rant party of three...

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

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

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

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

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

Happy Birthday Ellie.

Until my next rant,

Ms. McSasssssss

Heart-Breaking the Seal

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

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

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

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

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

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

her: "Really..."

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

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

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

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

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

lick your wounds and keep on truckin'

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

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

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

~ Josie

HAVE A GREAT WEEKEND GUYS!!!!

the earth shall inherit the meek

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



Adieu,

Josie

take a sad song and make it better

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

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

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

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

Champagne, anyone?

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

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

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

~ SASSY

Tangent Party of 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

WAY TO GO SOX!!!!

Love, Josie

i fought the law and the law won...

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

My nose is cold.

Greetings and salutations, folks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Night guys, talk to you tomorrow. ~ Josie