a broken heart

Little mister, you were taken away from me too soon. My heart hurts because you took pieces of it with you. Rest in Peace my sweetheart. I will love you forever and ever. Your perfect face is irreplaceable and will be severely missed by all. You were such a joy to my life in the short time we were together. I can't wait to meet you again some day. I love you.

the world i know

More and more I find myself wondering what happened to courtesy in society? Is there no such thing as civil kindness? Nowadays I watch as men and women go out of their way to be rude. This world has become so jaded as a whole it's not difficult to find someone taking out their suppressed anger on complete strangers. It's immorality at its finest. It doesn't bother me so much that chivalry is dead - there are few gentlemen out there randomly offering a doting "after you" while holding the door. What gets under my skin is the lack of general decency. In the words of Depeche Mode, People are People. Our exteriors come in many shapes and colors but our interiors operate the same. The world as we know it today is a selfish one and one filled with anger. I've come to expect indecency yet am surprised by respectful behavior. When someone is inappropriate it instigates negativity. The negativity lingers and is passed on to another eventually. On the flipside, the same is true with kindness. It's infectious. It feels good. There is real value to the cliché "eye for an eye" which is one of the basic laws of life. Inherit it! Look, I am far from godly but I have strong will to change not only my attitude but my actions. So many people fret through life which is a tragedy. There are those without souls and then those that are consumed with so much hate they treat others poorly in an effort to share the pain. We are all human and all have our moments, lord knows I have my share, but I am proactive about becoming not only a better person but a better citizen. Thank you's and you're welcome's are no longer a necessity even when expected. There is practically no such thing as good customer service. No one wants to help without receiving in return. In grocery stores you'll find people cutting, pushing, grabbing. I once was told by a gentleman in a super big hurry and whose front bumper sticker informed me he was a "Christian" that I "looked like a girl that knew something about dick" after I kindly suggested he stop acting like one. Why? This man, sporting a bad case of little man syndrome, jumped out of his car in anger and began shouting obscenities at me for backing out of a parking spot at a safe and regular pace. Not even a shortage of time could come between this nutjob and his insane rant. I was painfully embarrassed but moreover I wondered what was eating at this man so terribly that it didn't bother him a bit to release his rage on a little woman at the grocery store at noon on a Thursday afternoon.

Stepping down from my podium I hear you ask what's new? Not much. In a shellnut, True Blood is one of my weekend highlights, yesterday I finished a book I've been lugging around for 5 months, I scored a 222 on iBowl last week, I am a big fan of the Healthy Choice basil chicken pasta bowl eating at least one per day if not two, I am thrilled with America's choice in our new leader, I have grossly neglected working out my bod, and I'm self-learning the craft of knitting so that Christmas '08 won't be tough on the pocketbook. I added a couple of pictures to the left of my blog. The first photo documents Matthew and I posing as Dolly and Kenny on the 31st last month. Let it be known that I am holding a mic not a flashlight and Matthew is dressed as Kenny Rogers not Taylor Hicks. In the photo directly below D&K you'll find my pesky roommate Jerry Seinfeld posing as a character true to life -The Devil. Funny story, Jerry was recently banned from the dog park due to heinous acts I can't legally blog about. I can report that he and I will be making the rounds throughout the neighborhood this weekend alerting other pets of his offensive sexual behavior. The guy is nuts but he sure plays some mean pinball. Last week for his first (seventh) birthday he asked for a pint of jagermeister and a pack of black and milds. He got a ball, a bone and the too-small-for-his-body devils costume as seen in the photo, 1/2 price at Petsmart's post Halloween sale.

In closing, as John Lennon so delicately put it, if there will be an answer let it be.

~ your friend J

H-A-LL-O-W-EE-N spells...

Ready to get spooked?













If that doesn't make you sweat bullets something is amiss. Tell me you weren't petrified that he lived under your bed when you were a kid. To this day I worry this guy is smiling, plotting, under my bed while I catch some zzzz's pending the perfect moment for attack. This is precisely why my four legged roommate sleeps on the floor next to my bed - let that clown try to strangle him first and give me time to get the heck out of dodge.

Happy eve of All Hallows' Even. I am a big fan of dressing up and here's a secret -finding that prefect costume and wearing it out is even more fun when you have a festive event to attend. I 've gotta admit I felt a little silly sitting around the house, alone, in my Beetlejuice getup last year but this year I plan to stand out at a costume party in character and in style. I struggled this year finding that perfect one, finally settling on something two days ago primarily to alleviate stress. I have purchased a few odds and ends for the big night but I have yet to try on the ensemble in its entirety. Truth be known I am apprehensive about the final product -what if I fail to deliever? What makes my costume interesting and puts me at an even higher risk for failure is it accompanies that of a sidekick, if you will. His costume is less complex than mine and involves a can of silver hairspray and a sports jacket. I have a feeling if he were to wear this costume without the addition of my character people would guess he is Doc Brown from Back to the Future. Here is a hint about my character: I purchased a used size 36D bra (sick, right?) that will drape my naked body tomorrow eve following several washes in hot water - extended cycle. This lady was a tramp at her chicken ranch in Texas back in '82.

This morning while I was getting ready for work in my 52 degree house I noticed a pathetic roll of toilet paper clinging to my toilet paper holder. The things that go through my mind while doing the mundane everyday things - you wouldn't imagine. Regardless, today I wonder how it is possible - seriously how can it be - that in this house we go through a 6 pack of toilet paper in one week. That's practically 3 rolls a week per person, give or take, depending on the kind of week our respective bladders and colons are having. Maybe I am oblivious to the average individual's daily usage of TP but this seems high. Maybe because it's tragically cold in my house my four legged roommate designed a toilet paper scarf or jacket. I know it sounds far fetched but would you believe that up until yesterday my landlord informed me that we would have to suffer through the winter minus heat because she cannot afford to have the $4,000 heating unit replaced? This morning when I walked out of my house and took my first breath I could see it in the exhale yet it was warmer outside than it was in my living room.

Paper towels. Another item that is used in abundance in my home. This significantly adds to my homemade coat theory.

things that scare me:

* Governor Palin serving as first person in the presidential line of succession
* my old, haunted house and the abnormal things I pretend to ignore
* my absessed tooth - it haunts me with regularity
* people who live in the box - not to be confused with the homeless
* IBS although I haven't been haunted by the ailment in quite some time
* high school musical 1, 2 and 3
* the 2 guys straight out of Deliverance that threatened my sister and I because we weren't driving fast enough one car ahead of the scumbags...I suspect these people have little to live for but moments like these
* will the recession affect the Wendy's $1 menu
* fish sticks - worst food made available to man
* taking off a pair of boots after a long day in them
* those assholes in The Strangers - Tara isn't home!
* life without Flying Burrito
* anyone who says their favorite television show is The Hills
* neck jewelry made for the male gender
* cats - okay not really but I am running out of items to bullet here
* blue cheese - what is it?
* cockroaches - tougher to kill than those Vamps on True Blood (one of my fav shows)
* trying on a pair of my size 25 jeans straight out of the dryer
* long lines - patience really is a virtue I haven't quite adopted
* the chainsaw guy at the end of a haunted house - why am I always the innocent victim
* getting out of bed when my thermo reads 50 knowing I have to get in and out of the shower
* trick-or-treater's that won't go away because "I can see someone inside"

I could go on but I will save you the pain of my rants. Eat a Salty Nut Bar for me (the tasty treat you pervs), bob for an apple or two, and remember to be safe.

Good Night my friends,

J

this one's for my padre back home

Today is October 15 which signifies absolutely nothing. On second thought:
Today will be the best day of someone’s life and for someone it will be the worst. Where's the entertainment in this? There's none. Welcome to October 15.

The office in which I work is being renovated. At any given moment of the day there is a crew of 10 plus diligently pounding, pulling, and scurrying up and down the halls. The foreigners, most legal citizens, are a hard working bunch and smiley to boot. The upside to the ear piercing hammering and headache inducing paint smell is I am learning Spanish.

