twas enough to make a fish stare

The charismatic words above are not those of Josie Mc, sadly. The bewitching words were found in a nursery rhyme. True genious, right?

My attention deficit disorder combined with a mild case of delirium led my mind to wander about things I should really keep between me, myself and I. During my downtime I have begun writing jingles - if you will - for various items, such as condoms. Trojan is currently fully unaware, but when they learn of my marketing genious - I am G-O-L-D-E-N! "Wantin', feelin', lookin' for love - woah baby where is that glove - tear it open and give it a peal - slide on over and we're closing the deal".

Nursery rhymes. Children's tales? Don't be fooled. I am a confirmed believer that LSD was the magical tool utilized in conjunction with writing these whimsical yet startling tales. Not only that, children are too evolved for these bizarre-o limericks nows-a-days. While refreshing my big fat head with the odes of my youth, I couldn't help noticing there is an alarming amount of nursery rhymes dealing with manual labor and pigs. Baa Baa Black Sheep would not be socially accepted today. Someone, presumably white, asks black sheep if he has any wool and mr. black sheep claims he has three bags full, naturally, and one for [get ready for this] his MASTER. This has got Nat Turner written all over it. Hush-a-bye-baby buzzes about a bambino falling to its death. Anyone else wondering the same thing - why was baby in tree? Brrrrrrrriiiinnnngggg. Hello. Social Services is calling. Moving along to our next rhyme. For those of you unsavy rhymers, I ran across this oldie but goodie and it ties in second as my favorite - the I don’t want to go to Mexico No More sonnet. Of course you don't want to go to Mexico! How'd you sneak your ass over here in the first place, Carlitos? What you DO wanna do is over-populate our country, employ American jobs with your people, and instill a system where everything is 1 for English 2 for Spanish. Save your bellyaching for the chimichanga. In the rhyme I Love Little Pussy the tale ends with the ever lovingly “but pussy and I very gently will play”. Children's books, guys - save it for the soft porn. The classic Peter Peter would be frowned upon anytime post 1848 when the Womens Rights Movement shifted into high gear. Rub-a-dub-dub finds three men in a tub and asks "how do you think they got in there”. Bad mixture of meth and rum I think. The Old Lady In The Shoe was was apparently quite the little hussey bearing so many illegitimate children she didn't know what to do except whip the bastard kids.

Hey Josie, why the sourpuss attitude? I'm super tired, guyz, really. I need wings via redbull magic, but am settling for a cup of joe. Whiplash, as seen tearing up the ring below and looking mighty dandy in doing so, inspires me to keep on keeping on. I'm smitten, you guys, simply smitten.

~ J

this makes me a very happy girl...



if that clip only led you to long for more whiplash in action then hold your horses (wink) because there is more to come...

whiney the pooh

"Im a pretty big deal back home, you know."

This morning, while musing over this past weekend, I smiled when my mind drifted to the joy derived out of one friend’s humiliation. Is this wrong? Yes. Would you have enjoyed 2 days of knee slappin’ chuckles had you witnessed the calamity? Are you a red-blooded human being - then yes. I’ve been enlightened to a new form of optimism – finding good fortune out of one’s rotten luck. It is with great delight I share with you The Epic of Whiney the Pooh.

Friday I made good of my promise to visit Jillian in Dallas. The trip would be a short one, arriving late Friday and leaving Sunday in the a.m., but a road trip out of the city I call home was exactly what the doctor ordered. I brought along my comrade Ohio, the best rollerskater in 5 counties south of the Mason Dixon, Matthew, and a 12 week pup that goes by the name of Little Jerry Seinfeld. The trip was made with haste via vehicular transportation in under 5 hours by the likes of Nascar's very own, Robby Gordon. Had we not been distracted by Kanye West fueling his vehicle in Hope or squandered 24 minutes of driving time loitering outside of Mr. J’s Food Mart in Greenville, we could have made the trip in under 4. We spent Friday in McKinney, Texas at a local tavern that provided a smoke free environment, karaoke, and free t-shirts accompanied by a complimentary shot the bar was promoting. The shot, Wide Eye, tasted not unlike a concoction of warm semen and cough syrup. In the profound words of Public Enemy, don't believe the hype. Ohio, however, went for round two.

Saturday morning we had breakfast at one of my favorite Dallas eateries, Café Brazil. It is a Saturday morning tradition to eat at the coffee house any time I am in the city. I was pleased to share my dining experience, and homemade chorizo, with my travel companions. The café is located in hip Lower Greenville and populated by young, sophisticated families and smug joggers spruced up in snazzy running gear and rosy cheeks fresh off a run. It’s the kind of place you go, not only for unique and palatable grub, but to see and be seen. With seven different choices daily, the joint entices civilians with their “bottomless coffee” made available at the coffee bar centrally located in the café at a two dollar and fifty nine cent steal. Should you be in a one-cup mood please be aware the price stands at $2.59. Go for that second cup.

