memory serves me correctly I recall I was at a show, a dance-off if you will, and I happened to catch a glimpse of my reflection in a mirror hanging on the wall to my right. Once again, the girl playing myself in the dream had no instinctive problem with the five o-clock-shadow. In fact, she seemed pleased with the look. However, my mind was devising a plan to rectify the disturbing guise immediately. I convinced my dream character into waxing the mustache/beard combo. Stubble is not an option when it comes to women and facial hair so shaving was immediately written off. While pricing different options, my twin sister appeared in my dream to remind me of the costly price of waxing a beard as thick as mine. Oh right - there is that. To my dismay the issue was never resolved prior to waking. This can only mean that somewhere out there in dream world I am walking-flying-creeping around possibly haunting people sporting the mustache-beard combo.

Left with the bewildering question as to why I am creating an image of myself with facial hair while in my own private dream world, I decided to do a little investigation. I am not a huge advocate of dream interpretation but I will admit that our dreams and our subconscious thoughts are parallel and that different objects and situations are representative of who and what we are in life. My curiousity was definitely peaked. This is what Dreammoods.com has to say about "women with mustaches" (I, too, was surprised yet relieved to find this was an actual dream option):

If you are a woman and dream that you have a mustache, indicates that you are expressing your power through your words and your verbal expression.

Naturally, this inspired me to search for a theory on women with beards. Dreammoods.com has this to say about the woman/beard combo:

If you are a woman and you dream of growing a beard, signifies your masculine aspect of your personality. You want to be more assertive and wield more power.

I was alarmed when I began to read the beard interpretation but in conclusion I could not agree more. I am just glad it didn't suggest a life in the circus. Now, thanks to dreammoods, I don’t feel like I have to hide behind my emotional disguise. I have the power within to be assertive and express myself in any form or fashion desirable. Thanks dreammoods.com!

I am working on a story – another fun life experience – I plan to share it within the next 24 hours.

Peace, lades and gents

~J

Cold and Dirty

I have been zapped of all energy. My body is dealing with post-vacation stress, exhaustion from moving and the never-ending chore of unpacking, not to mention trying to adjust to a new (very old) house that is nothing short of a sickening mess. I haven't had a moment to partake in "J time" with the exception of when I attempt sleep at night. Last night I saw a shadow in my living room. At approximately 10:30 pm I concluded that it was a demon shadow. I slept with the lights on last night.

The cherry on top of this sundae is I am freezing cold. My male co-workers keep the office at icebox temperature. I sit here at my desk hunched over in a ball trying to consume any heat my body might release. When I exhale I can see my breath. My jaw is clenched shut to keep my teech from chattering. Later this afternoon, upon stepping out into the scorching August heat, my body will go into a mild state of shock. Yesterday evening during my commute home I turned on the heat in my car. I almost fell asleep at the wheel.

I just walked over and adjusted the thermostat. This will undoubtedly cause a stir. The hairs on my arms are standing tall. I am wondering why I attempted to shave my legs this morning.

As if waking up in the morning wasn't previously a difficult task, now I lay in bed each morning and dread the inevitable shower. Let me point out that the shower at my new house is about the size of a telephone booth and is at least 50 years old. Yesterday was my first shower at the new digs and I felt slightly less clean post-shower than I did when I got out of bed. Still in vacation mode and wanting to provide as minimal time necessary towards grooming, I spent 20 minutes getting ready for work yesterday. 10 minutes of that was spent dilly-dallying directly outside the shower trying to convince myself it was okay to enter.

It is impossible to shave in this shower. I will pay someone to prove to me wrong. When clausterphobia set in I had to talk myself out of a panic attack on the horizon. Get in and get out. With 2 minutes to spare before I absolutely had to leave the house I threw a skirt over my stubbly legs, threw on a shirt that did not need ironing, and left my hair semi wet and "wavy". Needless to say I didn't feel great going in to work yesterday morning but honestly did not care.