Today at 103 pounds, quickly losing the muscle I worked hard to gain, and sans any real training to speak of for weeks I crave exercise and all the wonderful benefits that are connected to pumping blood and breathing oxygen. With the weather tempting me to play outside I have an itch to run the mountain, the mountain being my workout of choice, alas my exercise of preference has been put on temporary hiatus after my experience on the trail Friday. As I set to defeat the mountain I was intercepted by a perfect stranger within 2 minutes of my run [sidenote: remember the television hit Perfect Strangers starring Balki Bartokomous - I miss it]. The man informs me that his eyes were drawn to not one but several cottonmouth snakes during his mountain climb. Readers I am petrified of God's worst creature made of the reptile famile. I didn't wait for the guy to get into his car before I jumped in mine. If I were training for an Olympic sport this guy would be called a medal blocker. My opponents' dirty rotten scoundral, if you will. For now I will refer to him as Slugwart. In the meantime I am sad that I have been swayed from a once highly enjoyable and rewarding workout.













It's better to be safe than sorry so just in case I find myself at the mountain anytime soon I want to know what those disgusting creatures of death look like. After a few clickity clicks of the keyboard the google search generated a FAQ about the venomous beasts that included the following words: Aggressive, Alligator mouth, Deadly, PMS (dare me to prove you wrong) and "will find you and attack." No way Jose. Speaking of Jose, one of the renovators is barely pushing cinco feet tall. The tall one is wearing an Extreme Makeover Home Edition t-shirt and this impresses me quite a bit. I have learned by eavesdropping (I'm curious) that one goes by the name Pablo. Duh. You should have heard the ringtone his cell just blasted. My guess is it was Mexico's National Anthem.

In other news, I’ve acquired a Kenyan penpal, Kanai, and to be quite honest the steps taken to manufacture this friendship have escaped my mind. Breaking the urge to be subtle aside I came right out and questioned my African friend to what did I owe such honor. Apparently Kanai and I met several years ago through a friend of mine he went to grad school with in the states. Kanai writes me on a regular basis. He is fascinated with American politics and all the other glorious, highly publicized matters born and raised here in the U.S. of A. Here is an excerpt from Kanai’s email today:

“So how has your week been so far? How is the economy doing? They've had the bank crisis on CNN and in the newspapers international section. America is a resilient society so things will get better after everything hits bottom."

I like how Kanai asks me how the economy is doing as if inquiring about the weather. “Oh, it's half past shitty."

By the way, have you noticed that some people are victims of their own stereotypes? Why not skip the taco bell and grab a six inch sub? Don't become a casualty to cliche' Pablo. Run!

In closing I compare my day to a Benetton commercial, minus the cool stripes in a variety of colors. I plan to make a trip to the gym where the stair machine (readers not to be confused with stair stepper) will inevitably kick my ass followed by draining my bod of every last drop of agua via the steam room. For the record, I didn't learn the word agua today - I knew that one.

I miss crabapple.

~ Jl

We refer to this as 'the one strum'














RaNdaLe

2 - 7!!!

lost in transition

fishsticks, fiddlesticks, pick up sticks, stack of bricks

I am blown away when I stop and think about how quickly we arrive at the first of a new month. I don't even remember April - did we skip it? It's a scary yet invigorating feeling. I have really learned to not take anything for granted.

I'm a little heartbroken today which you won't catch me bloggin' about much - if ever - really an emotion I prefer to keep to myself. I'm trying to keep a positive outlook which is a sentiment that's getting easier every day. I have been absent minded for over a week. It's not a healthy way to go about my days. I am growing a friend for my ulcer. It's not often that I throw myself into a tizzy but when I do my body takes a beating from the stress. Eating has been frowned upon which after my weekend of glutony this is a positive result. I feel similar to how you feel when you suck down that last gin and tonic and regret it immediately - dizzy and aloof while vomit rests impatiently in the back of your throat teasing you with possibility. Desperate for this feeling to fade.

Maybe I should become a blonde. Maybe I should reunite with an old friend. Maybe I need a new hobby. Maybe Zuber and I should rekindle our love affair. I miss that guy. Speaking of missing a guy, Randale graced me with his presence last night for a short but sweet catchup session and it served as a much needed escape from my pouty demeanor. I could lie and say the lighthearted conversation made me happy but honestly it was the glass of wine.

These lovely lyrics come from a song that has grown on me like a bad habit and it comes highly recommended.

Wilco's "Either Way"

Maybe the sun will shine today
The clouds will blow away
Maybe I won’t feel so afraid
I will try to understand
Either way

A picture of Jerry Seinfeld and I:













It's a little hard to tell from the picture but I gained a decent 2-5 pounds this past weekend. My parents instilled a healthy relationship towards food growing up only to fatten me as an adult. I ate so much Sunday night it caused heart palpitations.

Because of my funk I may treat myself to something special tonight. A pedicure I don't have to perform would be rewarding. If I had an appetite I'd go for a big, juicy steak. I will admit my loss of appetite didn't interfere with the 5-8 peices of bacon I ate early this morning (they were skinny). Some things can never be stopped.

In closing, I am optimistic about October. ~ jojo

My sister Kelly is in town for the weekend and I can't wait to spend a couple of days with her and baby Ethan. Who's Ethan? Well, just the prettiest baby boy I have ever set eyes on. Don't believe me? Take a gander:

From Memorial Day Weekend 08

The other boy in the picture is my nephew Brennan who incidentally looks like a dinosaur here.

GO HOGS!!!

From Nikki's Visit Sept '08

Warning readers: this blog is going to be as entertaining as your first time at third base. Don't fool yourself into thinking it was fun.

I have Fine Young Cannibals finest "I've Been Thinking About You" stuck in my head. Target must've had it playing at a level so low while shopping this afternoon the tune sucked on to my subconscious like a desperate vulcher. Why god, why?

That's not the only thing I walked away with from the discount store visit. I took a chance on what looked like a mouth watering Italian sausage, compliments to the Target snack bar chef, and now I am regretting that choice. What goes down should never come up. Sure the thing was tasty when I consumed it 3 hours ago but now I find myself having to swallow the semi processed meat for the second time. Indigestion = no friend of mine.

I have a new theme song. It's Spoon's Two Sides/Monsieur Valentine. Don't go stealing it. It peps me up. With SAD right around the bend I have been battling the end of summer blues. We know what's next: fewer daylight hours and cooler temperatures. Have I mentioned how much I loathe cold weather? To spice things up a bit allow me to share with you dogs a couple of exciting things I learned over the past week: (a) yes it's possible to be solicited for sex in a grocery store parking lot on a Thursday afternoon by a homosexual and (b) never mistake the small little blue pills for ibuprofen unless you have time to devote to a coma.

One of those "getting to know your friends" chain emails went around today. Of course it was the one hundredth time I was getting to know this particular group of friends but I threw caution to the wind and signed up for the challenge. I was stumped, I guess for the one hundredth time, by question #38: "Do you like surprises?" Profound I know. Quiz wizard I need clarification. Is this the "SURPRISE Happy 28th Birthday Party" kind of surprise or the "what do you mean there are 2 plus signs" kind of surprise? Two totally different things.

But honestly, I deal with a wide range of surprise daily. I was surprised when I went with the new fire taco during a hunger peak leaving me sadly disappointed. I am surprised by what my dreams try to tell me night after night through variations of the same dream. I am surprised to see things run smoothly when I expect a disaster. I was recently surprised to learn I do like a song off of Thom Yorke’s two year old disaster Eraser. I am surprised that a legit record producer signed on Heidi Montag. I am surprised that at 33 I still struggle differentiating left from right. I am surprised that some things keep getting better and better. I am surprised when I make it home after the gas needle has been pushing E for a day or two. I am surprised for every horrible song out there, and they are plentiful, at least one person in this world claims it as their favorite. What a wonderful world!

Fitness: it's what I am [trying to be] all about. I'd like to take a moment and share with you several photos captured during a trial run as a personal trainer. I think you'll like them.
























You see, exercise is much more enjoyable and not the slightest bit painful when you've consumed more than 3 alcoholic beverages. You hardly remember the effort! The next morning you wake up asking yourself "why am I so sore" and as the dreariness and headache vanishes "oh yeah - cardio coolers." Sure we look like a group of circus monkeys in that last one but fitness should be entertaining. My last photo is saying "try not to get stuck in a fitness rut - keep things interesting."

Going to win some money tonight dirty dogs...Poker [bunko]. NIGHT!