After salivating over the eye-popping menu, we are greeted by a young girl sporting a short black bob unkempt in her Café Brazil tee eager to take our drink order. This young gal seemed removed from any chit chat, but with Ohio in tow I expect and anticipate a spectacle. Ohio transforms the average request into a sport he has created and mastered. He does this in a way that borders flirtatious mixed with a dash of tenacity, yet never fails to entertain and charm. Ohio protests to the young girl that he is well known and a pretty big deal back home. Matthew takes bait and boosts the ever-growing ego adding fuel to Ohio’s fire “he recently set the National hot dog eating record – you might have caught the competition on ESPN – and is a contender for the Hotdog World Cup next May.” Our server, fully committed to the colloquy, acknowledges “I have heard of these hot dog eating contests you speak of and will definitely look for you on ESPN.” I notice for the first time Ohio’s inclination to use the word “sweetheart” in every sentence and I am surprisingly impressed with his fearless drollery. My party of four settles for mexican omelets, chorizo empanadas and banana pancakes. Ohio had been craving the nana cakes for a couple of days . As we later would discover, this would be Ohio's only good fortune of the day.

While anxiously waiting the delivery of our feast, we collectively strut across the room over to the enticing aroma brewing from the coffee bar. It is often a waiting game as the finest of dallas create their very own coffee creations. I chose a Brazilian blend while my dining companions elected the candy-in-a-cup flava “snickerdoodle”. During the process of snatching a clean mug and awaiting your turn at the bar one is often excused and nudged by other restaurant patrons also waiting for their moment at the java bar. A lot of socializing occurs here and for those of you not familiar, the cavalier breed of Dallas excel at being loud, flashy and pompous. It's best to look away from this species.

Satisfied and jolted, we walk back to our respective spots at the table. Shortly after our arrival two men deliver the steaming goods to the table and we are met with silence for the next ten minutes. On occassion, Ohio summons our waitress for condiments such as hot sauce and jam - in his charismatic way, naturally. Ohio puts on a show in closing for the now good-spirited waitress. We collect our tabs, pay, and waddle to the front of the restaurant before making our way out of the establishment feeling full and fat.

Jillian suggests what I was already thinking, "why not let Ohio sit up front with Matthew that way you can sit next to me in the back." I frown upon the idea of giving up my seat warmer, but willingly forfeit it to sit with Jillian. During our walk to the car we discuss plans for shopping and I suddently notice a little skip in my step.

I open the right side passenger door when, all of a sudden, despair kills my skip. What do we have here? After a dramatic gasp I look up at the sky as if searching for an answer from the gods. The curious group forms a huddle at my side where they also sigh in disdain. "What is this" they scream with a scowl. When clarity set in I let out a woeful "Oh no" and repulsively walk away from the vehicle. You see my friends, what my eyes were telling me is that the leather seat I was about to make my temporary resting place was covered in shit that had hardened and squashed to the seat, perhaps there for hours even days. Matthew rescues a red hooded sweatshirt victimized by the poop but when he lifts the sweater a whopping clump of poop stuck to the hoodie tie like soap on a rope. "Who does this sweatshirt belong to" we cry. Oh - Ohio. At that moment another important query presents itself "yeah but who was sitting here...oh no...Ohio you sat in this spot on the way to breakfast. Turn around."

The view wasn't pretty. Really, it was nothing less than grotesque. The back side of Ohio's blue jeans, beginning at the glueteus maximus leading to the upper hamstring, was covered in shit.

Fred, Delma, and Daphne begin to examine the mystery when it becomes clear what happened. Little Jerry was left in the car while we polluted our bodies with shots mixed one part warm semen and two parts cough syrup the night prior. We were ready to leave the bar and allow little Jerry to empty his bowels when trouble walked through the door



While the father/son duo distracted us with their evil ways and alarmingly identical apparel, Little Jerry did a deuce in Matthew's backseat. Hours later we made an unnoticeable escape. We caravan to Dallas from McKinney - two in Matthew's car and two in Jillians' - leaving the tainted backseat vacant. In case you haven't caught on, this is precisely why the poop discovery wasn't made until the following day after Ohio pranced around the restaurant, with bounteous confidence, showing the world, or at least Dallas, his shitty drawers.