This morning I took a bath in the 3x6 foot tub that resides next to the dawrf size shower. When I moved into my new home I made a pact with myself that I would never place a toe in this so-called tub. Funny how things change. My lower appendages were in desperate need of shaving. Today I was dealing with major time constraints yet still opted for the bubble bath to keep from eyeballing the floor of tub. In a Mommy Dearest fashion I made certain the water was sclading in an attempt to kill any lingering germs. There was moderate pain involved while inching my way into the water. While quickly cleaning my body I try not to concentrate on any particular area of the tub longer than 5 seconds.

I feel a degree better than I did pre-bath. Not clean not dirty but more like I just bathed in someone else's bath water.

As far as future bathing at the new casa goes, I somehow tricked myself, out of delirium I suspect, into believing that new bathroom furnishings will greatly improve the ambiance of the ancient room hence making my bathing experience a good one and fulfilling me with a clean vibe. I have a year in this house and, on most days, I am a fan of clean hair and smooth legs.

I am OWWWWTTT...!!! Goodnight world.

xoxoxo,

Josie

Friday Observations

some random thoughts that have entered my mind at one point or another on this grand day:

Personal space – keep out. If I can smell ya or feel ya, you are too close.

Attention men! Necklaces - never a good idea. Never. This applies to shell, gold, rope, beaded, string, hemp. If it goes around the neck it doesn't belong!

When speaking with a customer service rep, try to refrain from asking “are you a lady or a man”? The “lady” I spoke with earlier today did not seem to find it amusing when broached with this question.

If you can help it, never move. Packing might be the worst chore created by man. What could top that? Unpacking. If I could afford it, I'd dispose of all my personal belongings with every move and acquire new stuff. This morning at 1 am I hit my breaking point. In a state of delirium I employed this impractical practice of trashing anything I could get my hands on.

While flipping through many greeting cards earlier it became clear that I have a very sick sense of humor. Is it bad that I become agitated with the greeting cards containing a religious connotation?

I should not be allowed to have a vehicle with a sunroof. Hell, windows. If I had a dollar for every time I have driven around town in a mildew-scented vehicle while sitting on a towel barely able to see through the windshield due to condensation I would be living the high life, my friend. It is rather sad that every one of my co-workers has learned to give me a buzz whenever a cloud appears in the sky. I am serious.

Well guys I am off for a 7 day holiday to the lovely city of San Diego. Can't wait! July has been a crazy month and thus I have not had a lot of time for creativity or writing. I suspect this is what I can look foward to through August with my impending move across town. Oy!

In closing, I would like to wish MATTHEW a very HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! Can't wait to spend it with you. Me and You, darling.

Josie

Enchanted bliss

ANNOUNCEMENT:

I would personally like to take this time on behalf of myself and Kenneth J. McClellan to ask you, friends and family, to share in our immense joy during this special time. Kenneth and I will make our union one in October 2010 when I proudly accept the title as Mrs. J. McClellan. I am so happy.

To those of you unaware Mr. McClellan and I came to a unique understanding upon turning 30 that if he and I are respectively single by the time we turn 35 (incidentally we are the same age) we shall take a stroll down the aisle. In this case, we shall walk hand-in-hand down a sandy white beach sans shoes. It is the belief of my future husband that we should stop the game and make this happen now, but I am not one to break a vow.

In determining our wedding destination, my adorable husband-to-be coyly says "family would like us to do something closer to home but at the end of the day it comes down to us." You know what? He is right. You see, my sweetheart knows I do not want a big wedding, just a private and intimate ceremony on the beach. We're debating coasts at the moment but really that's just a technicality. We'll work out the details within the next year. My pumpkin said "I will marry you anywhere. What I want to know is where are we going to live". Sigh. I considered quitting my job to be with him anywhere in the United States as long as his lucrative career in art can support me, but ultimately decide I will write to supplement our income and support our family.

Cards and money are welcome.

~One Lucky Girl

male dog walking stripper

Feeling a little creative today or perhaps maybe not at all. I do know that my A.D.D. is working overtime today. Nonetheless, I decided for my next blog to take the first sentence from every text message I have received (not sent) within the past week and create a story. Punctuation marks indicate the beginning/end of a text. I have not manipulated the sequence nor have I changed the lingo in any shape or form. Use your imaginations.