Goulash

Today's post will consist of blogs - ramblings if you will - created yet never finished and until today have been lingering somewhere in the world of drafts.
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It always happens when I am fighting time, in dire need to use the bathroom, and experiencing an unusually intense case of impatience. I get stuck in line behind some lollygagger who has nothing but time. The most recent case occurred this afternoon during what was suppose to be an in-and-out trip to Kmart to pick up a greeting card. One small less than $5 item. Big store - one checkout line. The female patron, Shaquita, works for an Abuse Center according to the tag dangling from her oversized shirt and today is buying every paper product produced at Kimberly Clark. How unfortunate that life necessitites not only one giant size package of Maxi Pads, with wings, but also an economy size package of Depends. Rumor has it Darlene is not the only one in the house wearing diapers because she also collected a package of tot sized Pampers.
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In an attempt to spice up the monotony of every day life I am going to start addressing people by their first and last names.
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As I was walking out of my new favorite Mexican eatery Sunday afternoon I observed a young girl, maybe in her early 20's, who was sobbing into the palms of her hands and it stopped me in my tracks. I watched as the pain grew on the girls' face. It was the type of crying that couldn't be prevented no matter how hard she was trying. The troubled soul was dining with two girls of similar age. She ordered a drink that went untouched as her lunch companions dove into their taco salads. Having been in similar grievous situations I instinctively felt her pain as if it were my own. My mind flashed to agonizing moments of my past where nothing could bring me out of that in-the-moment, overwhelming pain. It's as if you are living but lifeless simply going through the motions. A slave to your emotions alienated from the world around you. As I longed to give reassurance to the young girl that things would eventually be okay I said a silent prayer for her while hoping I would never be where she was again whether it be due to good luck, proper choices or positive perspective.
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Experience has shown year after year that one week post birthday is no good. This might be the annual week off for my guardian angel. Perhaps I am feeling a little blue that the birthday activities have come and gone left with a couple kodaks of an inebriated girl and her inebriated friends getting boo'ed while singing karaoke [for the record we were show stopping]. Last year my house was broken into the week after my 32nd. This particular week also signifies the end of summer preparing us for cold, dark days ahead. Today, a mere 3 days into my 33's, I got a speeding ticket in a no tolerance school zone. I won't argue with the principle of the matter (who wants to hit a kid) but it's July 31st, dirty dogs, and school is not yet in session. The big and bad cop that stopped me was nice but shameless. The officer leaned on his bike as a cigarette stuck to his lower lip held on for dear life. He lured me to him with his right hand and signaled me to stop when I notice a ticket in his left glove. I know what a badass, right, who wears gloves in July? I have a fishy suspicion this man of law was delinquent on his end of the month ticket quota and was requried to meet the delinquency by close of business. What happened to warnings by the way? A ticket for traveling 5 miles over the tragically low 25 limit is a hard pill to swallow. I can barely afford gasoline let alone a $200 ticket. If I really start to think about how much money is spent towards my car it makes my stomach hurt. Car payment (although 10 months from being paid off) personal property taxes, another 30 bucks for tags not to mention the cost to insure the darn thing. I don't even like to drive!
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life in the fast lane

[thanks Jess, Ellie, and Nikki for clarity - you're right who cares]

Feeling a little energetic, likely due to the modest size box of red hots I devoured in two swallows. I don't know what is keeping me in this chair.

I want to share a humbling tale with you, blogspot. I just opened my purse, desiring to smother my lips with some gloss, and felt a little ashamed and a bit humored at what I saw. An unopened pregnancy test resting on top of my bible.

Explanation 1 (most important naturally): The Bible Querey Answered.

One of my goals this year is to read my Womens Devotional Bible - For Women - New International Version from front to back. As a young Catholic girl I read a more traditonal version in its entirety during religion class but acknowledge the self interpretation today would be far more beneficial than it was for a prepubescent 12 year old. That being the case, I keep the book of god in my purse for those precious moments when I find myself with some down time. Not that the bible isn’t worthy of real time - you know what I mean.

Explanation 2 and a bit more comical (= scary): The Baby Theory – Is She Or Isn’t She.

Saturday morning, prior to what I hoped would be a day of tailgating shenanigans, I found myself at the local food and beer store standing in the condom/pregnancy test/UTI aisle, aka the aisle of shame, pricing pregnancy tests. Wanting to climb out of my own skin I grab an EPT box (2 tests included) priced down to a steal at $9.99 while juggling a 6 pack of Bud Lite Lime and a hard pack of Marlboro Menthol Lights. [Sidenote: I hope when that day comes I find myself standing at the golden gates with Our Lord that this is not one of the pictures he flashes in the sky.] For the record, the smokes were for the anticipated mid afternoon beer buzz and I did not plan to smoke the menthols should the test result in a plus. I planned to suck down 6 Bud Lite Limes regardless of the test outcome. [Oh readers try not to be so gullible.]

To add to the delight of this shopping venture the aisle of shame happens to be in plain sight from the beer section where three acquaintances of mine just happened to be contemplating the various selections of foam beverages to bring to the tailgate party I was, oddly enough, minutes away from attending. I was not privy to this information while holding beer, tests and smokes. Pleasantries were exchanged but not before looks. The real pain occurred later as I watched the three musketeers, toting beer and one gigantic bag of original Lays, approach the tailgate as I sip on my first Bud Lite Lime.

Here's the news. I am not pregnant. The pee test had a positive outcome = it was negative. At the time I truly didn’t believe I was with fetus. The reasoning behind my pregnancy phobia is that for weeks, including the weekend in Dallas, I was punished with immense nausea. On the day of the EPT purchase the queasiness peaked. To amplify my fears mymonthlycycles.com never failed to remind me, with regularity, of my irregularity (3 days late) kudos to their friendly calendar reminder. The final answer presented itself within a matter of hours following application of the pee test during a routine trip to the restroom. The nausea, however, stuck around for the duration of my Saturday preventing me from enjoying the tailgating antics friends and acquaintances participated in that afternoon. In a jealous daze I attempted to trick my body into feeling fantastic while I forced down my second Bud Lite Lime only to wind up at my sister's house vomiting in her toilet. What makes this incident particularly neat is that the sister's restroom does not lock. Apparently when her house was built, some seventy plus years ago, people were less modest. When the strange man walked in on me blowing chunks (I mean that as literal as possible) and glanced at the toilet filled with a partially digested supersonic burrito soaked in Bud Lite Lime I decided I was all out of dignity and allowed my body to do what it had been screaming to do all morning. Reflecting back on that moment I don't recall seeing that guy again for the rest of the day.

The remainder of my Saturday was spent on my sister’s couch lifeless and miserable. In a semi conscious state I heard friends and acquanitances come and go like giddy school children telling tales of the good times that were had and gushing about the ones soon to come while enjoying burgers, dogs, and booze. The awkward grocery store run-in was later mentioned by one of the three musketeers. Rumor has it I was trying to hide the fact I was shopping for condoms. This kinda hurts worse than pregnancy speculation.

I have since removed the unused test from my purse unwilling to be that girl who mistakes an EPT for a pen while making out a deposit slip at The Bank of America. My fingers are tightly crossed that the test will remain unused. The Womens Devotional Bible goes where I go because I am fully committed to reading the 1454pages of fine print before 2012 [the end of days right Matthew?]

I hope I was able to entertain you, once again, with the unique life of Josie.

Nik will be in town next weekend and I am tres excite! Things tend to get a little crazy when she and I get together but I am going to suggest we keep things on da low key just as we did in the pic below. GOODNIGHT friends and lovers.

let's ponder, shall we?

I like to call this segment "Weekly Irritations." The following situations have disturbed my life at one point or another this week.

(1) nausea.
(2) rusty screws.
(3) sausage egg mcmuffin with [plastic] egg.
(4) tetanus.
(5) dellusionalists! (if this is not a word it is now)
(6) the predictable.
(7) Jessica's driving [see below].
(8) calories and inactivity due to injuries .
(9) dark clubs and invisible stairs.
(10) unruly brows.
(11) doctor visits.
(12) Lifetime movie about the TX cheerleaders. God tells us not to hate but he makes an exception when it comes to the Fab 4.
(13) The Strength Curve - why so complex?
(14) Marlboro Menthal Lights - get out of my social drinking life already.
(15) Pearl necklaces (head outta gutter pervs - the accessory).
(16) Nickelback (this is an every day pain in my life).
(17) crabapples and constant complainers!
(18) my bare ass for the world to see - thanks Nik.
(19) The Mosquito! Dude, your lease is up. Pack your bags and get the heck out of town.
(20) Air Guitar! Everyone has a signature drunk oddity (Jess pulls out kissey face Stacie loses use of her left eye). Put a couple drinks in me and I am Eddie Van Halen.
(21) Claustrophobia. Must the little girl always be put in teeny places. In Dallas on Saturday I was placed on the steering wheel when there was no room left in the car.