Once the mystery is solved, we place Ohio on the soiled sweatshirt and a newspaper on the way to a 7-11. Ohio walks like a dog who had just been punished to the front door of the store and quickly returns to the car, walking backwards so that the 7-11 store clerk would not notice that a 26 year old man pooped his pants, and informs us that the facilities are "out of order". We try not to give Ohio a hard time for not recognizing the fact he could make use of a bathroom sans a functioning toilet because his job necessitated running water and a paper towel, but we didn't want to kick him while he was down.

Another laugh and 2 minutes later we pull into a Wild Oats parking lot. Ohio gets out of the car and timidly walks to the front entrance of the store like a kid on the first day of kindergarden. Reluctantly, he manuevers inside not to be seen for a good ten minutes. Jillian and I spend this time crying in laughter. Matthew makes a good effort to clean his backseat with the Wide Eye tshirt he scored from the bar Friday night and liquid soap from the Wild Oats public restroom where, incidentally, Ohio was furiously scrubbing his bluejeans.

When Ohio finally rejoins the group we listen like kids during storyhour as he gives us the dirty details. Ohio walked in to Wild Oats and was accompanied to the restroom by a store clerk who insisted on walking behind Ohio despite Ohio's persistance that the clerk "go first". Once in a stall, Ohio removes his filthy pants and proceeds to scrub them when his stomach begins to churn like cream to butter. Ohio scrubs poop off his poopy pants while he poops.

This tale provided us with endless entertainment and laughter throughout the weekend getaway, even during times of exhaustion, hunger and pain. During one of his many pity parties, Ohio sulks "woe is me" which provided me with inspiration to title this blog. It is my belief that Ohio will check the seat of every vehicle seat for days perhaps years to come. Jillian, Matthew and I will always look at Ohio and recall with a happy heart the day he shit his pants in Dallas.

Grins & giggles, Ohio. ~ Josie

i'm feelin' the holiday weight

THE SPIDER MONKEYS
COMING TO A JUNIOR HIGH SCHOOL CAFETERIA NEAR YOU!

(that's the name of my new band - you like?)

The ability to smile when life’s full of angst is one amazing feat. Never be a coward, don't succomb to defeat, and kick some ass! ~ j

NEW FEATURE: here on out I am going to start each blog with a “fun fact” about myself that most could care less about. Lets try it out for fun, wanna?

I lost my virginity listening to Nirvana’s “Bleach” album.

I want to say a lot, have plenty to bitch about, but feeling brilliantly outlandish this afternoon and don’t want to waste it on all things unfavorable. 2008 has been very, very un-good to me. Oy! In accordance with one of my '08 pinciples, I shall take this opportunity to plug some optimism here - it can only get better.

Today I would like to share with you some of my favorite things and why I love them. 3, 2, 1 – rolling!

Running: this is when I feel in the raw. At that time, it is a girl and the pavement surrounded by a world while bearing no possessions. Alone, I move along swiftly taking in every moment while exercising my mind and body. I daydream. There is a degree of mystery between myself and the world. If I could bottle up and market the sense of exhilaration derived from achievement following a good run I would be in high demand and working on my second million. It’s electric.

Eating: This makes me happy. Not only do I plan meals, I contemplate them for hours sometimes days. It is a little despairing to admit I wake up and rejoice for the food I will soon devour but on the flipside I am easy to please. I eat. I eat a lot. Food is important to me. It demands my attention. I am quirky about my food. Before I sit down to a bite I must drain the bladder because I demand comfort while feeding my belly. I hum while I eat. My first bite is almost always accompanied by a "mmm...mmmm". I eat until misery is the aftereffect.

Springtime: my favorite time of year. The clouds part. The sun takes a peek at the earth. Things are fresh and lovely. We shed our winter coats. I am rather fond of those inclimately warm January afternoons that give you a taste of spring. When I am in a driving mood – a true abnormality – I like to scoot around town windows down, sunroof ajarred, donning sunglasses looking sharp, while singing my heart out to good tunes. I did this today, in fact. During my adventure I imagined I was in a music video. This particular video was shot in black and white and, at times when the camera hit the sun just right, little speckles of light appear on the screen.

Music: it empowers me

Pina coladas: because the song is so darn good

Spider monkeys: my last pet spider monkey Canary, god rest his soul, was as resourceful as a three legged donkey, but good hearted nonetheless. Canary was always around to provide a helping hand when you needed a designated driver, someone to make a trip to the market, a shoulder to cry on, even a toilet to scrub. Canary made one hell of a ham and cheese omelet. I miss that little guy.

alright sluts, I wasn’t able to complete this blog but perhaps another day. I am off to see Juno which I have been anticipating all day, and then retiring to bed. Have a shaztastic evening.