Okay. That's it. I can't take not telling you. I HAVE to tell someone, because we're kind of keeping it on the DL* in real life in case something goes wrong. But, I figure if something goes wrong, I'll most likely ruminate about it here, so I'm letting the cat out of the bag. Besides, if I don't tell someone, I'm going to fucking BURST!
I'm having trouble finding the words to express what I want to say, so I've drawn a picture. Don't laugh.
Yeah, shut up. I know my Paint Shop skillz suck. Anyone who's been around for a while would know that I am no Paint Shop pro. Anyway, Zube Boy done gone and got me all knocked up and shit. And, I swear, goddess willing all goes well, this little parasitic bugger is gonna be a literary genius or something. 'Cause I got nothing. In addition to draining me of all of my expendable energy, it would seem it is also tapping into my Creativity Reserve. That is my only conclusion, after spending night after night in front of el compudador stupefied as to what to rant or rave about. Why, just a couple of weeks ago, the words couldn't flow fast enough.
So, there you have it. Hee.
And, little Zinnia has been home for two days now. Thanks for all of the suggestions of cool ass 'Z' girl names. Upon her rather traumatic arrival to the Zube household, and Zoey's rude spitting and frothing at the mouth, poor little Zinnia hunkered down behind a couch. In a vain attempt to coax her out, I cooed the first thing that leapt to my tongue, and Zinnia was it. She is now all named and whatnot.
Well, the Zube's are all happy and shit round these parts. Hope things are equally as blissful in your neck of the woods!
*'down low' for those of you who don't have younger sibs that keep you in the know on all the hip phrases
EDITED TO ADD...PaintingChef is totally my pregnancy twin. And she said we're gonna be pregnant super heroes with capes. I love her.
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
Okay. That's it. I can't take not telling you. I HAVE to tell someone, because we're kind of keeping it on the DL* in real life in case something goes wrong. But, I figure if something goes wrong, I'll most likely ruminate about it here, so I'm letting the cat out of the bag. Besides, if I don't tell someone, I'm going to fucking BURST!
Zube Boy and I have very special names for one another.
Honey: However trite, this is the most often used moniker in the Zube household. As you'll see, we more than make up for the lack of orginality with some others.
Anything Ending in 'Lips': Asslips; Honeylips; Bitchlips; Shovellips; Honkylips; and on and on and on.
Ass Monkey: Nothing says love like a reference to the rear end of a primate.
Ass Clown: This term of endearment is reserved for those special moments when one of us is kind of mad at the other, but kind of laughing despite themself.
Anything Ending in 'Tits' (invariably used by him to me): Wiggletits; Honeytits; and any of the prefixes to the abovementioned 'Lips' including but not exclusive to Shoveltits.
Hundies: This one has a story. Years back, Zube Boy had the distinct pleasure of walking in on me in the bedroom while I was putting on my underwear. I presume hundies is a combination of 'Honey' and 'Undies' but I've never asked. I'm hoping it's not an abridged way of saying 'holey undies' but I'd be okay with 'holy undies'.
Honks and Chunks: I'm Honks, and he's Chunks.
I can't think of anymore right now, though I'm sure that's not it.
Monday, August 29, 2005
I must apologozie. I missed posting yesterday's CAWOW! I promise to pick up just where a left off with the series next week. I have no other excuse than I am utterly and totally beat these days. It occurs to me that 'beat' may have different connotations in countries other than the US, so to my friends in South Africa, Canada, the UK, Korea, and everywhere else, it means I'm fucking exhausted. Worn out. I considered popping some toothpicks in to prop open my eyelids last night and draft an entry for my faithful CAWOW! lovers, but we're out of toothpicks, so I hit the sack instead.
I feel as though for the past month I've been:
-Working Sunday through Thursday, my typical work week.
-Coming home from work and cleaning.
-Catering to my gimpy husband whose leg injury is going to lead to his death. By murder. Just kidding.
-Working on my days off because I'm responsible for the groups I book at our hotel, so I like to at least show face when they arrive. Aaaand, since summer groups are primarily here on the weekends, there goes about 5 out of 8 of my Fridays and Saturdays.
All of this boils down to:
-I need a vacation in a bad way.
-I've managed to *do* all of the laundry, but putting it away has been the bane of my existence. So, we're living out of clothes baskets right now.
-There is a serious lackage of Zube Girl down time. I always feel odd and off when I don't get the chance to hang out with myself. I like to check in and see how I'm doing and stuff. It's good for me.
All that said, the summer is winding down, and our slow season is quickly approaching. After Labor Day, we are DEAD at work. I can't wait. Only 'Dead at Work' is often followed not too long after by the 'First Snow of the Year'. I could do without that for a little longer, but oh well. It's the time of year when all the locals are proclaiming themselves weather experts and pontificating about how this will be the "Best Year of Snow EVAH, Dude!" Yeah. I've lived in a ski resort town for almost six years, and I've heard this every August. It's kind of funny.
In summation, locals are an optimistic breed. Take it sleazy, people!
Saturday, August 27, 2005
-All of the Z-Pets went to the vet today to get check-ups before their new little sister comes home. They got all kinds of shots and Zack got to wear a muzzle. Whee! He has a special yellow file with the word 'CAUTION' plastered inside and out. His hate affair with the vet started four years ago when we waltzed into the vet's office to get his nads removed, and as standard operating procedure, Mr. Veterinarian grabbed the offending testicles. Let's just say Zack no likey that very much. Now he's considered dangerous. Go figure. I'm not a boy, but I think I would bite someone who was collecting my balls in their hands. Anyway...
Zander is not handling the vaccinations so well. He's yakked twice and has the runs. He looks so sad and lethargic. I'm actually talking all motherese to him while cleaning up his puke instead of cussing and bitching. That's how pathetic he's looking. Poor kitty.
Zoey is just fucking indestructible and unaffected. It scares me sometimes.
-I'm really hoping I didn't see the cute little kid who always wacks our weeds for $5 bucks steal a fountain soda from 7-11 this morning. The guy at the register was chatting on the phone with whom I can only imagine was his bitch, given the shit-eating grin on his mug, while antsy patrons shifted and fidgeted just wanting to buy their 2% milk al-fucking-ready. Anyway, Cute Neighbor Kid walked right by the line with his soda, said, "Hi!" to me, and kept on going right out the door. But, he seems like such an aspiring little entrepreneur and a hard worker, albeit a shitty weed wacker, that I'm going to assume he prepaid.
-Things like this piss me off. French fries aren't good for you!?!? No way! I'm so glad you've warned me because I've been living in a dark, tv-less, newspaperless hole for so long I would have been UTTERLY astonished to find myself unhealthy after eating french fries for dinner every other night. Hot damn. Thanks for the warning label! Legislation like this makes me a little embarrassed to be a Democrat. I hate all the damn laws protecting people from themselves. For fuck's sake, people. Get your head out of your ass. Anywaaaaaay...
-Any Republicans who read that last statement and got a little excited thinking maybe I'll convert...Not happenin'. Believe me, if my Republican husband has given up, so should you. Libertarians, however, I'm all ears.
-That Republican husband mentioned above? He called me a vile wench today. I laughed. Hard.
Have a good one! Feel free to share a this or that with me...
Friday, August 26, 2005
YUP!!! Another freakin' Zube. Oh wait. Let me clarify. Another Zube with claws. Not of the human variety yet. To my knowledge I'm not knocked up, and I've peed on sticks and stuff. Then again, I'm a rather disorganized woman when it comes to keeping track of when certain monthly events are supposed to occur, so who the hell knows.
Anyway, enough about that! Check out who is going to be living with us:
Isn't she just the cutest fucking thing EVAH?!?! The newest edition to the Zube family is still at the shelter because of a pesky upper respiratory infection, and the need for antibiotics, BUT I get to pick her up on Monday. Booyah!!!
My husband is the best guy ever. Yeah, I know I called him mean a few days ago. Shut up. He let me have my way, so now he ROCKS!