To counteract the negativity allow me to share a few things that delivered happiness in recent days:

(1) Jessica's unforgettable meltdown while driving (memorable words "Fabulous" and "Bitches").
(2) fantastic pictures from Dallas! Nik and I surprisingly took some good ones!
(3) a Stacie Phillips tangent.
(4) anticipating a 3 day weekend.
(5) watching videos of my puppethead from his youth (precious).
(6) pain meds (I advocate for drugs only when one is suffering).
(7) 3 charming words "I HAVE TURRETS!"
(8) Hilary's pumpkin orange suit at the DC.
(9) plotting demise - ssshhhhhh!
(10) mr seinfeld waiting until it is dark/quiet to piss on the bedroom rug sounding similar to a pitcher being filled with water.
(11) LCD Soundsystem's All My Friends (my most played jingle on RH this week).
(12) Donita's potato salad! Darnitt that stuff is good!
(13) Barber splitting his pinstripes front to back while droppin' it like its on fire!
(14) brow wax - it's soothing!
(15) When I asked him whether he wanted to "dine in" while waiting for food at a particular taco bell Jake declared "this place kind of makes me sick."
(16) Ellie and I giggling about #15 before falling asleep on the air mattress in Donita's living room. I like to believe the best part of the reenactment is my "Jake" voice - it's kinda hoarse and mean.
(17) black olives and ranch dip! It's THAT good.















Ellie and I accidentally let our tongues touch during the making of this photo at the Grapevine in Dallas last weekend. As weird as the moment was we got over it, ironically later finding ourselves wandering aimlessly around a dark smoke filled club, designed for males who like males, consisting of 2 floors exuding with pounding beats of the techno genre and involving more rubbing than a petting zoo. Everytime I attempted to dance I'd wind up with some smiley mexican man trying to hump my back. Off the dance floor Ellie and I lose the group. Due to confusion, shock and the washington apple shots we all sucked down earlier kudos to Jessica, I didn't notice a step as I attempted to walk into another room diligently looking for my group. My body met the marble floor quick and I have a black and blue leg to prove it. To add insult to injury Ellie and I squeezed in one last uncomfortable moment between the two of us when Ellie tripped over my body, now glued to the ground, and fell on top of me during this "it could happen to anyone with legs" accident. For the remainder of the evening we were famous around the club for being "the 2 girls that fell". I'll take it!

Giant birthday wishes to one of my favorite golfer boys Matthew Naylor. Welcome to 27 Mister!

~ J*O*S*I*E

who's thirty plus one?

"I'M GONNA ROCK YOUR WORLD!"

happy birthday jillian! like naylor says "age is just a number" and someday we'll all be 31! love, j

where the boys are

"He tells us that the way to live in this world is to have the childlike heart and mind. In other words, never get old or dull or jaded in spirit. Don't become super-sophisticated."

Matthew and I made a trip to our local Barnes & Noble last night. Who knew the place is quite the communal hot spot at 9 pm on a Wednesday eve. The place was swarming with rowdy pre-teens sucking down mocha latte's, various walks of life thumbing through books, teenage misfits spending their summer nights playing chess, lonely people hoping to make a connection with another lost soul. It was a people watcher's paradise. Maybe it was the atomoshpere but the scene alone inspired me to write a book about book worms and those that want to be them. I relocate to the Biography section having a strong interest in personal memoirs. Some might say it's due to my need to meddle - but it is not - I am interested. My bookstore companion, Matt, is soon lost in the scurry of noise and nerds. I didn't pick up what naturally caught my eye because I felt bashful. "Loose Girl" is a memoir of promiscuity. Dismissing my curiousity, in the next aisle over my eyes are instantly drawn to Jenna Jameson's "How to Make Love Like a Porn Star" and for a second I question my state of mind. I scuffle around the store limiting myself only to the Biography section when I notice a copy of "Loose Girl" that is out of place. I think what the heck! Someone else was obviously interested in the tell-all. I'll just read the Prelude.

During the 25 minutes that follow I flip, with great intrigue, page after page of sextails oblivious to the patrons behind me except when I hear Matt walking nearby. He doesn't know it but he sends off signals to alude me to the fact that he is in close proximity. Only when he walks by do I become cautious of the book in hand. By the way, this was not possible with the Jameson read due to the tremendous amount of graphics displayed on each page - they would catch the eye of a blind man. Once again I become absorbed in the words of the low inhibited, sex addict. Fascinating stuff! My first interruption, and close call, occurrs when a group of obnoxious teenage girls stop by to comment on my shirt, to giggle, and to get details on where one could purchase such a shirt. Frazzled with dismay not wanting the virgin eyes to catch light of what I was reading, tuck the book to my side, finger in place, and graciously thank the girls with a smile that said scram. As the group awkwardly ran off I heard one of the girls say to her friend "my mom has a shirt just like it". Ha! Bitches.

About the time I get into the good stuff, and by good I mean dirty, a gentleman who was extremely uncomfortable in his own skin, John, politely interrupts me with a tap to my shoulder and introduces himself. To be honest I felt a little disoriented in a what's going on sort of way, you know the way you feel when you wake up from a 45 minute Saturday afternoon nap. John asks me if I have a name and I say with confusion "John" when he smirks "no that's my name." How charming - you're getting on my nerves John. I wanna know if Kerry is going to let the dirty scumbag take it to homebase. My mind asks does this man have pertinent information for me, does he need assistance, has he mistaken me for someone else? John used the 'ole "I noticed a man circling your area and I became concerned with the way he was watching you" line before asking "you from around here"? I can't believe this! John, probably straight out of Wednesday night bible study, is making a pass at me while I am doing a bad job at trying to disguise my book about women who love sex. Completely disconnected from the situation I manage a "yes I am from town, this town" wishing one of those flying monkeys from Oz would sweep up John and fly him over to the World History section.


Where is Matt by the way when I need him? Naturally I knew what was coming as John was running out of material. "What are you reading there" studying my hand trying to get a peep at the cover. I fail to step up to the moment and my mind drifts to blank. Frustration mixed with embarassment caused me to blurt out the first thing that came to mind "oh just reading books, with my boyfriend, who is somewhere in this store". John thinks I am lying. John takes the hint. Off he wanders but not far - he keeps a close eye on me. Alone again and 50 pages into Loose Girl Kerry finally loses her virginity and I decide I am no longer interested in what she has to say. I feel like such a guy!

In the Religion section, on a journey for spiritual healing, John just happens to run into me again and seeks confirmation that I am still with someone. Now I just feel sad for the guy. In retrospect I should have offered him a copy of Loose Girl.

Throughout the course of my Barnes experience I was hit on by three boys - two of which were together and probably no older than 20. Word to the single ladies (or lonely hearts). This is where it's at . I hope to never find myself sitting in Barnes searching for "the One" but I don't frown upon those that do. Next time you get a late night craving for a Grande Mocha Latte, spice up the night with a trip to your local bookstore. To go a step further, keep in mind Loose Girl. It's a real page turner.

~ Josie
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Sometimes everyone needs to step out of their comfort zone to get a clear sense of importance. You really won't miss the things you think you will, and in the end you may just miss the very thing you were afraid of to begin with. ~ jm

so long farewell

auf Wiedersehen, good night.

dear blogspot,

I'm three seconds away from puking on my desk...

...daily multi vitamin. To add insult to injury I think I ate some bad turkey roni. The 'ole head between the knees trick works. 9th grade Health class wasn't a complete waste of time afterall.

On a less exciting note, following 48 hours of brutal anxiety I finally received my first at-home B12 shot (I am a B12 junkie) administered by a non medical professional. What a trooper that Matthew, such a care free spirit. I watched as, after 2 days of my badgering stemming from a strong need to diminish distress and craving reassurance, Matt's confidence crippled to the point where he refused to inject me in the rear on Monday night suggesting we'd "give it a try" another night. This statement was made about the time I was thrown into a full blown panic attack while watching a nurse via the likes of youtube demonstrate the proper way to execute the deed. Readers beware, t'was not the needle that frightened me, it was the way ms. prick critically stressed the life or death importance of inserting the needle in the muscle avoiding any nerves. To add fuel to this growing fire, someone at work put the lethal combination of needle and heart attack in my head and it's all I thought about for 2 days. I convinced myself the second the syringe met my skin my heart would explode. Alas, last night my fear was conquered enough to go for round two. Once I could keep my paws to myself, the meds were sucked into the needle followed with several flicks to remove air and without a pinch I was suddenly B12 replenished. Like a child I sniffled "did you do it?" I hate to brag on the non-nurse, but Matthew did a first-rate job. Heck, I'd go as far to say he's the the best B12 administrator I have been pricked by, medical professionals and all, in three years. Thanks tigercat.