My whole crisper was full of wine! The ‘rents are visiting. I’m probably going to be late. He is precious and he cries at work. I know! We’ll play with a ghost. Watermelons are freakin’ huge! Black black? That would be ok. Good morning gorgeous. Carlos Mencia is going to be there in Oct. I’m missing you a lot a lot. I guess you are right about all we have is the weather. Shrimp? Driving home. Is that ok? Or we can just go together? Jacob got a steak. You hear about the brother that got shot by the cops in Boston? Hopefully it will be sunny. I don’t think I can afford it either. Mandi said she might sub. I just put your wetsuit in the car. Tell me about it. Wish I could have seen you today. It's magic and not to be taken lightly. Sweet. Just got home too. I’m an overachiever. Are you guys meeting anywhere before hand? It’s otay. That’s hilarious picturing you so confident. Give me a buzz if you figure out what you are going to do tonight. That’s good! Ya! Lunch? We will have to get bottle rockets. Darling I hope you are having a good day. Yo fool! I’m headed your way in a few min. I hope your planning to see me. Next weekend will have to be cheap. Meow. Yep girl definitely. That’s cool. Good morning darling. I agree commitment is the best thing in the world. Can you think of anything else? It’s a theme. Do you think 24 pieces of assortment chicken is enough? Sounds like a fun weekend. Everyone agreed. Hey girl. Don’t work too hard. Headed to bed. Field 6. Maybe you better run that picture by me first. What’s the plan tonight? I just now got to read your wax story. Will you call our landlord this week? Exhausted. Hey gorgeous. I made it home safely. If you still want to go. We’re about to eat some pizza. Jon just came over. If you play SB I’ll play. Where do you want to meet? Sure. See ya’ll there in a little bit. Excuse me, getting. What time are ya’ll heading out? You not getting out I guess? Level headed. You awake yet? I think I will. Gonna be a little late. When are you guys looking to move? I’ll leave now. That’s cool doing my toes. Weird about my phone. Sooo glad its Friday. Good morning kitten. What time are you going to see E and I? Will 2:30 be too early for softball? Jess and I are hungry. Just call me silly. The one by Jess’ house. At Taco Bell. Hey cutie. What kind of adventurous tale? Funny! That sounds lovely. I also remembered to remind you. Not sure about details, but. Are they trying to say 60 days? Taken care of. Did we really hang out with a random pot head last night on my porch? Well she’s got a GREAT selection. You guys are a great couple. I never really got a straight answer to that question myself.

Wasn't that fun...or just a big waste of time? It's Friday, guyz and girlz and I'm lovin' it...

Cheers.

Josie

A Perfect Day

Sleeping in.
A morning run in the rain.
Breakfast with my family.
Walking through the grass barefoot.
A fierce game of wiffleball.
Hearing your child say “I love You”.
Getting a phone call from a friend – just because.
Catching a stare from the one you love.
Laughing so hard your stomach aches.
Running into a long lost friend.
Hearing a good song you had forgotten about.
Devouring a grilled, juicy steak.
Sunshine, a patio, and good friends.
Little kisses.
Laying in the grass gazing at the stars.
Falling asleep during a thunderstorm

snuggled up to someone special.

Lodi Dodi

I have a suspicion this is going to be a long blog. Calm down. I know you're excited.

I just had a delicious turkey sandwich from a local sandwich shop. Yummm. I love this particular sandwich shop because while you wait for your delicious treat to be served, one can catch up on worldy events kudos to the provided local newspaper. I never fail to find the most interesting ads while inspecting the classifieds at this particular eatery. A couple of months ago I fell upon the classic "To the person who stole my walking cane in Home Depot on Sunday - lawsuit has been filed" ad. What insightful ad did I gaze upon today? This is ver batim. "I have had a bad experience in buying some puppies. For details please call me at..." What's the issue? You're check didn't clear? The pup turned out to be a con artist and took you for all you're worth? I am considering making the call. If you're interested, I have the telephone number. To make my lunch experience even more delightful, I made a friend in the sandwich shop. Quite a talker that one. Just when I thought the conversation could go no further he surprised me with yet another question. Mistake number 1 - telling him I am in the market for a dog. Trust me on this, the communication was painful. Who knew one could retain so much knowledge about tail-waggers.

Moving along now.