At any rate, I'm not just posting this to show off the fucking adorableness that is our new kitten. This is a call to action. She needs a NAME!!! And I need your help. I'm sure most of you have met the rest of the family, but if you haven't, please take a look. Our newest member's name must go with the theme. It's gotta either start with a 'Z' or have a nickname that begins with a 'Z'. We don't want the poor critter feeling all left out and shit. Help me out here, people.
Okay. Too much excitement. I'm going to pee my pants, so you'll have to excuse me now. But...WHEE!!! I'm so fucking HAPPY right now I could, uh, pee my pants! Gotta go...
Dear Mom and Dad,
You guys are assholes. I know you went to Petco the other day because Mom wants another cat in the worst way, but since Dad doesn't want her to have one, you couldn't just leave empty handed. So instead of another kitty that I could snap at and gnaw on and have some modicum of fun with, you brought home this water dispenser. This evil, evil contraption. Are you really too lazy to fill my water dish twice a day?
Let me tell you something about this thing. It is fucking scary! Seriously. The other night, I was super thirsty after a long day of working with Dad, and all I wanted was some sweet, sweet H2O. I was quite excited by the newness of it, because I'm a simple dog who is all about new and exciting shit. BUT, that's where my love of Lazy-Ass-Pet-Owners-Water-
Dispenser ended. After a few hearty laps, it made this loud GLUP-DEE-GLUP noise, and it freaked me right the fuck out.
It really didn't help that you sons-of-bitches were laughing your asses off as I high-tailed it to the safety of my doggy bed. That really hurt. This is no laughing matter and your mocking me will not a good dog make. I can promise you that.
In the name of preserving what little sanity I've got, I hereby request that you get rid of that thing. I know it was $20 and you don't want to admit that you purchased an expensive ass water bowl that I don't like, but suck it up. Stick to ceramic please. And fill my dish twice a day. It's really not that hard.
I'm willing to forgive you for making me feel dumb as shit, if you will heed this request. If not, I know of some pillows that are just aching for a serious canine ass rubbing. Got it?
Thursday, August 25, 2005
Just a blurb about each year of my life. Obviously there is more than what I've got here, but I sort of challenged myself to see how quickly I could do it. For the record, 35 minutes.
1- Lived in Bermuda with Mom and Dad on a Navy base.
2- Got a new little brother, Bro, whom I adored.
3- Moved back to Jersey.
4- Cut my own hair, and did quite a terrible job of it, but told my Mom this girl I didn't like in the neighborhood did it so I didn't have to hang out with her anymore.
5- Filled a huge brown dishwasher box full of pillows and threw my little brother into it from the top bunk then jumped in after him.
6- Got pushed into a sticker bush by this kid who always picked on me, but secretly ravished all of the attention I got from the 8th grade girls who were pulling the stickers out of my legs and fretting about the mean boy that did that to me.
7- Had a babysitter named Eva who lived next door and fed me spinach that grew in her back yard so I could be like Popeye, but I'm inclined to think today that the spinach was actually just leaves.
8- Moved from our little row home with a teeny backyard into a new house with a big yard the same day as my little sister, Hoot, was born.
9- Came home from school crying because the kids at school made fun of the Huffy bike Mom and Dad had gotten me for Christmas.
10- Had another little sister, My Belle, whom I promised to be like another Mom to.
11- Arrived home from school crying again because I'd gotten a new haircut, and one of the popular twins told me I looked like Donald Duck.
12- Asked permission to go to the restroom when Mr. Sully said we needed a flat irregularly shaped object for an experiment in science class, and Brian chimed in, "How about Zube Girl?" I cried for the rest of the period, and Mr. Sully never got me in trouble for skipping class.
13- Had my braces removed and acquired contact lenses and was deeply disappointed to discover that this still didn't make me cool.
14- Was punished when my neighbor wrote an anonymous letter to my Mom (I was told by one of her friends that she did it) describing how I'd snuck out of my window to hang out with an older guy.
15- Went to a party with a few of my friends, had a couple of beers, and then called my Mom to pick us up because there was *gasp* alcohol there, and we didn't want to be around that stuff.
16- Elected President of the County Student Council and suspected I only got voted in because I was cuter than the guy I went up against.
17- Got my driver's license and hung out with kids in my cousin's town because they liked me and were nice to me while the kids at my school didn't and weren't.
18- Arrived at college and responded to my roommate's suggestion that we go to 7-11 by asking, "Are you sure we're allowed?" I couldn't believe I could do whatever I wanted there.
19- Hung out with the most awesome people ever pondering life and smoking pot and felt as though I never wanted to be away from them.
20- Accepted a ride to the grocery store from a friend of a friend, and my life was forever changed. In a bad way, but it made me stronger.
21- Got a DUI leaving a bar to drive three blocks to a friend's house so I wouldn't have to drive all the way home.
22- Worked at a restaurant where, hanging out after hours in the bar as we tended to do, the General Manager, who was married, caught me in a dark hallway coming out of the bathroom and kissed me. I found out the next day he'd kissed four other waitresses, too, and I screamed at him, "I never asked to be a member of your fucking club!" Years later he e-mailed me an apology and said that he had more respect for me than ever after saying that.
23- Had my own apartment for the very first time, and threw a housewarming party where my Mom cried because she'd never lived in her own apartment and couldn't have been more proud of me.
24- Moved to Colorado and felt so incredibly fucking alive and scared and free driving cross country with Alexander who now holds the title for "Most Annoying Cat Ever While in a Car."
25- Mom, her beau, John, and 'The Girls' (Hoot and My Belle) visited me in Colorado for my birthday and made me a cake that turned out hilarious because they forgot to follow the high altitude baking instructions.
26- Zube Boy and I had met when I was 25 and lived in the cutest little house ever out in the middle of the woods. But it was an A-frame and the insulation sucked, so we'd be cold as shit in the morning because the wood burning stove never seemed to last all night.
27- Moved into my employee housing, saved money, and bought an ugly ass house that needed lots of love. It was the cheapest house in the county, but even unfinished, it is worth about $75,000 more than when we bought it.
28- Married the most wonderful man in the world.
29- Got promoted from 'Front Desk Chick' to 'Group Sales/Marketing Manager' at the ski lodge where I work and busted my ASS striving to learn the ropes.
30- Hi! We'll see what this year brings.
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
I'm so glad you've found me. Perhaps we should start a club. Though, I'm kind of picky about article-noun agreement, so I must insist that we name our club "My Husband is an Asshole." 'Kay? "My Husband is a Asshole" would just grate my nerves.
Also, I'm learning that people from India search for the most crazy ass shit. It's just an observation; I'm not passing judgement or anything. You kinky fuckers. Anyway, I feel an apology is in order as you were misled to believe that there'd be a cute bra less girl here. So, sorry. Sort of. Eh, not really.
Z-Girl: Hello dear.
Z-Boy: Hi honey.
Z-Girl: What’s up?
Z-Boy: Well, I just wanted to say I’m sorry for yelling at you last night.
Z-Girl: Yeah, well you scared me! All I remember is you all yelling and shit. I was sleeping peacefully, dreaming about Brad Pitt, until you started your screechfest.
Z-Boy: I'm glad SOMEONE was sleeping peacefully. Given the decibel level of your snorefest, I was forced to examine you last night to make sure you hadn't been replaced with a lawn mower.
Z-Girl: It's all in your head. I don't snore.
Z-Boy: Yeah, and bears don't shit in the woods. Anyway, I didn't mean to yell. You know I’m just stressed because I had to drop out of this Saturday’s Dance Off. I can’t rightly bust-a-move on crutches.
Z-Boy: What are you laughing at?
Z-Girl: Seriously?! You couldn’t bust-a-move in a Dance Off if someone replaced your bottom half with that of John Travolta.
Z-Boy: You’re a bitch. Always crushing my dreams.
Z-Girl: I speak the truth.