Here is a little something I have been working on creatively titled "I'm Just a Girl"...

I’m Just a Girl who believes love is about wanting to better yourself for someone else
I’m Just a Girl who is a victim to insecurity yet exudes with confidence
I'm Just a Girl who is terrified of awkward predicaments
I'm Just a Girl who is great at a few things spectacular at nothing
I’m Just a Girl who would rather cheat with a cigarette than a slice of cake
I’m Just a Girl who loves who I am yet disgusted with someone I have been
I’m Just a Girl who’s easy to please and easily annoyed
I’m Just a Girl always looking for something new but habitually complacent
I’m Just a Girl who says screw foolish expectations
I’m Just a Girl who wants the 9 oz steak over the 6
I’m Just a Girl who forgot what my 20 something self was like yet feel 19 at heart
I’m Just a Girl who has come to learn things do get easier with age yet some things never change
I’m Just a Girl who is a skeptical believer
I’m Just a Girl intrigued by what’s next
I’m Just a Girl who prefers the mysterious power of music over any form of art
I’m Just a Girl who understands life really does go on
I’m Just a Girl who loves to play but pensive at the core
I’m Just a Girl with a handful of dear friends oblivious to her enemies
I'm Just a Girl with zero tolerance for fake
I'm Just a Girl who wants to forgive and then forget
I’m Just a Girl who prefers to go commando
I’m Just a Girl who will say I don’t care what you think, but might consider it
I’m Just a Girl who has learned the hard way
I’m Just a Girl who feels sorry for closed minded people
I’m Just a Girl who has left my past in the past
I'm Just a Girl with a man sized appetite
I'm Just a Girl who loves to endulge in a daydream
I’m Just a Girl who appreciates the benefit of the doubt
I’m Just a Girl who gives without expectation
I’m Just a Girl who does extraordinary things with her mind
I’m Just a Girl tempted by curiosity, better suited not knowing
I'm Just a Girl who adores alone time but believes being lonely is the saddest emotion
I’m just a Girl who is wise yet still learning
I’m Just a Girl often misunderstood
I’m Just a Girl who believes we all sometimes dream of frolicking on someone elses’ grass
I’m Just a Girl complicated but true
I'm Just a Girl who gets lost in a song
I’m Just a Girl with a razor sharp edge
I’m Just a Girl who sometimes needs rescuing from my thoughts
I’m Just a Girl who has learned some people change their situations, never change their ways
I’m Just a Girl in love.

I am out for a long weekend. As John Landis would write, See You Next Wednesday!

Lata snakes. ~ j

Happy Birthday Puppethead

you're MY favorite

~ josie

dirt

I am addicted to my Burt's Bees Carrot Seed Oil Complexion Mist. When I apply a modest spritz to my face it's as if I am giving my skin a refreshing drink of water. My face says thank you. I keep a bottle on my desk for frequent application throughout the day. Earlier this afternoon, while in a twilight zone typing in a monotonous manner, I mistaked my vanilla blackberry body mist for the burts and squirted it in my face. I know what you're thinking "I bet your face smells nice." It does.

Last night before falling into a deep nights sleep I wrote a pop song in my mind. I am not a fan of pop music, hate it in fact, but that doesn’t mean I can’t write the junk and make my first mil. The tune was so unimaginative and easy for the average closed minded music lover it was sure to be a hit. I pictured waking up early on a Saturday morning to tune into the local mainstream crapstation, something like the Top Hits of 2008 - 96.5 FM The Zebra, where my song would be played on Casey Kasem’s Top 100. Naturally, there would be some bullshit of a sob story portrayed before leading into the first beat of the song. I envision kickstarting the number one hit with a high pitched growl. I’m still working out details. Being ill equipped to play an instrument I mentally sounded out the bass, the electric guitar and keyboard. During my preliminary outline I really pushed for a trumpet/piano combo in lieu of the drab sound of a keyboard but in the end realized that would be a little too progressive for this sterile genre. The hook, being loyal to its class, was paltry and predictable.

Having already begun my journey into the world of dreams, I could not bring myself to get out of the sleepy sheets to document my musical gem to paper, instead made a good mental note of the masterpiece to perfect the following a.m. Alas, I found myself getting out of the tub this morning when a wave of disappointment came over me. What was sure to be a life altering journey had escaped my thoughts for eternity. My vision vanished. The struggle to find the right producer, interviewing for the right vocalist, a visit to Letterman, an appearance on the Today Show, jet lag, a late night dinner at Nobu with P Diddy, the stress of writing an acceptance speech before nabbing my first Grammy – bye bye. I am kicking myself for not getting my rear out of bed to capture the words of my first opus “Caught in Love”.©™® [writers note: I had a glass of Merlot directly before bed and was exhausted from a late night swim.]

Speaking of rears, for the good part of this week I was victimized by chronic constipation. General moving felt like work until today – the day of reclamation. This small girl with a big fat appetite could not eat a thing all week and the little I was able to swallow and digest merged with the 10 pounds of waste burdening my colon. I felt fat, run down and spent most of the day pushing on my belly encouraging my lazy big intestine and his small helper to do their jobs. By day 3 I woke up feeling full on an empty stomach and knew it was time to take matters into my own hands. A purchase of a Fleet Enema was imminent – at a store that offers self checkout kiosks, naturally. “Ewww…gross.” Shut up. When I succumb to the dire straits of constipation I am wallowing in a pain induced delirium so it doesn’t bother me a bit to squirt 120 ml of sodium phosphate into the anal canal. I welcome it. During the intense seconds following insertion I generally like to read a magazine in a humble attempt to distract my mind from the immediate pressure. Sometimes when I forget to bring reading material I am left to browse the instructions located on the outside of the Fleet box. It makes me smile when I read “Remove the tip from the rectum and maintain the position until the urge to evacuate is strong”. What do you mean until? There is no waiting period. Picture this: someone has just handed you a flaming piece of paper and says "hold this until your hand starts to burn." The trick of the evil enema is the longer you retain the fluid the greater chance at bowel evacuation (I know it sounds sick but it’s science). Let me tell you, the scene is not pretty. I recommend doing the deed when no one is home. There aren’t many other situations I would be more embarrassed to be caught mid act. Here is another tip: when you decide your body will no longer hold what naturally wants to come out make sure you aren’t far from the commode. Just trust me on this. If you follow the simple instructions the Fleet magic should succeed at releasing the compounded mass that is killing you slowly. I must’ve had quite a bit of blockage but lucky for me the enema came to my rescue and cleaned me out. I am dehydrated but my tummy is flat again and it feels as if I gave birth. I am positive if I got on a scale I would be 5 pounds lighter.

My dear friend Ohio informed me last eve that he is going to be leaving us towards the end of this year. The sucker is moving to South Carolina (finally). Here is a bit of trivia, O, the state flower is the Yellow Jessamine. In the less than 6 months we have together I will do what I can to show him a good time, heck I may even document an occasion or two. It’s going to be a difficult task attempting to top the night Ohio and I had to pull up Stacie’s jeans after she tumbled to the pavement while urinating in a downtown parking lot, but we’ll give it our best shot. Our first rumored trip is to the casino – Las Vegas, Nevada or Tunica, Mississipi. I know, night and day right? Matthew says Tunica is the Vegas of the South. What a joke. More like Vegas finds himself homeless, alone and addicted to meth.

In closing I would like to mention that, with the current state of the economy, mediocre earnings and inflation, I am getting ready to buy my first mini horse, T.J. Hooker, solely for the purpose of transportation. You’re right – whatta waste. Transportation and mini horse baseball. Since I am fun size (thanks Mariah) I won’t require a grand daddy size stallion although I would be willing to negotiate with Mr. Ed, if he is still around, because it’d be nice to have someone to vent with while trying to find a parking spot at my neighborhood Kroger.

GOOD NIGHT MY LOVES!