Great news. The week of my 32nd birthday I will be on hiatus for 7 days in San Diego/La Jolla. Here's a bit of Josie trivia. Several years ago during my first trip to La Jolla I pronounced the "J" and "L's" in Jolla for 4 days until a good samaritan finally had the heart to tell me I was pronouncing it ALLLLL wrong:

Cali Local - "You're from the South? You don't say! Where you guys staying?"
Me - "This nice 2 bedroom condo in LA-JAL-LAAAA"
Cali Local - "Ohhhhh, goodness. How cute. It's Jolla. You know, as in Oscar De La Hoya. Ha. I've never heard that before. Hey John, get over here. This girl just said JAAAA-LLLLAAA"

Idiot.

I followed this up with a 2 minute death stare at my week long travel companion.

During my holiday I plan to do nothing but lay on the beach and soak up the sun for an entire week.

Due to stress and lack of time, I have found it difficult to post new blogs. It has been a challenge for me this week to find anything of interest to blog about. I asked my dear friend Shizzzle for blog topics and she said:

What about funny little anecdotes or stories about your childhood? Past loves? Growing up as a twin? Things you've learned over the years? Favorite things that don't cost money?

Childhood stories? Always an option. Past loves? How much time do we have and is defamation of character a legitimate concern? Favorite things that don't cost money. Only one thing comes to mind and it starts with an S and ends with an X. That's right, I am a big fan of the sax. It is one of my favorite passtimes - and you didn't even know! I can work the saxophone like no other.

I've had many conversations this week with someone special [meow] about past loves. He and I covered all bases from love to sex to relationships. One topic that came up is one night stands. Have I had one? To be honest I am not quite sure. Does it count as a one night stand if I did not know the indivdiual prior to the [blissful] act but became friends after-the-fact? Let me state for the record, I have no regrets. There were several standing ovations over the course of a couple of months.

More to TALE about past relationships but we'll save that topic for another time. I am going to take the bait on Shizzzle's suggestion and blog a bit about my life as a twin. READY-SET-GO...

Because Jess and I have been twins for 32 years now (33 if you count our shared time in the womb) it's clearly impossible to recount everything. The following is a synopsis, if you will, of some of my endearing memories as a twin:

***Twin and I playing "Peter Brady" which consisted of the two of us jumping up and down on the bed sparatically while attacking one another with tickles and scratches and, if my memory serves me right, chanting of some sort. During one (and probably the last) game of Peter Brady the twin scratched off a raised mole that was once located on my stomach. That sucker bled for hours. The following day a friend at school tormented me with the notion that a mole inadvertently removed from your body results in cancer. In the days that followed I was a walking time bomb. My mother would have to go into another room and hide her laughter as I lay on the couch, wrapped head-to-toe in a blanket, while religously studying a medical encyclopedia, waiting for my imminent death.

***Pencil and eraser. In pictures as little girls the twin always looked like a pencil standing beside me, the eraser. I always had some form of candy or treat in hand. The twin was always empty handed. While we don't remember for sure, we believe I abducted her treat and devoured it before anyone noticed. My parents have an 8-track cassette containing audio clips of the twin and I when we were very young girls. One of the questions asked was "what's your favorite food". The twin responds "I like chicken noodle soup". In a husky scowl I state for the listening audience "I like steak and bacon". Of course you do, fatty.

*** Twin and I physically fighting. Typically this involved her pulling my hair, me scratching her face, and a lot of dual somersaults on the ground. My mom would act like she was trying to break up the brawl but in reality she sat back and enjoyed the show. I remember one time in particular when the twin and I were 16 years old my parents had to place us in separate rooms of the house. This didn’t stop the name calling. Here is another example where my parents tried to lay down the law but simply couldn’t keep from chuckling over our relentless blows.

*** I am not proud of this tidbit. I use to have twin do all my dirty work. This includes running tedious errands at odd times of the day. For example, a midnight Doritos run and I mean literally a run because neither she or I had a car at the time. I also would have twin return mundane and difficult to make phone calls. “I don’t want to go out with Brad tonight, will you please call him and pretend you are me and say something came up”. It took a lot of work but eventually the twin would fold.

[more to come]...

~ JOSIEEEEE