Z-Boy: Whatever. Have a good day at work.
Z-Girl: You, too.
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Sometimes the vacuums at work don't operate properly, and we have to leave a note for maintenence to fix them.
Edited to add: People, if you don't read the comments on this post, you are missing out. They are beautimous. I've shed a tear. Or two.
I'd like to share with you some links to people who are cracking my shit up today.
Hot Latin Lover
WARNING! May not be work safe if your employer is prone to firing people for extremely loud laughter.
If today’s entry is muddled, please forgive me. I’ve got tons of thoughts swarming about this brain ‘o mine, and I’m finding writing difficult. But, it’s the only thing I really want to do, so bear with me.
I received a phone call from my Aunt yesterday. She gave me two wonderful bits of news. Firstly, my cousin had a healthy baby girl. Yay! Congrats Genny! Secondly, my Aunt received a phone call from someone who has been searching for me. An old friend. One I have not spoken to in about six years.
I'm elated. For real. You know that 80’s song, “Walking on Sunshine?” Well, that’s me today. And given all the tears that have been shed in the past few days, it’s a welcome respite.
We spoke yesterday for hours. Years ago, we adopted one another as sisters, and last night we discovered that each of us still has our crayola created adoption papers. I love this girl. Love. Talking to her brought the past clamoring to the forefront of my mind.
I got to feeling all reflective and shit, so after hanging up, I pulled out one of my old journals from that era. The first page I opened to was dated July 22, 1999. There I found, scrawled in black pen* and all capital letters, my tearstained entry:
SOMETIMES C.J. YOU CAN BE A REAL FUCKING DICKHEAD.
Sincerely, Zube Girl
I've touched on the subject of C.J., AKA Assface, in my 100 things, and here. He liked to throw things at me, and tell me how lucky I was that he didn’t beat me up. Yeah. A real charmer.
The journal entry was written the day after my birthday.
I had planned a little soirée to celebrate with friends. C.J. had to work. When I’d asked him if he would take the evening off to go out to dinner with me, he told me I was being selfish. And besides, he only took leave of work for his children’s birthdays. I should’ve counted my lucky stars because a few weeks later he would lose his job and I’d spend five days a week being a legislative aide to a politician and four to five evenings a week waitressing just to keep food in the cupboards and diapers on his kids.
C.J., only after discovering that I’d planned a birthday party at our apartment, decided to bestow me with the dubious honor of his attendance as my birthday gift. I’d invited about twenty or so friends. I doubted that C.J. was as concerned with making me happy for my birthday as he was with missing out on the action of a party. For what other reason was he not willing to take off of work to go out to dinner with just me? I can’t think of one.
The party was in full swing and C.J. was manning the tunes. I’d managed to get myself a little tipsy, and having tired of the dance music he was playing, put in a Blues Traveler disc. This started a fight.
C.J.: What are you doing?
Z-Girl: I’m, just, I’m, well, I kind of wanted to listen to this.
C.J.: No one wants to listen to this shit.
Z-Girl: But, well, I just thought, since it’s my birthday…
C.J.: Why is it that you think your birthday makes you so goddamn special? Everyone has birthdays.
He started to pull out the disc I'd put in. I laid my hand on his, looked him in the eye and said, “Please keep this disc in. Just play a few songs, and then you can change it.” He didn’t say anything. Just stared at me. “Please?” I smiled.
C.J.: You’re an evil conniving bitch. You’re smiling, but I can see the evil in your eyes.
He'd yelled this. Everyone started to shift uncomfortably, rustling for keys and such.
The party was over, and as he would tell me the next day, it was all my fault. I know better now, but I believed it then. I mean, it was just music. Why did I have to make such a big deal about it?
I spent the rest of the night crying in our bedroom. He slept in his kid’s room. He always did that to punish me.
Here’s where I get kind of fucked up in my thinking. I’m glad that I dated a guy like him. If I hadn’t, I don’t know who I’d be today. He forced me to find the strong Zube Girl I'd had hidden inside. The Zube Girl who said, "Either kick my ass and leave bruises so I can call the cops, or get the FUCK out of my house!" It took about three months after this incident, but I happily reunited with her. Thanks to him.
And I'm thankful, too, for my old friend resurfacing and bringing all of these old memories to mind. It's nice to reflect on the past, and how far I've come. And for that, she's been the catalyst.
*I hate black pens. I never use them in my journals unless I'm very upset or angry.
Monday, August 22, 2005
What do you think all of these things might have in common?
- A beautiful horse on that Houston ASPCA show on Animal Planet
- A cute kitty at Petco that I didn't adopt
- The inability to find a book I wanted to read at the bookstore
- My toothpaste falling off of my toothbrush
- Leaving Denver to head back home
All of the above things, and then some, made me fucking cry yesterday. Seriously. I don't know what the fuck is wrong with me. And I don't mean little tears. I'm talking sobs here. All yesterday I was taking those deep post-crying breaths like I'd been weeping for hours.
I totally freaked out Zube Boy. He was having a cup of coffee at the bookstore, reading a book, while I wandered about, stifling tears. When I finally sat down with him, he said, "Honey, your eyes look red. What's that about?" This is when the floodgates opened and The Waterworks, as we've so aptly named them, began. I managed to slobber out a barely decipherable, "You weren't supposed to say anything. I was trying to keep it together."
Don't you guys know that if a girl looks like she has been crying, you are supposed to zip it, at least until you are out of the public domain? I can hold back tears like a pro until someone says, "What's wrong?" It's like rule #4592-A in the boyfriend/husband/coworker/stranger handbook. Act like everything is fine, until you are in private.
I really and truly have nothing to be upset about. Maybe my body is simply purging itself of stuff it needs to get rid of. Like all the little shit I hold inside on a daily basis has begun to overflow. I'm a firm believer in the healthfullness of crying. But, for fuck's sake, you'd think I could at least start The Waterworks over something that makes sense, ya know?
Eh well, I'm not going to waste my time trying to figure it out. I'll just hope the boo-hoo-fest doesn't continue today because I've got to work and I'd rather not lose it there.
Sunday, August 21, 2005
Yesterday, as I was lulled by the dulcet drone of neon lights in the dentist's office, interrupted only every other millisecond or so by the SCRAPE, SCRAPE, SCRAPE of metal against plaque, I had an epiphany. I'm going to be a better person. However, I haven't made any promises I can't keep in order to achieve this goal. I feel that is conducive to failure, which makes me grumpy, which will make me the antithesis of a better person.
Why can't I just be me? But better? I couldn't think of a good reason, so there you have it. Typing this post today is the new and improved, better Zube Girl! Now with less plaque. Yay!
A special thanks to Texas Soccer Mom for participating in the fun this week and using dulcet in an entry. I'd like to ask folks if you all wouldn't mind leaving me a comment if you use the CAWOW! on your blog. Sometimes, the two brain cells I have left start to fight, and this causes me to have difficulty remembering shit because I can't seem to get either of them to do my memory bidding for me.
This week's word was brought to us by Dutch Oven who, while he doesn't have a blog, is funnier than shit and married to the lovely Bonanza Jellybean. Here 'tis:
pulchritudinous - adjective
-used of persons only; having great physical beauty
-"pulchritudinous movie stars"
-delighting the senses or exciting intellectual or emotional admiration
I'd like to insert a reminder here. HELP! I need suggestions for next week's word. Perhaps you all want me to come up with my own words, I don't know. But, remember the story about the two brain cells. I'm already up against the world here, people. Some more suggestions are in order.
Well, I'm off to play. Take care of yourselves, you pulchritudinous bunch!
Friday, August 19, 2005
After reading my previous entry, Zube Boy felt a twinge of guilt.
Z-Boy: Honey, smile!
Z-Girl: What are you doing?
Z-Boy: I feel bad that I always take fucked up pictures of you. Smile. I'll take a nice one.
Z-Girl: Wellllllll. Okay. *Smiles Nicely*
Z-Boy: Ooh, honey. You look pretty.