What ever happened to

By Scut Farkus

Old fashioned summer-time. I'm talkin' about orange sherbert push-ups and spending hours outdoors in the front yard, riding bikes in the street, playing kickball in parking lots, shooting hoops in the nieghbor's driveway, getting into shananigans on the roof of the house, climbing trees just for the hell of it, meeting friends for a game of whiffleball in the field across from the junior high school. What happend to surveying the yard for sticks so you could run through the sprinkler later minus injury. We didn't have the luxury of a backyard swimming pool. When the summer gods were good to us we were occassionally invited to a neighor's house on a hot afternoon to splash around in a horse tub filled with tap water which scratched our swimming itch. We were so delighted to be in a tub full of water, swimming in circles, that the third degre burns from the metal walls didn't bother us a bit - or not too much anyway. There were days when mother, aching for some quiet time, would give the siblings and I one dollar apiece to walk down to our neighborhood 7-11 for an afternoon treat. Neighborhood = a 3.5+ mile trek in the blazing heat. Halfway through our journey you could find us dehydrated and sprawled out in someone's front lawn bellyaching about heat strokes and bad ideas. When boredom ensued we brainstormed ideas to bring home profit. We were big fans of the driveway car wash, fully equipped with Dawn liquid soap and a lawn hose. Our only downfall was lack of marketing skills and zero motivation. Lemonade stands were fun - the thirst quencher sold itself - but we had to settle for the kool-aid flavor of the day because that's all we had in the fridge (orange was my color of choice). Once my sister and I raffled off prizes donated by the catholic church [wink] to neighbors around the block. Neighbors who knew my sister and I personally and neighbors who attended the same catholic church my family frequented (on a good day). The raffle ticket was crafted out of notebook paper with our [make believe] prizes, rules, and need not be present boldly written in bubble letters using a variety of crayola crayons. You would be wrong to guess that no one purchased a raffle. On a grand summer's eve the parents would declare "shut the windows kids" which only meant one thing - house meet air conditioner. We, like kids on their way into the magic kingdom, skipped around the house in joy for we were about to be treated with the magic of cold air! This enabled me to move away from the box fan I sat in front of for 8 hours each day and also allowed me to finally get some sleep at night.

What ever happened to the old mustang body style - circa '87?

I had one back in '88 right before I met that evil whore cocaine. R.I.P. Sally.

What ever happened to Cowboys vs. Indians plastic figures. I had hundreds of these little guys strolled out on the cold floors of my bedroom when I was a young lad. Instead of playing out scenes from one of my favorite Westerns, I produced my very own amateur "Cowboys vs. Indians - Battle of the Bands" series. The Indians proudly carried the title Almika and Her Dirty Dozen (Almika meaning "She of the Sun"), while the Cowboys were known around town as Louis Lou and the Lone Ranger's. This is what I called entertainment not horsin' around with a woo or wii whatchamacalit. What happened to using your imagination? These days all you need is a little pocket change to buy your very own fantasies!

And finally, in closing, what happend to good old fashioned walking. Back when I was a youngster gas was $1.24/gallon, give and take, and my family still commuted everywhere via foot. Quit your whining society!

Thanks for allowing me time on my soapbox ("soap poisoining" - ha) I could honestly go on for hours but life calls.

~ Scut
__________________________________________

About the writer:

Age: 38 going on 16

Marital Status: They say third time's a charm, right? :)

Who would play you in a movie made of your life: Easy - Ron Howard

Favorite childhood memory: Kickin' some Billingsley ass in '83. Nah, seriously I love the guy. Playing Bernardo in Fullmont High's rendition of Westside Story.

Favorite Song: The song of the moment is "Tiny Birds" by Yo La Tengo other than that anything by Natalie Merchant.

Favorite Television Show: I couldn't live without Friends reruns. Also lovin' that new Real World series. D-r-a-m-a! Not a big fan of that wife swap series - that one hits too close to home.

Favorite Leasure Activity: My wife is going to hate this response but I am a bit of a pool shark.

Guilty Pleasure(s): a zima with lime, a black and mild, and a dame.

Pets: Samuel L. Jackson, his bastard kittens and baby's momma Fruitloop (her original name was Penelope Priss but I changed it because I can't stand the bitch).

Favorite Athlete: PBA's very own Walter Ray Williams, Jr., of course. You're #1 Walt!

a day in the life...

As a prelude to the flustering memoirs to follow I dedicate this blog, with a humble heart and much gratitude, to the empathetic fellow who accompanied me Saturday afternoon during a routine stroll through Walgreens gone awry.

It is on those days that seem almost too perfect when I seem to sense mayhem brewing on the horizon similar to how, on a beautiful sunny day, sometimes lies a vague suggestion of rain in the air.

I escorted a particularly special gent, a man who kidnapped my heart and holds it hostage at an unreasonable ransom, to the state of Missouri this past weekend to attend his first cousin's wedding in St. Louis followed by some QT time with extended family members. Those that know this somewhat demure girl well know that I become timid around strangers and consume myself with violent anticipation leading up to such an event.

The weekend clock ticked by primarily on the road while we made our pilgrimage from one state to another leaving little time for much else. We split the 400+ mile drive into two days stopping in the quaint town of Eminence, Missouri on Friday night (population 53 plus one mini horse who goes by the name Robert, Bob to those that really know him) requiring us to wake up to the cock-a-doodle-doos on Saturday to make it to the church on time (thanks David Bowie) so that grannie, who was swooped up in Emienece, was present for pre-wedding pictures. This also meant wearing our Sunday best while making the 4 hour journey from Eminence to St. Louis. At 7 am Saturday morning I found myself slipping into my single strapped, kelly green satin dress feeling half pretty half foolish. A gal should never be in a situation where she is wearing a semi formal dress this early on a Saturday morning unless she passed out in it the night previous.

Joaquin Phoenix and Reese Witherspoon captivated me for the seventh and a half time with the 2005 spellbinding, 153 minute smash Walk the Line amid the commute [writers sidenote: my favorite part of the film is when Joan says to John "there are too many if's in that sentence" and John retorts with bewildering wit "there's only one if in that sentence."] While I was being mesmerized by Joaquin's stunning face I was also preparing for injury as the fearless man behind the wheel flew, at three times the legal limit, up and down roads resembling the treacherous highs and lows of the Texas Giant. The fear was crippling and even though I would never let him know it, it twas a lots 'o fun.

We arrive at the church on schedule [translation: 2 hours early] prior to commencement of the ceremony. 5 hours in a satin dress in the scorching summer heat did not improve my confidence levels. To add insult to injury, I felt incredibly OVERdressed as I watched guests strapping causal attire slowly migrate to the church doors.

With 2 hours to spare my handsome date and I decide to take a gander at the fine items on display at the local Goodwill down the street from the church. His idea. I refused to make eye contact with a single soul while thumbing through the donated treasures [trash] in the second hand department store. I am pretty sure one lady, wearing dangly faux diamond earings paired with heavily washed out Levis, and her large male friend pointed and chuckled at my ridiculously too fancy for Goodwill attire. I wanted to retort, only in my mind, something that was hilarious and would make them feel bad for poking fun, alas my lack of confidence left me feeling stupid for being the object of humor in a Goodwill store. 10 minutes later, following a trip from front to back of the store in search of a restroom only to wind up in the employee break room, we find ourselves with 110 minutes to kill and standing in front of a Walgreens drugstore. My hands were screaming for sanitizer as is always the case post second hand store shopping so naturally a trip to the drugstore was not only a convenient opportunity to murder time, it was necessary.

As we make our way through the Sally Henson line of beauty products I whisper the lyrics to Boy George's Karma Chameleon which is proudly playing over the loudspeaker at surprisingly intense volume. After humming along to the line "red gold and green" I recall thinking 'hey, I am wearing a green dress'. Doggone it will you look at that!

After a good effort search for a product that tames unruly brows (it's a personal problem) I take the advice of my shopping mate and try the 'ole comb and hairspray trick. For those of you at home, do NOT try this. You might end up with what looks like a chronic case of dandruff to what now looks like tiger speckled brows. Minus ten points from the self-confidence bank.