Z-Girl: Really?! Let me see...
In case you can't tell, that would be a picture of my ass. What a waste of a cute smile.
After slapping him silly, he gave it another go...
It's an okay shot. I really don't have much by way of an upper lip, at least when I smile. Which, thankfully, I usually am, so I'm all good with the trade off.
However, I'm sad that you can't read my most favorite shirt EVAH! It's a cartoon drawing of a factory and it says, "The Best Girls are from NEW JERSEY." That's right bitches. I represent.
I am the most horribly unphotogenic person alive. Seriously. You don't believe me? I've got a certificate that says so. No. I'm not going to show it to you, because I'm lying. About the certificate. Not about being freakishly ugly in photographs.
I also happen to have a husband who thinks it's funny to take pictures of me when I least expect it. I think there is a handbook that says you should never, ever snap a picture with the camera aimed upward centering on the chin. Especially when the subject is in the midst of returning to the standing position after setting your dessert on the coffee table. The penalty for that transgression is stiff. The photographee will most likely snatch back the bowl of ice cream she lovingly prepared for you and eat it herself. Even though from the looks of the photo she doesn't need anymore ice cream. Rat bastard.
Heh. I have to laugh. I look like a pissed off football player. With no lips. What the fuck? You guys, I SWEAR I have lips. I mean, they're not big and luscious or anything, but I've got 'em. Indeed, I do. And what's with my chin? Ew. I have tried, but I cannot duplicate this look in the mirror. I think it's a trick camera.
You should also never take a picture while the subject is hard core lounging, reading a book. And has fallen asleep mid-read. It's especially important to know that if the subject is awoken only by the flash of the camera, she will most certainly NOT look as cute as you swear she did sleeping. A sleeping subject multiplies the cute factor by two. An awake subject? Different story.
Needless to say, I was all at once anticipating and dreading the arrival of our wedding photos. I prayed that the dieties would find it in their hearts to give me at least a few pictures worthy of seeing on my mother's mantle the once a year that I manage to make the sojourn back to my old stomping grounds in Jersey.
And, they did. A little. Scattered throughout photos of my attention-whoring eyelids...
Are a few goodies...
I love this one. Sharing a cigar with my new hubby. And, we just look so happy! Which sort of overrides the fact that I think my nose is kind of weird. Eh well. You can't have everything. I'll take my bastard of a husband over Revlon worthy photos any day.
Now, where to hide the camera...
Thursday, August 18, 2005
Five years ago...
One hour after I'd gotten my tongue pierced...
Z-Girl: What the...? Thit. I can't anther. The'll know...
Z-Girl: If I don't anther the'll freak out. Dammit.
Z-Girl: Hi, Mom.
Mom: Hi honey.
Mom: Nothing...Hey. What's wrong with your mouth?
Z-Girl: Nuthin'. Why?
Mom: You sound, well, weird. *Gasp* You got your tongue pierced, didn't you?
Z-Girl: Oh my gawd? What are you, thycic?
Mom: Zube Girl. *Sigh*
Let's pretend here that Zube is my first name and Girl is my middle name, because even at 25 your mother still lets you know you're in trouble by calling you by your first and middle names. Or at least mine does. Still. And I'm thirty.
I eventually took out the tongue ring three and a half years ago for a job interview. The job I have right now as a matter of fact. Only, after the interview, I couldn't get the damn thing back in.
As if to add insult to injury, my first day on the job, I realized another guy had one.
Anywho, my Mom will always surprise me, I swear. She and my sisters came out to visit two years ago, and my sisters and I were joking about us all getting matching tattoos. Even Mom. Mom just kept saying, "You girls," which is her way of letting us know we're being ridiculous.
We managed somehow to drag her into the tattoo parlor laughing and giggling. We perused through various books and sundry.
Mom: This one is kind of cute. Can we get this one?
I'm beaming just remembering it. My sisters and I fell silent. After a few moments, it finally dawned on us that Mom was suggesting we get matching tattoos. Whee!
And here they are:
From left to right: My Belle, Hoot, Zube Girl (Shut up! You're not going to go blind!), and Mom
Pretty cool, eh?
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
-Today is My Belle’s twentieth birthday! Whee! Happy birthday beyotch! One more year before all of us siblings can go to the bar together and get all sloppy and shit. Above is a photo of us at our cousin’s wedding. We were being goofy. Imagine that.
-I’m wearing my lumpy bra today. Fortunately my shirt is fairly loose. I’m too lazy to handwash my bras, so they get all fucked up. Oops. I think I just admitted that I wear padded bras.
-I had to scrape FROST off of my fucking car windows this morning. Did I mention it’s AUGUST? In America! It’s just not right.
-I commented the other day on an abortion clinic blog that was being overrun by Pro-Lifers. I briefly summed up my story. I keep checking back to see if anyone is praying for me or hating on me, and no one has responded yet. It’s been about 36 hours now. That is the first gap in comments longer than twelve hours.
-Zube Boy reads my blog. As do my Mom and sisters. I think my Dad might read it once in a while, but I’m not sure. I basically gave them all the address because I didn’t want a safe haven for spewing forth lies, and if I didn’t tell people about it, I would’ve been far too tempted to create that.
-I feel really good and happy today. I probably shouldn't drive. That's just asking for trouble.
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
My husband is the meanest boy in the world.
Other than that, Texas Soccer Mom has tagged me. I’ve been memed. Which is not the same as being maimed. It’s not the same as being lobotomized either, which means it can’t be all that bad. I'm lucky to still be perty smart despite college and my study of all activities leading to sleeping in until 3:00PM and missing class. I don't need to be messing with any frontal lobe removal nonsense.
List ten songs that you are currently digging … it doesn’t matter what genre they are from, whether they have words, or even if they’re no good, but they must be songs you’re really enjoying right now. Post these instructions, the artists, and the ten songs in your blog. Then tag five other people to see what they’re listening to.
This is going to be kind of tough because I’ve had my ear glued to talk radio lately and other than enabling my love of Randi Rhodes to blossom, it hasn’t done much for keeping me in tune with, uh, tunes.
“The Hineylicker Song” by Zube Girl
"Beans, Beans, the Musical Fruit" by Zube Girl (and sometimes Zube Boy)
"It's Mah Honeeeeeeee" by Zube Boy (sung to the tune "It's Amoré")
"Leedle-eedle-eedle" by Zube Girl (often sung at my desk)
"Learn How to Drive Asshole!" by Zube Girl (this is kind of a screechy metal band song I made up)
The other five are sort of theme songs that make me feel all good and shit.
"Touch of Gray" by the Grateful Dead
"Just Wait" by Blues Traveler
"Sunscreen" by Baz Lerman
"Gin & Juice" by Snoop Dogg
"Near You Always" by Jewel
There ya go...
And, I'm not taggin anyone because I'm a silly bitch like that. Neener neener boo boo.
What's that? Oh, you want to know why Zube Boy is the meanest boy in the world? Well, I'll tell ya. I have a big ole bug up my ass and it keeps screaming, "GET ANOTHER KITTY!!! YOU KNOW YOU WANT TO!" And Zube Boy won't let me.
I mean, I have potential names ALREADY picked out! It would have to be a boy kitty because I can't think of any cute 'Z' girl names, though I'm open for suggestions. I'd probably still get a boy. Cats in general are bitches. Female cats? Bitchy bitches. And since I'm a bitchy bitch for fun, and Zoey is a bitchy bitch by nature, I think we've got all the bitchfest we can handle in our little double-wide, erm, rancher.
Anyway, I've been begging to bring little Zane or Zavier home, and Zube Boy has said no way in hell.
Monday, August 15, 2005
So, I just want to say hello to some newbies! You know who you are with servers in Maryland, Jersey, California and Texas! Oh yeah, I think there is also Arizona and Ohio. Feel free to say hello! I don't bite. Sometimes I hit, but only if you piss me off.
And while I'm encouraging folks to delurk, I'd like to mention that whoever found me by searching 'girl getting fucked by animals' can wallow in the lurking pit. For real. Ew.
I wouldn't mind a greeting from the person who stumbled here searching 'ass fart girl' because that's kind of kicky. I'm driving myself a little bonkers wondering if you've got a fetish or are a fourteen year old kid searching fucked up things on the internet. I think if I were a super hero, I would be the Ass Fart Girl. Clearing the air so everyone is safe from stinky hineys everywhere. I'd wear a cape that smelled like Febreze and carry around candles and such. Whee!
Anywho, I'm just saying hi, 'cause my Mom always told me to be nice and shit like that.
My workplace sponsors a softball team, and most of my coworkers are involved. The Zube Girl, much to the team's dismay, does not play because she has terrible memories of being forced to play as a youngster and getting yelled at by the coach.
"ZUBE! Quit pickin' dandelions, we've got a left-handed batter up, so you might actually see some action."
That's right. I was the queen of right field. Sometimes, when we were playing a good team, they'd move me over to left field for left handed batters. But, I must say, it was kind of nice being over in left field once in a while where there were actually some dandelions left to pick. I'd cleared my domain of any of those pesky weeds.
Anyway, I am the cheerleader. In addition, I drink beer. And say, "Yay!" I'm quite good at this. I think I should get a fucking trophy.
Becki and I were parked in the bleachers cheering and leering the other day, when the other team hit a homer.
Becki: Ooh. You can't say the f-word, or we'll have to forfeit.
Z-Girl: Well, those cock-sucking sons of bitches can kiss my ass. How's that? No f-word, eh?
What's next? No beer.
Sunday, August 14, 2005
Okay folks. It is now time for our second edition of CAWOW! I've got to give mad props to my friend Chickie over at Skittering Thoughts for playing along. Her pooch-a-roo is oh so twee in her pink digs.
I managed to use the Cool Ass Word of the Week!, though I was driving, so sadly there were no witnesses. Well, it was warm and the car window was down, so maybe someone heard me. I can say with certainty that it was not heard by the dumb bitch to whom it was yelled.
I was driving down Main Street and came to a stop at a pedestrian crosswalk to let some pedestrians cross the street, 'cause I'm a law abiding citizen like that. I lost my temper a wee bit and yelled out, "If you would take your twee ass little bichon frise and shove it up your ass, you might actually get across the street what with all the pink-poochie-hair-bow picking up that would NOT be going on! I know you're a tourist and shit and this is your vacation and you can dawdle all you want, but I've got to FUCKING go to WORK! Now cross the street!"
Hee. I dig the affect of using twee along with my most favorite adjective. Ass.
The new word this week:
dulcet - adj.
a. Pleasing to the ear; melodious.
b. Having a soothing, agreeable quality.
2. Archaic Sweet to the taste.
A huge thanks to Kyknoord for suggesting it. Dulcet may prove to be a very fun word indeed. Remember guys and gals, I'm open for suggestions, so if you've got a word you're just dying for me to yell at someone, give it up!
Have fun with this week's word. I'm off in search of something sweet to the taste. Heh. And I'm not talking beer people. For once.
Saturday, August 13, 2005
Z-Girl: Hey, what in the hell are you doing in there?
Z-Girl: Are you negotiating the release of the brown hostages?
Z-Boy: No! Mind yer bizness...
Z-Girl: 'Cause you know I need to take a shower, and that would piss me right off trying to get clean in all that stink!
Z-Boy: Leave me alone...
Z-Girl: You've been in there for a while...
Z-Boy: God. Do you always have to be up my ass? I'm doing my hair. I want it to look perfect for the monster truck show.
And, since I'd obviously be an idiot to believe that, I think I'll shower later.
Friday, August 12, 2005
Just because I couldn't be more proud...
As you'll see, we weren't spending much time lounging around eating ice cream.
I'm not your average wife. I have my own mini-size work gloves. I get dirty. I hereby dub myself the Demolition Queen. Where's my fucking tiara?!
One year later. Astounding, eh? Considering that the task was completed on evenings and weekends.
What's with me and the shitty picture taking? I'm definitely more of a fixer-upper than a photographer. But you get the idea.
Brought to You by Zube at 11:46 PM
In college I majored in Education of the Deaf and Hard of Hearing. Before I was able to participate in any practicums with hearing impaired kiddos, I was required to do some work as a teacher's aide in a regular classroom. Not that there is such a thing as a regular classroom, but you know what I mean. I was placed in a second grade class with the most bitch-ass teacher ever. For the duration, we'll refer to her as BAT. Don't get me wrong, BAT was nice to me, but the woman was so over teaching that it didn't do the kids in her class a damn bit of good to have her there.
She only served as an example of what kind of teacher I did not want to be. My dream of teaching was never realized because I eventually dropped out of college after four and a half years for several reasons, not the least of which being utter despair with life. But, anyway...
The class was in the inner city, and many of the kids were underprivelaged, to say the least. There was a little girl whose name I have sadly forgotten, and I could smack myself because she most certainly deserves to be remembered. I'll call her Hope, because I pray she never lost that characteristic.
It's a funny thing when you are the new teacher, especially in the younger grades. The kids just love you, and, well, with the bitch they dealt with on a daily basis, I was not surprised to find them hovering around me, giving me hugs, and telling me they loved me. Seriously. The little rugrats rock like that.
On my second day, Hope came skipping up to the front of the class, and handed the prior evening's homework to me, beaming all the while. BAT snatched it out of my hands, scowled over the crumpled up notepad paper, tossed it aside, and said, "Hope's Mom is homeless. We don't expect a whole lot out of her."
I've never seen a more crestfallen little cherub face. It was all I could do not to cry or to scream out, "Oh my God, you FUCKING BITCH," as that wouldn't necessarily be conducive to me graduating and being a teacher very unlike her. But, for fuck's sake. I mean, there were some mistakes, but little Hope had done her homework, quite possibly on a FUCKING STREET CORNER, and rather than constructively correct her work, you TOSS IT TO THE SIDE, and insinuate that because she doesn't have a home, she's not even WORTH TEACHING!!!
That experience opened my eyes to what the educational experience is for many folks. In Hope's case, I'm sure as shit that this was a case of insidious racism. I can only wish with all my might that Hope encountered teachers in her later years that encouraged her obvious willingness to study.
On my last day of the practicum, BAT gave me a card. In it she wrote, "Good luck with the deaf-mutes!" Which, you know what? I'm not even gonna go there. Suffice it to say that deaf-mute became offensive, oh, maybe twenty or thirty years prior.
Thursday, August 11, 2005
Okay, so yesterday's post is kicking my ass! Whew. I'm trying to keep up y'all, so bear with me.
In case you were wondering:
I like to draw mushrooms. Oh yeah. Hey Becki, do you mind if I borrow a post-it-note from your desk? Cool, thanks.
Can y'all guess what I was trying to figger out here?
I take extensive notes at meetings.
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
Typically, I loathe memes but this one rocks all get out because I get to talk about YOU, and not me; which pleases the Zube Girl as she is so totally over herself right now.
Anywho, Sarcastic Kitty posted it, and I commented. Thusly, I've been memed. Which is cool because it has only validated my appreciation for yet another blogger (Rock on SK for your answer to a certain question, and in answer to yours, Zube Boy and I do indeed want children).
Well, on with the memers:
1. Comment on this post and I'll respond with a random thought I have about you.*
2. I'll tell you what song/movie reminds me of you.
3. I'll pick a flavor of jello to wrestle with you in.
4. I'll say something that only makes sense to you and me (Or so we think).
5. I'll tell you my first memory of you.
6. I'll tell you what animal you remind me of.
7. I'll ask you something that I've always wondered about you.
8. If I do this for you, you must post this on your journal.**
*I've changed the wording a bit, and if that makes me a bitch, so be it...