Inspecting aisle after aisle left my feet achy and arm pits moist. It was my intent to impress, not offend, the members of my sweetheart's famile. As nerves increased so did the amount of perspiration exuding out of my pit pores. I inform my shopping companion, who was scoping out Walgreens finest spray colognes like Eternity and Coolwater, that I was preparing to endeavor down the hygeine aisle where it was my intent to burden myself with an ample spray of aerosol deodorant. There was no need to make a purchase of a brand new deodorant stick. I had a perfectly good stick of asian pear scented Secret in my suitcase. This was merely a temporary pit fix for precautionary purposes. In aisle 6 I am perplexed as I make a determintation on which deodorant best suited my current needs. For a reason unknown, I limit myself to the trial size versions of the real deal, maybe because I was about to commit the third commandment. I recall, as I pick up the modest can of aerosol spray, pondering "I hope this deodorant doesn't leave a white mark on my brand new satin-y green dress" and just as I complete that thought, while my right index finger gave an impressive push to the squirt nozzle, I felt what can only be described as a fucking mess. Without looking I knew. It wasn't a can of deodorant at all. It was shaving cream.

It, it, it'was......!!!!

Without him telling me so I have no doubt had my unfortunate Walgreens companion found one of those secret walls you push and it sends you into an adjacent hideway room he would have fled. The intensity was so strong I felt calm maybe due to a small seizure. I didn't dare look at my dress. I didn't need to. I saw the whitish blue foam resting quietly on my silver Jessica Simpson kicks. My panicked date grabbed the first thing in site, a teddy bear from one of those "$10 sale" bins and began to scrub furiously while I moan nuisances such as "why bother" or "so much for looking nice I might as well swing back by goodwill and pick up a dress I'm hideous anyway." My date does not say a word. During his moment of silence I believe he was praying for the ceiling to cave and flatten me to the ground. When Plan A fails he and I move to the Women's restroom where he paints my dress with cold water until a female, relatively masculine herself, walks in and gives me a wicked glance, turns to the "Women" sign in an obvious attempt to reiterate where we were, and barks "this is the women's bathroom , right?" She knew it was. Still in my numb state "I'm sorry" was the best I could come up with as I scurried out the door. Meanwhile, my date turns up the optimism reassuring me with positiveness "we're getting there kiddo not to worry".

I have to be honest. At this point I am trying my darndest not to laugh. When my date accidentally lets out a chuckle I can tell he immediately senses negative repercussion and goes back to scrubbing. When I feel the urge to smile I cover my mouth. I was suppose to be acting upset! All the same, I did find my current pickle ironically comedic.

While we let the dress "sit" as it dried I decide to tackle another deodorant offense - the brut scent. At this point I smell like grampa straight after an early morning shave. Like a masochist, I find myself back in the troubled aisle where something, perhaps the negative kharma gods, lures me to the scene of the deodorant incident. I find myself picking up a bottle of "Phoenix" scented Axe, trial size naturally, and began to hose my naked skin with the contamination resulting in a 30 something girl smelling half teenage boy half 70 year old man - the concoction was worse than awful. I am positively sure it was confusing for others as the vapors reaked from my body as I passed by.

With a headache on the brink and a wet dress currently comaflauging a sticky mess of shaving cream, I make the brainless decision to go out to the car and spray some of my very own expensive perfume over the Phoenix/brut mix in an attempt to hide the current overwhelming smells. My after-the-fact reasoning for this is delirium obviously from the heat and Phoenix. As luck would have it..............

the vehement Missouri heat caused the Coco de Chenal spout to eject the powerful liquid in abundance - enough for a family of 8 at least. It was one of those situations where I was uncomforable in my own skin, literally. I could not tolerate the smell of me. I smelled a disgrace. I probably violated some toxic code. I am sure if the law were involved they would have required me to wear some sort of regulated hazard sign. It is very possible I created a lethal gas not to be inhaled into human lungs.

After a few failed attempts at removing the foam from my new dress, leaving my date sweaty in his nice suit and a furious wreck, me, the soiled dress, and gaseous odors arrived at the church and made it through the wedding minus any weird looks or criticism - that's what I am telling myself anyway. Denial is delightful. My darling's family treated me with kindness and not once uttered a word about my funk, at least not to my face. My date fed me a lying fork of "I can't even smell a thing" and the like. I did, however, receive many compliments on my snazzy frock.

What began with a meek attempt to prevent fowl smelling body odor resulted in one year off of my life as the anguish over a filthy dress and three smells that should never [neva eva] be combined turned my Saturday afternoon upside down. My companion should thank me for finding an interesting way to kill 2 hours. The lesson here, chickadees, look before you squirt. Somewhere in St. Louis sits a forty-something white male reviewing surveillance video in the back of a Walgreens store laughing his ass off as he rewinds, and shares with various Walgreens employees, video footage of yours truly consciously applying a heap of shaving cream to the left side of my body.

Stay tuned for my next blog depicting more fascinating josi'sms....

~ja ja ja josie.


[Bob and I]

summer 'lovin

Happy 29th of the fifth month lads and gals.

I still owe you my 8:48 story but due to a busy Memorial Day Weekend and what has been a short, tiring, and ailing work week, time has been a lackin'.

Remember that paralyzing song Pearl Jam released on their '94 Vitalogy album creatively titled "Bugs"? I enjoyed playing this jingle for family members, set to repeat, until insanity ensued. Aw, the memories. I even choreographed an accordian skit to sometimes perform while the song played.

June is upon us which means my body has been temporarily seized by The Mosquito. This class, the lowest on the social insect tree, loves me. Every part of my body itches at any given second of the day (almost every part, pervs). I have become so accustomed to this relentless nuisance that at times I don’t even notice the burn. What exactly causes the violent craving to rub hard? The mosquito, an insect bearing hideous wings larger than its very own body, takes an unwelcomed bite of human skin and leaves what? A dry pocket that survives solely on the scratch? At times, after a mad finger to skin session fails to please, I attempt to remove the bite from my body in its entirety in an attempt to stop the madness only leaving a masacre. Guess what. Still itches. Try scratching a pool of blood. You don’t know where your target is but something is driving you to the looney bin. How about those bite-free chaps who, lacking an ounce of personal knowledge, preach “don’t itch it; you will only make it worse” accompanied by the 'ole index finger shake. I have TRIED to “let it pass” but it never does. Last night while in bed I counted mini horses for two full hours waiting for the nagging bites to terminate mission but apparently they never sleep. I became delirious in my agitated state. I have not been able to shave my legs in a week. When I do sleep at night I subconsciously claw at the unmerciful sensation until fresh blood is drawn. I have several three inch deep nail marks on my ankles. Getting in a bathtub full of hot water is currently impossible. Odds are good I have West Nile. Don’t ask yourself “is West Nile still around”. It is.

To add insult to injury, this week I was victim to a blood sucking, disease infecting tic. If you think about it, I mean really dwell on it, what those gremlins do is pretty unforgiveable. Unbeknownst to us mortals, the vultures suck the life out of you while working, singing, playing cards, pumping fuel, eating ice cream, watching Cops, playing cops! They are not unlike the Red Cross only this time I didn’t sign up for the donation. The trespassing tic was discoverd four nights ago while getting some shut eye. I had an unusually strong[er] itch behind my left ear and when I succombed to the urge I felt the cold, hard shell as the bastard sucked my head dry. Once the sucker (pun yes) was removed a small sore developed and eventually a large puss producing bump took residence.

[4 mind wrenching hours later]

I have confirmed (sans a diagnosis from a medical care professional) my body has been tainted with a tic passing disease known as Lyme Disease kudos to the freeloader that invited himself and his fangs to use my body as a host for his feast four nights ago. I wonder how long he made my body his home. I will be the first to admit I am a hypochondriac but do I have to remind anyone how the Boy Who Cried Wolf ended? Exactly.

I have reviewed webmd and various “survival” websites for the avid outdoorsman. There is a 1.7% possibility that I read the symptoms and my mind adopted them as its own, but I swear my throat is sore and my lymph nodes are swollen.

TGIT [sounds like tgit] I am fanatically awaiting the weekend for no particular reason. I'm out like a scout (who wears OFF - better to be safe than sorry).

~ JOSIE'S ON A VACATION FAR AWAY...

clarity

I need to set the record straight...

I was not hungover in that pic ↓

Jerry, on the other hand, reaked something awful of crown and stale tobacco. It was the longest ride home.

Speaking of hangovers...

I title this next story "8:48". Buckle up ~ it's gonna be a nasty ride.

put a fork in me

Ahhhhhh....!!!

I am coming off a music induced adrenaline high. I am calling it MORI (aka Magic of Radiohead Part I), without a doubt there will be MORII and if the gods are good to me, MORIII. I peg myself as a die hard Radiohead fan (borderline fanatic) and, for the first time in the 10 years I have been following the boys, report I am no longer a Radiohead virgin.