**I hereby declare that if you comment, and don't post this on your blog, I won't be mad. At all.
A preemptive thanks to all who participate!
For the sake of doing this properly, I'm moving my responses onto my actual post. So there.
1. You are a wordsmith
2. The movie Singles...The main guy character.
4. Thanks for the answer. It drove me nuts.
5. Voting for you in BoB.
6. Tiger. No fucking idea why...
7. What brought you to the blog 'o Zube Girl?
1. You like boobs and butts.
2. "I like big butts and I cannot lie..." (Great, that song is so gonna be stuck in my head for the rest of the day.)
4. Uh, that thing the other day? Red.
5. Why, it was only moments ago...
7. Why IS the sky blue?
1. You lurve flip flops, just as much as I do.
2. "Touch of Gray" Grateful Dead
4. Mmmm...hot guys on ice. Can't fucking wait.
5. Kick ass, take no names, for some reason.
7. How many pairs of flip flops do YOU have? ;-)
1. Your compliment is suspect because I have the feeling you got here by hitting next blog and just wanted me to visit your site. If that's not true, and you actually return to see this, tell me to fuck right off.
2. Fred of the movie "Drop Dead Fred"
5. Traffic whore
7. Will you prove me wrong?
1. Heh. Love your username. Makes me giggle.
2. Brad Pitt in "12 Monkeys"
4. Your girlfriend rocks.
5. Tickles Tapeworm. Hee.
7. Where did you get your username?
1. I love how you love to cuss like I do!
2. Rage Against the Machine's "Killing in the Name of"
4. Cunts can kiss my ass. Except the cool ones.
5. She said cunt. I think I love her.
7. How much weed do you smoke on a typical day?
1. You have pain in the ass cats, too.
2. Lightning Seeds song "Pure"
3. Cotton Candy. Yum.
4. With the orbs, I'm obsessed with them. I like to think they are various grandmothers and grandfathers. I gives me comfort.
5. That photo on your blog. You are one cute chica!
6. Whale. NOT meaning you are large by any means, but there is something gentle and secretive about whales that I just love.
7. You mentioned on your blog that you are a writer. What kind of writing do you do?
Kjersten- I didn't think I'd get through them either!!! Hopefully no one is insulted by my responses. I think I'm funny sometimes, and don't intend to hurt anyone's feelings!
1. You come from a large family.
2. "Lean on Me" by, um, is it Al Green?
4. It's hard sometimes, but it's what makes both you and I such kick ass people.
5. You have the SWEETEST smile ever. Seriously.
7. Where did Mezmerotonous come from?
1. You have the same name as my Mom. Debi's are wonderful people.
2. "I'm Just a Girl" by...Gwen Stefani
4. What is up with just finding one??? I don't get it either.
5. You're a take charge kind of lady!
7. Are you a typical cancerian? I am.
1. You coined the word 'Fook' and for that I am jealous.
2. "Me, Myself, and I" by De La Soul
4. TMI is too much fun.
5. Your life is and has been funny and sad. Just like mine.
7. When your hair gets stuck, you know where, has it ever, umm, gotten tangled up with...hopefully you know what I mean. I have and it sucks.
1. Your husband scares you, too. Not in a bad way. Just in an annoying way.
2. "Magic Bus" by The Who
4. We enjoy quite a strange passtime!
5. That hilarious little kitty.
7. Are you a typical cancerian (sorry it's the same as Debi's but I'm an astrology buff)?
1. You get your eyebrows waxed. Which reminds me, I'm starting to like like Bert.
2. "My Baby's Got Sauce" by G-Love
4. I'm just as nice as you when I'm getting gas (though, not when I have gas).
5. Heh. I hate body odor, too!
7. How did you come up with your username?
1. You are from Texas.
2. That song "You Make Me Feel Like a Natural Woman"
4. Never tried the ambesol.
5. Fucking hilarious!
7. So, did you read the ambesol thing somewhere, or did you guys just come up with it yourselves?
1. You are a flight attendant.
2. "Don't Worry, Be Happy."
4. We don't have that kind of repair shop in my town!
5. Gin and Tonic. Hell yeah!
6. Koala Bear
7. How many different countries have you been to?
Feel free to link! I'll give the meme thing a whirl.
1. You dig sex.
2. "Feel Like Makin' Love!"
4. Soon to come. Heh. The better I get to know ya, I mean.
5. Ooh. Smut. Hee.
7. However did you find the Zube Girl?
Of course I'm still playing!
1. You like coffee even more than I do. I'm duly impressed with that!
2. For some reason, the theme song of the Sopranos. Go figure. Speaking of which, is that guy in your profile pic Junior? It looks like him. I'll feel like an idiot if I'm wrong and it's some real mafioso dude.
3. Coffee, of course.
4. Did you wake up your kids laughing? I would've felt bad.
5. Mmm...Coffee...and a picture of Junior (I think). This guy rocks.
7. How did you and your wife get together?
You didn't think you would escape the meme, did you??? You commented, so now it's your turn!
1. Your alter ego is Crazy Chlomid Wife.
2. "No Woman, No Cry" by Bob Marley
3. Blue Rasberry
4. I am so glad you sent that e-mail. It really sealed the deal with my love 'o PaintingChef.
5. Hee. She says fuck a lot. I love her.
7. I always kind of wonder if Patrick reads your blog? Zube Boy reads mine once in a while, but not devoutly or anything.
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
Just in case animals ever start going to school and I need to pack lunches for them, I've composed a few little love notes I would tenderly tuck in their brown bags.
For lunch today, I have given you a mouse. Please be sure to finish it and dispose of it at school because leaving that shit by the front door is just nasty, and makes Mommy shriek. And we both know how much Daddy hates when I do that. I know you get to feeling all proud of your prowess, but color me unimpressed with the gifts you give me.
Maybe you could, I don't know, paint me a picture in art class or something. Have a good day at school. Remember: Just Say No to Catnip!
I'm sorry I yelled at you to, "Get on the damn bus already," this morning. I know you were just upset because Zoey and Alexander got to ride the regular animal bus, and you have to go on the blue one. But, seriously, mornings are not my thang, and all I wanted was for you all to leave so I could have a cup of coffee in peace.
Oh yeah, hurry home after school. Your teacher told me that we need to buy you a helmet so you don't hurt yourself barreling down the hall.
Hope you enjoyed the remote control I packed for your lunch today. It's brand new, but I figured I'd give it to you before I got too attached to it.
What do you think of your lunch today? Yeah, I know you don't actually EAT spider plants but you sure as hell tear the shit out of them to the point where they are deader than even a Mommy with a green thumb can fix. Lest they die in vain, you better EAT ALL YOUR LUNCH. Dammit. Why do you do the things you do?
I've written a note to your teacher forbidding you to participate in gym class because if you were any faster and spriter, I might have to use my superhuman powers to turn you into a rock. And I'm not about the idle threats.
Monday, August 08, 2005
When I was in my twenties it was my mission to make sure that my sisters didn't feel embarrassed or ashamed of their bodies. I've mentioned before, but I'll mention again, for those of you who may be new to this blog 'o mine, that their pseudonyms are Hoot and My Belle. They are respectively eight and ten years younger than me. So, when I was in my early twenties, well, you do the math.
The thing is, when I was growing up, I wasn't so open with my parents about stuff like first bras and sex and la dee la. In fact, I remember being mortified when my Mom came home with my very first bra. I turned red as a beet, grabbed the Strawbridge's bag, and ran into my room to figure out the contraption I really didn't need. I wanted to wear it anyway, because the boys at school had just recently discovered the sport of bra strap snapping, and my lack of the proper game equipment had become glaringly obvious.
We were a bit tight-lipped about body stuff. I figure it's because I was the oldest, and we were all trying to figure out the kid/parent relationship gig. It's not that way anymore, and nowadays I tell my Mom just about everything. There is something about sitting your Mom and Dad down, telling them you've been raped and are presently carrying the asshole's kid, that makes you realize there is no point in pussyfooting around anything anymore. You've already told them something earth shattering, and they didn't have a heart attack or crumple to the floor, so everything else seems fair game. They really will love you no matter what.
But, before the dawning of that realization, I often felt weird about sex and such. I never had anyone I could ask, "Hey, so if I like, touch myself sometimes, is that weird?" I decided to be the older sister I never had.
"Make sure you masturbate. It's way less complicated than dealing with boys, and you still get to have a good time."
Hee. They were soooo embarrassed, but you know what? I'm glad I said it. I believed for a few years that I was a freak doomed to rot in hell or go blind, and I wanted to spare them that agony. The agony of worrying about it. At least if we were doomed to rot in hell for a little self pleasure, we'd be there together.
"If you have a funny feeling about a boy, overreact. If he's not a bad guy, he'll understand. And if he is a bad guy, you'll be glad you overreacted."
I once had a funny feeling about a boy, but felt it would be too reactionary to say, "Take me home now." I still wish I'd listened to the little voice in my head screaming, "Get out!" No one had ever told me before that that voice rarely cries wolf.
I'll leave you with a poem I made them memorize when they were eleven and thirteen. We can still recite it from memory today, almost ten years later.
By Nicole Blackman
One day I'll give birth to a tiny baby girl
and when she's born she'll scream and I'll make sure
she never stops.
I will kiss her before I lay her down
and will tell her a story so she knows
how it is and how it must be for her to survive.
I'll tell her about the power of water
the seduction of paper
the promise of gasoline
and the hope of blood.
I'll teach her to shave her eyebrows and
mark her skin.
I'll teach her that her body is
her greatest work of art.
I'll tell her to light things on fire
and keep them burning.
I'll teach her that the fire will not consume her,
that she must take it and use it.
I'll tell her to be tri-sexual, to try anything
to sleep with, fight with, pray with anyone,
just as long as she feels something.
I'll help her do her best work when it rains.
I'll tell her to reinvent herself every 28 days.
I'll teach her to develop all her selves,
the courageous ones,
the smart ones,
the dreaming ones
the fast ones.
I'll teach her that she has an army inside her
that can save her life.
I'll tell her to say Fuck like other people say The
and when people are shocked
to ask them why they so fear a small quartet
I'll make sure she always carries a pen
so she can take down the evidence.
If she has no paper, I'll teach her to
write everything down on her tongue
write it on her thighs.
I'll help her to see that she will not find God
or salvation in a dark brick building
built by dead men.
I'll explain to her that it's better to regret the things
she has done than the things she hasn't.
I'll teach her to write her manifestos
on cocktail napkins.
I'll say she should make men lick her enterprise.
I'll teach her to talk hard.
I'll tell her that her skin is the
most beautiful dress she will ever wear.
I'll tell her that people must earn the right
to use her nickname,
that forced intimacy is san ugly thing.
I'll make her understand that she is worth more
with her clothes on.
I'll tell her that when the words finally flow too fast
and she has no use for a pen
that she must quit her job
run out of the house in her bathrobe,
leaving the door open.
I'll teach her to follow the words.
I'll tell her to stand up
and head for the door
after she makes love.
When he asks her to
stay she'll say
she's got to
I'll tell her that when she first bleeds
when she is a woman,
to go up to the roof at midnight,
reach her hands up to the sky and scream.
I'll teach her to be whole, to be holy,
to be so much that she doesn't even
need me anymore.
I'll tell her to go quickly and never come back.
I will make her stronger than me.
I'll say to her never forget what they did to you
and never let them know you remember.
Never forget what they did to you
and never let them know you remember.
The older I get, I cringe a little thinking that I was kind of a fucked up big sister, but they've since told me that they felt like they could come to me with any problem. Big or small. So, I guess I did okay. Hell, I never applied for the job of Big Sis anyway. I flew by the seat of my pants, because that was about all I could do.
Because odds are, you're not.
The other night, I was sitting outside, staring up at the sky, feeling that all was right with the world. Except for the fact that I had to fart something fierce. So, I looked around with my piercing x-ray eyes that have obviously lost their acuity since my days as a detective fighting evil.
I could see no one. So, I got her done. Let it rip. Cut the cheese. It was pretty nifty sounding; echoing throughout the neighborhood. I giggled a little because I felt so free and the stars looked so pretty and I REALLY felt as though all was perfect with the world.
Until, I saw the shadow of a figure and the undeniable lit end of a cigarette on my neighbors porch. Zube Boy calls these neighbors The Dudes. 'Cause they're dudes dude. Seriously, dude. They're always hanging out on the porch smoking cigarettes and peeling their vehicles up and down the street, duding it up. I should have known one of them would be out there dammit.
I mean, it's funny when Zube Boy pokes fun at The Dudes, but I've shot any bit of dignity and sneering down my nose at them to bits. Last night, Zube Boy said, "Dude, The Dudes are all fighting and shit." Instead of my usual turning-off-the-lights-and-running-to-the-window-cause-I'm-a-
nosy-as-shit-neighbor routine, I got all sheepish instead.
I replied, "Dude, whatever."
Sunday, August 07, 2005
I am a bit of a language buff. Presently, I’ve got three of them under my belt. English (duh), Spanish, and American Sign Language. I’d like to add French to that list, but I have yet to actively pursue learning it. Someday. Perhaps when our house is done. HA! As if. I'll be all retired and shit and won't be interested in learning anything what with all the beer consumption going on.
Anyway, I also dig words in general. I’m a huge fan of expanding my vocabulary and am constantly looking up words that catch my interest. I’ve decided to start doing some homework I assign myself to give a little structure to the endeavor of learning and using new words. Each Sunday, if I can manage to stick to a routine, I’ll pick a new word, which I’ll post here. I’m open for suggestions, so feel free to toss some good ones out there.
The assignment will be to use that word throughout the week. On the following Sunday, before I post the next Cool Ass Word of the Week (hereafter called CAWOW!) I’ll let you know how and when I used it. Y’all can also join in on the fun of that, if you’re so inclined. I know you’re super-duper excited, so let’s start with this week’s word:
adj 1 : twee --> affectedly dainty or refined (adj.all)
Synonyms: dainty, mincing, niminy-piminy, prim, twee
I fucking love the word twee for some reason. But, twee is mine...Hee.
The trouble with this assignment will be using the CAWOW!s in a manner that doesn't sound too contrived, because I hate getting caught using fancy words on purpose. We shall see. I'll be sure to let you know if anyone rolls their eyes at my usage of a fancy word.
Saturday, August 06, 2005
Big black gimp shoe and all, I can't seem to keep him from offroading! Actually, it's kind of nice to see him getting out and about. The injury had him laying on the couch for a bit, so it's awesome to see my Zube Boy all mobile and shit. We've only got about a month before cold weather descends upon us up here in the mountains, so he might as well get in all the offroading he can.
His crutches are hidden somewhere in the car. I tried to get him to show them off, but he wasn't having it!
I must say, Zube Boy looks pretty damn happy to be out o' the prison, erm, I mean, house!
I have been reviewed all of two times over at Blog Explosion. The first review was a while ago and I received a 94% score. Kisses to that person, and I hope you were being sincere, because that high of a score actually surprised me. The second I received this morning. It was rather scathing, and here 'tis:
Word to describe your blog: Personal
What user liked the most: Great Photos/Images
Review Type: Rating
Design/Style: 1 of 5
Recent/Regular Updates: 3 of 5
Loadtime: 1 of 5
Interesting Content: 1 of 5
Technical Errors: 3 of 5
Colors: 1 of 5
Grammar: 1 of 5
Too many plugins: 3 of 5
Layout: 1 of 5
Review total score: 34 of 100%
I have only two contentions with this review. Firstly, I find it difficult to believe that you liked the great photographs I've got going on here. Case in point, the photograph below has my finger in the upper right hand corner. That's how about 85% of the pictures I take turn out. If you were going for irony, though, it did give me a giggle.