I like to call this

"THE DAY AFTER" [yes i am wearing my concert T - no I did not wear it during the show]


Radiohead was positively an invigorating experience and incredibly personal. An emotional rollercoaster, if you will. The show, packed with hundreds of Dallas locals, hipster kids, and one man in a banana suit, far exceeded my expectations. Radiohead mesmorized me with their melodic, sometimes haunting magic, leaving me hungry for more. I am not one to gush about emotion and when I do break the seal [wink] I try to be subtle about my feelings, but allow me to dork out for a second and state for the record that during the 120 minute show (give or take) I connected with the music in a way that paralyzed me. I did not wig out like a 15 year old teeny bopper at her first Beatles concert, but I did tear up during their debut performance and it was not the only time. Radiohead delivered each song with power, passion, and creativity in a way that opened and fed my soul. Due to lack of a more fullfilling phrase I can assure you that during those 120 minutes I was moved over and over again. At one point I turned to Nikki and shouted, with a big fat grin, "this is one of the happiest moments of my adult life". You don't get that sort of sentiment often from me. Unforgettable. For those of you who quesetion how, this is living.

I had a difficult time choosing a video clip to share with you guys from Radiohead's Dallas show. I chose Fake Plastic because it was the second moment I teared up during the show and it was a brilliant performance. It was also the most surreal moment of the night for this girl. When I wasn't getting sappy, I was dancing my ass off and screaming into some dude's right ear who was standing at an alarmingly close distance in front of yours truly. When I watch this clip, in addition to other performances from this incredible show, I still get chills.

"But I can't help the feeling...I could blow through the
ceiling...If I just turn and run..."

5 days and counting...

we hope that you choke, that you choke, that you choke

coming soon to a computer near you

that dickie hard at work again...




marlow the tease...

"how u doin"


SUMMER '08
MARLOW AND DICKIE

don't call it a comeback

As birds were beginning to chirp this morning, I was enjoying a rather intense sexual rendezvous when I was disrespectfully interrupted by my iPhone, imitating church bells, fullfilling its daily 5:45 a.m. duty of waking me from golden slumbers knowing I have no plan to clear the sheets a second before 7:15. No day should start out this disappointing before making a complete exit out of slumbersville. Naturally, I wished upon the dream fairies to teleport me back to the euphoric entaglement but instead found myself reunited with odd acquanitnances and long lost friends together as a group in my high school gymnasium for no particular event. Double wammie. Lost sex dream faced with memories of the dorks of my youth I fought so hard to forget.

It…it…it t’was…SOAP POISONING….!!!

taking a break, blog for 'ole times sake, clearing my thoughts, connecting the dots...

[eat your hearts out rapper wannabes....don't hate the magic]

I've got an idea...take a look at this devil...



Folks, I would like you to meet my roommate, and dear family friend, Jerry Oscar Seinfeld. Don’t be fooled, Jerry is not a full blooded canine of the Jack Russell Terrier family. Jerry's blood runs half rodent/half dinosaur. Clever kid that one - struggles with ambition. After his bout with Seasonal Affective Disorder the die hard started putting in 14 hour days at The Weekend Theatre working directly under Frits Milchowsky, Director of Events and Sr. Casting Exec. These days when Jerry comes home at night, correction if Jerry comes home at night, he demands a double scotch and water, hops on the couch where he inevitably passes out, and tests my sanity with ceaseless snoring. When he can't sleep at night Jerry escapes the demands of art by means of a phony myspace account posing as "Chino", a Vegas promotions manager at The Mandalay Bay Casino and Resort who was born and raised with his 2 brothers, 1 sister, and 1 half brother in a little town called Moapa Valley. Jerry doesn't think I notice the light shining through the door crack at 3 am but I do. Half the time I don’t know whether he’s coming or going. True story: two nights ago Jerry walked through the front door at 9 pm, puked on the hardwoods, then proceeded to clean up the brown concoction half single malt scotch whisky half dead bird with the tongue of his very own mouth. Jerry means well, he does. This is the first month Jerry has been able to make rent, on time and in full, and I am really trying to give the little guy a second chance. Having dabbled with depression last month I feel its necessary to keep the boat steady if ya know what I mean.

I promised Jerry a plug: If you are looking to get out this weekend please keep in mind The Weekend Theatre's rendition of "Sailor's Do Cry" debuts Saturday evening, curtain call at 8:15.

For those of you unaware, I am studying to become a certified personal trainer. The course is kicking my ass. There was no "welcome" section to this 2 year course. Instead, International Sports Science Assoc. jumps head first into what I would compare to advanced 6th grade physical science. I had to refer to dictionary.com on the first word referenced in unit 1 - Sedentary. Go ahead and laugh if you wish. I had no clue what sedentary meant but you can be sure I throw it around during conversation whenever remotely pertainable. To make matters more difficult, I am simultaneously attempting to get in shape. I killed myself at the gym last week only to become a lazy dog ("SEDENTARY") all weekend, consuming my body with an abundance of carbs mixed with a large portion of fatty acids that quickly made my butt their permanent home. At 10 pm Sunday eve I found myself sprawled out on the couch englufing a cone containing two hefty scoops of pistachio almond ice cream. I woke up this a.m. with an upset belly feeling sluggish and guilty.

I know you are already thinking what I am screaming - I am going to be one excellent personal trainer.

Naylor, here is your riddle.

golfer boy, golfer boy where'd you get that swing?
we met on the roof after a night of drinking.
"welcome ladies" in his baratone voice...
"you don't say" is naylor's phrase of choice.
the pga working you 12 hour days
with a year-round tan from the hot sunrays.
we cut up a rug in dallas 06
learned jager and sauasage are not a good mix.
naylor sailor tailor you're special alright
lets go find a patio and catch up some night.

In closing, I must wish Ms. Phillips a very Happy 31st!

~ Josie

ode to matthew

matthew oh matthew where does your garden grow
i have fallen for a man cant deal with no ho
lookin so pretty while singing pretty in pink
just give him your number and pass him a wink
oh no, he says, i am too meek
do you think he'd call by the end of the week?
for sure, i declare, you're honest and true
a gentleman would be happy to have you.
sit tight and drink that last glass of wine
we'll be passing out shots in a matter of time.
a catch you are with that carebear stare
tell me matthew why didn't you pay for cab fare?

riddle me timber

ramblin' riddles...
this is my current escape from the daily demands of life.
Some need work. More to come.
Enjoy!

There once lived a rascall named Jeff
some swear he might have been deaf
looking for a thrill
he copped him a feel
that girl named Nancy
was really a Bill!

In Texas lived a sweet gal named nikki
pretty, big boobs, but a smidgen too picky
she met a nice boy
but boy was he coy
what is that bump on his dicky?

Maybe was definitely weird
not only because of her beard
she cussed like a sailor
not a boy would nail her
'twas those hairy pits that we all feared

There once was a lad called Randale
a beer in his hand confessing a tale.
He favored the crown
many shots he'd take down
once got groped by a male.
Is that poop on your pants
we scream with disgust?
He cried go ahead and laugh if you must.
I don't remember what I did last night
I thought I went to bed but something doesn't seem right...

Aint much there
but I bet a ton of hair
No worry
I'm in no hurry
my friends have left me
and the night's getting blurry.

There once was a duo we'll call them a mess
a diva named stacie and a sadie named jess.
Got a ride with the line cook
they later confess.
Feels good to be bad
oh what fun these girls had.
Smokin, drinkin, chattin up the crowd
stacie is always screamin so loud!
Now it is time to stop and dwell
I wonder what story tomorrow they'll tell?

I fell for a gent we'll call him matt
he gave me his digits I gave him my hat.
He had a way with a ball
handsome and tall.
We had sex on his hood
damn it was good.
Candy is gonna make him fat!

elle my belle why do you look so down
you're one of my favorite people around
remember the time you slept in that tent
scott stepped foot in your shirt and to the truck you would vent
shot upon shot of german liquer
what a wild group of ladies we were
mustard mayo will always make me smirk
along with shannigans we got away with at work

stacie don't look so gloom
with friends all around the room
light up a smoke
and tell me a joke
still got that pic of me ridin that broom?

in a land far away lived a hermit named Jake
his 95 Cherokee a bandit did take
crunching numbers by day
a man with little to say
he enjoys a good smoke
nebraska football's no joke
a temper built of steam
the boy can get mean
just give him a drag
of that pipe or a fag