Secondly, my score of 3 out of 5 in the category of regular updates seems a bit harsh, no? I perused my archives and found that I missed seven days since June 4 which was the day I returned from vacation. Sometimes I post more than once in a day. Now, I could be posting absolute shit for content, but this is not a subjective question really. I don't know how much more I'd have to post to warrant a 5 out of 5 in your eyes, but you can bet that I'm not going to go there. I'm already fretting my lack of a life having only missed seven days of sixty-some. But, it's okay, because I go outside and play a lot.
Anyway, I'd argue that my grammar deserves a little higher than 1 of 5 because I think I spel reel gud, but sometimes I take liberties with the English language that might be interpreted as bad grammar, so I'll give you that one.
Thing is, I can handle constructive criticism. In fact, I was once lambasted in a post by another blogger who was not too keen on something I'd written about my ass. At first I was a little torqued about it, but then I pulled my thumb out of mouth and my head out of my rear end and said, "Gee Zube Girl. Another blogger didn't appreciate a post about your ass. Imagine that!" *Insert self-deprecating eyeroll here*
But, he had the decency to link to me so I would know what was going on, and respond accordingly. He had balls, so to speak. And, I respect that.
In summation, it would have been nice if you'd have made some suggestions in the comment box for me to suck a little less, or at the very least let me know what kind of technical errors I have on my page. But, I do thank you for taking the time to review my blog.
I don't usually blog about blogging. I find the metaness of it irritating. But, I've officially dubbed today, "I Don't Care, I Do What I Want!" Day.
Friday, August 05, 2005
The guest bathroom before remodel...
The guest bathroom after remodel...and still awaiting the installment of the rest of the wainscoting. Pretty nifty change, though, huh?
Who knew drinking beer and sweating bullets could make such a difference?
Brought to You by Zube at 6:42 PM
I believe something is wrong with my car. I can't seem to get the hood to close because there is a strange object in the way making random squawking noises that sometimes sound like, "WHERE'S MY DINNER, WOMAN?"
My couch has a similar malady. This one, though, doesn't squawk as much, but it does like to steal the remote and watch crazy ass shit about cranes, planes, and automobiles on the tube. And that crap just bores me silly.
I think my house is infested. Anyone got any remedies for such a problem?
Thursday, August 04, 2005
Alexander and Zoey are spoiled fucking brats. Seriously. And, I've got no one to blame but myself. They are both so damn vocal, and no matter how many times I tell them cats are to be seen and not heard, they fail to grasp the concept. They MEOW their asses off when they want in and out, which between the two of them is just about every 15 minutes. Alexander is fond of sitting outside the kitchen window, and staring at me, while serenading me with MRRRROOOOOWRRRRRR's. Having been a cat translator in the past, this means, "Hey. Human. Let me in. I want me some kibble. NOW!"
It drives me fucking nuts, and for that reason, I let him in. Well, actually once in a while, I'll stand at the sink, fill a glass with water, and throw it through the window screen laughing wildly as he nearly flies around the side of the house. Hee.
Being the permissive kitty Mom that I am, when they're winding themselves around my legs whining to be let out, in the name of actually being able to make dinner, I stomp self-righteously to the laundry room proclaiming, "I fucking hate you all," and open the back door. It would give me GREAT pleasure to assist their departure from the house with a swift kick in the ass. I get all tingly thinking about it. But you know what? They're too goddamn fast!
I end up losing my balance all cartoon style because whilst my foot is still gaining momentum they're halfway across the fucking yard already, and I end up kicking air. Or, on a really bad day, I kick the door which I've only opened a teeny bit in the hopes of actually pulling off foot to cat-ass contact. Ouch.
Nothing gets me pissier than kicking something that's not there, or even worse, something I did not intend to kick at all, so I head back inside, pick up the phone, and order myself some Chinese. For some reason, this gets me feeling smug.
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
The night of Zube Boy's accident, we arrived at the emergency room, and he was immediately plopped into a wheelchair and wheeled through the ER doors. I sat in the waiting room with our friend, The Englishman, twiddling my thumbs when all of the sudden, something dawned on me.
Z-Girl: Umm, hey, Englishman. Do you think I'm allowed to like, be back there with him?
Englishman: Well, duh, you're married. What the hell are you doing out here in the waiting room.
Z-Girl: Huh. I guess you're right.
I approached the receptionist, and asked to be with my husband. She said, "Oh, that's your husband? Of course! Actually, would you fill out his paperwork while you're back there?" I replied, "Of course," and was shuffled back to where my injured man lay.
Z-Girl: Hi my honey!
Z-Boy: Hi honey.
Z-Girl: Does it hurt?
Z-Boy: Yeah. It hurts a lot.
Z-Girl: I'm sorry. Well, in other news, I really feel like your wife. They gave me your paperwork to fill out.
Z-Boy: *groaning in pain*
Z-Girl: Let's see what we have here. Hmmm...DNR? Honey, doesn't that mean Do Not Resucitate?
Z-Girl: Okay then, DNR...Check. Hmmm...Have you ever felt threathened by your spouse?
Z-Girl: Shush. That would be a no. No...Check.
Z-Boy: But sometimes, honey...
Z-Girl: I don't wanna hear it. If you so much as insinuate that I threaten you, I'll slap you silly.
Z-Girl: I love you, honey.
Z-Boy: I love you, too.
As we were heading home from the ER...
Z-Boy: Thank you for making me laugh in there.
Z-Girl: Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever. Hee. That was kind of awesome. You know what?
Z-Girl: I really didn't check DNR.
Z-Boy: Well, I fucking hope not!
PS- Please forgive gratuitous use of the word 'honey'. He was all injured and shit.
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
Once upon a time, I was little. I bet my Mom wished I'd never grow up. When I look at this picture of myself, I'm compelled to imagine my own not yet conceived children. Damn potential little shits, all strutting their stuff with a fair bit of respect for their Mom, but not enough to live by her word for the rest of their lives. Little pieces of my heart outside of my own chest cavity, experimenting with dangerous substances and falling in and (hopefully) out of love with assholes.
I'm just dying to have kids, but I'm frightened by the prospect of my kids not being kids anymore. I know that eventually, any babies I have will fucking hate me when they're teenagers, because damn straight, I'll know when they're high. Can't slip that shit by me. But, it will only be because I fucking love them that I'll be the pain in the ass Mom who is always up their ass wanting to know their friends' parents' phone numbers. Same as my very own pain in the ass Mom and Dad.
I don't know how the hell they did it. And, while I'm on the subject of Moms and Dads, I'd like to thank mine for forbidding me to hang out with those Riverside boys. I was pissed off, and even snuck out to cruise around with them one night, only to sneak back home and thank my lucky stars I was forbidden to hang out with that lot of assholes.
I worry that someday someone will throw a hoagie or a TV remote at my precious grown up baby's head, or tell them that they're crazy, only to have them believe that they are. I'm sure they will be; at least a little bit, because the apple doesn't fall far from the kooky tree.
But still. I'm a bit frightened about the whole offspring gig. I just know that they're going to break my heart a little bit.
Monday, August 01, 2005
I've been on a mission, and am sad to say that it has not been accomplished. I'd heard about these throat lozenges called Zubes and managed to find a website that sells them. Success, you might say, but no.
The original packaging had the slogan, "Feeling Hoarse? Go Suck a Zube." The idea of finding a photo of the old package just tickles me because, well, I mean come on! Go suck a Zube! How fucking funny is that? Hee. Anyway, the website states, "For relief from sore throat, cough and cold symptoms, suck Zubes medicated lozenges." That makes me giggle a little bit, but it's nothing knee slapping or anything.
If any of you all EVER come across a picture of Zubes lozenges with the old packaging, you have to PROMISE that you'll pass a photo along to me. In return for your kindness I will, ummm, relieve your sore throat! Hah! Perfect.
Updated April 22, 2010